woof?

I sketched a terrier, short haired and sleek. Somehow my paintbrush had other ideas. That's alright. I've never met a terrier I didn't like.

acrylic 9x12

always named Mickey

My gramma had border collies once upon a time and long ago. I think they were always named Mickey. 

acrylic 9x12

thinking small

My granddaughter had watched me stitching felt rabbits and baby rabbits and more baby rabbits and it occurred to her that since I seemed to be a toy factory, perhaps I was the right person to ask for a dog.
A toy dog of course.
She wanted it to be dark brown, like long ago Charlie.
She wanted it to have puppies.
Puppies that could be born before her eyes and nursed.
I suggested velcro and snap fasteners.
She suggested zippers and magnets.
Amazingly, the very next week I pounced on a package of the worlds smallest magnets at a thrift shop. They needed to be very small to fit inside a tiny puppy face as well as stitched in a row on the mother's side.
I gathered my supplies.
Plotting and planning followed.
A lying down dog seemed necessary.
I snipped and stitched.
And snipped and stitched.
Soon there was a small mother dog, brown like Charlie, and two little puppies that had a magnetic pull towards their mother just as you would expect of puppies.
I was pondering the stomach closure when my granddaughter visited.
I whisked out the dogs with a flourish.
Gadzooks!
She had imagined a toy dog big enough to be a real dog.
I had imagined a toy dog small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.
I had been thinking small.
She had been thinking big.

now we know why

Galiano Island honors Spanish explorer, Dionision Alcala Galiano, who sailed in an out of the Gulf Islands off the coast of B.C. in 1792. He would have felt quite at home gazing out to sea from its sandy shoreline. The same molten sun smolders there as scorches Seville on a hot July afternoon.
To get to Galiano Island though, in the midst of summer, you must keep green coastal forests and salty breezes fixed firmly in mind. There's the gauntlet known as The Ferry Terminal....Doesn't terminal have an ominous note to it? Terminally waiting....
Ferry Terminals are acres of asphalt.
Cars simmer in the sun. 
It's solar heating gone wrong.
People melt out of cars and trucks and motor-homes and draw a bead on a distant patch of shade the size of a small tablecloth. 
Dogs come too; every size and hairy, tongue lolling variety.
Man and beast.
It's close quarters in the shade at Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal on a July afternoon.

A group dropped to the grass near our feet. They lolled on backpacks and leaned on bags. Their restless dog turned around three times as though looking for something he had misplaced. Where was his bag? Oh, there it was. He lifted his leg and sent a steaming stream into the purse of his mistress and down her arm which was resting protectively over it. 
Who shrieked first?
We had noticed the grass was still pretty green there, near the tree.
Now we know why.

just like her

We pulled into our driveway just as she walked by.
The girl with orange hair.
Walking her dog.
The girl with orange hair and purple toque and scarf stalking by as haughtily as a model, her dog's leash stretched as straight as a stick.
She looked so lovely wearing her riding boots and faded woolens,
all aglow,
orange and purple.
Just like a fashion illustration.
Her little terrier was brisk and bristley.
Just like her. 

sensitive viewers

I tend to gaze out my window at times, my thoughts engaged, my eyes unseeing. This dubious duality likely began in elementary school, becoming in time a well honed skill. By high school, I had become such an avid doodling daydreamer, my teachers assumed I was industriously writing notes. Fortunately, my ears seemed capable of working independently and I somehow sailed through with flying colors.
This morning I was jerked back into the moment by a gray squirrel sprinting across the road below my window.
At the same time, from a distant yard a dog exploded, running hard.
I could see the intersecting lines ahead for dog and squirrel.
I thought suddenly of the warning, 'The following scenes may be disturbing. Sensitive viewers are advised....'
Fortunately the squirrel had only been sprinting at three quarter speed. When it heard the scrabble of approaching doom it shot in a single bound to a tree and was up and away.
Its ears worked independently too.

dogs can't ask

My hand was pushing open the car door when I glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed a big golden dog.
It seemed to have appeared out of no where.
Had he arrived with the woman making her way to the library entrance, her arms weighted down with books?
No, and she was forced to walk around him as he circled her moving feet.
Into the library went the woman.
Did she invite him in?
No, but he followed her anyway.
Was he welcomed?
No, he was soon standing wagging his tail on the sidewalk.
He continued to warmly greet each new visitor to the library.
A van pulled up and a woman got out and opened the back doors.
The dog rushed over.
"Oh good," I thought. The owner is here at last.
The dog leapt into the back of the van and sat regally next to a kennel holding a wildly barking dog.
Was it the owner?
No, and the woman could not persuade the dog to get back out.
Her own dog's barking began to take on a hysterical note.
I'm not sure how the story ended.
The woman had opened the side door of her van as well and was trying to coax the dog out one end or the other as I pulled away.
That dog wanted to go somewhere.
I hope he figured out how to get there because dogs can't ask directions.

brief moment

I love old black and white photos.
This one is of my oldest sister, and there are photos of her aplenty as is usually the case with first borns.

A little girl enjoying a flower in that brief moment of northern summer. A dog looks on with devotion.

Things are not always what they seem.
In reality, the dog used its spare time to run away and chase chickens.

public mischief

I committed public mischief today.
It was certainly easy to do,

The slanting sunlight of afternoon called me out of hibernation.
I had stood longingly before the window several times, wishing for an excuse to go out.
When pale pink light washed over the neighbors snowy expanse of yard I could resist no longer.
On went my boots and out the door I dashed, camera in hand.
I slipped and slid down my driveway and headed up the sidewalk toward a distant patch of sunlight.
It was coming back home that temptation beckoned.
Framed in a large living room window was a small terrier peering at me as I crunched past.
I raised my hand in a friendly wave.
I thought I saw his ears twitch.
That was my undoing.
As I walked on, I paused to turn, rolling my eyes back towards the window with an exaggerated glance.
The little dogs ears shot up and it began to bark.
Half a block away I could still hear it chirping.

goner

My sister had just headed off with her tiny dog for a brisk walk in the forest when suddenly, a wild rabbit darted out of the woods and paused on the path ahead, its brown eyes unblinking
Her little dog rushed at it barking madly before she could reel him in.
The bunny keeled over and lay without a twitch on the cold ground.
How shocking.
Was it playing dead? Was it just holding its breath?
They hastened past into the shadowy woods. When their steps were retraced, they came upon that "fallen creature of the forest."
The bunny was a goner.
Felled by fright.
Sometimes a dog's bark really is worse than its bite.

distant relatives

As I crunched up the long, unfamiliar gravel driveway, I heard a dog bark in the distance. By the time I had pulled slowly around in a circle to park, a black dog had bounded to the corner of the yard.
We eyed each other suspiciously.
Just as he feared, I emerged from my car, my eyes on the house.
Just as I'd feared, he slunk closer, grumbling and protesting.
I debated diving back into the car.
"No barking," I warned weakly and unconvincingly.
The dog seemed alarmed and barked sharply. It crept around behind me, a low growl rumbling in its throat.
My nervousness was clearly unnerving him as well.
A part of me isn't the least bit afraid of anything but that part is very, very small and there is a larger part of me that is scared of anything that moves, especially if it also barks.
Fortunately, a child emerged from the house and gave me the necessary moral support to cringe my way to the door un-nipped.
Confidence and courage are cousins, but unfortunately they're only distant relatives of mine.

grief shared

"We have a problem," my mother said, her voice tight with concern. Taffy, her beautiful retriever was lying forlornly on the floor, unable to rise to her feet. An elderly dog with arthritis; there had been for some time a sense that her time was running out.

These things I knew.

I thought I was prepared for the inevitable but my reaction surprised me.
In a moment, I crumpled to the floor weeping, my arms around the dog's neck. "Oh Taffy, Taffy," I sobbed.
So much for being a pillar of strength for my mother.

Still, there is a comfort in grief shared and her grief is our grief; Comfort, peace and even joy, the gifts of love.

danger was on my mind

The morning sun was, as my grandson put it, "baking down," on us. Perhaps that was why he suddenly announced joyfully that he had arrived in Africa. We were on the large soccer field that stretches out behind our church. "Watch out for Lions," he cried. "Quickly, up on the elephants," I urged. As I turned to scoop up my tiny granddaughter, my eyes lifted and I glanced back toward the church building. Danger was on my mind, and danger was very suddenly on the distant horizon. A huge, muscular Rottweiler trotted out of the trees beyond the church and froze, it's powerful head swivelling, it's muzzle lifting as it sniffed the air. "Watch out for...." my grandson began again.
"You must listen carefully," I said calmly. We must walk very quickly. We must be very quiet and walk quickly until we are inside the church." I knew that a large dog on the loose could be nothing more than a friendly house pet wandering unsupervised, but it could also be a dog defending it's territory. I could feel an unreasonable fear chilling my heart. "Dear Lord," I breathed aloud. "Surround us with your angels. Protect these children." "This is like in Bambi, isn't it," whispered my grandson.
It felt so wonderful to step inside the church, a true sanctuary. My husband mentioned that as he was vacuuming, the pastor suddenly emerged from his office, concern etched on his face. "Where are the little ones, where are the kids?" he anxiously asked. He too had seen the dog and felt fear.
I haven't forgotten to say thank you.

lucky dog

A balcony is a great place to indulge in people watching, and I became aware of a reunion unfolding just below me. A boy of about twelve, had obviously returned from somewhere, maybe camp, and he greeted his little brother with a hug and a kiss. He then threw an arm around his father's shoulder and kissed him too. "How nice," I thought, and then he bent and scooped up a small dog that had been watching him closely. He rocked it in his arms like a baby and kissed it, and hugged it, and kissed it, and hugged it...... and kissed it again! Pure love, and so much of it. Lucky dog.

dog days

A woman at the beach, surrounded by, and stepping over six little dogs on six little leashes reminded me of May day celebrations and the ribbon weaving children. She prompted a stranger to remark that eleven dog leashes had been found in a local eagle's nest. The eagle didn't have a leash fetish. Rather, the leashes were a sinister sort of "take-out trash" like pizza boxes in the recycle bin, the variety or flavour of the day clearly stamped on metal tags; Fifi, Peaches, Chester, oh my. Dogs had apparently been snatched up or snacked up, from as close as ten feet from the unsuspecting owner. Those of us who comb the beach with our head down would do well to glance up at the rustle of wings.

what's yours is mine

What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours does seem to apply when it comes to my parents dog. This was a mixed blessing last summer, or "the summer of the great flea plague," as it has come to be called. Still, having a dog about the place does have it's rewards......... a strange teenager with one leg over our fence was startled and left stammering when our usually placid, aging dog leapt to her feet with a roar. And, being a dog of few words, she has managed to cow the neighboring dogs into blissfully quiet submission with a few well timed insults. My parents take a walk every day, weather and arthritis permitting and the dog seems to enjoy the routine. She is a senior citizen too, and they make such a lovely trio as they move slowly up the street and back. Dog's really are ambassadors of friendship and my parents have met and chatted with many neighbors because of Taffy. One man in particular seemed quite taken with her. He has an apple tree and my parents have stopped to chat, and admire the fruit as the season unfolds. He always greeted Taffy with effusive praise and affection. Just because dogs can't speak doesn't mean they can't listen and understand. One morning, as usual, the walk led to the foot of the apple tree. Pleasantries were exchanged and then, "Taffy, my love," he cooed, "I could keep you, yes I could." A look of horror passed briefly over her face and she pressed against my Mother's legs. The next day, she seemed anxious as they approached the house with the apple tree and refused to cross the street to walk past it. "Now what could be wrong with the dog?" my Mother wondered. We finally put two and two together, much more slowly than Taffy's arithmetic I can tell you. Although it was probably subtracting, or more accurately, dividing that had her worried.