Unbridled joy

Yesterday as I was strolling with Dover down a quiet street where I know not a single person living in the houses or apartments along the way, a voice suddenly shattered the quiet late afternoon neighborhood calm.


"Doggie!" the 2 year old voice in the window shrieked. And she repeated it - Doggie! I looked for her but couldn't find the face in a window. She kept right on task - repeating that singe unadorned word with increasing urgency and certainly unbridled joy.Every so often she turned to another in the room, who wasn't responding with the same breathless glee, so she doubled her efforts.


As we passed on down the street and out of her sight, she gradually ended her announcement to the neighborhood. I was sorry I never got a glimpse of her, or asked Dover to pause and do a trick for her benefit.


But the joy she caught and spread as she watched from her first floor window was splendid. And catching; I upped my step from from a slow late afternoon stroll to a jauntier pace.


Immagine being the one who is able to cause such exuberant joy - just by virtue of being.

Memorial Day Parades

Dover had a busy two days over the weekend, being present at two Memorial Day parades and taking the opportunity to greet all ages at these community events; he automatically expects to be part of all gatherings he chances upon. He is not a reticent New Englander at heart, in spite of being one by birth and place of residence. My daughter once described the helping out, hale and hearty attitudes after a late season paralyzing snow storm in Minnesota with this phrase: "Friendliness was rampant." Rampant friendliness seems to be what parades in small towns foster - and Dover is happy to do his part.


People of all ages, kids on bikes, old cars, potato trucks, fire fighters with shiny axes, and, of course, girl scouts and boy scouts. 

The so-called sugar high that isn't

The "Chemicals in Your Food" class had a debate: Sugar rich foods make kids off-the-wall. Or not. Students randomly drew sides to argue or respond to, and they had a week and a half to research and prepare their arguments. Students were warned not to base their arguments on the "everybody knows" type of argument, but to search for, evaluate, and base their arguments on scientific and behavioral studies. When I described this plan to a friend, she said - "What's to debate? Of course it does."
But guess what? Even though "everybody knows" that foods high in sugar drive kids right up the wall and back again, controlled, well designed scientific studies show that what "everybody knows" seems to be wrong. People may talk about kids being on a "sugar high", but the behavior might better be called a "party high", or a "recess high", or a "I love to play with my friends high," or an "I really love this stuff" high.


I have known this contradiction for quite a while, but I no longer raise my eyebrows or open my mouth when people rant about the kids being on a sugar high, because people don't want to hear it and don't want to believe it - that maybe the "sugar high" is more what people want to believe than what can be supported by research. Students were very surprised by what they found, even though some still chose to believe - well - what they wanted to.



So the question is - why and how do we believe what we believe? From the little things to the big cosmic issues - what data do we trust? And why? And what do we do when we discover that what we want to believe may not turn out to be be believable?

Awaiting the lighting and the blowing out of the 100 candles, 

and especially the eating of the100th birthday cakes.

(Count the candles!)

Angela Georgina Burdett-Coutts, 1814 - 1906

I stumbled on an interesting bio this morning of a really really rich woman who lived a graceful, idiosyncratic, world-changing life. Angela Georgina Burdett-Coutts was 23 when she came into her fortune, and for the next 70 or so years, she funded organizations that assisted people and animals and in general made the world a better place and life a better opportunity for many individuals. She opened schools for those whose station in life did not entitle them to schooling - night schools, sewing schools, and "ragged" schools. Her donations built and supported churches and church schools, lifeboats and fishing boats, covered market spaces, and provided dogs with public drinking fountains.  It was her idea and funding that built the famous fountain and statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the Skye Terrier who would not leave the site of his master's grave in Edinburg for the 14 years between his master's death and his own.  She supported the SPCA and established the SPCC (Children), provided help for refugees, funded soup kitchens, and donated the bells for St. Paul's Cathedral. She designed a "linen drier" and sent it to Florence Nightingale to help her in her nursing work.

Angela was devastated when her long-time companion Hannah died. After three years she married her secretary, who was 37 years younger than she was. He carried on her work after her death.

There is much more that would go on Angela Georgina Burdett-Coutts' list of accomplishments during her long philanthropic lifetime, but one position she must have treasured because she held it so long, and it must be mentioned in conclusion - she was president of the British Beekeepers Association for 28 years, right up to the year of her death.

A young Dover takes a dip in his public drinking fountain,

Engaging in joyful creation

I no longer remember where I read this, but there is a Chassidic belief that "one can thank the Lord for the gift of life and its bounties by singing, dancing and engaging in joyful creation." I can no longer sing, although choral singing is one of my favorite types of music to listen to, and the only dancing I have ever liked to do is the polka. But engaging in joyful creation - now there is something Dover does with wild abandon. The question is - is he singing? Dancing? Engaging in joyful creation? Whatever, I guess the moral of this story is: Go forth and do likewise, each after one's own kind (Dover's added caveat: I rejoice greatly at all times and in all places as long as there is a tennis ball in my mouth.)

Dover figures it out

Dover has always been awkward on our stairs - he still bobs down them like a wind-up Easter chick and it is always a relief to one and all when he reaches the ground floor.


The other morning he made off (with great glee) with a piece of Tom's clothes;  he was three steps down on his way to his lair when I said: "Dover! Take it to Tom!" This is a request he knows and follows religiously. He stopped in mid-track, knowing there would be a dog biskit ahead if he delivered up his goods as asked. He tried to back up the stairs, but he couldn't get his hind feet up the step and his front feet didn't know what to do it this process. Next he tried to make a u-turn, but his body is too big and the stairway is too narrow to accomplish this maneuver safely. He stood stock till for a few seconds to assess the situation, then he continued down the nine remaining stairs to the ground floor, turned around, dashed back up the stairs, delivered the goods, got his treat, and basked in the congratulations and hands-on appreciation that followed.


Dover's reasoning process was wonderfully transparent - so I say to all those border collie people out there who don't mind having a dog that is smarter than they are: Golden retrievers -  more than a pretty face!

Photo from 2008: Dover takes his first look down the stairs he just climbed so easily, while his hero Jonah secretly hopes the little cockroach falls out of his life.

An Easter (2005) Story of Lemon Tarts

Easter morning, 2005, on his early morning walk, the little dog, "the dog that eats food", as my granddaughter Mollie calls him, did indeed eat some garbage. He is very fast, nonchalantly sniffing for news of the day one minute, executing a lightening fast dart for the rotting morsel lying forgotten by the curb the next. He swallows whole, so we had no idea what it was that graced his stomach this Easter morning. 


Later, after the Easter services proclaimed new life and unconditional love to all, 19 people and four extra dogs started arriving for Easter Dinner, toting in rolls and carrots and dip and assorted wet stuff. And deserts. I lost track of what came and where it went, but a safe stashing place is our pantry, which is guarded by a swinging door to which we have installed a hook and eye latch above child and dog reach. We were safe - locks and many eyes and a multitude of distractions kept all courses of our meal safe.


In the middle of this pleasant confusion, someone called out: "Why is the dog locked in the pantry?" She was referring to Little Dog, a now full grown golden retriever, whose proper name is Mungo. She then closed and relocked the pantry door. I assumed she had extracted Mungo, but a few minutes later, when I didn't see him milling around looking for an opening to the counter top, I peeked into the pantry, and there he was, standing on his hind feet, fully extended and upright, grossly enjoying a tray full of lemon tarts. By the time we recovered our senses and removed the offender (dog, not the persons who had locked and relocked him in with one of the most treasured Easter desserts) he had easily eaten over a dozen tarts and nibbled on several more. He left us about six.


So, this is one piece of plate poaching the we could not blame on "the dog who eats food,” because a dog that finds himself locked in a small space with lemon tarts in mouth-reach has no other choice: he must eat before all is discovered.

Later, the so-called good dog, Mungo's elderly uncle, who only steals food when it is absolutely necessary in order to maintain his honor, surgically removed a piece of lamb from the youngest guest's plate when she was off in pursuit of something with more sugar.

Well, the wages of thievery are dyspepsia, but on the day after Easter that does not seem to deter the Little Dog from continual pursuit of fallen (or not) morsels to soothe his cravings; having rediscovered there is more to life than kibble and street garbage, he too is living in that Easter hope that brings love and new life in unexpected places.

Mungo, in memoriam, 2002 - 2008