Dogs I Love

I woke up last Monday morning and it was AUGUST. My favorite month of the year! In addition, last week’s Commentors gave me two votes for getting a DoG. Last week’s Commentors also taught me the word ensorcelled — thanks, Thea! — and informed me that a wheelbarrow will only fit one wombat  at a time  — thank you, Megan! — so I’ve had a lot to process this past week.

Now, about the DoG thing:

img_0019

Mac here (above) is, of course, a Scottish Terrier, a breed that is, as they say, an acquired taste, much like Scottish people themselves. And like your typical  Hatfield or McCoy, Scottie DoGs are proud and stubborn and manically loyal, usually to one and only one person at a time. But this Scottie here is a very rare Scottie of bifurcated doggedness having met, one day, a DoGless lady of his one person’s acquaintance and, sussing that this DoGless lady was sadly lacking a Scottie in her life, took it upon himself to make her his plus one. Some guardian angels have tiny little legs and extremely strong personalities instead of wings.

I imported this portrait of the noble Mac Scottie in the snow to my iPhoto file and brightened the contrast so I could differentiate his various hues and textures. Why?

img_0019 (2)

Because we’re going to have some DoG fun today! We’re going to paint Monsieur Mac!

P1080578

Grumbacher paints in the round, Winsor Newton in the square.


P1080577

I confess that I traced his outline from a print out of his photo, to get the proportions exact. Then I researched the woof and tweeter of Scotties’ fur, which is very particular. Plus, painting a nearly monotone black dog is very tricky — I have to take my time and think and plan ahead how I am going to use artistic license to not paint a big black puddle of black and call it “Mac”. Do I detect hints of blue and brown in M. Mac’s coat?

P1080579

I start with eye — if I don’t get the eye right I will have to throw out the whole shebang and start over, so I might as well do the most crucial bit first. It’s time saving, really, to start with the most diffy bit first.

Mac has very soulful eyes. And I think he looks very pensive in his photograph. I hope to get all that.

I start with a pale blue:

P1080580

Over which I wash a very watery brown:

P1080581

Still working wet-in-wet, I dab in deep black around the edge . . .

P1080582

I let that dry and I paint in a semi-circular pupil with a dot of white acrylic:

P1080585

I like this eye. I make a note to self to be very very very careful what I paint around this eye so that I don’t loose the oomph.

Next, I’m going to paint in the far-away shoulder area — I’ve never done this kind of painting before, so this is where I will “practice”. I’ve already decided that I can’t use a pure black color, for puddle reasons; I will mix in blue for the “shine” of this black coat. I’m also using two kinds of black paint, the powdery Grunbacher and the vivid Winsor Newtons — more about that later. So I swab in a blue outline and blend in a very watery WN black:

P1080587

I also used G[rumbacher] brown for the front ruff (barely visible int his pic below).

I have, beforehand, plotted out the areas that I am going to paint, one by one, in sequence (you can’t paint the whole DoG at once!). This is a step that I didn’t use to take when I was a beginner: the THINKING AHEAD part. But it makes life so much easier if you have a strategy.

So I proceed to the next bit, a blue/black wash on his little head:

P1080591

You’ll notice that I let the water and the paint mix itself and dry — I like the effect. I don’t mind that this watercolor portrait will look like a watercolor. And I am intentionally lightening up this part of his face to avoid the puddle thing.

Now I have to do the ears . . .

P1080593

Dang. I slopped a little drop of black paint on the paper where it doesn’t belong. I have to let it dry so I can white-out that drop when I finish the picture (I’ll use acrylic white paint). I hope you can see that I still “outline” Mac in blue. This is pure artistic license. Even if only a hair’s width of this blue remains when the ear is finished, I think its presence will add to the complexity of the black that I am layering:

P1080594

And now I begin Mac’s eyebrows:

P1080597

Note the two tones of black: Here is where you can see the difference between the paler, powdery Grunbacher black paint and the saturated Winsor Newton black paint. Using them both here adds to the complexity of “black”, don’t you think?

The closer that I get to the eye, the more nervous I get. One slip of the brush and poof! All is lost!

I’m showing you this photo (below) because you can see how I am layering in some brown on Mac’s nose, and also you can see that I got his foreground eyebrow wrong:

P1080599

So I erased half of it, by dabbing a brush soaked in clean water over the area:

P1080600

I am careful to leave the tiniest line of unpainted paper surface around Mac’s eye in order to make it the visual center point of this portrait. I’m painting his nose a mix of G blue and G black:

P1080601 (1)

Now for the fun bit! I love mixing brown and black!

P1080602

I have to work quickly here and it’s nerve-wracking — I have to work wet-in-wet with G black and WN brown and black, and make the brush strokes go in the right (whiskery) direction.

For this portrait, I have turned Mac’s body sideways to paint him in profile (he’s actually photographed in 3/4 mode), so this is all hypothetical to me! And can’t over-do this face; it has to look effortless, assured, and correct — which means that I can’t get away with erasing anything here. I t has to be right the first time:

P1080603

I forgot to photo my day’s work here, because I then put it away. I like to sleep on such an important painting. So the next day I came back and made a few tweaks and then the Noble Monsieur Mac was finished:

P1080618

You might notice that on Day Two I corrected his eyebrows so that they would be all lined up, neat and trim as in his photo. I also changed his eye, from this:

P1080585

To this:

P1080619

 

img_0019 (1)

My first (and probably only) Scottie DoG portrait (for Beth):

P1080617 (1)

 

If I had thought of it earlier I would have Googled watercolor scottie dogs, to see what I could steal. Now that it’s too late for me to pilfer from the professionals, I trolled the inter webs  anyway and found a U.K. watercolor artist by the name of Patch Wheatley, who paints quite a lot of Scottie DoGs and it is interesting to me to compare:

patchbrandy

 

7faa2277daaac388d7ed312753141baf

patch_5

See? I thought I was ever so clever in mixing blue and brown in my two black paints. Ha! We don’t ever think of anything new on our own, do  we? No, we just bump our heads against the good ideas that hang in the ether forever.

Have a terrier weekend, my Wonder Ones!

Read more

It was a Sign.  No doubt about it.

Sunday morning, 8:10AM, October 27, 2013.  It was THE Sign.

I turn on the Channel 2 (WCBS in NYC) for the weather forecast but I get the anchorwoman talking about “senior citizen” dogs from the Manhattan ASPCA who need homes. I see two little doggies squirming in the bright TV lights. They do not look happy to be there.

Then the TV shows the mug shot of one of the dogs, a cocker spaniel called Boogie Girl …

P1200248

“She was called Boogie Girl by her old owner, but you can change it,” the ASPCA told me. First of all, I would NOT change a name that a dog’s had for 17 years. Second, I thought “Boogie Girl” was a FANTASTIC name.

…I know immediately. This is a Sign, from the Universe, that Boogie Girl is meant for me.

To back up a bit: I have been a proud Crazy Cat Lady all my adult life. But ever since I married Top Cat and went to live in the suburbs of Long Island in a house with a beautiful back yard, I’ve had a hankering to broaden the scope and endeepen the depths of my human existence by getting a DoG.  But deciding what kind of DoG person I was — that was impossible. The DoG world has too many variables: small lap-size cuddler? Big goofy labrador or retriever? Mid-size pit bull? Super-smart poodle or shepherd? Really dumb bull dog? I had no idea.

But as soon as I see Boogie Girl on the TV I know that I am, without a doubt, a Boogie Girl kind of DoG person.

The following Wednesday, I am at the Manhattan ASPCA, meeting Boogie Girl in person:

P1200237

That’s the Adoption Counselor, above, walking Boogie Girl through the Cat Room to prove that she has nothing against cats. Done deal. I make an application, give references (including a vet reference), pay the $250 adoption fee, and on November 6, 2013, I am back at the ASPCA to bring Boogie Girl home!

P1200415

Front passenger seat, Toyota Camry hybrid, about 11 o’clock in the morning, Nov. 6, 2013.

I took this picture (above) after I pulled the car out of traffic on First Avenue, to settle Boogie down so she wouldn’t get us killed by crawling all over the driver’s side  — she was supposed to have stayed in the back seat, curled up on a blankie I’d brought for her, but I hadn’t been warned that she had probably never ridden in a car before and did not understand the protocols.

I took this picture to commemorate the very moment that I dedicated my life to her: There she is, looking at me, and in her eyes I see that she is dreading/pondering  what new shit has happened to  her now.

And I look back at her, ashamed that I don’t even know how to take a dog for a car ride, and I promise her, “Baby DoG, (when I don’t call her Boogie Girl I call her my Baby DoG), I may not know what I’m doing, yet, but I want you to know that I will protect you, and love you, and we’ll figure it out together in your forever home.”

P1200547

How CUTE is she in her Winter coat????

Boogie Girl had already been through a lot. She was one of 4 dogs rescued from a deplorable living situation in a hotel, from an old lady who had long gone senile, and finally been evicted, so the state had come in and removed her to an assisted living facility and called the ASPCA to come get the animals.  Boogie Girl had been at the ASPCA shelter for 6 months and was the third (of the 4 dogs) to be adopted.

When I met her, Boogie Girl was 17 years old. She was hard of hearing, and also a bit hard of seeing (inoperable cataracts — her heart couldn’t withstand anesthesia). In other words, she was perfect.

P1200868

Top Cat filling in on dog-walking duty. It was snowing and I just could not go back out there to go on a sniffing expedition to the neighbor’s garbage cans for the third time that day.

Boogie was 18 pounds when I got her — she was thin. Later, I figured out that if it took 6 months to get her well enough for adoption, the poor thing must have been in very bad condition when she arrived at the shelter. I figured it out because, at home with me, she was so frantic and greedy every time she ate (I think that’s called “food insecurity”) that I had to save her from herself or else she’d puke from over-eating. So that’s how I begin to  parcel out her feedings to three times a day, and make her scrambled eggs, eggs over easy, and gravy; and give her spoon fulls of cat food to delicio-tize  her kibble, and let’s not even start with the wet food catering (all veterinarian-approved). By the end of the Winter she had put on about five pounds and couldn’t fit into her cute little coat any more.

P1200511

She only used her meshy harness for a week. It irritated patches of her skin that were bald. She only wore a collar when I put her on the leash — my Boogie Girl was going to have as free-range a retirement as possible.

The ASPCA did not tell me that Boogie Girl  wet her bed most nights. See that spiffy $100 bed (above) I got for her? It lasted a week. It was so big that I had to go to the laundromat in town to use the triple loader to wash it every time she, uh, piddled in her sleep, and as I was not capable of spending hours of my life going to the town laundromat three-four times a week, I knew I needed to come up with a home-based bed-washing/keep Boogie in clean beds system. Voila:

P1200835

Don’t judge me for putting her in a cardboard box — I’ll explain in a minute.

The cats got Boogie’s $100 old bed. She now has four different little beds (on rotation; she goes through two a day) that fit nicely in my home  washing machine. A friend advised me to get an indoor pen for her boudoir, so we pulled up the rug on our slate-floored den, put down two shower curtains, and circled them with a light-weight pen. The pen was never locked, and it was very flexible. It was more of a suggestion of boundaries than a hard core kennel.

We laid down newspaper on top of the shower curtains, and every night we carpeted her pen with nice clean Wee Wee pads  (see above).

And after her long night’s sleep, THIS is what I have to clean up (see below)  every morning:

P1210037

Now, about the cardboard box: Everything I know about taking care of Boogie Girl, I learned through trial and error, and one thing I learned about Boogie is that she is a sloppy sleeper:

P1210213

 

P1000129

P1210750

P1000125

So, if I want to save her from sleeping head-first in her own night soil, I have to contain her in her bed somehow.  And that’s why we started ordering really big stuff from Amazon just to get the box:

P1210751

See that butt? She doesn’t have a tail, so every time she’s happy her whole back end wiggles, like at 100 mph. And we wiggle together, to a song I call ” Happy Boogie Butt! Happy Boogie Butt!”

It works. It isn’t pretty, but it works.

Boogie Girl and I spend most of our days together in the den, but Boogie Girl’s den is a big room. It’s 350 square feet. It has 7 regular windows and one big picture window. It has two sofas, a stuffed chair, various end- and coffee-tables, and my desk. This is a picture of her, hogging up the whole left side of my office space, while I’m trying to type the Damn Garden Book:

P1210754

Here’s another picture of my working conditions:P1210043

And another:

P1210038

She also comes with me upstairs when I work on stuff in my painting workroom. This is a picture of her in my work room, snoozing in a bed that was not meant for dogs:

IMG_0143

Here’s another picture of her in amanuensis  mode, in my workroom:

P1210074

One thing that the ASPCA didn’t tell me, kind of an important thing, was that Boogie Girl had never been house broken. I figured it out myself after our first five days together, but I wasn’t going to traumatize her with training at this point in her life.  This is her happy retirement. So I try to manage her tendency to answer the call of nature inside the house by walking her four or five times a day —  Dear Readers, I must confess: having to trot her to the same neighbors’ trash cans four or five times a day so she can sniff every last bit of discarded rotten food gets tiring. Crazy tiring. And gross. But who am I to deprive Boogie of such pleasure?

P1210554

Spring sunshine — and Boogie Girl at her shaggiest, right before her Day of Beauty at the groomer’s.

Once upon a time, Boogie Girl found a chicken bone in the middle of a street around the corner. I took it away from her, of course, because it was disgusting, and for WEEKS afterwards, we had to make a detour to go to that same exact spot, and sniff around for a chicken bone that might have magically re-appeared. WEEKS. And yes, to make up for my guilty conscience about that chicken bone, I  put baked chicken on her dinner rotation.

P1210639

The Boogie after her Day of Beauty at the Groomer’s. I can’t believe how small she looks, because her place in my life is HUGE. BTW, Boogie is not a cuddly dog, so this is as much huggy-time as I could ever get from her, altho she does let me kiss her on the nose every time I want to.

Boogie Girl is, in short, needy, picky, and a  handful. She’s also a bit smelly, but she is dignified, brave, and gentle.

Because Boogie Girl had so many care-taking requirements, Top Cat and I had to stop traveling to week-end get-away destinations. And every place else.

P1210681

That’s Dudley, checking out the intruder to his back yard territory. Yes, that’s an empty pizza-box in the flower bed to the right. It’s DUDLEY’S pizza box.

I cart Boogie Girl off to the vet as frequently as I take her to the groomer  — at least every six weeks. New dog mom, old dog, nutty amount of love … I panic about her health a lot, and I am happy to hand over a couple of two to seven hundred dollars just to be re-assured that she’s not going anywhere, no matter how heavenly, any time soon.

P1000179

Dudley LOVES to nap on his pizza box in the flower bed. Who am I to care if it makes our place look trashy? Dudley likes it, end of story.

Even with me watching over her, Boogie Girl has managed to crap in every room of the house. TWICE. Every room. Rooms that have carpet, rooms that have oriental rugs, rooms that have hardwood, and rooms that have tile floors.

I have stepped in it, in bare feet, only once. And once in stocking feet.

P1210063

How does Boogie get along with the cats, you ask? She gets along like this — she sniffs, determines that they are not food, and ignores them. This seems to only annoy Taffy (seen here, trying very hard to get her attention).

I’m telling you all this so you will know that Boogie Girl thoroughly up-ended my cat-lady life and household. I’m telling you all this so you’ll know that from the first day we were together, my life had to be all about Boogie Girl, and I’m absolutely fine with it, and I’m telling you all this because from Day One my heart was Boogie’s  and will always be hers. I’m telling you this because I only had her for nine months, two weeks, and a day, and I miss every time consuming, exhausting, totally boring dog walking, garbage can sniffing, laundry doing, cleaning up-aftering, sloppy sleeping, wolf eating, dinner-making, bed-making, panic-making, never-off-my-mind second.

P1210633

Notice that she is not hugging me back.

Boogie Girl was not a cuddly dog, but she and I had a deal. When her time came, she would be at home, with me,  Top Cat, and a kind, soft-spoken vet. I would make her a feast of her favorite people-food treat (baked broccoli casserole with bread crumbs and garlic), she would scarf it down, and she would let me carry her to the den. She would finally let me hold her in my lap, and wrap my arms around her, and tell her what a beautiful wonderful lovable DoG she was, and keep smooching her silly head, while the vet put her worn out little soul gently to sleep.

P1210671

And that’s exactly what happened.  Boogie Girl died of congestive heart failure on the night of August 26, 2014.

I could’nt sleep that night: The vet had taken Boogie to Westchester, to the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery, to be cremated, and the house was suffocating me with her absence. I was haunting myself for not having done every thing perfectly for her. Mostly, I couldn’t sleep that night because I never wanted to  wake up in the morning and not have a Boogie Butt wiggling with happiness to see me.

But I was too exhausted to resist a few hours’ sleep, and then it was the next day. First thing,  I made a frantic call to Hartsdale Pet Cemetery in Westchester to say I had to see my Boogie Girl one last time, could they give me a one last viewing, please please please? They said Of course. I went limp with relief.

Then I gathered up Boogie’s cans of wet food and big bag of dry, and her purple harness that she used for 7 days, and I took them to the local county animal shelter. Seeing a stranger hold Boogie’s old harness made me cry. So I went home and drank tea and passed a very numb day.

(I held onto her beds until October, literally held onto them. I held and inhaled and said my Boogie’s name, until it got cold and I thought of the little dogs who might not have cozy beds of their own and I made another trip back to the county animal shelter.)

And the next day, there I was driving up and down Central Park Avenue, hyperventilating and still to able to breathe, in heart-attack mode, seeing black spots in front of my eyes, because I was lost in goddam Westchester.

Screen Shot 2015-01-26 at 11.57.59 AM

Imagine that you are a 40-ish guy, sitting at your desk at Scarsdale Ford, on a perfectly average, normal Thursday morning. Suddenly, a wild-eyed lady storms into your showroom, clutches her head, and says, “I’m  lost and I’m going to faint.” She’s talking kind of loud and can’t catch her breath. She drops herself down in the seat front of your desk and, hands trembling, she hands you a sweaty, crumpled piece of paper with the address of the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery on it, and she before she bursts into tears she  says, “I have to see my dog one last time and I can’t find her.”

She keeps saying, “I have to see her, I have to see her. And I’m lost!!”

You take a moment to figure out that what’s happening isn’t a prank. Then you dial the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery. You tell them that there’s a woman having a nervous breakdown in your office because she’s worried that they are going to go ahead with the scheduled cremation because she hasn’t arrived on time and you think she’s a no-show but the truth is that she’s going crazy from  being lost [in goddam Westchester] for the last 40 minutes. You write down directions, you hang up the phone, you turn to the weeping lady, and very calmly and slowly, you say:

“You’re only half a mile away. The entrance is hidden on a side street. Go here, turn left here, turn the corner there.  You’ll be at the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery in ten minutes. Don’t worry. They’ve still got your dog and they won’t start without you.” The woman still looks bat-shit crazy, but her crying is quieter now and she lifts herself up from the chair in front of your desk. She says, “Thank you so much. I was so afraid I’d never get to see her again, and I have to see her one last time.”

Then you say, “Can I give you a hug? I’ve been through it too and I know what you’re feeling.” So you give the lady a hug, and she starts crying again, and she sobs, “I miss her so much!”

The lady turns, and leaves the building. Two days later you get a card in the mail, addressed to “Kind Person Who Helped Me Find the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery”. The crazy lady tells you her name, tells you that Boogie Girl was the name of her dog, apologizes for barging in on your work day, assures you that she is not usually that much of a nut job, and thanks you profoundly and humbly for your humanity.

Screen Shot 2015-01-26 at 12.34.55 PM

And that’s how I finally arrived at the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery.

Screen Shot 2015-01-26 at 12.35.04 PM

I sat with Boogie for a quarter hour. She was laying in a little bed with white satin sheets and her head was on a white satin pillow. I clipped some locks of hair from her silly little head.

I saw her all the way to the door of the crematorium, and then I turned away. I walked around the cemetery for an hour. The cemetery is a beautiful place.

l

l-4

then I collected her ashes, and drove home without incident.

Every time I sit at this desk, Boogie Girl is right in front of me, in a flowered tin box.

People ask me if there’s a big difference between cats and DoGs, and I say, “And how.”

People ask me if it was kind of stupid to adopt a senior citizen dog to be my first DoG ever, and I say, “I was probably in a little over my head.” And I also say, “I hope I made her happy.”

People have asked me if it was worth the effort and expense and heartbreak  to care for an old DoG that you only know for such a short time, and I say, “I don’t know any other way of having a DoG.”

People ask me if I’ll ever get another DoG, and  I say, “I’m on the lookout.”

All I need is a Sign.

Read more

 

BookScanCenterboogs 1_3

 

I wish you happy holidays, Dear Readers,

and a joyful new year!

Meet me back here on

January 16, 2015

when this blog re-boots  for further mountain-making from the molehills of life and art here on the shores of the Long Island Sound.

The thing I’m most looking forward to about my new blog is getting serifs. Oh, how I have missed my serifs on this lousy Atahualpa theme. In 2015 it will be Times New Roman all the way. You have no idea how happy this will make me. Happier than playing Twister with Ryan Gosling, that’s how happy my new serifs will make me.

Read more

As soon as I saw this book’s cover I knew two things:

1. I was going to love reading it, and

2. I was going to hate myself for the next few months for not having thought up that title for my own use. Damn damn damn damn damn.

Long story short, it’s published by Bloomsbury (mine own publishers!) and it’s edited by Kathy Belden (mine own editor)! so I knew it was a gem, so of course I pre-ordered it from Barnes and Nobel and then I  began to stalk the author  checked out the author’s website.  As luck would have it, Steven Kotlerwas going to have a book event in Port Washington, New York (mine own neighborhood!) so I  glommed onto him  contacted him and offered to show him the sights of the Long Island Sound.

So yes, I’ve met him in person and heard his wonderful talk about Dog Rescue and the Meaning of Life, and I’ve read this book and cried and vowed that one of the things on my Bucket List is now Get A Dog.

This is Steven Kotler’s life:

http://outsidek9.com/2010/09/steven-kotler-and-the-five-dog-workout/

You can see more about Rancho Chihuahua here:

http://www.stevenkotler.com/node/123/

So everyone, buy this book and say a small, furry prayer.

Read more

My mother doesn’t want me to tell you this story. She thinks it makes me look kind of like a jerk, or at least un-ladylike. But I made a vow  and I had to keep it. So this week, Top Cat and I drove to Brooklyn, New York  (20 miles from our house on Long Island) in search of Betty Trippe’s grave in Green-wood Cemetery so I could spit on it.

I must say, if I hadn’t had to settle a score with the late Mrs. Juan Trippe, I would never had had the pleasure of discovering that Green-wood Cemetery is one of my favorite places in all of New York! So, thanks, Betty. You bitch.

Founded in 1838 as one of America’s first rural cemeteries, the Green-Wood Cemetery soon developed an international reputation for its magnificent beauty and became the fashionable place to be buried. By 1860, Green-Wood was attracting 500,000 visitors a year, rivaling Niagara Falls as the country’s greatest tourist attraction.

Today Green-Wood is 478 spectacular acres of hills, valleys, glacial ponds and paths, throughout which exists one of the largest outdoor collections of 19th- and 20th-century statuary and mausoleums. Four seasons of beauty from century-and-a-half-old trees offer a peaceful oasis to visitors, as well as its 560,000 permanent residents, including Leonard Bernstein, Boss Tweed, Charles Ebbets, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Louis Comfort Tiffany, Horace Greeley, Civil War generals, baseball legends, politicians, artists, entertainers and inventors.

On September 27, 2006, Green-Wood was designated a National Historic Landmark by the United States Department of the Interior, which recognized its national significance in art, architecture, landscaping and history.

This is the hill near the site of the Battle of Long Island (1776), near the very edge of the cemetery overlooking a quiet back street in Brooklyn. You can’t see it very well in this photo, but in real life it pops out, way out there, on the horizon; let me zoon in on it for you:

Top Cat and I spent a wonderful hour moseying around the grounds, which we had all to ourselves on one of the finest Spring days we had this year (people don’t spend their leisure hours strolling around cemeteries like they used to).

At last we found the Trippe grave site, and I stood in front of Betty’s grave (center stone) and I said, “This is for all those lost dogs, all those broken-hearted servicemen!” and I spit on her grave. (When I told my mother what I’d done, she said, “Oh, Vivian, did you have to?” And when I told her that I was going to blog about it she said, “Oh, my, I don’t think anybody wants to read about that.”)

I’ll be honest, it really didn’t feel all that good; I’m not much of a spitter-in-public. But hey: you dis my boys of the ETO and their dogs and you’ll have me spewing  on you and your memory. So there.

Because there is a special bond between service men and women and their animal companions. See this picture, below, taken in Iraq:

See that little puppy in the background? Read about him here (courtesy of my friend, Melinda Penkava, and her excellent Town Dock (Oriental, NC) News website:

http://towndock.net/pet/mr-march-2010-ramadi

I feel like somebody should say: Amen.

Read more