Going Giggly

We've always heard that "laughter is the best medicine," so here are a few silly photos to help cheer up those who could use some giggles!!

Here's me in my fisherman's sweater getting ready for the Christmas trip to the wild and wooly Midwest last year... (Gabbi, please DO NOT LOOK!!!) Remember Jackson's mustache contest???? Those are my real furs...

And these may not make anybody laugh except our Mom. Pawsonally, JH and I think they're kind of embarrassing, but she thinks they're a hoot. (And apparently, those shiny yellow slickers will be making the trip with us again this year.)

So, we're continuing to tug and pull and bark with our paws crossed for Ms. Snickers and our other dear friends; but we thought it might be time for a few belly laughs (or tummy rubs, if you prefer).

Jake of Florida.

More Paws on Deck

One of our wirey pals, Ms. Snickers, needs all paws on deck to help her recover from a serious illness. And our buddy, Max, way across the pond is having surgery today. And we know others are suffering too.
Check out Gussie's blog -- and Asta's -- and Archie and Agatha's -- and Scruffy, Lacie, and Baby Stan's -- and more --and you'll see that it's a full-court wirey paw press, joined by all our other pals of every breed and spot in this global community to help heal those who need the Power of the Paw.

You're in our hearts Ms. Snickers!!! And we're sending wirey vibes, Max!!

Jake and Just Harry

Interesting article: Did humans domesticate dogs or did dogs domesticate humans? You pick!!!

http://www.sphere.com/2009/11/06/did-we-domesticate-dogs-or-did-dogs-domesticate-us/

Galveston, Texas, One Year after Hurricane Ike

Heron-cam, aka H.C. Bird, here: Last Sunday, I escorted Jake and Just Harry to their favorite animal camp and then flew with their folks to Galveston for an annual seaport convention. These conventions are scheduled at different seaports in the US and Canada years in advance. Ironically, the year it was scheduled in New Orleans -- 2006 -- was the year after the area was devastated by Hurricane Katrina, and the year it was scheduled for Galveston -- 2009 -- was the year after Hurricane Ike. Next year, it's scheduled for Halifax -- so history won't repeat itself just yet -- but the irony was not lost on the hundreds of convention attendees. As someone said, where the sea meets the land is where people (and we water birds?) like to settle -- and that's where they are often most vulnerable.

Once we got to Galveston, I was so overwhelmed by the awesomeness of the sea and the fishing opportunities that I kind of abandoned my post and left it to the Boyz' Mom to describe what they experienced. Anyway, since this is serious stuff, she is probably better at it than I -- a mere flighty bird, despite my impressive wingspan -- might be.

So, the Boyz' Mom here. I warn you, no cute photos of Jake and Just Harry -- just some impressions of the heroic efforts the City and the Port of Galveston have made since Ike hit the Island a year ago September. These impressions were all the more striking because, most of the time we were there, the Gulf of Mexico and Galveston Bay were grey and roiling as several severe storms passed through. Our hotel was right next to the seawall that was built after the 1900 hurricane, so we had a front row seat to observe what it must have felt like in the hours before Ike.

Along the seawall, a monument erected to commemorate the 1900 hurricane has been transformed into a tribute to survivors of the 2008 storm. Letters, photos, mementos, dried flowers -- all dot the low fence that protects the statue -- staying there until the new winds fade them or rip them to shreds.

So the sun, when it shone, was a precious sight and more like the spirit of the community Everywhere downtown are these signs of the community's comitment to the future and markers that show the height of Ike's storm surge and flood waters.
In many instances, the markers compare the level from 1900 with levels from other storms and then -- at the top, -- the high waters from Ike.I'm five feet four inches -- so you can get a sense of those levels from where the marker is on this brick building (that's not a wig -- it's wind-swept hair!).One of the events we attended was at the historic 1894 Opera House. I had visited it years ago when I did a cruise study for the port and remembered that special feeling of being surrounded by wood paneling and carpeting and other elements that dated back a hundred years or more. Before the event started, though, we were advised to look around and imagine 13 feet of water where we were sitting!! To the City's triumph over matter, everything has been restored, to the best of their ability -- new carpet, new wood, new seats - - and the Opera House is used for events throughout the year. --its memories surviving in the imaginations of its visitors. The same thing is true with the historic Tremont Hotel. The water levels weren't as high as at the Opera House-- but the first floor had to be renovated, with new furniture, and now bears just the slightest lingering whiff of the storm. We stopped to see the Bishop's Palace -- which had lower level flooding -- and is still being repaired. And passed by Ashton Villa -- which looks impeccable.

Ah, but then the last two days we were there, the roar of the sea was replaced by the roar of something quite different: the unforgettable sound made by the 100,000 to 300,000 bikers who had rode into town for the Annual Lone Star Bikers Rally!!! Streets leading to the main downtown area -- the Strand -- were closed off so they could be filled with tents and vendors selling street food and BEER.,.
Jack and I ventured along the main drag and drew some curious looks at our inappropriate attire. One "biker babe" approached Jack, who was wearing a sports jacket, and asked:"Did you forget your motorcycle, honey???"

While we were downtown, we stopped in a few shops and talked with Galvestonians -- most of them what they like to call "BOI" -- Born on the Island.

Amazing people. They showed us the photos of what their businesses looked like just after the storm. Told us how everything had to be replaced. And expressed that commitment to starting over which was so evident throughout the community.

And yes, we asked about the dogs (and cats) -- and just about everyone had a story of rescuing five, ten, even sixteen or more animals, finding food for them, and providing shelter until they could be restored to their owners -- or other help could be found.

Having lived through several hurricanes ourselves, we know what it is like to open your door after the storm has passed -- assuming you still have a door -- and find your surroundings completely different. But 13 feet of water is kind of hard to visualize. And even harder to imagine is the tireless energy that went into getting the town and the port ready for business and visitors in one very short year. We were awed.

Mom, Can't You Keep a Neater House???

Gee, Mom, do I have to do everything around here??? Just Harry

Note from Mom: We left the Boyz alone for a few hours yesterday evening and returned to find that JH had been busy remodeling the living room, carving a cozy little niche for himself!!!

There is No Joy in Mudville -- Our Cardinals and Our Pals' Red Sox Wuz Swept...

(A Ballad of the Republic. Sung in the Year 1888).

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
The rest Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that --
We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake.
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat.
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
"That ain't my style," said Casey.
"Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, bleak with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on a worn and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone in the stands,
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clinched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball and now he lets it go,
now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.

WOEF!!! WOEF!!!

Jake and Just Harry, consoling our hoomans (and our pals in Master Chew Sits) as best we can.

Training Mom

Yesterday we were here alone with Mom, doing what we often do while she works: running up and down the hallway and barking our heads off at the slightest noise from outside: car next door, UPS truck, neighbor pounding on his roof, FEDEX truck, people talking, someone walking behind our backyard...

This time, when we had found a gazillion things to bark at over the course of the afternoon, she got up from her chair and rattled off a series of her stop barking words -- but in an exceptionally loud and insulting tone:

LEAVE IT!!

ENOUGH!!!

QUIET!!

And when none of that worked, she got in our faces and pointed her index finger (kind of the way Bill Clinton does when he wants to make a point) at us and shouted JAKE SIT!!! HARRY SIT!!!

Well, usually we comply -- but you know, this time she was so *&^$#@ annoying that I looked at JH and he looked at me and we turned tail, walked away, and went upstairs to sit on our favorite steps until she calmed down,

That'll show her!!!

[Mom here: They had such a human reaction, they cracked me up and I still laugh when I think about how they looked just walking away from that irritating situation.]