INTRODUCINGBRAM EBENEZER
He was born on October 25, 2008 and became a member of our little family on February 22, 2009.
Welcome Home Bram!
Feb 24, 2009
Feb 19, 2009
I'll Take That Horse There, Please!
The other day Griffin, Edison and I were walking down a country road near to our home where there is a large horse farm that belongs to the National Lancers, a unit of the Massachusetts Militia and a ceremonial cavalry troop. The horses there are gorgeous (if you might remember we had a few escapees from there in our yard one morning a while back: see "Four Horses and a Front Yard" 4-3-07) and I love to stop and look at them every time I pass the place. The afternoon was chilly but not too bad for this time of year and in one of the farther pastures we saw a very large herd of deer, including several fawns. We stopped to watch them, Edison itching to get closer, until the deer grew nervous and trotted into the woods a few at a time until they were all out of sight. The little brook that runs through the pastures was full of mallards, but as we have ducks, those were old hat to Edison and so we moved on up the winding road.
The first field had quite a few horses in it, including my absolute favorite: a dapple gray with a long yellow-blonde mane and tail, and I stood there for quite some time holding Edison in my arms as we watched them all grazing on the winter grass. Griffin had been lagging a bit behind and when he caught up, I pointed to my favorite dapple gray and said, "If I were going to steal a horse from this place, it would be that one." Griffin grinned and began to very loudly ask, "IF YOU WERE GOING TO STEAL A HORSE FROM HERE, WHICH ONE WOULD YOU STEAL? THAT ONE THERE? THE DAPPLE GRAY ONE? THAT HORSE? YOU'D STEAL THAT HORSE STANDING RIGHT THERE?" And on and on he went as we walked up the road.
So a bit further along we ran into a man who turned out to be the security guard for the farm who was very kind. If he heard our obnoxious and very vocal approach he never let on, but he did invite us to come onto the farm any time we'd like. He suggested we bring some carrots or apples and feed our favorite horses too. It goes without saying that I like this man a lot. By now the sun was fast going down and so was the temperature. It must have dropped a good fifteen degrees very quickly, so we said our goodbyes and headed back down the road in the direction from which we had come and then returned home where it was cozy and warm and one very shivery little chihuahua got all toasty again.
Now, you might think the whole horse-stealing thing was just a big joke, but it isn't. In fact, it's in my blood. My ancestors here in Massachusetts were reknowned horse thieves during the century before last. They'd steal them and swim them across the Taunton River to throw the farmers' dogs (that would inevitably chase them) off their scent. And once when I was a little girl my grandmother, who lived in Florida at the time, got to talking with a man while out and about down there and somehow her maiden name came up as well as the fact that she was from Massachusetts. When he said that he was a Willett too, my grandmother told him that they probably were related, to which he replied, "I doubt that. My relatives were a bunch of filthy horse thieves." After a bit more conversation, it turned out he was a relative that she had never met.
Even though I might come by it honestly (or not, to be more accurate), and even though I might not actually steal a horse, I have to say that if I did, it would definitely be that sweet dapple gray.
The first field had quite a few horses in it, including my absolute favorite: a dapple gray with a long yellow-blonde mane and tail, and I stood there for quite some time holding Edison in my arms as we watched them all grazing on the winter grass. Griffin had been lagging a bit behind and when he caught up, I pointed to my favorite dapple gray and said, "If I were going to steal a horse from this place, it would be that one." Griffin grinned and began to very loudly ask, "IF YOU WERE GOING TO STEAL A HORSE FROM HERE, WHICH ONE WOULD YOU STEAL? THAT ONE THERE? THE DAPPLE GRAY ONE? THAT HORSE? YOU'D STEAL THAT HORSE STANDING RIGHT THERE?" And on and on he went as we walked up the road.
So a bit further along we ran into a man who turned out to be the security guard for the farm who was very kind. If he heard our obnoxious and very vocal approach he never let on, but he did invite us to come onto the farm any time we'd like. He suggested we bring some carrots or apples and feed our favorite horses too. It goes without saying that I like this man a lot. By now the sun was fast going down and so was the temperature. It must have dropped a good fifteen degrees very quickly, so we said our goodbyes and headed back down the road in the direction from which we had come and then returned home where it was cozy and warm and one very shivery little chihuahua got all toasty again.
Now, you might think the whole horse-stealing thing was just a big joke, but it isn't. In fact, it's in my blood. My ancestors here in Massachusetts were reknowned horse thieves during the century before last. They'd steal them and swim them across the Taunton River to throw the farmers' dogs (that would inevitably chase them) off their scent. And once when I was a little girl my grandmother, who lived in Florida at the time, got to talking with a man while out and about down there and somehow her maiden name came up as well as the fact that she was from Massachusetts. When he said that he was a Willett too, my grandmother told him that they probably were related, to which he replied, "I doubt that. My relatives were a bunch of filthy horse thieves." After a bit more conversation, it turned out he was a relative that she had never met.
Even though I might come by it honestly (or not, to be more accurate), and even though I might not actually steal a horse, I have to say that if I did, it would definitely be that sweet dapple gray.
Feb 15, 2009
There's No Such Thing as Too Many Chihuahuas
Chihuahuas are like potato chips. You simply can not be satisfied with just one. And I'm hungry as hell!Feb 9, 2009
Dog Worship
Last night a friend who is an amazing and successful dog trainer told the story of how in her previous incarnation as an ordained minister she felt that she had been temporarily dyslexic when she had heard her calling. That it wasn’t God she should have heard, but Dog. But in reality, isn’t Dog God? Oftentimes, Dog is more God in our everyday lives than God himself.
Dogs are truly Divine. They are gentle spirits. Dog Nature is perfect, non-violent, instinctual, trusting and wise. It’s man that destroys that perfection with his own (often evil) agenda. Dogs love unconditionally and with a pure heart. A dog will never intentionally hurt, even when hurt himself. Dogs are the embodiment of compassion. They listen and they obey. Dogs honor their humans every single day and are never too tired or selfish to not do so. They are devotion incarnate. Dogs never leave unless they are sent away. They are loyal unto death.
Dog Nature is Buddha Nature. Dogs always live in the present moment, never the past nor the future. Dogs comfort the sick, bring a childlike joy to the elderly and a bit of the outside world to those shut inside. They bring a pure happiness to the sorrowful and the depressed. Dogs are companions to the lonely, giving selflessly of their time and love. Dogs are eyes for the blind and ears for the deaf. They are salvation to many a human who cannot exist without Dog. Dogs embody the Divine in funny, four-legged, tail-wagging packages. Look into a dog’s trusting eyes and I dare you to not see the Divine looking back up at you with a perfectly loving, liquid gaze. It's there. Trust me.
And as to my friend, if you ask me, she is still ministering in the name of God and doing it far more effectively than she did inside a church with humans. She honors her God every day by honoring Dog, by loving countless dogs and bringing them balance. She sees their perfect Dog Nature and gently nurtures it until it blooms for all to see. She helps them to find their True Dog Spirit and guides them to become the creatures they were when they began their journey in this life: divine perfection in a furry body.
Dog is God is Dog.
Dogs are truly Divine. They are gentle spirits. Dog Nature is perfect, non-violent, instinctual, trusting and wise. It’s man that destroys that perfection with his own (often evil) agenda. Dogs love unconditionally and with a pure heart. A dog will never intentionally hurt, even when hurt himself. Dogs are the embodiment of compassion. They listen and they obey. Dogs honor their humans every single day and are never too tired or selfish to not do so. They are devotion incarnate. Dogs never leave unless they are sent away. They are loyal unto death.
Dog Nature is Buddha Nature. Dogs always live in the present moment, never the past nor the future. Dogs comfort the sick, bring a childlike joy to the elderly and a bit of the outside world to those shut inside. They bring a pure happiness to the sorrowful and the depressed. Dogs are companions to the lonely, giving selflessly of their time and love. Dogs are eyes for the blind and ears for the deaf. They are salvation to many a human who cannot exist without Dog. Dogs embody the Divine in funny, four-legged, tail-wagging packages. Look into a dog’s trusting eyes and I dare you to not see the Divine looking back up at you with a perfectly loving, liquid gaze. It's there. Trust me.
And as to my friend, if you ask me, she is still ministering in the name of God and doing it far more effectively than she did inside a church with humans. She honors her God every day by honoring Dog, by loving countless dogs and bringing them balance. She sees their perfect Dog Nature and gently nurtures it until it blooms for all to see. She helps them to find their True Dog Spirit and guides them to become the creatures they were when they began their journey in this life: divine perfection in a furry body.
Dog is God is Dog.
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