Over the years, shy Daphne and has become more doglike. Over Thanksgiving she surprised everyone. My in-laws came and brought their two puppies, (Special Guest Pups) Henry and Lucy. Henry is the little(er) one…
While Joey watched suspiciously and stayed out of the way (it’s hard to see exactly what those little things zipping around all the way down there are) and Phoebe slept, it was Daphne who bounced around and played - yes, played - with the puppies.
She chased ‘em, she dropped at ‘em, she even grabbed a toy and attacked it to show what she’s capable of.
Daphne. Played. With a toy.
It’s hard to believe this is the same dog I once had to pick up and carry (all 55 pounds of her) to the backyard to do her business.
Greyhounds carry baggage heavier than most dogs. It’s good to see Daphne leaving more and more of it behind.
***
Want to make a fast friend by saving a greyhound in Central Texas? Check these pups out. Or go here to find a greyhound near you. You can also go here to find out why greyhounds are running for their lives.
If you have dogs who need proven leadership, go here to find a cat.
Look up—endlessness and open sky
Naked leafless lungs break blue infinity
Ghosts of birds sing springtime memories
Imagine them in the trees, though all around is endings—
Dying leaves, new spiders’ eggs and spider’s dead decay…
Remember that hummingbird released from a spider’s web?
Up from my hand, he raced straight to South America
Look up—wait for one last gust of wind
In the interest of promoting all things coyote, I offer a recent discovery: a legal brief regarding a lawsuit brought by Wile E Coyote against Acme:
Mr. Coyote states that on eighty-five separate occasions, he has purchased of the Acme Company (hereinafter, ‘Defendant’), through that company’s mail order department, certain products which did cause him bodily injury due to defects in manufacture or improper cautionary labeling. Sales slips made out to Mr. Coyote as proof of purchase are at present in the possession of the Court, marked Exhibit A. Such injuries sustained by Mr. Coyote have temporarily restricted his ability to make a living in the profession of predator. Mr. Coyote is self-employed and thus not eligible for Workmen’s Compensation.
Mr. Coyote states that on December 13th, he received of Defendant via parcel post one Acme Rocket Sled. The intention of Mr. Coyote was to use the Rocket sled to aid him in pursuit of his prey. Upon receipt of the Rocket Sled, Mr. Coyote removed it from its wooden shipping crate and sighting his prey in the distance, activated the ignition. As Mr. Coyote gripped the handlebars, the Rocket Sled accelerated with such sudden and precipitate force as to stretch Mr. Coyote’s forelimbs to a length of fifteen feet. Subsequently, the rest of Mr. Coyote’s body shot forward with a violent jolt, causing severe strain to his back and neck and placing him unexpectedly astride the Rocket Sled. Disappearing over the horizon at such speed as to leave a diminishing jet trail along its path, the Rocket Sled soon brought Mr. Coyote abreast of his prey. At that moment, the animal he was pursuing veered sharply to the right. Mr. Coyote vigorously attempted to follow this maneuver but was unable to, due to poor design and engineering on the Rocket Sled and a faulty or non-existent steering system. Shortly thereafter, the unchecked progress of the Rocket Sled led it and Mr. Coyote into collision with the side of a mesa.
- Ian Frazier, The New Yorker Magazine, 26 February 1990
Check out the whole thing. It’s a funny bit of satire, and one more reason to root for Coyote. Not only is he unable to get Road Runner, he’s a victim of the Corporate Man.
A few months ago, my wife and I were on our way to a party her company was hosting at a downtown club. We had had dinner and had some time to kill so we stopped for a pint at Bull McCabe’s on Red River. We sat at a rickety table on the porch, enjoying the springtime weather and watched people walk up and down the street, drifting from club to club.
The homeless shelter is right around the corner so along with music lovers, there tends to be an abundance of homeless people mingling about the area, often indistinguishable from the music fans until they ask for a handout.
One guy, probably in his mid-thirties, came shuffling onto the porch. He wore a few extra sweaters under a grimy red coat out of which a white cable grew like a vine that terminated in his ears. I wondered if he actually had an ipod under there somewhere.
“Hey,” he said, walking up to our table. “You got any cash?”
My wife and I shook our heads. “Sorry, no.”
He stared at our beers and looked back at us. “What about them?”
I shrugged. “No cash.”
“Can you charge me a beer then?”
“No.”
“Aw, come on, man, you can just get me a beer. I won’t bother you. You can afford another one.”
I didn’t say, yes, I could afford more, and had he asked, I might have bought him a burger, but he just stared at us, clearly annoyed, small muscles ticking beneath his face. “What do you do for a living?” he asked, his voice challenging, likely trying to prove to us that we made enough to buy him a beer.
“I’m a teacher,” I said.
His body language changed with that last word. He relaxed, making me realize for the first time just how wound up and intense he was under all those used-up old clothes. He took a polite step back. “Aw, man, I’m sorry. I won’t bother you. You have a good night. You’re good people.”
He backed out of the bar and smiled at us again as he shuffled down the street, leaving us to wonder what teacher he had had that made such an impression on him that he refused to bother a teacher. I also wondered what would have happened had I been an investment banker.
I see more and more blogs pimping YouTube. Sometimes I find it sad that blogging, the last great bastion of the written word, the fulfillment of Guttenburg’s dream, the cornerstone of modern freedom, the… okay, okay, so it’s getting laid on a little thick, but does the blogosphere really have to be the new teevee?
Then, because I’m curious, I began to wonder how one puts a YouTube clip into one’s blog. Ever one to be part of the problem, I figured I’d give it a go. Naturally, it’s easy.
So, enjoy a fascinating cover of Sonic Youth’s “Schizophrenia,” a tribute of sorts to Philip K Dick.
I just finished listening to Frank McCourt’s Teacher Man, his memoir recounting 30 years as a New York City public school teacher. I’ve really enjoyed the few audiobooks I’ve read in the past, but this one is especially good, considering McCourt reads it himself. There’s something satisfying about hearing a writer read his own words, and McCourt’s Irish accent, his tired and bemused voice, combine to create the sense of sitting in a pub listening to the tales spun by a wise old drinking buddy.
He shares his agonizing days as a novice teacher who didn’t know what he was doing and hoping his kids - and principals - wouldn’t figure him out, and brings the reader on the long road to experienced and (mostly) confident teacher who has found his niche.
Over time he seems to get comfortable with the fact that those lessons invented on the fly often seem to reach students far more effectively than the ones we plan weeks - ok, days - no, hours - ahead. He begins to understand that storytelling is a worthwhile thing for teachers - especially those who teach writing - to do.
He thinks school should be fun, that students should enjoy it, and that makes him something of a quiet and slightly insecure radical. He feels almost guilty about this, and that tension between wanting to do things the tried-and-true by-the-book way vs. doing things in a way that is honest and meaningful to his students generates the angst that he humorously battles throughout the book.
Listening to McCourt, I found myself smiling as I drove to and from school, remembering my earliest days in the classroom, for I had been in his boat once. When I started teaching, I felt underprepared and unqualified. So I faked it. I told stories and tried to make it fun for the kids.
Now that I’ve been doing this for 9 years, I’ve realized that I can be the strict grammarian by-the-book traditional English teacher, but no one enjoys that. Not me, not the kids. School should be fun. For kids, for teachers. Oh, Kids should learn, no doubt; they should be equipped to think and have the skills they need to survive on their own, but it shouldn’t feel like jail. Of course, I teach in what is essentially a jail, so it’s especially important that my kids feel free, at least when they’re in my room. As McCourt says, there is a line between fear and freedom. Education should push us toward the freedom side of the line.
Anyone interested in teaching or who is a teacher would get a kick out of Teacher Man. Not only is it full of interesting - and often wickedly funny - stories about life in the classroom, it is also one of the most honest portrayals of teaching I’ve ever read. Or, rather, I suppose, heard.
Friday Hound Blogging: ‘Tis Sweet to Hear the Crazy-Eyed Barker
“‘Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog’s honest bark
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home;
‘Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
Our coming, and look brighter when we come.”
- Lord Byron, “A Friendly Welcome”
***
Want to make a fast friend by saving a greyhound in Central Texas? Check these pups out. Or go here to find a greyhound near you. You can also go here to find out why greyhounds are running for their lives.
If you have dogs who need proven leadership, go here to find a cat.
I’m trying to identify the ducks that are suddenly showing up now that it’s getting cold up north. I finally managed to ID the mystery ducks that spent last winter on the pond near the house when they came back this year. It was easy to figure it out, once I realized they weren’t ducks, but were American Coots.
The other day, I rode down to a small lake near the house and saw these guys cruising along in the fading light.
The one in the back is a mallard, but I don’t know what the two ducks in front of him are. There were a few female mallards farther ahead, out of frame, but these aren’t female mallards.
None of them big words here, according to this site:
It was interesting to have it scan peruse individual categories, though. My posts missives on Lost, movies and current events reveal more book learnin’ a slightly more cultivated intellect…
while my gooder more erudite posts on stupid college boy wastes of timebooks seem more worthy of acclaim highest accolades…
Thanks (a lot) to E, George, and Fred for inspiring this little exercise in self-inflicted insult aspersion casting. I hope nobody thinks this blog sucks aspirates.
(I wonder what this post will do for my overall rating, what with them extra 50 dollar words added in.)
Another great bird. Over the past few months I’ve developed a thing for egrets and herons. The great blue heron being one of my favorites. When I see one fly overhead, I tend to stop and stare.
I especially love watching them take flight, their slow but sturdy wingbeats pushing them up several feet at a stroke. Unlike the ubiquitous turkey vultures riding lazy on the thermals, the great blue herons seem to have a sense of where they’re going.
This one was settling in to roost for the night atop a tree overlooking the golf course. I wish I’d been clever enough to climb down from the trail where I was riding my bike to get onto the other side of him so the sun would be at my back, but I would have lost the light by the time I got down there.
