Truffles
The gallery is up and running now so feel free to browse around. I will launch the first give-a-way on Monday in honor of the new site and Thanksgiving week. Thank you to all who are coming and looking around!
SONY DSC
Goofy
The Ties that Bind
The open window brings a rush of cool breeze and warm laughter into the parked car. A gaggle of kids play while screaming “shotgun” for the front seat of the gray SUV beside me. I think they may leave, but they stay, providing ambient company while I wait for my friends to arrive.
Our pugs bind us together. Even after nine years we know only a little about each other, casual details like where we work, family members’ names, an anecdote or two. We’ve picked up more snippets along the way and even shared some serious stuff such as money problems and health scares. But the thing we really know a lot about is each other’s dogs – their likes and dislikes, the food they eat, the funny places they hide their toys, even their bathroom habits. We store these details in our memories because when puppies leave Pugdom, my friend Joan’s house, and go to new homes, they go with invisible strings attached. The ties stay strong through Christmas cards and phone calls, friendly chatter over dinner, and roadside visits such as this one.
I study the family in the SUV next to me. Lean, leggy children of all ages pool in and out it like a clown car. Two men and one woman stand chatting outside. They are dark skinned and dark-haired, Italian maybe, and as huge as the children are spare. The kids periodically whine to “Dad” to handle a dispute, but I’m not sure if they are referring to the man with the mustache and beard or the beefier guy beside him. Doesn’t matter, just mindless entertainment for me until Charlie and Sue arrive.
I glance back down at my cell phone, 2:45 p.m. They called at 2:30 from Montpelier and it will be another 15 to 20 minutes before they meet me at the Mobil station just off the Bethel exit. I am pleased they agreed to take a detour on their trip home from their condo just to let me see Goofy, a.k.a. Trump, one of Joan’s latest litter of puppies that had gone to his new home with them almost a month ago. I hadn’t been able to make it to the reunion meeting between them and Joan and Goofy’s mom and remaining sibling earlier in the day because of a family luncheon, so I suggested the rendezvous at the gas station for a glimpse and photo op – gotta commemorate his growth for the annual scrapbook.
Fortunately, the Damitzes were quick to agree. “We won’t be back until May,” Sue reasoned, informing me of this again later when she arrives. Goofy’s not the only one of Joan’s clan belonging to the couple and all the rest will also be in the car. Jerry, the nine-year-old fawn female, whose sale led Charlie and Sue to meet Joan and me, and our becoming fast friends; Chunky, Jerry’s handsome son, who in my mind will be a perpetual puppy although he is getting on up there in years; and Truffles, Goofy’s aunt, my own Waffle’s sister, a big, beautiful, black female. Family reunion. That’s what these visits are for the pugs, and for us as well. It feels like we are family even if the actual day-to-day knowledge of each other’s lives is sparse.
The sun beams in the car, it’s glow matching the warmth of my thoughts – I am happy my friends wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see them. I think they are as proud as any new parents to show off Goofy and I am as eager as any aunt to see him.
The Damitzes are probably my parents’ age, maybe a little older, maybe a little younger – it’s hard to tell nowadays. They have grown children, Charlie, a veterinary practice. He also writes on the side, children’s books. Sue works in the medical field. One child on the North Shore of Oahu with triplets, another closer by. Do they have two kids or three? I never seem to remember, just like Sue seems surprised when I tell her later that I have three brothers. “Really? I always thought it was two,” she says.
She has little reason to know. We ask each other all the right questions: How’s your son? How’s the writing coming? How’s your health, and we truly listen, but certain details slip through the sieves of our memories and wash up again later like shells on a sandy beach. We more readily recite back details of Chunkey’s latest surgery, the funny thing Waffles did this morning, and how much more Jerry is sleeping. Dogs are not the same as children, but perhaps when you have no children or your children are all grown, they fill a gap and fill a life – the trivia of their existence becoming the soft, warm, stuffing that pads your own.
I glance down at my cellphone again, now oblivious to the noise of the neighboring children, and look back up just in time to see Charlie and Sue pull in. They are driving a small silver car and even from a distance I can see that the back seat is down to accommodate the pugs. I grab my camera and hop out – because as eager as we are to see each other, we all know that what this is really about is snapping some pictures of Goofy.
Before Charlie can roll down the window I am peering in the rear, where Truffles large, black head and equally black eyes stare back at me, unblinking. She is hard to read, quieter than Waffles, less a lovebug than Griffles. The Damitzes claim she is playful, but whenever she sees me lately, she strikes a sedate and subdued pose. I look in the front where I see Charlie futzing with the window and Goofy in his lap. It has only been a few short weeks, but he is significantly bigger, no longer a cute, cuddly puppy, but a teenager, lanky and long and hinting at the promise of the man he will become.
Something in his face has always spoken of sophistication. Even as a baby he had the soulful eyes of an old man and the distinguished wrinkles of a gentleman. But his ears are askew, his expression comical, his body not yet proportional. To be fair to the Damitzes, who changed his name, there is something decidedly goofy about his demeanor. He is quick to conjure a smile and a laugh.
As I try to size him up the squealing begins and in a flash a pink arm reaches toward the window. “Ooohh, a pug,” a child’s voice murmurs.
“Look at the puppies,” comes a series of cries from the SUV. Charlie rolls the window down and the chubby child’s arm reaches in, begging to touch. “May I pet the puppy?” she asks. Charlie holds Goofy up, and soon the mother approaches, checking in to see what her daughter is doing. “Mom, a puppy,” the girl says.
“Aww, the mother says. “I used to raise pugs,” she says.
Pug people get used to these interruptions and coincidences. Pug puppies, probably all puppies, elicit squeaks and squeals and once you’re focused on it there always seems to be less than six degrees of separation between any random person you talk to and a pug or pug owner they’ve known.
“You did?” I ask. “Are you from around here?” The mother takes her head out of the car and looks at me, her eyes as dark as Truffles. “No, from Burlington,” she says. The little girl pets and squeals some more before her mother pulls her away and the family fades from the scene, revealing a bright flash of sunlight like a white highway through the window of the car.
The sun turns Charlie and Sue into glaring white figurines, but I make out Chunky in the shadows at Charlie’s feet. Jerry sits tucked beneath Sue on the passenger’s side.
“You gotta let me hold him,” I say about Goofy, while simultaneously cooing at Chunky. Charlie and Sue both move to get out of the car. Now, I can see them fully. Charlie, tall and blonde with the rugged and weathered skin and coloring of an aged Robert Redford and Sue, elfin and petite with pixie hair and warm, expressive eyes. Charlie wears a neon running jacket and he leans against my car as he plops Goofy into my arms.
“Hi, baby,” I say, holding him up so I can see him better. I’m not sure if he remembers me, but he stretches his neck to slather me with puppy kisses.
“You’re so big,” I gush. “How are you?” I say to the humans, not taking my eyes off Goofy.
“We’re fine, you?” Sue says, as she cranes her neck to look in my vehicle. “Did you bring Waffles?”
I tell her no and witness a brief shadow of disappointment slide over her face. “I’m so glad you were willing to stop,” I say.
“We had to, we won’t be back until May,” she says.
That’s how these things often go. Long stretches between visits allowing important life events to tick away and pugs and puppies to age and grow. Charlie and Sue will travel to Hawaii for the holidays and rent out their condo in Sugarbush through the spring. “We’ll have to come down to Massachusetts and visit you,” I say, noting to myself that I’ll have to propose the idea to Joan. “Joan will think it’s far away, unless I can find a more interesting route than the highway,” I say. “She prefers road trips with interesting detours.”
These are the things I can say to the Damitzes because they know Joan, too and all her idiosyncrasies. Each of us has been through the mill trying to get a pug from her, even though we know her, even though we’ve owned one from her before and even though we’re among a handful of her best friends. When it comes to relinquishing one of her cherished pugs, she’s tough. We tease her about this and appease her when necessary, but we orbit her world because we are pug people and she is one of its grand dames.
“What did Joan think of him?” I ask. “Did she call him Goofy?”
“She still calls him Trump,” Sue offers.
I laugh. “She probably always will.”
We segue into chatter. I ask Charlie about his writing, he in turn asks me about mine. We launch into details about our respective projects and share funny anecdotes about the pugs. The conversation turns to the holidays, where their pugs will stay during the Damitzes’ vacation, and updates on Charlie’s veterinary practice. We periodically stop to stare and smile at Goofy before starting up again. We reminisce about the first time we met and mention the dogs we owned then with the fondness that one recalls a deceased grandparent – sweet, loyal Buffy, handsome, furry Ben, Vader, my little gentleman. We touch each bead on our string of memories as the sun sets low in the sky.
Some things aren’t mentioned this go-around -- my presence at their puppies’ births, their support when Vader died, our bonding treks around the Beaver Pond, quick, stolen reunions such as this one– yet, these things serve as the glue between us.
The sun dims as our conversation fades. Charlie stifles a yawn and suggests to Sue that they grab a cup of coffee for the road. He looks tired and I know I shouldn’t keep them long. I give Goofy one last hug and a peck on the nose before setting him back in the car then frown as I realize it really will be months before I see them again. I reach out to embrace Sue and then Charlie. “I’ll send you a Christmas letter,” I offer as small consolation and I know they’ll email me photos of Goofy. They’ll likely call Joan and I’ll hear secondhand updates.
I wave goodbye as I pull out into the remaining sun. When I see them again I will ask them about their work and their children. They will ask me about my writing and my health. We will goggle over Goofy and Truffles, Waffles and Alfie. Some friends know all the particulars of each other’s day-to-day lives, but they never navigate each other’s hearts. We, on the other hand, know that landscape well. For each of us, it is pug-shaped.
New Blog and Web Site
Hi everyone, I was expecting to launch the new web site and blog design with some fanfare, but as so often happens in life "the best laid plans...often go awry." I just received a call from the wonderful folks at Mannix Marketing, who design my site that because of the Thanksgiving holiday next week and the fact that the web site designer would be on vacation, they decided to go ahead this week and launch the site live. An unexpected surprise, with some minor drawbacks. I didn't get to inform you and there are a still kinks to work out on my end when it comes to fixing the gallery pricing etc. So hold off on buying anything for the moment, but please look around and explore the site and feel free to leave some comments and let me know what you think. In the next day or two as my mind and schedule catch up with the excitement of the new launch, expect some exciting give-a-ways. I'll also let you know when the gallery is officially working. I hope you all appreciate the site as much as I do. It's been a long time coming, but thanks to some great advice and support from friends and family and the tremendous work of Mannix Marketing it's finally here and even more quickly than I anticipated! Something definitely to be thankful for this holiday season.
On Seeing Temple Grandin...
I collect experiences the way other people collect shoes, which is why when a writer like Julie Klam, a dog trainer like Cesar Milan, an advocate like Temple Grandin or other notable individuals who fall into my realm of interests come to Vermont, I try to be there. And, just as people buy shoes for all occasions, my interests are varied, falling primarily into the area of animals, writing/memoir, psychology and religion. Yet, to extend the metaphor further, while sometimes people come away from a store with the perfect pair of shoes knowing just what they are going to wear them with, often I come away from my experiences a bit clueless -- pleased by the acquisition, but more likely to store the memory in a back closet until I find an occasion to which it applies.
I guess what I'm trying to say is it takes me awhile to process my experiences and the things I take away from them may be a little on the quirky side like matching combat boots with a party dress -- I process things through my own lens.
For example, I have known of Temple Grandin for years, having always been keenly interested in the human mind and how it works and even more intrigued as a dog writer on the workings of the animal mind. Grandin, an autistic and an advocate for the humane treatment of animals, addresses both. Thus, when I heard she was going to be at the T-Rex theater today, I was excited to go. Perhaps it would be something to blog about, but more honestly, she simply sparked my interest much in the way a moth is drawn to a flame or Imelda Marcus to a Jimmy Choo sale.
Grandin primarily spoke about autism and how to channel children on this spectrum in ways that allow them to reach their fullest potential. It was fascinating and Grandin, in her trademark western shirt and necktie, did not disappoint. I jotted down notes, but my overall impression could seem tremendously simplified. I'm sure there were people with more compelling reasons for being there than me, who were dealing with a child or family member with autism and to those I think Grandin gave some good advice. From my perspective, I came away with some impressions and thoughts that I could generalize to my own life, like seeing a window display and trying to figure out what parts of it I could recreate or apply to my wardrobe at home.
I came away with this -- Grandin emphasized that too often we as a society focus on the negative, what a person with autism can't do instead of focusing on the positive, what a kid is capable of doing. She emphasized that we should foster their passions and make use of teachable moments. She said that by acclimating autistic children to new experiences we fill their brains, creating more and more categories and as a result more flexible thinking. I came away thinking how this approach not only applies to autistic children, but to all children and even to my pugs. Grandin may not have spoken about the mind of dogs on this occasion, but so much of what she said I could take to heart in working with and understanding my dogs. We often read training books that recommend giving our pets a job and finding ways to let them do what they were bred to do. We know that we should seize opportunities as they arise to train them. She said rather than yelling "no," we should illustrate the way we want things to be done-- how often have we heard this said about the training of our animals? And, in turn, doesn't this apply to interacting with my nieces and nephews as well?
I find more often than not that when we find something to be true in one area it frequently applies in more universal ways. I came away believing that Grandin's advice is just plain good parenting and training: Encourage others to do what they are good at, emphasize the positive, find teachable moments, just do it!
She may have been talking about autism, but I'm going to apply this to Waffles and Alfie as well, because as the saying goes if the shoe fits wear it!
Greeting Card Advice
I've been trying to put together a holiday box set of greeting cards -- Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and Valentine's Day.
I have great shots already for Halloween and Christmas, so today I thought I'd try shooting some options for Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day. Alfie was uncooperative, but Waffles was willing to help. Unfortunately, she became enraptured with a stuffed turkey I was using as a prop and suddenly it was difficult to get a photo of her that did not include her devouring the toy. I did get a couple and these are two of the best. Problem is I can't decide which I like better for the box set. Wondering if any of you had any opinions. Do you have a favorite?
Writing Prompt: Serendipity
When my brother and I were little, my mother used to read my brother a book called Serendipity. I think it was about a dragon of that name. In any case, it was the first time I ever heard that word, and I loved it for its richness. As I have grown older I have also appreciated experiencing serendipity when I have encountered it.
Yesterday, I was on my way home from the meeting of our writers' group and I decided to stop in Manchester at the Northshire Bookstore. Walking in the door I saw a display for a new memoir called Friendkeeping. Since I teach memoir, I pay attention to such things so I stopped to check out the display. The book was by Julie Klam and she was arriving in a few hours to give a reading. Julie Klam...the name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. I started browsing around the bookstore and then it came to me. Julie Klam was the author of two memoirs about dogs, You Had Me at Woof: How Dogs Taught Me the Secrets of Happiness and Love at First Bark: How Saving a Dog Can Sometimes Help You Save Yourself.
I had never read either book, but I had a copy of the first sitting on my bookshelf. I love dog books and buy practically anything that comes out, its one of the things that led me to meet author Jon Katz, who leads the Hubbard Hall Writers' Group, but unfortunately, I don't have a lot of spare time, so too many books sit on my shelves yet to be read. Still, it certainly seemed serendipitous that after attending a writers' group meeting where I discussed my writing on my pugs, led by an author and memoirist who writes about his life with dogs, that I should stumble upon a book reading by another author and memoirist on dogs. Add to that the fact that Klam was writing this time on friendship and I had just finished sharing with my group that my pugs had led me into a new world of friends and this seemed all the more fortuitous I decided to stay the extra few hours and catch her talk.I'm glad I did. Klam was funny and kind. She took time while signing my books to check out the latest pictures of my pugs in costume and we spent some time chatting about how my pugs love o dress up while one of her Boston Terrier mixes decidedly does not. It turn out that Klam even has a Katz connection -- he blurbed one of her dog books when it first came out.
I walked away feeling happy that I had stumbled upon such a nice evening and shared a little dog talk. How serendipitous!
Writing Prompt: When have you had a serendipitous experience in your life? Write about it.
Cowpath
The Hubbard Hall Writers' Group met today in Sandgate, Vt. at the home of one of the other writers, Rachel. That meant a two-hour trip for me down past Rutland, Manchester, and Arlington to Sandgate. I had never heard of Sandgate. Needless to say, I got lost.
When I finally arrived at the meeting late and breathless, our mentor made some comment that concluded with me not liking to travel and not thinking I readily agreed. I lied. I love to travel. Most of my time, in fact, is spent in the car either traveling on writing assignments, headed to events such as pug socials, friend's houses, or on leisurely drives with my friend, Joan.
When I was younger I would have said I didn't like driving -- I was 17 before I got my license -- but even that has changed. I enjoy my time in the car, listening to the music, audiobooks, composing stories in my head. I love the change of scenery and I love the possibility of what might be around the next corner. I love stopping to take pictures.
I don't like driving in cities, places I don't know or in bad weather. Today, the sun was shining and I was definitely not in a city, but I was in a place I didn't know and while my GPS typically gives me a measure of confidence, today I found myself not just lost, but very lost! It didn't look so bad at the beginning. I knew that Rachel lived out in the country, so I wasn't concerned when "Mother" (my nickname for my GPS, because she tells me what to do) led me down a dirt road and I still wasn't fazed when the road narrowed. I even happily proceeded to climb the steepening hill. What did deter me was the sudden lack of a road -- suddenly I found myself on a cowpath, no road, just a thin line of dirt amidst a mountain field. At the top of the narrow path, which disappeared into nowhere were two hunters decked in camouflage and rifles. Not at all inviting!
I managed to call Rachel and get new directions to her house and arrived there unharmed if flustered, not a fascinating tale, but an important one. Any good story needs a setting and it is important in understanding mine to know just how much of my time takes place in my car. I do not have a house of my own, but I own my car and I find myself frequently in it, often with the pugs strapped into their car seats in the rear. On most days Mother guides us well to dog parks and photo ops, and we are seldom lost except in the realm of possibility. And, of course, every once in awhile a cowpath is the road that takes us there.
Devils and Witches
Full, busy weekend ahead. The Hubbard Hall Writers' Group meets tomorrow to discuss our book project and I am working hard at putting the finishing touches on my new web site. Presently, preparing some give-a-way items and working on getting the shopping cart set up. We're almost there. But, because I know I won't have time to blog much over the next couple of days I thought I'd leave you with some pug pictures. I took these for Halloween and am just getting around to editing them. Hope you enjoy them as much as I do!
Wendy and the Lost Boys
Wherever I go, my dogs are right beside me. They follow me throughout the house, my constant shadows. Mostly it is comforting, sometimes it is suffocating.
"You're their Wendy," my Mom said to me today.
"What?" I asked.
"You know, their Wendy, like in Peter Pan," she offered. "They're the little lost pugs without you! They're in search of a mother."
I laughed, but there was some truth to what Mom was saying. Alfie never had much parenting. Her pug mama accidentally squished one of Alfie's siblings and so was only allowed in with her puppies when they were nursing. Waffles lived an independent life running rampant with the other pugs at my friend Joan's. Both pugs are as impish and as mischievous as the Lost Boys. When I'm not home, they wait for me by the window, when they're not fighting over bones, knocking over trashcans, banging into each other. They seem to be in need of mothering, someone to teach them some order and discipline. Someone to give them some nurturing.
Sometimes I'm at a loss as to what my role should be with these two. I'm in search of a metaphor, a way to connect and interact with these two alien creatures in our makeshift pack. Maybe being a Wendy to some lost pugs is a place to start.
Buddy and Bear
On one of my first trips over to Glens Falls to visit with Mannix I stopped at Sutherland's Petworks. The store looked long, large and inviting with a large sign announcing its identity as a pet store. I thought it might be nice to pick up some snacks to take home to the pugs. Inside, I discovered instead a charming, three-legged bulldog named Buddy, who served as the official customer greeter. I talked to one of the clerks in the store or perhaps she was the owner, about Buddy's origins as a stray and watched him move through the aisles and stare out the window, watching and greeting folk.
Today on my way home I decided I should stop in and revisit Buddy and see how he was doing. I opened the door to the store and let out a loud sigh of disappointment that Buddy wasn't there to greet me. I told the woman behind the counter that I was looking for the dog and she told me that there was one roaming around and another back in the office. I vaguely remember that the woman the last time had told me there was more than one official mascot.
I stared down the aisle and there was a cute Corgi (Pembroke? Cardigan? I'm not sure which, perhaps one of you readers know the distinction?). "His name is Bear," the clerk said.
I proceeded to chase Bear around the store snapping away when the woman told me that Buddy was there as well. He loped out of the office on his three legs followed by the woman whom I had met on my previous visit. "I tried to find your blog," she announced.
I remembered that I had told her about my blog on my last visit and had promised to put a photo of Buddy up as I had. "Pugs and Pics," I told her as I set about snapping photos of Buddy.
Buddy had bought me his red ball, which was complemented by the red of his eyes. I had difficulty getting a good shot because he kept getting so close. Bear seemed jealous and stood on the outskirts trying to attract attention, but didn't seem to like his own picture taken. That didn't deter me. I got down on the floor and tried to shoot them both while rolling the ball and scratching Buddy's itchy spot.
I never actually got around to buying any treats for the pugs on this occasion either, but Petworks looks like a great place to shop. If nothing else, it is a wonderful place to visit for a dog fix. My father who was traveling with me today told the store clerk, he hoped I didn't know any other dog friendly establishments en route because we may not make it home. Everyone laughed, but deep down I knew he was right.
