Rabbit rabbit!

Where did April go?

I should use this thing more

Wonderful article about Maira Kalman.

CAFFEINE IS THE BEST

Here is a really pretty new Sufjan song, from a forthcoming planet-themed album that five year old Zoë would've been super excited about.

Spring, supposedly. Although I have not put away my winter coat yet.

Goals: bring back blogging. Make Oakdale a thing. Eat more vegetables. Train my puppy to do impressive tricks.


Last night we were watching basketball* and Clover was on the couch with us. She is extremely dubious of the TV and also of the sportsball-cheering noises Mark makes from time to time. At one point there was excitement on the TV and simultaneously Mark dropped his phone. Clover sat up, alarmed, and made this googly-eyed face like a cartoon dog with its eyes going BOI-OI-OING! It was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time.



*I watch basketball less like an anthropologist than I used to. I like it because Mark likes it and especially because Isaac does (I also love the backstories about players, their hard luck origins or brothers on rival teams or young children or love of god or good works, etc). I didn't grow up in a sports** home, though, so it's weird and unfamiliar. Although there was a brief flurry of enthusiasm for major league baseball when my parents lived in Saint Louis. And I remember my dad once studying sports scores, teams, etc, so that he would be able to speak that language at work. I'm under the impression that he gave up on it fairly early in the process.

**Possibly related: none of the men in my life would ever dream of manspreading. NEVER. It's impossible to even picture it. Although some of them would absolutely mansplain.

Rabbit rabbit!

More Clover nose for April, by guest photographer Mark!

Rabbit rabbit!

Poor stoic rabbit. Happy March, lovey doves.

I'll be the one with the bags of poop

We make medical waste.

There's the cuteness, and then there's the day the vet says these two sentences: "Your dog has the joints of a 12 year old." And "Your puppy is teeming with parasites."

Ever since he was a puppy, Gus has had periodic limpy episodes. We first thought it might be growing pains (he was underweight when we got him, and grew from 25 to 70 pounds lightning fast*), but x-rays showed degenerative joint disease (DJD. Or call it arthritis if you want). Another episode recently resulted in another set of x-rays, which showed a hairline fracture in his elbow as well as the joint wear we already knew about.

ANYWAY, he has lately been on an anti-inflammatory/pain med and nutritional supplements, which seemed to be helping. He must have injured himself (unfortunately, probably puppy-related) because he's all limpy in the front again. A friend who used to be a vet tech recommended injections of this magical stuff that restores lubrication to worn joints, and our vet agreed it was a good idea, and that we could do it ourselves.

So twice a week, and then twice a month, and then once a month, brave Mark is injecting this stuff into our dog.

Also, Clover is a good girl, but she's a 16 week-old puppy. This morning she insisted, starting at 4 am, that she really needed to go out (she sleeps in a kennel in our bedroom). She was still making intermittent sad sounds at 5:30, so I took her out. We walked and walked and walked around the dark and then less-dark neighborhood. I shuffled cautiously down icy sidewalks as she trotted ahead. We saw a skunk and lurched in the other direction. We saw the woman with the maniacally barking dog who plants herself in the middle of the sidewalk with a big smile on her face (the WOMAN, not the DOG). We lurched away from them and into the path of the SAME SKUNK, waddling up and down driveways in the morning light. To sum up, I walked her for an hour, and she did not pee.

Later I learned from Mark that Theo was sauntering around our room teasing Clover most of the night, and that's why she started crying to come out of her kennel. It's the cat's fault.

Fear not, dear reader, she did eventually pee.

Must be an angel.

This afternoon we went to Tandem, and since it was almost 50 degrees and sunny(ish), we sat outside. We left poor Mr Limpy home (he's supposed to take it easy. He's not supposed to be wrestling puppies or flinging himself into snowbanks or any of his other favorites). Clover was so tired from the long walk she and Mark had just taken that she wanted to sit quietly on my lap like a dream puppy while I drank a latte.

I won't give you the "teeming with parasites" details. Let's just say it's being taken care of.



*Gus is now 82 pounds and could stand to lose a few of them. Clover is 21 pounds, and might get as big as 50.

Puppy

Detail: lap with snowpants and puppy.

So we went and got ourselves a puppy because we just weren't going outside in the bitter cold and whirling snow in our jammies quite as much as we wished we were. No, but I really don't recommend a puppy in the winter, unless you want to feel incredibly intrepid, like you're a person who's lived in Maine for 18 long years, dammit! This is day two, so don't listen to anything I say, but this puppy is pretty fun. Gus was surprisingly dour about the whole thing, after an initial glorious frolick in the snow with her. But he's coming around to the charms of a smart and rascally puppy.

Theo may be a bit heartbroken, but this morning he stalked over to the couch where I was sitting with the puppy, and sat up tall, staring at her, and yawned, flashing his razor sharp teeth. I hope she won't chase him. I'm going to teach her to be sweet to all cats.

Her name is Clover (FKA Merriweather, which probably should be her middle name). She is 20 pounds, so pretty, with funny ears that may go half-up eventually, as per her Australian Shepherd heritage (her mom was at least part Aussie, dad unknown, although I imagine him as a dead ringer for Gus's cousin Charlie). She may get as big as 50 pounds, although she seems pretty tiny right now. She is smart, sharp, agile, sweet, cuddly, brave, hungry. By "agile" I mean you should see her spring from the floor to the couch, silently, like a cat, or leap straight up and down in the snow—you can practically hear the cartoon boing boing boing. And she can almost hold a ball with her paws. Add "dextrous" to that list. I imagine Gus has been annoyed in part because she goes running in circles around him and bouncing back and forth across his body in the snow. His leg is hurting him, poor good boy. But he's pretty much a sunshine anyway.

I worked with Clover sleeping behind me yesterday and today, took breaks to snuggle with her or take her outside. I don't want to tell you how many times she accidentally peed in the house, for fear of jinxing it. (But it was ZERO.) This morning we walked a little bit of the way around Mackworth while the wind blew hard and bitter and snow swirled around us and two dogs danced around. The former park ranger who was always yelling at people to keep their dogs on a leash (just doing his job) was there with his dog OFF THE LEASH. Also, his dog pooped and he said, "Aw shoot I forgot a bag." And Mark said, "I have extra!" and the former park ranger said, "Oh, no, that's okay! I'll...pick it up on my way back."

Love is love is love is love

Wise words from Jamie Varon in my email inbox:

Love compels me to stand FOR factual evidence. A sentence I never thought I'd need to type and a disillusionment only 2016 could bring—that many people do not believe facts anymore? Facts are not here to suit your personal beliefs. Journalists at reputable news organizations have ethics to uphold. You've been watching too much House of Cards or Scandal if you believe the entire press is fake and incapable of reporting without bias—just because they don't agree with your assumption of the facts doesn't make the facts any less true.

Also:

To fight against injustice is not divisive. To stand for and be complicit of an unjust system IS the divisiveness. Perpetrators of racism are the dividers. Perpetrators of sexism are the agitators. If you think peace comes from being silent in the face of injustice—then your peace is dependent on the silence of the suffering. Compassion and love is not passive—and love should compel you to stand against anything which is not rooted in love. Love is not love without action.

It hardly needs to be said, any of it, and it's gratifying to be able to spend so much real and virtual time with people who totally get it -- my family, friends, my little city, even my Instagram pals and Facebook warrior buddies. But every once in a while I get a reminder* that there are many who don't get it. I want to help them, because I just can't believe that there are that many evil, mean spirited humans in this country. Or, more likely in most cases, people who are frightened of the Other.



*see: comment on my January 29th post.