Wednesday, November 15, 2017


A post shared by Smith Galtney (@smithgaltney) on

We had an unpleasant encounter this morning on our usual walk. It was quiet and cold, so I let Clover off the leash, and she leapt and raced after squirrels as we strolled with Gus along the path. Mark and I were, in fact, congratulating ourselves on how good Clover is, so reliable off the leash, unlike Gus, whose instinct is to dash off and stubbornly resist coming when he's called (he gives us the side-eye and smiles). A man appeared up ahead, walking toward us, and when he saw Clover, he froze. She froze too. She didn't come when we called her. The man started yelling at her, clapping and lurching (in an apparent attempt to scare her away), and she started barking at him, as I ran toward her to grab her. Every lurch the man made sent her skittering away, barking. After I had grabbed her, he started yelling at us, "YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF LETTING A DOG LIKE THAT LOOSE! THAT DOG ATTACKED ME, I'M CALLING THE POLICE, I'M FOLLOWING YOU TO YOUR CAR AND CALLING THE POLICE!"

We were so taken aback, trying to get away/explain/apologize/contradict him all at once. A runner had come up just as this all happened, and she magically calmed the man down. I didn't really hear any of what she said (I was hustling away with my attack dog), but Mark did, and he talked to her later in the parking lot to thank her. She said something like, "I can tell you're really scared and it felt like you were being attacked," all while assuring him he wasn't, in fact, in any danger, or being attacked. She was a magical stranger, sympathetic to us and yet so kind to this man.

(We are typically so careful about letting dogs off the leash, truly. I always try to see things from the perspective of people who aren't expecting a dog, don't like dogs, are afraid of them, are unfamiliar with them, etc. I feel terrible about it, and simultaneously annoyed.)

Monday, November 13, 2017



Well, hey there. I am not doing a great job at this post-per-day attempt. Today is Monday and it's 5:30PM but feels so much later than that, since it's already been dark for six hours.

It snowed a bit today, flurry.

In less than a week, my firstborn child turns TWENTY. FIVE. YEARS. OLD.

Friday, November 10, 2017

Such a lowly and common dog

(exerpt from Wikipedia)

The Turnspit Dog, or Underdog:

The Turnspit dog was a short-legged, long-bodied dog bred to run on a wheel, called a turnspit or dog wheel, to turn meat. The type is now extinct. It is mentioned in Of English Dogs in 1576 under the name "Turnespete." William Bingley's Memoirs of British Quadrupeds (1809) also talks of a dog employed to help chefs and cooks. It is also known as the Kitchen Dog, the Cooking Dog, the Underdog and the Vernepator. In Linnaeus's 18th century classification of dogs it is listed as Canis vertigus. The breed was lost since it was considered to be such a lowly and common dog that no record was effectively kept of it.

Oh lowly kitchen dog, you break my heart.

"...long-bodied, crooked-legged and ugly dogs, with a suspicious, unhappy look about them..."

Wednesday, November 08, 2017

I'll be Scout in the ham costume*

Best screenshots of the day:

Would you care to be in my tableau vivant?

I love my mom.

*Inspired by Joanna Penn Cooper.

Tuesday, November 07, 2017


My favorites today: Watching Clover leap and spring and bound through the woods—when she's happy, she actually skips. A runner smiled as she passed and said, "Everyone is happy here!"

Chatting with a dog person who turned out to have a Scottish accent.

Oh, here's one from last night: I love how the dogs growl in alarm every time they notice that our neighbor the lobsterman has buoys or traps or other mysterious boat-related objects piled on his lawn or in the bed of his truck. It all smells very intriguing, but it's so suspicious.

The ladylike way she covers her feet with her tail.

Saturday, November 04, 2017


Come on puppies, let's get in formation.

Flying solo, walking two dogs early, navigating poop bags and the season's first gloved hands, making it several blocks before realizing how ridiculous it is that I'm wearing sunglasses.

In the woods, Clover runs and returns, leaps and returns, chases squirrels and returns. Then she finds a pile of something deliciously stinky to roll in. She is so proud, and when we get home, Gus admires her perfumed neck.

Matcha latte and a chocolate chunk bagel from this place = happy day.