The Secret Spot

Obviously, this is not a picture of me, but I feel as if it captures my spirit. It is a picture of my niece, Tori, and my pug, Alfie, prancing across the plot of land my family calls "The Secret Spot." It is my land, 10 acres, where one day I hope to build my house. But before it became mine legally, it belonged to my grandparents, part of the acreage that accompanied the one-room schoolhouse that they grew into a camp and in turn, a home.

They purchased the schoolhouse in Bethel, Vt. back when my mom was young and they would travel up from Long Island to visit there. The Secret Spot became her spot, the place where she would run to be alone, pray, write songs. Secluded, it hid from the road, an open meadow dwarfed by sentinel-like trees.

After I was born and I heard the family stories, I somehow adopted my mother's Secret Spot as my own. My grandfather, BZ, would take us grandchildren for walks there in the evening with kerosene lamps and we would catch fireflies in a jar. Like my mother, I would go there to cry and dream and I dreamed of a day when I could call this land home.

When my grandfather died and my grandmother decided to sell the schoolhouse, I claimed this land as mine. She subdivided giving me my plot and selling the schoolhouse to my brother. I plan one day to live here. When I first adopted Vader, I was sure he and Buffy would make their home here with me. It didn't happen in their lifetime. Buffy, Vader and Mira passed, but Alfie is here now roaming the field with Tori and the ghost of the child I was and the dreams of the future that remain. One doesn't need a house to call a place home.

Crazy Love

Alfie visiting Joan

-->

Last week one of my students wrote an essay about her pet cat that became ill and how she went to great lengths to save it after it helped her survive the tumult of her divorce. “I don’t usually share this for fear of being labeled pathetic, another crazy cat lady,” she said.

I have joked on this blog about my own fears of being a crazy pug lady. My cat-loving student, who comes from a dysfunctional background, noted that abused people are often drawn to animals and some experts on the human-animal bond suggest people turn to pets when we can’t find emotional fulfillment elsewhere. I know that when I entered Joan’s house years ago in search of my first-real dog, my “independence pug,” I was in search of community and I found it.

I wonder, however, where the “crazy” label comes from. Do we as a society think the search for connection is an insane pursuit, that somehow a person is not quite right because they turn to cats and dogs instead of people even when people fail them?

It seems a hypocritical notion. Everyone turns to something – food, alcohol, God, sex. We are born to connect. Even the Bible says, “It is not good for man to be alone.” So, we seek out what we can. Perhaps that is something we share with dogs – the need to be part of a pack, perhaps that is what drew them out of the wild and into our caves and led us to embrace them.

Does the idea of crazy enter when one is deemed to go too far, when the bond with animals replaces that with people all together or when the sheer number of animals becomes too many? Is it crazy to go to pug socials and hold kissing contests? Is it crazy to own 18 dogs? What is the line and who determines it? Do we know it when we see it or are we scared we won’t, so we label the whole kit-and-caboodle insane?

I’m not sure I have an answer, but I have an opinion. I think we are lucky to have a cat to help us through a divorce or a dog to keep us from being lonely. I think, given the alternative, we would be crazy not to love such creatures.

Puppy Love

Too tired again tonight to write much of any value, so I am leaving you with another pic of Joan and one of the new puppies. All five are well today including the runt, "Batman," who is lively and eating. This is one of his siblings.

 

Many of you expressed interest in my I-pad drawings. I am having fun with them and hope to do some more. For those who missed it I am using an I-pad app called Brushes.
I entered Alfie in another dog show in Keene, NH today to take place at the beginning of August and hope to also do one in Saratoga, NY the week after.

Alfie and I had the chance to visit with Waffles yesterday when we were at Joan's to see the puppies. Waffi tried every chance she could to jump in my car so I guess she is ready to come home with me whether I've decided to take her or not. I'm actually thinking of bringing her home in August.

Pug Pups

When I went to Joan Foster's house 14 years ago to buy my pug Vader a whole new world opened up to me. While I had already fallen in love with the breed after adopting my brother's pug Buffy I had had little exposure beyond her. When I entered Joan's house, I entered "Pugdom," a kingdom ruled by these foreign, curly-tailed creatures. They were everywhere. I relished learning their names and how to tell them apart. I loved hearing their stories and pedigrees and most of all I loved seeing them born.

Joan calls the little ones "peeps" and last night Griffles, the sister to Waffles (the pug I plan to adopt) had a litter of six. One of them died and we are left with five -- four boys and one female. The little runt (pictured above) reminds me of a tiny bat, so I've been calling him Batman. Naming the litters is an important job at Pugdom. Each litter has a name:  the Umps, for example-Lady Lorelei Lump, Countess Connie Crump, Baroness Bonnie Bump and Dr. Poohbah Gump. In the last litter born two years ago we had Waffles, Truffles and Griffles. This litter does not have a name yet, but it is already becoming part of Pugdom. We have called our friends, others who own Pugdom Pugs, and sent out word, heralding their birth. Now we watch them grow. In the days ahead, they will open their eyes, learn to walk. They grow quickly and we will pick out new homes, but we name them first before sending them on their way because once you enter Pugdom, soon you belong.

View from the Porch - Correct Orientation

As promised, last night's pic in its correct position.

View from the Porch

The Hubbard Hall Writers Project met again this afternoon, this time at Bedlam Farm. We had conversation over scones and fruit and bread and jam. The atmosphere was productive and creative. Then spent the evening with Jon Katz and Maria Wulf, eating Jon's roasted vegetables, sharing stories of dogs, art, music, our latest I-pad apps. As the night wore on the air cooled down and each of us took to our computer, laptop or iPad to blog, check our email etc. Jon put on a cd of Willy Nelson and U2 and Maria and I listened as I sketched this scene. It is their dog Frieda looking out at the view off the porch. The sheep bleated from the fields, the cats worked out a disagreement, the frogs croaked their song. I talked with Maria about the strangeness of drawing with the iPad and not being able to feel the texture of paper beneath me and the sense of a pen or brush as I drew the shapes. These tools help me know I am here, that I have left my mark. She shared how she likes to use her sewing machine, because she has to work with it to achieve what she wanted, there is a song and dance, and it slows her down and lulls her as she figures out the rhythm. I like the feel of brush and paper, but I am enjoying learning the rhythms of my iPad, the freedom that comes with not having to be perfect as I learn the program, the creativity that comes about from the challenges. It is the same with the Writers' Project, this blog, even showing dogs, it all seems a little foreign at first but as you work through the challenges, something happens and soon you find yourself dancing.
Please forgive me if this pic doesn't post correctly. I can't figure out how to turn it around so it is landscaped view. Will repost tomorrow if it isn't right.

Two Lazy Dogs-More Experimentation with Brushes

Played around again tonight with my ipad and brushes trying to see what they could do. I still don't know the program well enough to get the fine detail I would like, but it is fun to see what it does. This sketch is of Alfie and Lumpi at the show today.

Good Day at the Show

See the full gallery on Posterous

We had a great day at the dog show. My friend Joan showed her pug Lumpi in Veterans and I showed Alfie in American Bred. Alfie received a blue ribbon in her class. It was hot and Alfie seemed very nervous, balking on standing on the stacking table. The judge was patient and Alfie rallied right around, which made me very proud of her. It was a big improvement from last year and another one of the handlers commented on it. An even greater compliment, however, was when a spectator asked me about the breed, saying she was interested in a pug. She chose to ask me because she remembered me and Alfie from the year before. She said she noticed how attentive Alfie seemed to me and how well adjusted and happy. This was awesome because here we were with all these show pugs so highly attuned to their handlers and yet this woman remembered Alfie and me because she seemed happy. I love that we gave off that impression and I think Alfie was happy. She seemed interested in the other dogs and in getting out and doing something with me. I tried to have her photo taken by the professional photographer at the show, but it was difficult. Instead of looking straight ahead to the camera, she kept trying to turn to look behind her at me.

I think we'll be doing another show in August.

Positive Thoughts

Tomorrow is show day for Alfie and I so no written posts for tonight. I did have fun though envisioning a win by sketching this drawing on my I pad tonight. It was only my first time using Brushes and I really don't know what I'm doing, but I figured out enough to complete this little sketch. Hoping it bodes well for tomorrow and we bring home a ribbon.

Shake it Off

I believe in horse racing, in order to equalize the chances of the competitors, horses are sometimes given a handicap -- lead weights carried in their saddle pads. I'm not sure if my family was trying to equalize anything, but growing up conversations with my father, grandmother, uncles etc. often contained a handicap -- extra emotional baggage attached to almost any subject. These weights remain today. I call them the stickies, and after years of growing up in such a charged environment I grew receptors like Velcro ready to lock onto such content. Nothing was simply what it was. A friend could not sell a farm or take a new job without me having to explain why he might do so, and me, always falling short of a good explanation. A move was not a move, a sale not a sale, extra emotions were applied to the situations like sadness or grief, and the emotions were seldom happy ones. The one friend should not sell his farm; that is sad. The other friend was working to leave his job. He should be thankful to have a job. It didn't matter if the friends were happier to be moving on in their lives. It didn't matter that I was simply trying to relay some information. I frequently assumed the shame and guilt of not being able to adequately explain their reasoning. And, so I learned to take on these emotions and they weighed heavily, a lifelong handicap.

I like that dogs do not wear such baggage. They shake things off. When I brought Alfie to the pool the other day and took her in the water, she swam to the steps, jumped out and shook herself dry. A few weeks ago she was balanced on the back of the sofa when she drifted to sleep and fell. I was scared she might have hurt herself and indeed she looked a little stunned, but she got up off the floor, stood and once again shook vigorously before trotting off.

We have all heard the expression "shake it off," but it is not always an easy thing to do. Some things just seem to stick to us. Dogs don't let things stick. They know how to shake things off and romp and do not let things weigh them down. They seem to walk lighter on the earth and when I am with them I feel lighter, too. The only thing that that sticks to me from my pug is her fur and that is a handicap that I can embrace.