FOLLOWING THE NEWS

Once upon a time in a life now long past I worked for a charitable gaming organization, dealing blackjack in the local bars (pubs) of Small Town USA. It was one of the best jobs I've ever had for people watching, I tell you true. People are maybe 'more themselves' when they've tucked a couple under their belts, so to speak.

At any rate, during my night shifts I've taken to having the television news on.

As it turns out, doing my work with the news channels in the background kind of reminds me of that job I had once upon a time.

On the one hand there's a group of people who tend to do nothing but whine and complain and gossip about other people in a nasty way, often at the tops of their lungs and always with a hateful twist to everything.

On the other hand are a whole different group who only get far enough into their cups to be able to vociferously voice their opinions in sometimes loud discussions. They've had enough to drink to be open and honest, but not enough to come to blows about anything.This group will argue anything until the cows come home, never convince each other to change their minds, agree to disagree until the next time, and head for home still friends.

Not surprisingly, I'm finding the dynamics of the media group on the one hand to be just as annoying and disgusting as I did their counterparts back in the day.

The folks on the other hand just make me smile (even when the topics are deadly serious) because ... well ... because it just reminds me of Small Town USA, the way it's supposed to be.

On the one hand I'm not going to name names, because I don't have to. Small Town USA always knows who's who.

On the other hand, I will name one : FOX NEWS.

I'm still adept at tuning out the folks on the one hand as best I can (although their obnoxious voices still penetrate now and then) while tuning in to the folks on the other hand who can present their points of view without being hateful about it.

CALL 911? Really?

A friend of mine had a disturbing experience a couple of days ago, which is an understatement.

He'd been out in his garage getting his four-wheeler ready for the summer season, jump started it with his pickup and took it out for a test run. 

When he started vomiting and feeling intense pain, he stopped and curled into a fetal position. 

A couple of guys in a pickup stopped to see if he was okay, which he was not; they gave him a ride back to his home in their little town. His family was off doing school and church things.

He called 911, in pain, confused, and knowing he needed medical help. The person on the other end of the line for some reason asked him if he had any guns. He said of course; he's a hunter. The guns are not loaded and they're put away. The person kept asking him questions until he was finally told to go to the front door because 'I have someone there now.'

When he opened the door it was not a team of EMTs he saw. 

It was several men in body armor with AK 47 rifles pointing at him.

They shouted for him to come out of the house, which of course he did. 

When they hollered at him about weapons he showed them his phone. 'It's only a phone!' They grabbed it from him and threw it off to a side.

Then they cuffed him so tight that the marks on his wrists were still there many hours later. They proceeded to search him thoroughly while he assured them he was being cooperative but was cold and would like a coat on.

Instead of giving him a coat or blanket, they kept him standing out there in the cold, unable to even wipe his nose because of the cuffs.

In the meantime, the ambulance crew wasn't allowed to render the aid he needed. They were there, mind you, but couldn't get out of the ambulance.

To back up just a little, the men with the rifles had been hanging around this little town for hours before the 911 call came in, several cars with their lights flashing the whole time. They'd been searching an out of state vehicle at one point.

Said cars with lights flashing surrounded this guy's house, soon joined by the ambulance and a vehicle from a County Sheriff's Department, from the next county over from the one this little town is in.

And there he stood, shivering in the cold, confused and wondering if they were going to shoot him, not knowing what in the world was even going on, for a good half hour.

Then the Sheriff from his own county showed up, un-cuffed him, and the men with the rifles went back to where they had been for hours before all this happened.

A friend showed up and wrapped him in a blanket. Another couple of friends came and stood close by, not able to do anything to help him. The neighbors were watching all of this from their windows, some of them coming outside.

Finally the ambulance crew got to do their job. They figured it had been the exhaust from the vehicles, even though the garage door was open, that had brought on his symptoms.

The symptoms of whatever had caused the pain and vomiting that had made him call 911 passed a lot quicker than the trauma of the results of that call will.

He never did find out, so far, who those men with the rifles were or what they were doing in that little town, let alone why they were at a medical emergency scene as the result of a 911 call. No badges were shown, no identification except for one man who called himself 'Derek', no explanation as to what the cuffs were all about ... nothing.

My friend will tell his own story in due course . 

I just wanted this in here because it's  important to me. It's only the bare bones right now. We'll no doubt have commentary on it when there's time.

For the moment I have a shift to fill at the job I share with this guy who is not only a co-worker but he and his family are friends of mine.


Signs and symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning may include:

Dull headache
Weakness
Dizziness
Nausea or vomiting
Shortness of breath
Confusion
Blurred vision
Loss of consciousness

Of What Faith Are WE THE PEOPLE?

See that center circle right up there? That's our Faith. All of those circles are linked and cannot be separated. All are bound by that center circle - Faith.

Now, what the heck, right?

We here in the United States have all kinds of differences in our Faith. It's the truth - we do have a lot of differences among us. And that's okay, has been okay, generally speaking, for as long as there's been a United States. 

There's room for the differences among us, so long as one basic rule is followed: Believe what you choose, but you will will not do harm to others.

Our witch-hunting days were short-lived and are long past. We do not burn people here. We do not behead people. We do not mutilate people. We do not consider deceit and murder admirable.

There are all sorts here. We've got Pagans, Jews, Christians of all kinds, Wiccans, Hindi, Atheists, Traditionalists, Non-conformists, Scientists, Futurists, Buddhists,  and every other kind of '-ist'  and '-ism' you could possibly think of, with variations abounding among each and all of them. Lots and lots of sorts we've got, all different from one another.

Beneath the differences, through them, over-riding them, is that one basic rule. That is our fundamental Faith ... in one another ... whatever our differences, however much we can and do rant and rave and cuss blue streaks if we want to, there's a darned solid line in place between your fist and my nose so to speak. You cross that line and you're in trouble.

See, here's the deal.

If I were by chance sitting in a church pew and you came in, I would scoot over to make space for you, no matter what religion you are. If you want to sit alongside of whoever else happens to be at that service, you're certainly welcome. If, however, you came in and started shooting, somebody would shoot you because you just crossed that line. Whether we scoot or shoot is entirely up to you.

Because, as the kids would say, that's just how we roll here in the United States. Generally speaking, at least.

Our Faith is strong - in God, in one another, and in our own selves.

Those of us who live in well-armed snoopy little communities, we aren't particularly afraid of much of anything. The fact that everybody in town knows everybody else's business can be annoying as all get-out. It is also very much an effective security measure. 

The bad guys are better off just leaving us alone here in Small Town USA.

For one thing, we aren't all that interesting to anybody except ourselves. For another thing we don't have much of anything that anybody else might want. But mostly, what kind of publicity would get generated for the bad guys if all we did was shoot 'em when they opened fire on us? No media hoopla, no big deal - just like if a coyote threatened one of our kids. Bang, and the varmint ain't gonna bother us no more. 

Then there's that 'snoopy' factor. We are downright nosy. Somebody moves into town, we're gonna know it. We're gonna snoop and poke and pry and watch to see if they eat the bacon we're all so fond of. Even 'just passing through' people get the same treatment, yep. Call us paranoid if you want; we're okay with that. We've always been like this, you know. My family moved here fifty-odd years ago and we're still kind of the new folks in town, relatively speaking.

So yeah, we have our Faith. We also have Family, Friends, Freedom, and the Future - all linked securely together.

Our own Small Town USA is kind of a microcosm of our much larger national community. We can fuss and fret and call each other bad names and poke and prod each other over piddly stuff and make fun of folks for whatever ... but when push comes to shove we'll up and shoot whatever bad guy takes a shot at any of us, even if it's the guy we felt like shooting our own selves just yesterday because he's so damn dumb about lutefisk and thinks everybody ought to like it just because he does. He's been harping about that lutefisk for forty years or more and ain't nobody shot him yet. We aren't about to let anyone else shoot him. Feeling like doing something is a far cry from actually doing it.

Now don't think we aren't compassionate toward those who don't get to live out here among us. We are. We feel right sorry for you. And you're welcome to come sit beside us on that church pew any time you want. You are not welcome to come out here and start shooting us. We shoot back. And we eat a lot of bacon; lutefisk not so much, although some people do claim to like it.

Little Old Gramma Lady Lumberjacks ...

I'll stack this (photo below) neatly, I really will. But not tonight. I took my work boots off and am not going to put them back on tonight, not no how not no way! I'm in my comfy slippers and am going to stay that way.

I've also got some cutting to do, but not nearly as much as I would have if my sister hadn't done two things : 1) she got my chain saw going for me (it hates me); and 2) she got out her own chain saw and we got all of the above cut to length before I even brought it home. The stack in the below photo will get neatened up and added to what I've already got of about that size ... then one of these days - when I'm not wiped out from breaking, cutting, dragging and/or carrying, loading, and unloading - I'll get ambitious and cut them all down to length. Most of this is going to be perfect for my cooking fires! Ah, better make that three things. The other is that while I was in one section of the shelter belts she took her chain saw to another section and had three piles cut to length while I wasn't looking! 

When I pulled out of my sister's farmyard my little S10 pickup bed was full - not overfull but to the top of the bed box, a perfect load.

There's lots and lots left out there, more than I'll need this year for sure, so tonight I'm going to sleep like a log (no pun intended but there you have it) and head back out tomorrow. I left some cut to length out among the trees; I'll remember to take along my toboggan tomorrow for hauling. It's a lot easier than carrying out an armload at a time, believe you me, especially if you're back in the trees a ways. 

If I can manage to get an earlier start tomorrow I should be able to get two loads instead of only one - plus I learned something tonight when I was unloading. Lengths of four or five feet work a lot better for unloading and stacking. The cut to length ones seem to take forever to unload when I'm tired already. There are just too darned many of them! I ended up loading them into a big plastic tote and carrying them down that way. Throwing the longer ones down the basement steps is easier and quicker. I can cut the longer ones down to size any time - for now the thing is to just get them home.

Oh, in case you're not familiar with my unloading methods ... 

There's a side door of my house that opens right into the basement landing; I back my little pickup to the doorway, let down the tailgate, and throw the wood down the basement steps, trying to shoot it as far as I can into the basement. 
Inevitably it starts piling up at the foot of the steps and next thing you know it's most of the way up the steps. 
Then of course I have to try to clear it off the steps, working my way down as I go. 
It sounds like extra work, but it's actually not nearly as time and energy consuming as carrying it all down one little load at a time. Frankly, by the time I'm unloading, I'm flat out of both time and energy. If need be, that wood can sit on the darned steps until I recover enough to tend to it.

At any rate, I'm off to a good start this year with my firewood gathering. I had some of my own tree trimming branches from last year, about a load's worth; then a friend took me gathering a couple of weekends ago, another load; and today's load is only the first of (hopefully) probably a dozen or so more, God willing and weather permitting.

*contented sigh*

I'm going to want to do the stacking of today's haul first thing tomorrow before I go out for more. If I'm smart (which I might or might not be depending on the day) I'll also go ahead and cut all the long pieces down to size. 

I can do that any time, this is true ... but my basement is unheated and it can get almighty cold down there when it's forty below outside. A quick trip down to replenish the supply for a day's use is one thing - spending more than a few minutes down there is a whole different ballgame. So this year I'm going to try to spare myself as much winter work as possible and see how much I can get cut to size and stacked ahead of time.

Great.

It's midnight and I've just talked myself into putting my work boots back on and going down to stack that wood. 

Sometimes I forget that I'm a little old gramma lady, you know that?

Geez.

Whoooop!! Gotta Love OSHA Training!

As the time draws near for me to begin stocking firewood for this coming Long Dark I went down to my cutting and storage space.

Yep.

I should have taken a 'before' photo. I had a lot of sawdust and wood chips to sweep up.

This little pile would have been long gone if I were adept at splitting wood. They're too big around to fit into the firebox of my woodstove. I'm lucky there are so few of them.

I think these four lonely little logs will fit when I cut them to length. They were hiding under the big logs.

These average a couple of inches in diameter - they're a great size for cooking.

No shortage of kindling!

Here's my work area for firewood. I don't know what that blur is. Since I had just swept I'd not be surprised to find some little circle dust mote images - but that's not what this was - it was moving.

Whatever it was, it isn't in this shot. What the heck. Strange things happen in this old world of ours.

At any rate, clearing out the firewood room BEFORE adding anything to it is the direct result of old OSHA training ... clear your path before you go to use it. Almost all of that stuff was practically smack in the middle of the floor, not to mention a pretty thick pad of dust and bark and bits and pieces.

Now that my path is cleared, I can begin my gather of firewood - deadwood from a shelter belt on a friend's farm. 

The 'shelter belts' are wind breaks for farmsteads and in this neck of the non-woods are often the only trees to be found in any number. Some of them are generations old. Many have been cut and cleared away as old abandoned farmsteads are razed and turned to cropland. 

So if you ever visit the Great Plains ... no, the trees do not naturally grow in straight lines. Naturally speaking, few grow at all here. In this area the 'Tree Claim Act' of the pioneering and settlement days pretty much failed. People came all right, but they had a darned hard time getting their required trees to survive. Very hot summers, bitterly cold winters, harsh winds ... some trees don't do well in those conditions. We've learned much since then and plant trees all the time. But the old shelter belts from generations past are dying out.

That many of our local farmers still have them is a definite bonus for me. I get firewood; they get rid of deadwood and have healthier shelter belts as a result.

When it comes to the actually gathering of firewood, OSHA training again comes in right handy I have to say. In many ways, but in particular it sticks in my mind to be sure I'll be able to get that deadwood out of there. It behooves me to make a clear path as I go along.

Midnight - Small Town USA

It's midnight in Small Town USA.

The stars are blocked, the full moon a dark orange because of the smoke rolling in from the west, where fires are ravaging massive old timberlands in four western states.

The town is infested by a pack of coyotes; they're killing all of the stray cats and the cottontails who munch on people's gardens. They've also taken to eliminating any pets who are out unattended at night.

A little old lady leaves her house to walk the half-block to the local grocery store's outside pop machine. She wants a Pepsi.

About halfway there she sees a young man with a wispy blond goatee who says hello.

The unlikely pair strikes up a conversation about the coyotes which morphs into the telling of ghost stories.

The young man walks the little old lady to the pop machine, the two of them still chatting like old pals.

An hour later the little old lady walks back into her home and sits down to read a good book and savor her Pepsi.

The young man is going to patrol the town, looking for coyotes. 


online image from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/18/harvest-moon-2013-how-to-see_n_3948015.html

THOSE Bosses ...

I had one of THOSE Bosses years ago. This reminded me of how frustrating and irritating it is. Grrrrr ... !! 

The Women Speak - and it's all about America

*laughing*
They're going to say, 'Shiela, go back to writing books!' And I will.

But ... meanwhile ... things are going on ... 

Something struck me about a set of videos that showed up on my Facebook feed just recently.

Patriotic Americans, upset with more than a few things, are using their Voices to Speak. The ones in this particular set happen to be women.

They're upset basically with our current administration's choices.

Whether or not we agree with what they have to say, we do need to be aware, and grateful, that they can and are speaking their minds. There are many and many others raising their Voices; these two just happened to fall next to one another in my feed and that got my attention. Both women, both strong in their convictions, and both with a platform from which to make their Voices heard.

I don't think it's about race, lifestyle, economic bracket, political leanings, educational level, or religious beliefs any more. Those are always a part of everything. What it's hopefully becoming is 'It's All About America.'

Like a family who disagrees on any number of things, when push comes to shove guess what. If it comes right down to it, are you really going to care if the person who is shoulder to shoulder with you, or the one who has your back, or the one who is ahead of you is a different color? A different religion? Wears a suit instead of jeans? Has a degree or not? Has a same sex mate?

What the heck.

No,  you're not going to care about any of those things. 

When the time comes, and it will, there won't be any African Americans or Hispanic Americans or Muslim Americans or Gay Americans or Native Americans or White Americans or Rich Americans or yada yada yada ... when the time comes, none of those things are going to matter a whit. What will matter is the word 'American'. We will realize that we are Americans, each and all.

Just so you don't get too shocked when that rich white fat American executive has a sudden loss of racism and anti-female attitude once he realizes that the girl standing next to him is going to save his life, risking her own Asian American self to do it.

We will yammer and we will yowl; we will holler and we will howl ... and so be it. When push comes to shove, we will also Unite and United we will take our stand. Woe to those who fail to understand this.

From around this Nation, if you'll pay attention, from all backgrounds, has been coming the phrase 'Bring It On!' ... I'm not necessarily in favor of what those words indicate, but I surely respect the sentiment that lies behind them. Enough is enough already.

I am but a little old gramma lady who lives in a tumble-down cottage on Main Street of Small Town USA - and I'm a pacifist by nature - but if this push should happen to come to shove in my lifetime I will step in front of that girl who risks her life to save that man. Because that's what being an American is all about. 

Just sayin' ... 

Anyway ...

Both of these clips are about what happened in Chattanooga recently.

Tomi

Here is a girl called Tomi. She is but 22 years old yet her Voice is loud and clear.

Judge Jeanine

Here too, a woman called Jeanine, older and a judge. She wants our military personnel armed, wherever they are, in consistency with our own Constitution.

Emergency Back-up !!

Look what I found!

These are ... yes, you guessed it ... marbles. And some old copper wire.  I'm going to use them to make some of these:

This is an emergency back-up marble.

Just lately I've been asked a number of times in a number of settings about the one I myself wear all the time.

'Is it a crystal? Does it have a special meaning?'

'It's a marble,' I say.

'A marble?'

'Yep.'

'Why are you wearing a marble?'

'In case someone tells me I must have lost all my marbles, I can show them this one.'

'Oh.'

'And there have been times I've wondered my own self if I've lost all my marbles. This proves that no I haven't.'

'I want one!'

So I dug around and found the old thin copper wire.

'Did you make me a marble pendant?'

'Umm. No, not yet. But I found the wire! Now I just have to find the marbles.'

'Good thing you wear that one around your neck, huh?'

'Yep.'

Well, I'll have you know I found the marbles!

Now I can get busy and make some pendants for those who don't want to ever have to worry about losing all of theirs.

Since it looks like I won't be able to mow my yard tomorrow after all, what with a bit of a thunderstorm in the forecast, it might be a good day to spend in one of the shelters at the park, writing fun little stories and wrapping marbles in copper wire. That way I can be 'outside' but won't get soaked when it rains!

Small Town USA has a mighty fine park, I have to say - and I don't spend enough time there. So ... tomorrow (well, later this morning when I wake up, or noonish maybe since it's already past four o'clock in the morning) I'll take my marbles and my wire over there (a whole block and a half) and see if I can cage some of the marbles so that others can have peace of mind, knowing they've got at least one of their marbles safe and sound.

If I get really ambitious I'll take some photos as I go along, in case you'd like to cage one of your own marbles.  It's not really hard, as long as you keep a good hold on the marble you're trying to capture.

2015 May: Robin Hood

While mowing my front yard last week a pair of agitated robins kept making their warning cheep and swooping around the corner of my house. I looked in the honeysuckle and up into the trees nearby but didn't see a nest that they would be defending, so finished my mowing and they calmed down.

Yesterday when I mowed again they did the same thing and this time I found the nest - tucked into the corner of the outside window ledge at the front corner of my porch.

The grass will likely get a little long right around there for a while here. I'm fine with that.

Today, while out in my porch, I glanced over that way and saw a wide open baby robin beak waving around and ran to get my camera. By the time I got close enough to have taken a photo, a sharp cheep from a parent had that baby huddled down playing possum in the nest.

After a little while along comes a parent with a worm in its beak, landing on a little branch of the honeysuckle. It cocked its head at me one way, then cocked it the other way, and the baby kept its head down in the nest. I watched for a while, hoping to get a nice photo of the little one getting that worm, but that parent bird just kept giving me that old eagle eye so I'm leaving them alone for a while.

I did, however, raise the blind of that window right there so as to be able to have a better view. It gives them a better view, too. When I went back out, a parent was on the nest, watching me through the window.

Heh heh.

I just got myself a scolding from a bird.

I also got a 'sort of' picture of that baby's open mouth ... 

I'm fascinated by having a bird's nest that's only a windowpane away and it's tempting to just sit out there and watch- but I won't. It's not worth it to cause the parents the worry or to interfere with the baby's feeding, not just because I want to watch them and try to take pictures of them. 

While doing yard work on the other side of the house I saw that a nest in my ash tree over there wasn't the old abandoned nest that I had thought it was!

I'm surrounded!

Ah yes, life in the Robin Hood ... 

Duke

I don't even know how to begin writing about Duke. He's been a part of this adventure from the time he was only just a few months old, and many times has been the one to cheer and comfort me when it's been most needed.

A White Shepherd, Duke is the absolute epitome of his breed (although he falls at the top end of the size guidelines - you can look up the breed specs and know it's Duke they're talking about!) and has a most impressive pedigree.

The thing about White Shepherds, and specifically about Duke, is that they are not aggressors. They look intimidating, which is part of the appeal for a woman alone in the world in which we live in, but will not attack. 

IF there's an unavoidable and serious threat he will defend, yes. He's never had to, thank goodness, nor do I expect that situation will ever arise. If it does, somebody's liable to be sorry for starting something. 

*chuckle*

The first time a guy came to read the meter when Duke was outside I got a knock at my front door. He told me that Duke had come to meet him, all tail-wagging and happy. But as soon as he put his hand on the gate to open it he got a growl instead of that wagging tail. Smart man that he is, he came around to the front so I could introduce the two of them properly. Introductions duly performed, the meter reader guy comes and goes at will, tail-wagging back on a permanent basis.

One time a man parked across the street from our yard for twenty minutes or so, not doing anything but just sitting there watching our house. Duke and Baby (another dog we had at the time) were out in the yard. This was a suspicious circumstance and they barked to get my attention; I let them bark. 

It's Duke's job to alert me and to keep on alerting me until I tell him that something is okay. It was not really okay with me to have that guy sitting in his car across the street watching my house - and I wasn't about to go out there to find out what he might have wanted. So Duke and Baby kept barking - that person wasn't supposed to be there and I wasn't going to tell them to hush. I wanted the person to know darned well that those dogs were there guarding the property. He never did get out of his vehicle and eventually drove away. 

If he meant no harm, he could have gotten out of his vehicle, come up to the house, and been introduced properly. After that, he might have gotten a couple of welcoming barks to let me know that someone okay was nearby, but not the extended warning.

Once Duke meets a person and knows that person is okay by me to be around, he's okay with it too. That person is forever in his good graces. He never forgets anyone.

One day the neighbor kids were over playing fetch with him, throwing sticks and balls over the closed gate from the outside. They stayed for quite a while and then went to riding their small bike and a skateboard or something on the sidewalk. Duke must have thought they were doing something dangerous, were playing too close to the street, or something. He barked his attention-getting bark until I came and told him they were fine and just playing. Then he settled but didn't stop watching them. He keeps an eye on the neighborhood children.

I took a road trip last year, got to see people I haven't seen in much too long. Duke came along for the adventure. We stopped at my cousin Scott's where Duke and Scott's dog Cockroach (it's Scotty, what can I say - he picks the names he likes for his critters) had a whale of a time rousing about as though they'd been friends since puppy-hood. 

                                                             

 Here again, same trip, different cousin. When we pulled up in front of Bill's house he came charging out of the house shouting, 'Duke's back! Duke's back!' The reunion was a fine thing to see. As you can tell from the photo below, Duke looks at Bill with great affection. He's also got one ear cocked toward the front door, just in case ... 

Initially we got Duke to be guardian to my youngest daughter, college bound in MN. She is 'his girl' and when she's around he's never far from her if he can help it. Her voice on speaker-phone is enough to bring him from the far reaches of the house or even from the far corners of our yard. His hearing is acute as is his sense of smell - you'd think he'd know she isn't actually here, and he no doubt does. He just loves hearing her voice saying his name.

 

Below is a young Duke with my second daughter when she was home on a visit.

I have yet to see a happier, more content, dog than the one below. Heather may be relaxed but Duke is happily on guard.

Below is the look on Duke's face on meeting Heather. That's one of his parents in the background at their home in CO. The devotion in those eyes and the attention in those ears has never remitted, not once in the years that Duke has been sharing our adventure.

As you can see below, he's just as affectionate with me, when I allow it. I am the 'alpha bitch' of this equation, make no mistake. He could easily snap my arm in half or tear my throat out but it's not in him to do any such thing.

Below is another instance of the tenderness of his protectiveness. He has several stuffed animals ... a teddy bear, a loon, a burro, a pony ... these he will carry around 'til the cows come home. He has yet to break a stitch on any of them. They might get a little slobbery but they are never ever harmed.

This from a dog who can tear a tennis ball to bits in a matter of minutes and get a cover off of an empty pop bottle in about a second (it took him three seconds at first but he's gotten way better at it) and reduce a pork leg bone to next to nothing.

Here Duke and T-Bone, the terrier/chihuahua we had when we got Duke are playing tug of war. One of the funniest things I ever saw was shortly after Duke came. The two of them were 'playing' and the next thing we knew T-Bone had Duke on his back and was standing on his chest with one paw raised like, 'Ha! He might be big but I'm still top dog around here!' And that's the way it was. I don't play tug of war with Duke. If I want something that he's got, he gives it to me. If he wants something I have, he waits until I give it to him or takes no for an answer without fuss.  

Below he's collected some of the 'knuckle-bones' as I call them, from a local store that does butchering, of hogs mainly. They never last long because Duke loves them. You'll also see a lemon there. One of the games Duke loves to play is 'find it and bring it' and we used lemons at first because, well, their scent is easy. I'd show him the lemon, let him smell it, then make him sit and stay in one room while I roamed the house with the lemon, laying out a trail for him to follow and hiding the lemon. 

I have to say his ears told him exactly where I was at all times and his nose led him directly to the lemon every time. We switched to potatoes, and then used golf balls until he took to randomly finding them and chomping them open in no time flat. When I saw what's inside of golf balls I stopped having them around. Duke likes eggs too and once in a while I'll hide one for him to find and bring. Hasn't broken one yet, not until I tell him he can have it.

And here's a photo of those deadly jaws that can also be so gentle.

Below, Duke with his teddy bear again. I'll never get over how he takes such tender care of his 'little ones'.

On guard in my studio.

Duke doesn't know we're going to the lake cabin in the photo below, but that's 'his girl' he's next to and he's one happy dog. When we got to the lake, he roamed a bit and then headed for the water in no uncertain terms. That's when we found out that his feet are webbed. Literally. He loves swimming but rarely gets a chance to these days, sadly. He also outgrew that harness in short order.

*laughing about the webbed feet*

When I tell people that Duke's temperament is most of the time more like a retriever's than a shepherd's, I ought to include those feet and his love of the water. People look at me sideways when I tell them that, until they get to know Duke. His appearance is so familiar to me that I often forget how intimidating a 100 pound dog with broad shoulders, a mouth full of deadly teeth and fangs, and the general shape of a shepherd can be. That's the difference, and the edge. Unless you're familiar with the breed, you're likely to see a German Shepherd instead of a White Shepherd. The Whites tend to be stockier and stand squared, but the general look of them is still very much Shepherd.

The temperament thing is true though, for the most part. He's friendly as all get-out and loves people I lot more than I do, to be honest. He's lots nicer too, when it comes to that.

I've heard him growl less times than I can count on one hand. Once was at an aggressive dog, warning it off. It went. Once was the time the meter man told me about it although I never heard that one. Once was in the deep of the night and I still have no idea what that was all about; whoever or whatever it might have been also probably heard that growl and found some wisdom. 

The other time makes me laugh to this day. I was working on portraits of the Characters of my books and had almost finished Danann's. I set it up in my studio at about the height of Danann - well over six feet tall, that Character - and was busy in another room. Duke came and got me, leading me out into the studio and growling in the direction of the front porch. So I went out there to investigate and found nothing that Duke could have been growling at. Went back to my project and here came Duke again. Same thing. I knew there was nothing out in the front porch so watched this time to see what he might be growling at inside the studio.

It was the portrait of Danann!

Now I'm not all that good an artist, but something about that face, and maybe the placement of the portrait, got Duke's attention. And it's funny - there was no associated scent but it was most definitely Danann that Duke was concerned about. So I got the portrait down, did the 'introduction' thing, and all was well. No more growling at Danann. He never growled at the other portraits as I'd gotten them done, just that one.

There are a couple of adorable little yappers who moved in a couple of houses down. They're out in their little yard a lot and they yap the whole time they're out. Duke likes them, is maybe curious about them, and barks back. He's a lot more social than I am, and I would dearly love to know what those canine conversations consist of. 

Once I left the porch door open, totally forgetting that I hadn't latched Duke's room door. Out he flashed. I followed him straight to the penned little yappers (maybe he thinks they're his 'little ones' come to life) and home we went.

There are at least nine dogs on our block now, that I know of. A lab, a husky of some kind, and another yapper to add to the ones I've already mentioned. There was one more but that one went away.

When we came back to ND from CO, bringing Duke with us, a family had moved into our neighborhood with their three dogs. The first thing we did, even before getting down to work on the house projects, was build a strong wooden Duke Fence. The three dogs would come around and Duke wanted to play with them in the worst way, can't fault him for that. 

He didn't get to ... until he figured out how to work doorknobs.

It took me a mite longer to figure out that he knew any such thing. He let himself out to play a time or two before I caught him at it. From what the owners of the other dogs told me the four of them had been having a heck of a good time. When I showed up to fetch him, I approached one of the other dogs for an ear ruffle and Duke had that dog on its back quicker than a finger snap. No harm, of course, just a friendly warning and all is well.

But Duke doesn't get to run free. For one thing there's a leash law in our town. For another, there are lots and lots of new folks here now who don't know him and might be startled some at the sight of him running around.

Now, the doors of my house are the old-fashioned kind that take skeleton keys to lock, an aside here that will make sense in a minute.

I took the doorknobs off of the door that he can use to let himself outside, the one that doesn't lead into one of the fenced yards.

And all was well until I got home from work in the middle of a howling blizzard to find my house freezing and the door into Duke's yard blowing wide open. Not wanting any more of that, off came those doorknobs too.

The door to my courtyard is the only ordinary one in the bunch but Duke doesn't open it when I've got the 'signal' piece of plywood in place near it. If he ever did, he'd only get as far as the courtyard anyway.

The front door I key lock when I'm gone unless Duke is confined to his room - and that's no real hardship for him as his room is the old kitchen, and an open door to the whole bigness of the basement. Usually he's got the run of the house including the full big basement, and his yard is plenty spacious - especially when I open the gate between his yard and my courtyard. 

He's not kenneled. 

Ever. 

We did have an outdoor kennel for him at one time, when we were staying at a house with an un-fenced yard while working on the major projects of this one. I will never subject him to that again. Most of the time he was with us but once in a while he had to be out there. I've seen dogs tied up outside and also locked up in those kennels, doing what Duke did when he was confined in one - pacing and pacing and pacing, maybe laying down for a bit but then pacing and pacing and pacing. Hurts something inside of me, that does.

But those are the choices of others; Duke and I are content with our own choices.

He doesn't really like loud voices raised in anger any more than I do. At one time there was a couple next door who fought like crazy and he'd come to me whining, ears perked toward the ruckus, maybe wanting me to go over there and make them stop, who knows? They didn't stay long, relatively speaking. It disturbed him (and me) but as they weren't directing their venom at me (and as far as I know it never got physical) we didn't interfere. IF, however, anyone should choose to raise their voice to me I'd be willing to bet that they'd hear a warning growl from Duke. If they took it to the next step and laid a violent hand on me I would have not the slightest qualm about calling Duke.

I think Duke loves road-tripping with me. We can't really afford to do it often, but last year's expedition was probably more fun for Duke than he's had for that long a period of time in his entire life. He got to be right with me, for one thing. He got to ride in the truck (and not a single whine of complaint even during the very long driving stretches). I reclined the passenger seat and filled in front of it so he had room to stretch out. I kind of looked at him with a bit of envy now and then, wishing we could trade places and he could drive for a change.

He got to see and smell and hear I don't even know how many new people, places, critters, and things. His senses are so far beyond the capabilities of mine that it must have been almost sensory overload for him at times. He got to go to the vet ahead of time, to get his traveling papers (behaved himself quite very well even though there was a cat he really really wanted to chase). He got to romp around down Phantom Canyon a bit. Here's our favorite rest stop, high in the hills. There's a stream/creek nearby.

But mostly he got to be around people. 

I get 'peopled out' pretty quickly - Duke doesn't. He got to play with Cockroach. He got to hang out with Bill. He got to spend time with his favorite of my sisters. She's the one he's seen the most of, even though she lives in CO now and before that CA, and the other two live right close by, one in our little town and the other on a farm a few miles out. This is the one who sends him tennis balls and had a custom dog tag made for him 'Duke of the North'. He got to go out to the ranch with me. He got to watch the goings on of a little mountain town or two. He didn't endure the trip; he loved it and lived it to the hilt. 

As it's getting on that time of year again, he jumps into the truck every chance he gets. Smart dog, I have to admit. Smarter than I am and much easier to get along with. I too want badly to jump in the truck and head out - we can't really afford any such thing but ... maybe we can't afford not to. 

Below, one of my favorite Duke pictures. A pup yet, he's alert and on guard.

He's not a puppy any more - he'll be nine this fall. I'm already dreading the loss I know is to come. I won't get another once he's gone; there will never be another Duke.