Spring cannot be far behind

Beauty near the trash cans:

Husband RJ's take on March coming in like a lamb.

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Eating with her fingers

I don't know what to say about this.

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Little Pond

Almost winter?

Our squirrel feeder is empty this morning.

What do you mean, "You don't have a squirrel feeder?"

Outside the window, the world is a study in black and white. 

For a short while the house across the street is hidden.


It is already 40 F
(4.4 C)
and the snow will soon be a memory.

Peaceable Kingdom.

Not quite.  What has actually occurred:  new battle lines are being drawn.

Both the new dog and the new cat have insinuated themselves into unusual alliances.

Frankie, the dachshund mix freely mixes with Patches and Bubba, both badasses that ruled with iron claws.

Incie the Double-Pawed, keeps company with both dogs, and bullies Patches and Bubba.  DeeDee is too old to give a damn about pecking order, and cuffs Incie if she approaches, but will now cozy up to Patches.  Bubba has decided that Ellie is no longer anathema.  And Frankie is learning to be ignored by DeeDee.

This is taking quite a lot of years off my life, while I deal with a new infestation of fleas, worms, and neurotic over-grooming.  In the pets, that is.  I'm doubly tired, but otherwise intact.

 Former antagonists, Bubba and Ellie.

Frankie, Ellie and Incie, all had to learn to live together at VeggiGirl's former home.

Incie has claimed every square centimeter of space for herself, including those meant for humans.

Former deadly rivals, DeeDee and Patches, now are willing to share space to avoid the dreaded Double-Pawed interloper.

The rest of us are but pawns in this power struggle.  And my sensitive nose is ready to pack up and leave.

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Little Pond

The Pretty Snow is Almost Gone.

And all we have to show for it are two peas in a pod. They ran off their little tails yesterday, and seem to need more sleep than one night can offer. Our walk today was in light doggie tees and lots of slushing through puddles.

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Little Pond

And NO we are not hoarders!

Sung to There's a hole in the bottom of the sea.

(refrain)

There are WAY too many PETS: Too many pets in the house that's a zoo. (sung twice)


1: There's a fat HuggaMutt in the house that's a zoo. (twice)(refrain)

2: There's a huge, gray Bubba and a fat HuggaMutt in the house that's a zoo. (refrain)

3: There's a skinny old Deedee and a huge gray Bubba and a fat HuggaMutt in the house that's a zoo. (refrain)

4: There's a busy, barky Franky and a skinny old Deedee and a huge gray Bubba and a fat HuggaMutt in the house that's a zoo. (refrain)

5: There's a bossy, hissing Patches and a busy, barky Franky and a skinny old Deedee and a huge gray Bubba and a fat HuggaMutt in the house that's a zoo. (refrain)

6: There's a double-pawed Incie and a bossy, hissing Patches and a busy, barky Franky and a skinny old Deedee and a huge gray Bubba and a fat HuggaMutt in the house that's a zoo.

(refrain sung loudly, followed by barking and growling, meowing and hissing)

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Where have we been?

Don't ask.

Bubba snoozes on top of the refridgerator.

Deedee has permanently co-opted our computer chair.

Ellie the HuggaMutt seeks some peace in Husband RJ's favorite perch. 

VeggiGirl's Frankie naps on the pet-designated platform lounger. 

Incie (as in, resulting from a brother and sister mating) is VeggiGirl's favorite cat.  She hides away in her owner's closet.

Patches has taken over the bean-bag turtle on the cats' nest bed in the offical Kitty Room.

Go here for complete story.

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