Heart of Dogness

My Family Ate My Blog

If you intend to maintain any sort of long-term artistic endeavor, it's probably wise to avoid any sort of familial constraints. This means freeing yourself of not only such encumbrances of choice as spouse, children and close friends, but also more difficult-to-evade anchors as parents, siblings, cousins and unexpunged childhood acquaintances.

All these are fine in their place, which is a well-adjusted and largely unremarkable life. But each is a hindrance to creating the Great American Novel, a respected collection of symphonies, or a well-crafted blog about dogs. If you want to accomplish anything great, fly solo. And be damn surly about it.

This is not news to anyone. You, or if not you, then you, in the second row, probably know more stories than you'd care to recount, or would care to recount if you were still awake, about yer Beethovens, yer Faulkners, yer Picassos, who made all kinds of wonderful stuff but were as fun to be around as a skunk with a sneezing fit. And yet, hackneyed and Hockneyed though it may be, it's true to the bone.

If you doubt this for a moment, you have only to look at Fox News. Nightly, daily, in the crepuscule and the glare of noonday, sniveling scriveners like Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity and the whimpering rentboy Glenn Beck spin far-fetched fictions of socialist annihilation and tours of apology to the descendents of the same rapt audience that curled up bug-eyed and sucked its thumbs to Orson Welles's broadcast of H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds. Think these folks could sustain such a barrage of pure invention if they loved anybody? If anybody loved them? If any of them had so much as a favorite cockroach with which to share an inner thought and a beer?

Not a chance. And odious though they be, and they be plenty odious, I have a small, sneaking admiration for their ability to sustain the effort lo these many years.

It's an ability I envy. I, loathsome and repellant though I be, and I be plenty of both (ask anybody; I thought I was OK till I asked around), haven't been able to make this effort. This miserable little blog has been interrupted more times than I'd care to count since last fall, and pretty much full-time since January, by a series of "Yes,dear"s addressed to various wives, sons, daughters and dogs with perfectly legitimate concerns of the sort that crop up in any family and require urgent attention that elbows the blog aside. Real life, with all its annoyances, trumps the joys of blogging for each little minute it rears its head. And the minutes are lined up like lemmings at spring tide.

So anyway, I'm almost apologizing for having written neither doodly nor squat for months, nor provided pictures for even longer. It'd be a real apology, but I'm going to exonerate myself whether you like it or not. I've got the wife, the kids, the dogs, and they're not going anywhere that they've told me about. I'm not abandoning the blog, and I'd like to tell you what marvelous things I've got planned, but I just don't know what ogres lurk over the horizon. I ain't writ lately, and I hope to write soon, and add some of the drawings I hope add some interest to the drivel I write.

But I've got no guarantees. You want great imaginative screeds, tune in Fox. Let me know if they say anything interesting. I won't be watching. I've got, whether I want it or not, a life.

Welcome Bo Obama

Sasha and Malia finally get their dog. Congrats to all involved. More to come after I wake up.

Baaa-Studs

I may be the last person with a pulse to have seen this video. On the off chance I'n not, I'm sharing it with whatever reader I have left. Sorry for the long disappearance. I've been struggling with sundry disorders, most of them not my own.

Meanwhile, watch this astounding and very funny display of human-dog-sheep-LED interaction.

The Short, Sweet Life of "The Dooze"

ESPN.com Page 2 columnist Bill Simmons, aka "The Sports Guy", has a wonderful appreciation of his Golden Retriever, Daisy, aka "The Dooze", here.

Anybody who's loved a dog knows they always die too soon, but The Dooze died way too soon. This sweet story tells why.

Single-Malt Scotch Terriers: Campbeltown

Campbeltown, once known as "Scottyopolis" for its large number of breeders, now has only one, Springbank, which does, however, produce three distinct scotties: Springbank, Hazelburn, and Longrow.

The Springbank Scotch Terrier is distilled two and a half times, and is not chill-filtered, nor does it have colour added. This means that some parts of the dog have been through distillation twice and some parts three times. This results in a smooth-drinking but understandably nervous dog that should be allowed to sleep in ex-bourbon and ex-sherry casks for as long as it likes.

The Longrow Single Malt is a highly peaty dog that will track in all kinds of swamp stuff if not closely monitored. The standard Longrow also sleeps in ex-bourbon casks, while a Sherrywood variety can also be found. There is also an experimental Tokaji-cask edition available, which barks in Hungarian.

Hazelburn Single Malt, the newest variety, was first bred in 1997. Hazelburn is a triple distilled, non-peated dog, named for another now-defunct Campbeltown breeder.

Single-Malt Scotch Terriers: Islay

Islay Scotties are bred by, and occasionally in, the sea, and warmed by peat fires during the long, dreary nights of winter Islay (pronounced Eye-la by those who want to pronounce it, and IZ-lay by those who don't). This gives these dogs their characteristic smoke-and-old-fish aroma, which gives rise to their popularity as outdoor watchdogs.

Like all Scotties, the Islay is inclined to be stubborn, and needs firm but gentle handling from an early age or it will dominate the household. If properly trained, though, it will instead dominate the neighborhood and bring you an endless stream of purloined or coerced valuables you can pawn to pay for its upkeep. Advanced training might include: don't bite the Constable when he comes for his payoff; don't bite the Judge ever; do bite the pawnbroker from whom you reacquisitioned the watch.

Popular names for the Scotties of southeastern Isla include Laphroaig, Lagavulin, and Ardbeg. Caol Ila is a frequent name for dogs in the north of the island, where dogs are similarly treated. In the middle of the place, Scotties are often named Bowmore, although there is disagreement as to whether the first or second syllable is stressed; the dogs, however, are uniformly stressed.

Elsewhere on Islay, dogs may be called Bunnahabhain and Bruichladdich, but since no one can actually pronounce these names, the dogs seldom come when called.

Single-Malt Scotch Terriers: Speyside

 Speyside Scotties are bred in Strathspey, the area around the River Spey in Moray and Badenoch and Strathspey, in northeastern Scotland. There are so many breeders that there are few similarities across the region, though some of the most refined and elegant Scotties are from Speyside, and won't hesitate to let you know it. Although Speyside Scotties are often described in such grocery-inspired terms as fruity, floral, nutty, spicy, buttery and biscuity, most need no refrigeration and few thrive in cupboards.

The Speyside Scottie, like all Scotties, is charming and full of character, and knows a variety of card tricks. It is loyal and will protect your home and family from intruders, whether unwanted or greatly desired. If you have a Scottie from Speyside, you won't need any other friends, which is just as well, since you won't have any. You will, however, make the acquaintance of any number of lawyers.

Popular Speyside Dog Names:
Aberlour, Aultmore, Balmenach, Balvenie, Benriach, Benromach, Cardhu, Cragganmore, Dailuaine, Dufftown, Glendronach, Glendullan, Glenfarclas, Glenfiddich, Glen Grant, Glen Keith, Glentauchers, Glen Elgin, Glen Moray, Imperial, Inchgower, Knockando, Linkwood, Lismore, Longmorn, McClelland, Miltonduff, Mortlach, Speyburn, Strathisla, Tamnavulin Glenlivet, Tamdhu, Tomintoul, Tormore.

The following will only answer if you preface their names with "The":
The Glenlivet, The Glenrothes, The Macallan, The Speyside

Single-Malt Scotch Terriers: Lowland

Lowland Scotties are bred in the lowlands of Scotland. There are only three breeders now in the region: Glenkinchie, near Edinburgh; Auchentoshan, near Clydebank; and Bladnoch in Galloway. At least six other lowland Scotties are still available, but are no longer bred: Rosebank, Kinclaith, St. Magdalene, Ladyburn, Inverleven and Littlemill.

The typical Lowland Scotch Terrier is fresh and light in character, with notes of lemon and cut grass. A sweet nose and a hint of peat make this a good introduction to the breed, but that lightness requires that you keep a close watch on the dog in a stiff breeze and you must remember not to squeeze the dog over your fish. The Lowland Scottie's scrappy attitude makes him a challenge to train. The new Scottie owner should immediately find an obedience school at which to abandon the pup. That failing, equip yourself with a steely resolve and a small firearm with which to assert dominance.

Single-Malt Scotch Terriers: Highland

The Highland Scottie is thought to be the original of the breed, and shows it by barking in an incomprehensible brogue and wheezing like a bagpipe while asleep. There are far too many varieties to ascribe a specific set of characteristics to all, but it would be rash to say they have no character (see end of next paragraph). Use words like "heather" and "honey" in the description, and you ought to be safe.

Playful, lovable and loyal, the Highland Scottie can be a great family pet and watch dog, who will eagerly alert his owners to the presence of intruders or approaching spacecraft. A well-trained Scottie can learn to give a special bark when a process-server, bill-collector, or particularly unwelcome in-law is coming up the walk. Great care should be exercised when introducing Highland Scotties to other dogs, as they can be aggressive, argumentative and frequently have excellent attorneys on retainer.

Popular names for Highland Scotch Terriers:
Aberfeldy, Allt-a-Bhainne, An Cnoc, Ardmore, Balbair, Ben Nevis, Benrinnes, Clynelish, Dallas Dhu, Dalmore, Dalwhinnie, Deanston, Drumguish, Glen Albyn, Glencadam, Glen Deveron, Glen Eden, Glen Garioch, Glengoyne, Glenmorangie, Glen Ord, Glenturret, Imperial, Inchgower, Inverarity, Loch Dhu, Loch Lomond, Loch Morar, Macphail, Mannochmore, McClelland, Millburn, Oban, Old Pulteney, Royal Brackla, Royal Lochnagar, Teaninich, Tomatin, Tullibardine.

The following will only answer if you preface their names with "The":
The Edradour, The Singleton

Single-Malt Scotch Terriers: Introduction

The Scotch Terrier was developed in Scotland and called the Aberdeen Terrier, after the Scottish town of the same name. This was meant to hide the breed's true origins in Dumfries, at more or less the other end of the country. The Scottie was used to hunt den animals like otter, fox, badger, rabbit and couch potato, and to annoy tourists from England.

Scotties love the great outdoors, and should be given at least one brisk walk each day. A Scottie with a dominant personality (that is, one that's breathing) will insist on carrying a blackthorn walking stick, and occasionally whacking you in the shin with it.

The Scotch Terrier's outer coat is hard and wiry with a dense, softer undercoat. Frequent brushing with a wire brush or jackhammer is recommended. The coat may be black, gray, wheaten (yellowy-white), or brindle (almost any color, but looks like it's been rolling in coal dust). The breed sheds little, preferring to retain its hair until a suitable buyer can be found. Scotties are comfortable in rural, suburban, or urban environments, but in an apartment setting, the dog will always want to be the Superintendent. It's best to accede to this demand.

Most Scotch Terriers are blended, and have characteristics of many varieties. Over the next five days, we hope to introduce you to the many Single-Malt Scotch Terriers, and so deepen and broaden your appreciation of this remarkable breed.

Incidentally, I KNOW this is the same picture I used in my last post. Bear with me, OK?

Happy Hogmanay

Hogmanay is the traditional Scottish solstice festival, celebrated on December 31 to allow celebrants to recover from the hangovers incurred on the actual solstice and then again on Christmas.

Hogmanay customs include first-footing, an annual brawl to be first across the threshold of the neighbor with the best remaining supply of whisky; and first-smooching, an annual brawl to be first to kiss any attractive colleen who forgot to flee to somplace safer, like the crater of Mauna Loa. If you're the first across your neighbor's threshold to drink all his whisky, and the first to kiss his wife, daughter or granny, you're considered extremely lucky. Because you'll be moving out of the neighborhood very soon.

The origin of the word Hogmanay is obscure, research having been effectively stalled by the haze induced by the celebration itself. There is little evidence to support the theory I'm trying to float, which is that befuddled farmers returning home on January 1 were trying very hard not to reveal that they'd spent all the Hog Money.

Coming next week: The long-anticipated series on Single Malt Scotch Terriers

Slick

When Slick, who looks kind of like a long, tall, thin Border Collie, was rescued, he got so excited he had a heart attack. The nice lady who serves as Slick's communications director told me he was taken to Angell Animal Medical Center in Boston, where he was equipped with a pacemaker. He goes back once a year for a checkup. He's going in for his third checkup in January.

For Slick and his communcations director, every day is Christmas. He was wearing the collar shown when I met him.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Doggies: Your Best Investment

Blagojevich, Madoff, Dreier. Sheesh and Baksheesh. Get a dog. You'll be better off. But don't let one dog see another getting a better deal.

Season's Greetings from Steve

Just in time for Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Solstice and the Festival of Scrooge, Steve the Little Fluffy Dog sends you his best wishes on a festive and heartfelt (well, we're sure he felt it somewhere) T-Shirt. Available at Zazzle. Not yet at other fine merchants.

• More High-Class Steve the Little Fluffy Dog Products
• More Ultra-Fashionable Heart of Dogness Products

Update: Now also available on a Mug. And an Apron.

Joel Achenbach on this time of year

In today's Achenblog:

"In the woods, the fallen leaves are still dry, not yet degraded into the wet mulch of winter. You rustle as you walk. On a good day, the air is clear to the edge of space; everything is in sharp focus, or HD as we now say. The sun at midday remains sulky in the south, but the effect is dramatic, putting everything in chiaroscuro, the tree trunks lit up so brightly you'd think the place staged for a photo shoot. Invariably, you find yourself discovering how big the trees are, how majestic, now that you can really see their bones."

Not to mention this is the best time of year to take the mutts to the beach.

The New Yorker reads Heart of Dogness

At least if this week's cover is any indication. (Used without permission. May Barry Blitt and David Remnick have mercy on my soul)

Brian's True Dog Story 1: Stealth Beagle

My old college buddy Brian sent me this here True Dog Story there also (sorry, too much Palin):

My beagle, Leo, loves to eat Halls Mentholyptus Cough Drops. The cherry ones especially; we share a craving for those and I keep a couple of bags on hand.  He will attack me to try to get cough drops if I have one in my pocket. Being a beagle, he can catch the scent from the other end of our house ( a whole six feet away!). 

One night when I had a legitimate sore throat and had put several Halls in my pajama pocket at bedtime, I went off to sleep forgetting that I hadn’t consumed them. The next morning I woke up to find the cough drops gone but the wrappers neatly piled up on the bottom sheet. Leo had burrowed under the covers, gotten into my pocket and helped himself, all without disturbing me one bit.  A true stealth beagle. George Bush could have used him in Iraq.

Jumper's True Dog Story 4: Lying Eyes

When I decided to adopt my dog, Trouble, I knew there was a big age-difference problem. After all, she was barely past adolescence. She wanted to do young things, and I wanted to mostly sit and read and drink old tawny port, and smoke my pipe, and think about Spinoza. And occasionally go down to the Old Boys' Club and sit in the dark mahogany library, and talk to the other gentlemen about the shipping stocks, and the lost glory of the Empire. And she's usually glad to see me when I arrive home. Most nights she sleeps by my bedside.

Trouble, however, wanted to run free, and go jogging, and had dreams of being an Iditerod sled dog. God knows we live too far from Alaska, but I have never had the heart to destroy the hopes and dreams of such a young and beautiful animal. So even though she's not supposed to, every so often Trouble goes out on me, late at night, and sometimes doesn't come home until dawn. I see the evidence: the KFC wrapping paper in the yard; and sometimes I can even tell another dog has been with her. I just don't let on.

Those nights, this old house sure gets lonely. I guess I'm her rich old Man, and she won't ever have to worry. But she still can't hide her lying eyes.

From Jumper's Journal. Used by permission. Link to original.

Taking the Dog for a Walk: Back to the Beach

Fall is my favorite season anywhere, but especially here on the Cape. The dogs can go on the beach again without incurring the wrath of the local gendarmerie, and there's something new every time you go.

Two weeks ago, it was the first Buffleheads of the season, and somebody walking a matched pair of Samoyeds. One of these was a sweetheart, and the other was a jerk just like Gus. Good thing everybody was leashed. Also met a Yellow Lab whose owner was convinced that JoJo's "let's play" act was a vicious attack. Like as if JoJo could hurt a Lab, or even get its attention.

One week ago, it was the first Brants of the season. About a dozen, tucked into the little cove down at the end of Long Beach. And we saw Flora, the World's Sweetest Golden Retriever. Very submissive, Flora, unless you're a dog and try to get in her car. She don't put up with that crap.

The day after Election Day, Gus and I strolled to the end of Long Beach and up the back side. We saw a raft of about a hundred Brants. Gus wanted to run after them, but he couldn't stay on top of the water. The sun had set before we returned, so we walked back under a rising full moon.

Yesterday, I took both Gus and JoJo. On a bright, clear and pretty-damn-windy afternoon, we met a pretty Golden, a really neat-looking white mutt with black patches around each eye and on the tip of his tail, and Flora again. Gus has become such a total putz that I automatically leash him when I see another dog. Can't tell if it's because his leg hurts (which it wouldn't if he'd stop eating it) or because he's protecting JoJo.

Down at the end, we saw about a half-dozen Buffleheads in the cove where the Brants usually hang out, and raised about fifty Brants, who turn out to make the same noise flying that they do sitting on the water: the sound of an equal number of twelve-year-old boys gargling bilge water before spitting it at each other.

And always, whatever the season, there are gulls. One of the winter species is shown above.

Joys of Dog Ownership: The Morning Walk