Things to be Thankful For

November seems to have slithered away from me and here we are, poised to celebrate Thanksgiving. I reflect that this is a good time to stop and appreciate all the many things we have to be thankful for.
How about cheerful autumn berries, adorning a lovely Ilex outside my studio? I am happy that even in the late fall, color abounds in nature. Hell, I'm thankful for the persistence of nature in the face of so much man-made destruction. Melting ice caps, rising sea levels, species being driven to extinction... I could go on and on. But I'm trying to be thankful so thanks Mother Earth!

I'm also thankful for the mammal denizens of nature that surround me and enrich my life. Thanks Robin the Good! Thanks for being a good friend and a generally cheerful all around help. I can't be upset or mad for too long when Robin gives me one of her sublime doe-eyed smiles and steals my gloves and socks and indulges in other canine silliness. What a swell doggo!

And thanks to Maggie the Mexican Pony for not being dead in the field last week. I got a good scare but she's up and around on four hooves and enjoying the last warm days of fall. And thanks to the horses that I ride for my lessons. They seem to have decided I'm okay and worthy of a whinny of recognition when I go to the barn and they haven't tossed me off into a manure pile when I ask them to do something- often incorrectly. Fine beasts!

Thanks for all our illustrious friends! Bob and I know some really entertaining characters (ahem! I understand that we fall well within that spectrum!) like Andy, seen above in festive array. They're all fine artists and swell company. I am truly thankful for friends as they redeem my faith in humanity when it is flagging. (And god knows, there is plenty of evidence as to the stupidity, cruelty and capriciousness of people these days...)
And family; I could have done worse in the family department. They aren't rethuglican reprobates who make me question my sanity or whether we really share the same blood and parentage. I actually look forward to seeing them tomorrow on Thanksgiving day and sharing observations on the impeachment hearings, along with consuming heroic portions of food. No need to avoid politics. Yay!

And I'm thankful for Bob and me (pictured here in warmer times). We're the right kind of nuts!

A Post After the Elections

It's nice to be able to think about something other than politics (Go Blue Ripple!!) like the fact that Bob made this wonderful tile top table. It's got a great stable metal base with an attractive diamond pattern (maybe I'll photo that later) and these tiles were "found" down by Bob's studio. Amazing the stuff that turns up! I love the variation in blues among the tiles...

And you don't see items like this everyday! Our delightful and talented friend Roberta charmed me with an elaborate birthday package. This repurposed Osage orange (with a found alien hand!!!) announced my new magazine subscriptions (Remember that I use them in collage making). But that wasn't all: beneath the carefully wrapped orange was a lovely length of African cloth- perfect for upcoming project! and as if THAT wasn't enough, Roberta also bequeathed me a huge assortment of bulbs! Species tulips, scilla, daffodils, hybrid tulips... amazing! Any one of these gifts would have been more than generous but altogether, I'm overwhelmed! And really? It actually is nicer to receive gifts when least expected! Thank you Roberta!

And here's pastel upside down Robin to remind us that dogs enjoy getting mentioned, too! Robin's been very happy; I think she likes the colder weather, even if I don't. It makes her super frisky and nuts. She's been doing mad loops around the yard at like a million miles an hour. Craziness runs in the family.
I am trying to catch up with myself. It's hard to believe that it's almost Thanksgiving and the year is drawing to a close. So much has happened and continues to happen (and I'm not just thinking of politics!!! A decades worth of "incidents" in a day!) Remember that we experienced a tornado and we are still cleaning up from that. The tree guys are eagerly awaited to take down a whole bunch more dying spruces (the weather's been against them). I have a bunch more planting and yes! I have more studio ideas to implement. And don't get me started on the changes going on at work... anyone want to hire an artist? Actually, I have ideas in that department, too!

Our Little Oddball

Leave it to us to have a slightly weird dog. Robin is just great: beautiful, funny, smart, talented and very fast... and probably a slew of other things I am forgetting to mention. But she's also a bit, well, unusual.
For example, she's left handed. (Or make that left pawed.) I discovered this fun fact while we were enrolled in that doggie obedience class last summer. During one particular exercise, the instructor pointed out Robin always went for the treat in my left hand first and was therefore demonstrating her dominant side. I then observed that she often gallops across the yard with (mostly) her left paw extended first- like a horse being on its left lead. A little canine leftie! (Must take after Bob...)
And last week, I had Robin rolled over on her back and was scratching her belly. She loves this; possibly most dogs do. But then I was sort of being silly (not too hard to achieve) and was running my fingers down opposite sides of her body, matching up her nipples. I kept coming up one nipple short of her lower abdomen, kind of across from where her navel is. Sure enough, a through investigation through her fur revealed... she's short one nipple! She has an uneven number of nipples; in this case, nine. Weird! I started worrying that possibly she had an "undescended teat" or some other medical paradox.
I resorted to the Internet and discovered that while it's uncommon, this does happen and there's nothing wrong with having an uneven number of nipples. Leave it to our dog. Here's our little odd ball in action:

Well... I was attempting to prove that I'm an "old dog" capable of performing new tricks but my nifty video of Lil' Robin the Good doesn't seem to be coming up. Not sure why.

Anyway, here's a lovely still photo of Robin out surveying her empire:

The end of the day light was so nice and just touched the tops of everything. Robin thought I was wasting my time with the camera instead of kicking that nice ball for her to chase.

And I haven't been able to post a blog recently as our trusty camera decided to up an die. Not sure what happened, but it seems to have had some sort of permanent lens error. I took these pictures with my old work camera, which I borrowed for the weekend. I am antsy to figure out what to do as I am approaching my 500th blog posting and am not ready to give up yet! Another 500 posts are probably in the works!

Mommy 1920-2017

Alas! Veronica West Valley Bogel aka Mommy has died. We have known for a long time that she was fading but it's still shocking when it happens.  I know I'm still processing this information, and truly haven't had time to feel much of anything yet; except, perhaps, a profound sense of relief as Mommy's last few years were anything but rewarding or beautiful.(The picture above is from quite a long time ago, as Mommy had her dog Molly with her and she's driving what appears to be the silver Toyota that she handed down to me like twenty years ago! But it all seems like yesterday.)
So Mommy finally died on June 17th, her 97th birthday. It does have a nice feeling of her coming full circle. I'll never forget how Mommy turned to me once- when she was a comparative spring chicken of an old person (like in her vigorous eighties) and said, "You know if I died now, I'd be happy". I exclaimed, "Do you know something that I don't know?" and she replied that she wasn't sick with something mysterious or anything, she just felt contented and at peace and happy that we, her three daughters seemed happy. Obviously, she went on to live for quite a while longer!
I am happy that she bequeathed to me a love of dogs and most animals- except snakes, of which she was deathly afraid. It is really ironic that Mommy moved to East Haddam and lived in a town that was reportedly a "Herpetologist's Dream". One of my chores when visiting my mother was to go down in the basement and check for snakes. I would inevitably do so... and find one.We never told her that East Haddam was known as the "Snake Capital" of Connecticut. And while she loved flowers and gardens, her fear of snakes kept her from planting much of a garden at home. When she'd come to visit, she was famous for standing in the driveway and refusing to venture further into the grass (where she KNEW snakes were lurking) and waving here arm generally at the garden and saying, "That's okay! I can see the garden from here!"
Mommy was unfailingly generous. She gave Beatrice and Cathy and me a piece of land that we were able to sell. The proceeds from my portion of that transaction allowed Bob and I to purchase The BauHaus Chicken Coop. Thank you Mommy!
The only thing that drove me crazy about my mother was her insecurity about her intelligence. She never seemed to understand that there are many ways to be smart. I think she had been told early on by someone (a family member (who as we all know are not always helpful) or a teacher) that she was a "dummy" (that was the word she used about herself) and I think that was tragic! She was a good cook, a good listener, liked to read and taught me to sew. (We all know where that led!)
So I will say this: Mommy was never judgemental and didn't question my life choices. She never turned to me and said, "Why are you an artist? Why can't you just become a secretary or something?' She knew that being an artist was a different kind of commitment. When she was younger, she did a number of paintings and I had encouraged her to take up painting again later in life, but she was busy doing other things.
And a last note: Mommy loved strawberry shortcake. It was an ongoing ritual for her birthday and if you asked her what she wanted for her birthday, she's invariably say she didn't care what she got, as long as there was strawberry shortcake. (And it had to be REAL shortcake, not that spongey stuff!) I had thought about making one on her birthday just to fulfill that annual wish but then she passed.
So I guess I'll say how terribly we will miss Mommy. I will miss talking with her about silly things my current dog was doing, or telling her about what I was working on in my studio, or what Bob and I were up to (she loved Bob). Goodbye Mommy!

A Girlie Dog

Yes, that's Lil' Robin falling through time and space in her (wildest) dreams! And a fine time for a (very unscientific) exploration of sex differences in girls and boy dogs. Your actual experiences may differ*; but a year in on harboring a female dog and I can assure you there are some differences.
I consider myself a card-carrying feminist, so I don't believe in dressing my dog up in pink bows or silly sweaters with tutus stitched to the bottom or talk more (or less) "baby talk" to her... (Oh please! Talking baby talk to the dog just happens!) I guess what I'm trying to say is that I believe myself to be somewhat unbiased. Background-wise I have had more males than females: Woofie, Archie, Charlie (for like a two weeks, poor thing!), Frank the Dog and Jules as opposed to only Ricky and now Robin in the girl department.*
First, I do subscribe to the basic premise that it has more to do with how you raise/nurture/handle the dog than some inherent traits, but I do observe some temperament variations. The boy dogs seem easy going in a funny way; not "goofy" as I've read other dog people describe it, just more relaxed and ready to have fun. My two girls seem to "worry" more; Robin suffers from a bit of separation anxiety and this could be (and is!) breed-related, but it fits with Ricky who nearly lost her marbles when we boarded her once. If you gave Ricky a biscuit, she would wander miserably around the house, moaning to herself (I think she was searching for her abandoned mother dog and her eleven siblings.) Very pathetic!
I think they're more naturally protective, too. Robin barks when people come to the house and is not as welcoming to men that enter. And she is definitely more guarded and more suspicious of people and dogs on our morning walks. Jules (and Archie and Woofie) used to love everybody. It's interesting that neighbors remark on this to me and I respond, "They're different dogs!" Perhaps more of this is personality than sex...
Robin also is more measured in her affections. She is extraordinarily affectionate, but when she's done, she makes it clear and moves on. She seems discerning (but this could be that she is a Sagittarius, like Frank the Dog with whom she seems to share other character traits. Yeesh! Has anyone out there studied Astrological Signs in dogs?!?!?!)
Funny enough, I think Robin is more rough and tumble in play. Boy, she's ferocious with the sticks and balls outside- she'll caroom around the yard at a million miles an hour and then POW! body slam you when she runs your way. Very physical, although she's also incredibly willowy and graceful. (Remember, she has high cheekbones and very long legs and is slim and I call her my Supermodel.) And then she prances across the yard and poses. She also sulks, pouts and preens. It occurs to me that she's more outwardly feminine than I'll ever be- that's a strange thing to ponder!

(Robin, rearranging the cosmic furniture.)
Our next door neighbor likes to comment that girl dogs are much smarter than males. Granted, the dog they have now is denser than a door knob (they'll be the first to admit it!) but all of my males have been smart. But I think that that's the single most important attribute I look for in any dog, regardless of make, model or year... or color or gender or size. (Although I do tend towards the mid-sized, silky coated, wavy pendulous eared setter/spaniel/retriever end of the canine spectrum and have never been drawn to terrier/hound/pit bull or herding types.
This is only a years worth of evidence and based on more boys than girls so check back in with me. But Lil' Robin keeps surprising me with her opinions on things and you can definitely see the gears moving between her (silky) ears!

*Let me know your experiences.
*And I'm not weighing in on the intact vs spay/neutered controversy- yet! There are definite differences along with politics. My dogs have all been "factory equipped" so to speak- with no weird or undesirable side effects. Don't get me started...

Robin the Good- Super Model

Ooooh! Our Lil' Robin is all grown up and quite the stunner. I call her "Super Model"* because she has these high cheek bones and very long legs. And she's slim. What a looker! (She is actually still a teenager at eleven months old).
I'm thrilled to have been able to snap these pictures because Robin is either running full tilt around the yard, in hot pursuit of falling leaves or she's conked out in some upside down outlandish, tongue lolling deranged sprawl. The other day, though, her guard was down and she just kept posing.

I did annoy the hell out of her by following her around with my camera at the ready, trying to document her canine magnificence. She didn't hold most poses long enough for me to take a picture but I was wilier than she and finally managed to capture her in that coiled muscle moment, just before she sprang into motion again.
Even if she weren't beautiful she'd still be a great dog... responsive, affectionate and smart, smart, smart. She does have her endearingly persistent interests in socks, eye glasses and ball point pens but in general she's a good canine citizen.
Here's a doctored Robin:

(Nothing like a bit of Photoshop to enhance the most jejune of surroundings!)
I am entertained that while on our morning walk, people we encounter often ask what kind of dog Robin is. They have frequently mistaken her for a Flat Coated Retriever and one person thought she might be a Belgian Shepard (although they have definitely upright pricked ears... but she's black!) I guess that mixed or mutt designations often bring to mind scrappy lab or pit bull mixes so frequently seen nowadays. When people see an attractive dog, they just assume it MUST be some purebred. I tell them that Robin is the best kind of dog- a happy accident between two (not so common) breeds. (Just for the record, Mom was a Long Haired Weimaraner and Dad was a Llewellin Setter, which is the field or working variety of the English Setter (although that apparently has some controversy as to what denotes a "real" Llewellin. Dog breeders are nuts; way crazier than artists!) We are fortunate that both of these breeds tend to be healthy and not over bred and inbred. Don't get me started on the perfidy of the American Kennel Club and their desire to breed to (something they call) "type". Give me a good mix any day!



*In reality, Robin has about a million nicknames: everything from "Klondike Bar" to "Wicket" (because she's so leggy and thin that sometimes  she arches her back and looks like a croquet wicket).

Puppy Porn

Some of you will certainly think I'm crazy and that's your right. But it comes down to there being (as always) two kinds of people. The first kind is the person who loses their dog and goes into an extended period of mourning and sometimes never gets another dog. I fall into the second kind of  person: life without my familiar, my little shadow, my dog is unbearable and unthinkable.*
I have not been able to sleep much or well recently. I don't suppose that surprises anyone! One of the only things I can think to do when faced with sleeplessness is to play on the Internet. Inevitably, I found myself surfing YouTube videos of adorable puppies rolling around with their litter mates. I call it Puppy Porn. I did this surreptitiously, (much like one hears of Japanese business men trolling the Internet at work, checking out the T & A).  I mean, it's four in the morning and I'm up huddled in front of a flickering screen overdosing on little bundles of fur and joy... one viewing leads to another and another.
That led to seeking out my (remembered) Google searches of years past, after Frank the Dog departed this mortal coil. I can assure you getting a puppy is much harder than having a child.
If you care to take minute to corroborate my hypotheses, type in a breed or type of dog into your search engine. I am a combination dog person, as you probably know, and my preferred "type" is a mid-sized spaniel/retriever mix. Hundreds of possible doggie data bases come up, but once you start an actual perusal of the listed results, strange realities appear. The first is that due to all the spaying and neutering, the mixes listed are peculiar. Anything that can be crossed with a Poodle and given an icky name with "oodle" attached has become uber popular. (The first such cross that springs to mind is the infamous "Goldendoodle" that the "developer" of has since admitted it was the worst mistake he ever made. Follow that with Cockapoos and Woodles (half wolf/half Poodle, anyone? I can't make this stuff up!) The next thing that impresses the individual in search of a canine soul mate is just how expensive these "mutts" are. How about thousands of dollars? Not kidding! The mind reels...
So I was having no luck finding my specific match- except these newly designed dogs that are a combination of Golden Retriever and Cocker Spaniel that are some times referred to as Comfort Retrievers or Mini-Goldens (but even these are for some reason having Poodle snuck into the mix)
and these mid-sized cutie pies are commanding about $1800 and a waiting list and one breeder (that Bob and I even visited pre-Frank) is now requesting a non-refundable $100 visiting fee! Are you still with me? Is it me or are things seriously skewing insane? (The punch line to that joke is they all look just like my college-years dog, Archie who came from the Meriden dog pound and cost a princely $25. I should have bred the little bugger. We could be rich by now!)
So... then I thought, "Okay, okay. It's supposed to be a humane and good thing to adopt. Let's see if this situation has any possibilities." I checked every rescue in New England and I saw one dog that seemed attractive. She was about a year old, although I do want a puppy for Bob and myself, I am attempting flexibility and open-mindedness. Lo! and behold, she was actually listed in Connecticut(!) and I'm thinking "great!" but then you click on the adoption requirements and you realize that it's become even more draconian than previously feared to "do the right thing". Page after closely typed page of laws, bylaws, restrictions and even the caveat that if you want a dog sooner rather than later, this is not your best bet and how they have to visit your home and need copies of your last twenty years of income tax statements and blood work and even then THEY choose the dog to place with you. In short, forget it! I refuse to be grilled and dissected and subpoenaed in the name adopting a used dog. I haven't mentioned the fact that the very difficulty in obtaining a dog through a rescue is one of the reasons why there are so many designer breeders out there in then first place. And it is actually less expensive to buy a puppy or dog from a breeder (many purebred with registration papers) than to adopt. This dog I mentioned? They wanted over $600 for her! (You're also taking a risk getting someone elses problem child. Many dogs are given up as teenagers (between 6 months and a year or so) because the tend to be nuts and exhibit crazy behavior and go out of control. I personally like them at that age, but then I'm dog obsessed.)
I have had enough dogs and dog experience to know that Woofie/Archie/Charlie (who no one will remember because we only had him three weeks as he was sick when we adopted him and he died!)Ricky/Frank/Jules were all tremendously great dogs and who all had tremendously great lives as we are nothing if not dog-centric. And I know what I'm looking for in a friend...
Wish us luck!


*And never think that searching for another dog shows disloyalty to the recently departed! On the contrary, it is the highest tribute to the deceased that life is completely lacking in savor and shape. I experience so much with and through a dog's company!

Jules Pees on Heavy Equipment

Yes, that's a picture of Jules peeing on the heavy construction equipment up the road. On our walk the other day, Jules and I heard some terrible crashing and creaking and general large engine complaints. We turned back as it was way to noisy for our tastes. (We like peace and quiet so that we can pursue contemplative internal thoughts... that is until I sing (radically off tune) for Jules, to encourage him forward and to ward off bears, mountain lions and the like.) But I promised Jules that we'd investigate just what was going on over the weekend when the equipment was silent.
I actually remembered to bring my camera! And this is the first thing we saw:

A large pile of rocks, extricated from the ravine near the Plaster House (it's really made of stucco). There's a stream at the bottom, but they had this big honkin' bucket scoop type thing cantilevered out over the gorge.

That's the machine in repose. It's big and sort of intimidating, but I suppose that why Jules peed on it, to assert dominion over it.

Yeah, he's also peeing on that bulldozer. What a dog! I still can't figure out what they were doing besides rearranging large piles of rocks, but I tried taking a picture of the ravine...

Hard to gauge, but that's really steep. I enjoyed the skimpy piece of thin plastic hazard tape. Now there's something to grab ahold of if you chose to fall over the edge! I think the road was in danger of collapsing or something equally dramatic.

Here's my handsome dog looking up the road, ignoring the gigantic jaws of death hovering only a couple of feet away. I think he was entertaining the idea of peeing on this, too but I pulled him back in the other direction, I'll have to go back this week and see if they're finished with the project.

A New Leash on Life

People don't believe me when I say that Jules and I wear out our leashes. This is the one I "retired" this morning. We go through a new, twelve foot long leash every two months or so. Reliably! I should have bought stock in this company. But what with dragging the leash every day along the paved road, and the dirt road and it gets wet and muddy and covered in snow; I'm honestly surprised we don't wear them out more frequently. By the time I notice that we need a new one, it's been knotted and re-tied in an effort to reinforce the frayed wreck that it has been reduced to. At this stage, I'm always afraid that Jules will run after a squirrel or something and simply break the leash. Tomorrow, we start on a new one.
Here's the little weasel himself:

A shot from this summer that I never used- I thought we could all use a picture of warmth and green. No, I promise, I will not mention rain, snow, fog, and weather what- have- yous.Suffice it to say, Jules is always happy no matter what the weather. Look at that smile! I don't know what he's graduating from, but I'll bet he aced all the tests. (A random balloon that blew into Maggie's pasture last summer.)
And on a rather different note, my artist's book proposal, "Better Guns and Gardens" was selected for inclusion in a show this November at Artspace in New Haven. I need to send a big "thank you" to a good friend, Joan Fitzsimmons (a wonderful photographer) for persisting in suggesting that I submit to this show. I had read the call for entries and had been dismissive, until a great idea for a quirky mash up presented itself to me- hey presto! on my morning walk with Jules. So you see, there is a circular logic to this posting. I get the best ideas on my morning walk with Jules, wearing out those leashes.

Accidents Will Happen...

On returning form our morning ramble, this is what greeted me and Jules in our driveway after a light snowfall. Bob swept a magical checkerboard into the dusting of the evil white stuff- making it almost tolerable. Somehow this winter, I am just NOT in the mood for snow. Or cold.
Jules and I have a had a few interesting mini-disasters on our walks recently. The first episode occurred when Jules decided to not pick up the giant log and instead opted for an innocent appearing twig. In typical canine enthusiastic form Jules chomped down on said twig, which promptly snapped off, lodging itself firmly between Jules upper teeth, all across the roof of his mouth. I suppose it was the equivalent of having a giant piece of food wedged in between your molars and no dental floss in sight. As he was obviously in distress, I gingerly pried his lip up and immediately started gibbering unhelpfully, "Oh poor Jules; omigod, omigod that must feel awful". I was trying to insert a tentative forefinger into his mouth, all the while aware that in pain and  terror, he could easily bite down on my tender digit. We made it home, all thought of a pleasant walk abandoned. Jules was so uncomfortable and was looking to Bob and I to assist him. Bob suggested he procure pliers and attempt to wrestle it from Jules mouth, but at that very minute with my now leather glove clad finger, I was able to loosen one side and Plonk! the stick was freed. No harm was done as Jules immediately wanted to go chase snowballs.
The next incident was of my own making. I do a good deal of what I term "wool gathering" on my walks with Jules. That is, I am lost in thought and absentmindedly do stupid things, like walk into trees or fall down unexpectedly. This particular adventure falls into the latter category. There was a small rock, no bigger than a lump of coal. It was in the middle of the dirt road and I thought to be of service and kick said stone out of the way to prevent a jogger or walker from stubbing their toe on it. The problem was that Mother Nature seems to have Super Glued that stone to the ice so that I caught the toe of my boot and went "tail over teacup" so to speak. The next thing I know, I'm cheek to cheek with the dirt road and Jules is bounding over and hoping to rouse me with wet slurps of his tongue (which three second previous had no doubt been licking something delicious like raccoon feces). It did the trick, though, and revived by my canine savior, I righted myself with nothing damaged.
This is what the driveway had looked like earlier:

Jules and the Rocks

Jules decided that the pile of rocks generated by our chimney foundation work was just too much fun. He also detirmined that the rock in the very center, under about twenty other rocks was the one he had to have.

He's very persistent!

Still looking! (Doesn't Jules have a lovely tail?) I know; I'm boring everyone to tears, but I adore Jules. 

Non Stop Fun With the Neighbors

That's our neighbor dog Hurley. He has discovered that we don't bite and now comes by to play several times a day. Jules thinks it's just great to have a new friend. Hurley is something of a Gracie the Dog replacement (although no one can ever replace Gracie!).
I think Hurley is old and he has many odd bumps and barnacles and is not much to look at, but he's a good guy. I don't always pretend to understand the enjoyment that dogs recieve from body slamming one another, but he keeps coming back so I guess that it's fun.

Dogs and Gardens- Part 1 (Excavations Anyone?)

This bit of lunar terrain is compliments of Jules, our accomplished canine sub-contactor. He has so many uncategorizable talents!
Jules discovered the tip of a rock. That led to some serious digging and a volley of rapturous barking: either he was attempting to shout the rock out of the ground, or he was singing some dog rah-rah cheerleading song to bouy his spirits during the hard work of destroying our back yard. He's been pretty mum about his rationale. In any event he managed to isolate this particular stone and he now guards it as if it is very special indeed. And this is not the first or only stone to so capture his affections. Ah! The inscrutability of the dog mind!
Bob has come up with a clever plan that we will test out today. We are going to have Jules focus on digging where we're clearing sods and planning a perennial border. (This is chain-gang type labor as documented in a previous posting as the rock population is legendary). Jules should be in seventh heaven and we'll have double dug beds... or we'll experiment with that low maintainence lunar theme when the blasted yard is laid to waste.

Another Cute Gratuitous Dog Posting and a Prayer

Does this look comfortable?

Jules seems to think so. He likes to sleep on the bottom step, with his face all mashed up against the wall, and his right side legs collapsed onto the stair and his left legs dangling. To each his or her own! (Notice attractive stain to carpet above Jules' midsection. Additional note: Jules' nose is really black but he'd been digging a furious hole before nap time).
However, the real intention of this posting wasn't simply the charming shot of our sleeping prince.  It is to sneakily deliver my version of a prayer to the Gods/Goddesses/Powers/Spirits/Forces/Resident Deities- Whatever of New Neighbors:

Please be benevolent, oh Gods, Goddesses/Powers/Spirits/Forces/Resident Deities/Whatevers.
Grant us New Neighbors who are neither Intolerant
Nor Bigoted. Let them neither flyeth the flag of Confederacy nor Don't Tread on Me.
Leadeth them not down the path of Republicanism nor Tea Party affiliation.
Let them not belongeth to Religious Cults or Peculiar Engines of Proselytization.
Let them not spreadeth toxic Lawn Chemistry.
Let them not use an excess of Power Equipment in the form of humongous Lawn Tractors and
Blowers of Leaves, especially on a Saturday morning.
Keep them indoors, away from mine eyes until our Fence is constructed.
So be it.

A Poignant Revelation

This emerged from the melting snow:

A small home-made wooden cross with the handwritten inscription "Mitten". The grave is tucked into a sheltered pocket next to the lovely evergreen forest. This tiny cross made me reflect on our own pet cemetary left behind at our previous house. Archie, Charlie, Ricky and our recently departed Frank are all buried under special stones by an oak tree. I am sorry that they are not here to enjoy our new property; all were wonderful friends who throughly enjoyed life. I also wonder about Gracie the dog from across the road who came daily (for upwards of twelve years!) to accompany me and Frank on our walk. She continued  to come over after Frank died. I know our move was hard on her.