Blogpaws 2013

Once Clare and I really did find our way to the elevator -- and remarkably it was there all along -- I had the serendipitous experience of meeting one of my oldest and most avid blog followers from back when I was putting my first nascent posts on Posterous -- Vinny the Pug or at least his voice, owner Allen Kimble. Unfortunately, poor Vinny passed away. But there was Allen in the elevator and as soon as I saw his name tag, I squealed, "Allen" and we ended up Giving each other a warm hug. It was nice to see a friendly face even if it was one I had never actually seen before.

"Do you two know each other?" My friend Clare asked and it was hard to explain. In this digital age what qualifies as knowing each other? I have worked for one publication since its origins and have only seen the editor once. Come to think of it that's the case for most of the publications for which I write. Tonight, people throughout the conference venue were exclaiming over celebrity pets they knew only through the web. I know that Vinny or Allen's comments on my blog had inspired a number of blog posts, that they were quiet inspiration in the early days to keep writing because at least someone out there was not only listening, but seemed to like what he heard, and that in turn, mourned Vinny's death. Certainly, Allen was a friend. We ended up talking later during the reception as he shared some of what he will be speaking on this Saturday, a marketing plan to sell Vinny the Pug merchandise and to make money to end the killing of healthy pets in the process.

After Allen and I bid each other goodnight to go network with others, I got to watch a demonstration of Sony's new action cam, which one can buy with a harness for your dog, allowing you to see the world from your dog's eye view. I practically placed an order on the spot--Alfie and Waffles need one one of those don't you think. The action cam is only the tip of the iceberg. I also got to see a dog GPS that not only allows you to track Fido should he get lost but also keep track of his daily exercise. I'm pretty sure I can monitor Alfie's exercise or ack thereof without it, but the GPS might be cool for my friend Joan's pugs who often like to wander away. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if it would work in her region of Vermont. the is supposed to be a coverage map online which I will have to check out. I have only spent a few hours at the conference and already have two huge bags of swag. I hear UPS will be on hand to ship things home. I've taken lots of pics but won't be able to post more until I get home.

Meanwhile, on the homefront, I understand that Waffles has taken the opportunity of my absence to sneak upstairs to the third floor bathroom, the one that isn't being renovated to explore the trash for sanitary napkins, wipees or baby diapers. She scored at least one of these! So I guess in our own way, we are each having fun -- now that I think about it, I guess the trash can probably seems like a giant swag bag to Waffles.

Off on an Adventure

I’m off on an adventure. This winter I was googling pet blogs when I stumbled upon an event called Blogpaws, a conference for pet bloggers. For someone who had launched her new blog only a couple of months before, it sounded like the perfect opportunity to learn more about blogging in general, connect and network with other pet bloggers, and participate in yet another dog-centric activity, one of my favorite things to do. To top it all off the event was in D.C. and I have an old college friend from Middlebury there, who I’ve wanted to visit for a while. I purchased my tickets on the spot.

Now the event is upon me and I leave tomorrow for my first ever Blogpaws. I understand that lots of other bloggers bring their dogs and cats  -- there is even a cat lounge – but unfortunately Waffles and Alfie have to stay at home. I couldn’t even  imagine bringing the puggies on an airplane. I don’t think they’ll be very happy with me gone. With all the doctors appointments and renovations going on at home as late, the poor pugs have had to tolerate a lot of crate time and have already expressed their desire for some R & R. I have promised them plenty of trips to the dog park this summer.

In the meantime, I am off on my adventure. I have decided to leave the computer at home, having already packed my suitcase and carry on to the max and with my tennis elbow acting up I don’t need any extra baggage! I will have my i-pad and will try to blog as much as possible, but from the schedule it looks like my days will be pretty well packed. I did download the new Wordpress App to make blogging from my tablet easier. I’m excited and a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what to pack – I understand some people are wearing jeans and teeshirts, but the videos I’ve seen show a lot of business wear. I tried to aim for something in between.  I’ve packed my new Pug & Pic business cards, which feature my blog banner on the back and some added surprises on the front. It seems to be the season for business cards. My friend, John Greenwood of Raining Iguanas, just wrote a blog post about receiving his new business cards the other day. Both John and I will be sharing readings from our blogs at the Creative Sparks reading at Hubbard Hall in Cambridge, NY on May 31^st. But that’s a little down the road. I have to take my adventures one at a time.

Stay tuned for posts from Blogpaws…

Common Thread Give-a-Way

Time for the Great Common Thread Give-a-Way and this time it's me giving away a product! This month, fresh off the presses, are note cards based on my collages. I'm calling them Collages: Girls and Dogs note card set. It is a boxed set featuring eight note cards and envelopes. There are four different designs with two cards of each design. The cards are blank but there is story about each collage on the back of the card.

To qualify to win this boxed set just leave a comment on my blog www.pugsandpics.com. And, don't forget to visit the blogs of the other participating artists. Check out Jon Katz's photography and wonderful writing at www.bedlamfarm.com. Jane McMillan at Little House Home Arts always has some terrific pincushions available on her site, which I know would make an excellent Mother's Day present. Maria Wulf has introduced a new product over at Full Moon Fiber Art -- beautiful scarves made from vintage hankies and Nancy has some terrific jewelry showcased at Spinning Glass Studio.com.

Winner of the Give-a-Way will be announced on Thursday. And, please check out my other artwork in my gallery. Full size prints are available of the four collages printed on my note cards.

Writing Prompt: Waffles' Example

Sometimes I sit and study my petite pug Waffles. She is a portrait of perseverance and determination. The aspects of her personality I find annoying – tipping over trashcans, jumping gates – she considers an occupation. She is steadfast in her goals and she never detours. I watch her when I awake in the morning and her pattern is always the same. She watches me, waiting for me to drop my vigilant gaze, so she can jump the baby gate that blocks her way upstairs and then she is at it – thump, thump, thump, thump. The upstairs garbage pails go down one after another like a string of dominoes. She methodically checks them for secret delights – purposely sorting toilet tissue to the left, dental floss to the right, the choice and most stinky items directly in the mouth. She does the same for each trashcan and then starts on the laundry basket, discarding socks and tees for panties. These she pulls all the way out and drags to her nesting place. She dedicates herself to the cause, neither veering right or left, freezing if she thinks I see her, going into stealth mode.

When I go to retrieve something from the spare closet located in my nephew Christian’s room, she follows, jumping up on the small desk chair and from there onto the futon in hopes of nabbing another cherished prize – a stuffed dog I had given Christian for Valentine’s Day. She knows this is not her toy, but his, and thus, it has become a thing of value. While I browse the closet, she grabs the dog in her mouth and drops it near the edge of the futon. From there, she nudges it with her nose onto the chair, and this is where she always gets caught. I turn to find her pondering the situation. She cannot figure out how to get both she and her treasure off the chair and as she stops to consider the situation, her wrinkled brow even more deeply furrowed than usual, I foil the whole scheme, grabbing her and the dog and placing it back on the futon. We repeat this again and again, every time I enter Christian’s room.

It is easy to get frustrated with Waffles. Many times throughout the day you hear one of us in the household yelling “No,” or her name sounding as a sort of warning or threat, but the more I observe her the more I realize that there is something going on here. When Waffles lived at my friend Joan’s house, she learned many skills to survive. Joan’s house, filled to the max with other dogs, becomes a jungle of sorts. It’s survival of the fitness of sorts, each pug for itself. Dog toys are few to prevent the pugs from fighting over them, and so they find their own amusements – an empty dog food can, a toilet paper roll, or a pair of discarded underwear.

Landing a place on Joan’s comfy bed becomes a coveted goal, but since Joan would be endlessly occupied if she stopped to help each one up, the pugs are left to find their own way there. They do so by jumping from the floor to a cubby by the bed and then making an almost impossible second leap from inside the cubby to the bed itself. I visited the other day and watched Waffles’ mother, sister, and grandmother each do this maneuver and realized that in her two years living at Joan’s, she too, must have done this hundreds if not thousands of times, often with a pair of Joan’s panties in her mouth. This was her life and whether I consider it nature or nurture, instinct or learned behavior, the antics she undertakes now are ingrained in her. She seems to consider them her vocation in much the same way I do my writing. It is what she wakes up for each day.

Perhaps Waffles has little choice in her fate, compelled by powerful drives to engage in these behaviors, but I admire her anyway. So often I let outside voices deter me from my goal or I see a project as too big and give up. I can yell at Waffles, put up a gate, steal her away from her finds and moments later she is right back at it. She does not give up. She is tiny and the odds are so often stacked against her. She never waivers. I watch and I learn and I wonder what drives us. Why do we move forward and why do we give up and how can such a small, black creature be so fearless when I so often am not? I think of Waffles and her sister, their mother and grandmother making that blind leap from cubby to bed and I try in my mind to do the same. It may not be model behavior, but in the end, it seems behavior to model.

Writing Prompt: What behavior do you model?

Growing

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Metaphors seem lacking. I have heard people express pride in their gardens having tilled the soil and nurtured the plants from tiny seeds and sprouts. I have heard parents squeal in glee at children who have learned to count, say Mama or Dada or recite their ABCs. Puppies aren’t vegetables or kids, but I feel an almost inexpressible pride when I encounter one of the puppies we have raised from birth, carefully choosing new families to love and care for them.

This weekend I got to reconnect with two such puppies – one that we had sent on to a new home and one my friend Joan chose to keep. The two were brothers and both had grown into handsome boys. Trump, now known as Goofy, had always been a peculiar little boy. He was the loner in his litter, always off in a corner cocking his head and watching the world go by. He had a wrinkled, furrowed brow and a white splotch on his chest. His new owners, the Damitzes, said they took one look at the little puppy they had brought home sitting on the living room floor, his big ears flapping in strange directions and they knew his name was Goofy. He has grown into his ears and into himself. He strikes me as gentle, quizzical, but still a playful goof. He perfectly rounds out the Damitzes group of four and when they thank me for hand picking him for them, a part of me beams. In some small way, I was responsible for this little one’s fate and I did right by him and my friends.

My pride in Gryffindor is of a very different sort. Joan has been raising pugs since the sixties, but as any breeder knows even the best of them have a challenging time foreseeing how the puppies will look as adults and which ones are most show worthy. For many years Joan would consult with her friend Tom, bringing the puppies to his house and a allow him to feel them over, watch them play, and pass judgment on which to keep. After many years of knowing Joan and watching puppies born, I realized I’ve developed an eye for seeing into the future and now offer my own advice on which puppies might be best in the ring. With Gryffindor I think I got it right. He’s a big, beautiful boy with his daddy’s lovely face and a sweet, joyful temperament. He already seems to assume the show pug’s stance, “stacking” himself. He is larger than his brother, more cobby and square. He has a special twinkle that makes you smile just registering his exuberance. I’m glad he is close and I will have the opportunity to carefully watch him grow.

We are stewards of these puppies as a parent is of her children or a gardener of his garden. We till and toil and carve out a place for them. We hope it is enough. We bear witness to their growth. They provide testament to our good intentions. There is something spiritual that passes between us – the puppy and the ones who brought them into the world; there is a covenant. They will provide joy and companionship if we provide proper care and nurturing. It is not a duty to be taken lightly; there is something sacred in seeing it through. To me a life among pugs is not something frivolous or funny. It is a responsibility, a commitment to another living, albeit very different, kind of creature. In caring for them, it is me that grows.

Growing Up

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Dinner Party

We sit in the fading light of a glorious spring day. Glowing yellow sunlight bounces off the warm beige walls of the condo. Sue lights the candles on the coffee table then reaches above the fireplace to snap on the Christmas lights that she and her husband Charlie have yet to take down. The colorful bokeh casts a twinkling halo around her blonde, pixie-like head.

“Red or white?” Charlie asks our friend Yvonne as she grabs a seat on the sofa, her flowing blouse settling in around her. She has worked all day at her gift store and is happy to relax among friends.

“Red,” she answers and Charlie bends his tall frame to reach down and pour some wine in her glass.

Joan and Jane steam through the door, a whirlwind of coats, voices, boots and dogs. Joan looks better than she did a half-hour earlier. I left her at her house in pawprint-stained sweats, her graying hair in disarray. She has showered, pinned her hair back and stained her lips with a cheerful smear of peach lipstick. She takes her chair like a queen holding court, suddenly calm and poised. Staring at her square shaped face, which bears more than a passing resemblance to Joanne Woodward, it is easy to envision her in one of her past lives as a model, a role she held in New York City in her younger years. Jane hovers, slightly hunched, in back of her, peering at us from behind coke-bottle glasses. In her flowered dress and brown bobbed haircut she looks strangely childlike.

Both eschew the wine in favor of water and with the niceties complete, Charlie takes his place on the other sofa, closing our circle. Then as if drawn like magnets to fill in the holes, we are barraged by pugs – a small fawn and black army of compact, but solid bodies that feel like heavy sacks of flour landing on our laps. We move and adjust our bodies to make room for them. A very pregnant Truffles hoists her seal-like form to the top of the sofa, resting her head near her owner, Charlie. Chunky, the furry senior, curls up in the unclaimed loveseat. Lily, Josie and Miska circle their mama, Yvonne. Jerry, the grand old dame, hides in the corner. Lorelei, whose legs are starting to wane, shuffles over to Yvonne, placing her head squarely in her lap, begging for attention. The youngster, lanky, black Goofy, bows to whoever will humor him, hoping for play. He is one of the puppies from Joan’s last litter and we have gathered for a reunion to see him again. Joan has brought his mother Griffles, grandmother Releve, and handsome brother, Gryffindor, who also scamper and scurry around the floor. Sweet Pea, another old girl, sits erect on Joan’s lap, as regal as her mistress. The pugs are so plentiful I have lost track of their number. Jane has left Shim and his dogcart in the car.

I survey the room and grin at the lot of us. Charlie, Sue, Yvonne and I sip wine from fine goblets and nibble on the spread of cheese Sue has placed before us, while the pugs chew on the wine corks, try to sneak a bite from the table and occasionally piddle on the floor. We chat about the Boston Marathon bombing, Charlie and Sue’s grandchildren, condo fees, and pug ailments while attempting to keep the dogs corralled and the carpets clean.

“Do you think we need a couple of more dogs?” I joke. Everyone smiles. We would not know each other if it were not for the pugs in this room. I’m not sure how we would have met otherwise. We encompass different generations, have varied backgrounds and live in different states and towns. But we are now going on a decade or more of gatherings such as this one. We have become a comfortable pack.

We talk about when the puppies are due and plan our next visit. We laugh as the visiting pugs catch a glimpse of the resident pugs on the other side of the sliding glass doors and go berserk, charging the glass in an attempt to reach them. “You gotta go around,” Sue explains. “They just bark louder as we erupt in laughter.”

The room fills with it.

I have heard the belief that we live in an ever-increasing age of isolation, turning to our pets to fill the void vacated by humans. There may be times when this is true, but I feel none of that here. I see friendly faces both canine and human. Charlie and Truffles rest eyes half-closed, mirror images of satisfaction. Joan, Jane and Sue giggle as Yvonne shares with them dog videos on Charlie’s i-Pad. I bask in the friendship. It’s true as a single woman I know my share of longing and have some voids to fill, but I have no need of substitutions. I am part of a tribe and its members have both two legs and four.

This may not be a dinner party for everyone, but it suits us just fine. Like a dog chawing on a bone, we find ourselves perfectly at peace.

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Reunion

Lots to write about, but not tonight. Tomorrow is another meeting of the Hubbard Hall Writers, so I have to be up and at 'em to make the drive to Cambridge. Will post tomorrow. In the meantime, leaving you a pic of a pug reunion. Met with my friends Joan and Jane today and our friends the Damitzes who adopted one of last year's puppies, Trump, and another friend Yvonne, who owns The Collection in Waitsfield, Vt. and three pugs, Josie, Lily and Miska. It was a pug reunion! Joan brought Trump's mother, grandmother and brother; Jane, her pugs Lorelei and Shim; Yvonne, all three of hers; and the Damitzes, their four --Trump, a.k.a. Goofy, Chunky, Truffles (my pug Waffles' sister), and Jerry. Unfortunately, my two were at home.

As Time Passes

The days will pass, time will move on and we will think we remember, but we won’t.  Details drift away like tufts of dandelion in the wind. I will forget this first embrace of spring; the sun’s warm breath on my face. Although pictures may remind me, I will forget the Cindy Lou Who hair and the exact shade of blue of my niece Ellie’s smocked dress. I will feel the ghost of the moment when she peaked around the leg’s of her father’s chair at the Wayside Restaurant and waved at me with the widest gleaming smile and even wider brown eyes. I will remember what a beautiful baby she was, but these tiny moments when I sat cross-legged with her on the restaurant’s floor and pretended to drive to the circus will fade. While I may remember that Waffles’ once learned to escape the fence, I will forget the crystal clear trill of the bird in the tree as I walked the perimeter to see where my father had blocked Waffles’ egress. As age claims them, I will forget how easily Waffles and Alfie once moved, their respective haughty and lulling gaits, eventually giving way to stiffer and more jaunty walks.

As the days pass and time moves on, I will forget how shiny, bright and young we each were – my parents healthy and proud of their granddaughter, my brother’s family still so nascent and blossoming, me, filled with hope and expectation for the life that’s around the corner. We take with us the quick sketch, the outline, allowing the Kodachrome colors to fade. We forget unless we take the time to remember. But now, because I captured it here, perhaps I will preserve some of this sunshine to warm my heart. I will toddle into time’s stream like my niece on her newfound legs and leave these tiny breadcrumbs of memories to trace back to this day.

A Quiet Day

A hush fell over the house today. I found myself alone with the pugs and my work. It was a day of rest and recovery in many ways even though I spent the afternoon transcribing tapes of notes for an article I’m writing for Vermont Property Owners Report and conducting phone interview. I also managed to correct some students’ papers for a workshop next week, but overall the house was quiet; the tapping of my computer keys punctuated by the steady snores of the pugs. We even managed to work in a nap – Alfie’s furry fawn body tucked in the curve of my legs, Waffles teeny black form perched on my hip. I smile at this. It is Waffles’ signature stance. She is the first pug I have owned that I did not get as a puppy and thus, she brings to my life fully formed habits. Yet, because I was there since her birth, visiting her breeder Joan’s house so often, I am familiar with so many of them. She has slept on my hip since birth – every time I visited her house and climbed up on Joan’s bed to play with her. Waffles, her mother Releve and grandmother TarBaby held court on Joan’s bed – three black diva’s reigning over their kingdom.  Now, Alfie and Waffles stand guard like two sentinels on my bed, watching over me as I sleep.

It is not a day of big moments, but little ones. We snacked on a bagel and cream cheese, the pugs licking the remnants off my fingers. I watched from the back door as they silently wandered the back yard. I played with my graphite and watercolor pencils sketching a drawing of my niece who had donned a Dr. Seuss wig the night before It is not the type of day of which epic stories are told, but it was the type of day from which a life is made – a small, but precious bead on a chain of memories.

Pugs Outside

Palette of Possibility

One of the best things about starting this blog has been the opportunity it has afforded me to play. Perhaps I should clarify. It’s allowing me to work at what I love, but in doing so, this work seems a lot more like play than it ever has before.

I’m one of those people who always have to be doing something and I always feel the need to be moving forward, working toward reaching the next goal. Sometimes because things haven’t turned out exactly as I hoped in my life, I feel like I’m racing against a clock with no time to waste. This has often meant forgoing things that I plain find fun like trying out some new art technique. Suddenly I have a forum for these projects and thus, my work has become play.

When I was in high school I was torn between becoming an art major and a writing major. I applied to Rhode Island School of Design and was accepted, but ended up choosing Middlebury College instead. I started as an art major there, but suddenly art stopped being fun. It was all about being critiqued. Throughout the years I have drawn, mostly pastel and pen-and-ink, for Christmas presents and specific projects, but now I find myself creating art to accompany the stories on this blog, trying new techniques and looking forward to what I can experiment with next.

Today, I added color to my picture of Joan and the pug puppy. I used watercolor pencils and a little bit of pen and ink and pastel. I like the result. I learned that they make tinted water-soluble graphite so I’m going to see if I can find some for future projects.

It feels like a palette of possibility has been laid out before me and I am happy to take up the brush of creativity and paint.