Pets keep us in sync with the Universe

When the RiverDog first arrived, she came just in time to set me on the road to recovery from a series of Multiple Sclerosis exacerbations.  She was just a little nipper who hadn't yet grown past her ears.

In need of many walks, my little buddy soon had me tramping the neighborhoods, getting us both in shape.

Now we are tied to the Chemung River, were she can run off-leash, and I can watch for unusual birds migrating through our flyway.  We were both able to enjoy a few years of running and hiking.

Unfortunately, Time intervened, and neither of us has a claim on immortality.  I am only too aware of her doggie lifespan, and she can sense mine.  Time is slowly claiming us, and we know it.

In another five or six years we will both likely settle back into enforced idleness, our walks confined to the city sidewalk nearer home.  And somehow--just by accident?--we are once again synched.

People with MS live shorter lives than others.  Doggies do too.

Maybe neither of us will have to leave the other.

Night-Mariah before Christmas

Not nice, Mariah!  You are way too old to be sharing bubble-gum music, let alone a whole video, with Justin Bieber.
Mariah, you have become that creepy older woman who is trolling around for boys, so she can initiate them into the "mysteries" of adult love.

And shaking your butt in a Santa Outfit should be reserved for "Adult" Christmas parties.

Stay away from our teenaged boys, Lady.

BTW, I have deliberately NOT linked to the video.  It disgusts me.

My Grammy's Poem: A true story

Armistice - And Irony
I can see them yet, as they marched away,
So debonair, so brave, so gay!
I can see them yet, as they turned to wave,
The smiles erased from their faces grave.
And as I stood there, turned to stone,
The sun's last glint from their rifles shone.

I can still see my Mother, with face so white
And my Father, standing so still,
Trying to think that all was right,
Trying to feel like it was God's will.
Yes, we all tried to be as brave as they,
As my husband and brother marched away.

After many a weary month and long
Came the news, more cheering than the happiest song.
The whistles were blowing, the bells were ringing.
Everywhere people were shouting and singing.
"The War is over at last" cried they,
And the sad old World became hysteric'ly gay.
We looked at each other through tears of joy
And Mother murmered softly, "My boy, my boy!".

Happy plans for their return we made.
I tremble even now, as these mem'ries fade.
"Killed in action", the telegram bore.
"Killed in action"; weary brain repeated o'er and o'er.
Yes, the bells were ringing,
They should have tolled!
The sound of bells will turn me faint and cold
Forevermore.
My brother had died the day before.

Veteran's Day on the Chemung River.

No more to say.

Saw an editorial today that spoke the last word on Michael Jackson.
My generation saw many of our idols destroyed by drugs throughout the last forty years.  Drugs, drugs, drugs:  death, death, death.  Heartache and heart break.

I thought MJ turned from an almost obnoxious child star into a handsome, suave, intelligent performer.  He completely enthralled me with "Billie Jean."  A fan for life, his and mine both.

The sorry, sad spiral began at that point:  from cute to crazy, from sexy to scary.

It had to end in such a dismal, wretched waste.  Absolutely had to.  It just took Michael a very long time to self-destruct.

The guilty of negligent man-slaughter was more collateral damage: a sick side show with a cautionary moral exclamation point. 

The Main Event is still lost forever.

Leonard Pitts nailed it in the Miami Herald.

There is no more to say.

Eldridge park and river cat

So many adjustments to the camera for this strangely green November!  The late foliage allows small animals to forage on the river bank, almost unseen. 

Almost.

Eldridge Park is an odd mixture of greens and blues and reds.  Very unusual at this time of year.

Mind you, it is still near freezing, and neither the HuggaMutt nor I can stay out as long as we like.  This weekend my poor little buddy is showing her age, and sleeps in late in the morning.  She also naps out very early in the evening.

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Little Pond

The Chicken of the Corn!

This is what you get if you let your fowl run free.  Looking for a handout.  Scared the hell out of me.  Perfect for Halloween.

Of course it doesn't scare my little country cousin Violet.  Nor my beloved HuggaMutt, either.  This is no mean rooster, either:  just one of the several hens that provide MammaDog and her family with eggs.  Notice how Ellie doesn't begin to frighten the darned thing.

When Ellie is running free, they know enough to get out of her way.  I have no doubt she'd like to catch them, if only for the sport of it. 

Remember Lady and the Tramp?  Just tear 'em up a bit.

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Little Pond

Making Murphy Tough

Violet is a child who really should have a dog.  Unfortunately, that dog would be Ellie, the HuggaMutt.  Our Ellie is middle aged--nine--and just not up to the rigors of a rambunctious, to say the very least, toddler.

Right now, the focus of her aggressions and impulses is Little Brother Murphy.  Violet throws herself at and onto Murphy any chance she gets. 

Interestingly enough, Murphy doesn't mind.  He just sucks it all up.

On the other hand, when Ellie wants to "kiss" Murphy, usually when the little guy is sticky from a recent meal or snack, the little rug-rat often gets a very unhappy look on his face.  We usually rescue him before he dissolves in tears.

Not so with Big Sister.  We all know from past experience that Big Sisters have a job to do; they must toughen up their little sibling.

So far, all is well with the world.

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Little Pond

Don't even ask!

The hot and cold, but very wet summer is giving way to a cool, rather wet fall.

This makes for breezy, comfortable days and cool, just-made-for-sleeping nights.

This does not make for pretty, multi-colored foliage.  Green or brown, or, if we are lucky, yellow leaves are falling.  Everything else is still green.

I even go out without my camera.  Just can't remember to bring it, somehow.  This is from my cellphone.

Pooh.

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Little Pond

Poor baby.

Broken Dew Claw.

Four weeks restricted activity.  Plastic baggie to go outdoors.  But, she's only got a tiny chip broken off the carpal area.

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Little Pond

Hot, wet summer equals...

...an unusual abundance of apples;

Apples hanging in clusters like grapes.

The whole tree is just full.

They look wonderful, but unfortunately they are inedible.

We don't use any commercial pesticides, because of our pets.

They look like little gems hanging there. 

Both trees are covered from top to bottom.

We can't allow people to pick them, because of the liability in case of injury.  We do allow our neighbors to collect the ones from the ground.  They feed them to horses, or use them to establish hunting areas for deer.  We can only hope that they all fall soon, because there is a time limit involved.  Hunters are not allowed to create such lures during the hunting season.  Only the state can do that, for purposes of thinning the herds.

Kind of an ugly reality, but really necessary up here.  Best to hunt them.  Have you ever seen or heard a starving deer?  Ask anyone who lives in the country up here; they have, and it's pitiful.

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Little Pond

Always remember.

I don't like "never forget"  because that would infer "never forgive."  If we are a big enough nation to forgive and rebuild Japan after Pearl Harbor, then perhaps we can look forward to making new allies of old enemies.

We are spending today away from the News Media and with our family.

Speaking of family, my BlogSister Digital Karen stepped in immediatedly to undo the damage done by the "updated Blogger interface."  A new look and a new feel.  And there will be a new blogroll, too.

It's just beautiful!  Take a bow, Karen.  Thank you again!

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Little Pond

Happy Birthday, Freddie!

By now, I have forgiven you for dying so young.  You are alive every time I play your songs.  Nevertheless, I'm still holding a grudge against you for not sharing your condition.  So much could have been done;  you might still be among us.

At least we have your music and we have your videos.  Thanks, Freddie.

Still your loving fan,

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And now on a lighter note:

I call this picture:  Don't make me choose!

And apropos of being a Grandma.

Back to normal

Pat's Pond was briefly hijacked by a URL-selling company.   Fortunately, these attacks have been reported to BlogSpot.  Another blogger simply looked for the additional garbage among the HTML in the template.

I searched for those idiots by their url, and sure enough, there it was nestled comfortably in my code.

Ripped it out by the roots.

Jerks.  Everyone be warned.  The correction is simple and can be done right in Blogger.

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Little Pond

Not again?!!!

My little buddy has once again had an unfortunate tussle with a local swamp kitty.  We know that there is a huge, positively venerable skunk that forages for grubs in our lawn, but a few nights ago, there had been no sign of it.  Ellie needed to pee before retiring for the night.  I had already gone to bed.

Fifteen minutes out the door slams open and the unmistakable scent of neighborhood polecat wafted in.  My friend came in, tail between her legs and guilt written all over her face.  Never have I popped so quickly out of bed!

In a flash she was being bathed in Dawn dish detergent, then a mixture of dog wash, baking soda and peroxide.  Lather; rinse; repeat.  Still a tad stinky, but no problem:  she can go to the river in the morning!

Uh, oh.  River isn't deep enough even to cover a dachshund:

I should have known that, too.  Earlier we had gone "fishing" down near Brand Park.  I do not go into the Chemung unless it's to rescue somebody or some pet;  I can't count on my swimming skills and wading isn't my forte with MS-disabled legs.

Three days of lather-rinse-repeat, and Ellie now must go back to her other home, stinky or not.

As for Little Pond, well, we are laundering all the linens, spraying the furniture, and will be washing the carpets today and tomorrow.

Pets are a wonder diversion!

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Little Pond

Horsey

The scene is my daughter's birthday party.  A little jello--red, naturally--spills on the porch carpet.

Grammy kneels down to clean up the goop, before it should stain.  A hopeless cause.

The result:

Not so great for a sprained back, but Grampa Randy snatched her up into his arms before there could be any damage.

After he shot the photo, of course.

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Little Pond