Next big hit

"The embers of corona ...."
    -- Trump, multiple times April 22

 

Victory at the fire hall

"I have a very good you-know-what...."

Moonlight ... on the embers of corona 

 So right, cause nobody could have seen

nobody knew, nobody saw, who could have known 

and everything I did, the biggest, the best

and still you're mean 

Starlight ... on the embers of corona

Glowing, like my stock market whoop

people tell me, everybody sez that

i've done a job, like nobody's ever seen

Just stay healthy, 

and keep Old Yeller in the loop 

p.s. don't forget my mike.

vice president poodle

 

Pandemic thoughts....

. Got to do
When we wake up, we used to think: I gotta do A, B and C.
Now, we wake up and think: I may do A today.
Maybe.
We'll see.... 

. Good times
A good day doesn't depend on the day.
You think people in any other time woke and thought ...
"Oh god, I lived another night? I have to fight the dino again?"
"Crap! Another 1,000 rocks to pile at Machu Picchu..."
"Goddam. I have to stay home today."
 Nope. 
Their first brain-flickers, in order: 
Morning. 
Alive. 
Life. 

. Daily mantra
Groundhog Day is only a movie.

Another Sunday morning....

                        --Oscar Castro Neves - Rio Dawning

Brazil's celebrated tunesmith plays his gem with the Paul Winter Consort above, BUT ... 
Oscar Castro Neves sings his song at ...
https://youtu.be/sDBLvhmwihM 

It can lift your heart...

Waltzing Matilda...

z

Empty great cities of the world ... Paris, New York, London.

The New Yorker has put up short films capturing this eerie experience we're all going through on youtube.

But watching these stark images, reminds me of nothing so much as the final moments of On the Beach--Nevil Shute's end-of-times novel-turned-movie from 1959.

Those final moments are here ....

Easter morning

Since you cannot come to us, we’re coming to you...

"Since you cannot come to us, we're coming to you...
Now more than ever, we need the hope art brings, a break from the chaos... "
--Cirque du Soleil on YouTube

Canada's most imaginative export comes to the rescue of social isolation on YouTube. It's a perfect pandemic purge.

Cirque puts up an hour each week of highlights from a vault of current and past shows.  All magical, detailed, stunning.

Spectacular stuff, lovingly photographed. Includes O and Ka.

Here's a click-thru link to each hour, and what's in it...

April 10 show
https://youtu.be/VL0TG_nCqzE
. Segments from
.  ALEGRIA in Vegas
.  KOOZA, their touring tent show, and 
.  KA -- the war show now running at the MGM Grand

Highlights: the spinning flame and uplight deck platforms of Alegria
The mind-blowing battle stage prop in Ka.

March 27 show
https://youtu.be/nQ5eUJNXrMw
Segments from
. KURIOS, the curiosity shop and
. O -- 20 minutes of the fabled water show still running at the Bellagio
. LUZIA, all Spanish spice with a magical "big cat" waterhole sequence

Highlights: O's water, invisible lifts and flame stagecraft.
A reviewer: "The most spectacular production ever mounted in Las Vegas."
Playing two shows a night since 1998
And ... The Wheel of Death

April 3
https://youtu.be/allVFq3P-48
Segments from
. AMALUNA
. BAZZAR and  
. VOLTA

Highlights: balletic circus elements 

April 17
https://youtu.be/3zuBpFgxDCI
 ZED -- Hour-long circus show, filmed before a loving audience in Tokyo  

Jack Rabbit

In one eastern Ontario town, Jack delivered candy a week early

Game of Bones

z

BBC sportscaster Andrew Cotter:

"The ongoing lack of actual sports events I comment on can change a man ...."

Writers

Every time I sit at my desk, I look at my dictionary ...
A Webster's Second Unabridged with nine million words in it ...
and think ... All the words I need are in there.
They're just in the wrong order.
  --Fran Lebowitz

Backward Hippo may cause giggles

z
 Youtube wizard zefrank1 offers a new Animal Science profile, as odd as any he's ever put up

          Trump at presser:  "The flu is nothing to sneeze at..."

 

New Yorker cartoon by Brendan Loper

The Queen: "We'll meet again...."

Coronavirus: 'We'll meet again' - Queen recalls WWII song in bid to lift nation in lockdown 

 

Try not to remember the final moments of Dr. Strangelove...

 

Peter Sellers: "I have a plan!"

 

"I'll have what he's having ... "

                                           "Not my problem ... "

                    "Sorry bunny, not this year .... "

"Ride it like a cowboy... "

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bkMwvmJLnc0&feature=emb_title

President Donald Trump seemed in awe of the final $2.2 trillion stimulus bill when he was signing it.

"I never signed anything with a T on it," he said.

Trump has told people he wants his signature to appear on the direct payment checks, an official told the Wall Street Journal.
A civil servant would normally sign the checks.

Who's your daddy?


 

Where did everybody go?

Over in this corner of the country, everyone's being remarkably civil and obedient: little traffic on the roads near Algonquin Park. We carefully stand on the yellow floor decals at the grocery, all soberly concerned, fearful, sheeplike. 

If we are very, very good, maybe the virus Santa Claus won't come here. Slip down our chimneys as we sleep.

The bears miss us. 

Dogs and toilet paper

A blog pal writes:

I thought of you today. 
As part of my self isolation, I have been looking for things to do. Not a lot I am interested in on Netflix, and people are getting really mean on the Facebook pages I usually frequent. 
I get it, you are afraid...we all are, lashing out at others is not helping. 
Today I pulled out a couple of those French bulletin boards that I had laying around for the last couple of years. 
One is for concert/show ticket stubs dating back to 1980 when The Monks played the Civic in Oshawa. 
The other board is for other memorabilia that means something to me. I guess I finally have time to organize and put those together! 
One of those things in the 'means something' pile is a clip from one of your columns (I think it was about things to do while at the cottage), that I found so funny I kept it and just moved it from one bulletin board to the next. 
It is probably from the 80's, too:
 
BED CHECK:
Late at night, you can lay on the floor with a dog and sniffing his paws, consider all the interesting places he's been."

* * *

"Gun sales have gone up, as well," Hugh said.
Amy put her phone away. 
"So people can protect their toilet paper."
             --David Sedaris,  
             New Yorker piece at  
www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/my-failed-attempts-to-hoard-anything-at-all

*  *  *

"The dumbest people I know are now home-schooling their kids"
   --Whitney Cummings

https://gph.is/1Lo0TbU

If you're thinking of disregarding this sign and sneaking out, maybe you should read this first ...

https://dnyuz.com/2020/03/24/when-you-die-of-the-coronavirus-you-die-alone/ 

I had to tell him. There was no way to soften the blow. The hospital is changing its rules, I said. No more visitors. When you leave today, you both need to say goodbye ....

 

They Say It's Spring

A bad week ends....

Dr. Anthony Fauci after Trump jokes about the "deep state" at Friday's coronavirus briefing

Always avoid Dimwits...

Enjoy your desert island experience

z

BBC Radio's Desert Island Discs has more than 2,000 episodes online ... your favourite person is probably there.

A cheery place to start would be Tom Hanks' tunes...

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/b079m78n 


And a guide to all the interviews in the series is at... 
  
https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b006qnmr/episodes/player 

The Streets of Rome Under Quarantine

z

A woman dances with a child on a balcony.

A handmade banner proclaims Everything will be okay

A bird chirps.

Above, the New Yorker shares a few moments from Rome...

Concerts online

z

Right now, I see the Malmo Symphony Orchestra play a concert of Mozart and Mendelssohn.

Tonight, I may watch the Metropolitan Opera's La Traviata, or the Seattle Symphony.

 With many arts organizations and concert halls closing their doors due to concerns from the coronavirus, there's been a surge in performances offered for free online. Here is Minnesota Public Radio's updated list of great performances and concerts--with links--that you can enjoy from home.  

https://www.classicalmpr.org/story/2020/03/16/free-online-classical-concerts?utm_campaign=Essentials_20200319&utm_medium=email&utm_source=sfmc_Newsletter&utm_content=Your%20Member%20Essentials 

And as always, if you click this link, there are 20 music streams available 24/7 from MPR...

yourclassical.org 

CBC Music's online streams are at 

https://www.cbc.ca/listen/cbc-music-playlists 

Okay boomer ...

z

Trump: 'Hearing Good Things' About Testing Despite Shortage

"We're not a shipping clerk"

"I don't take responsibility at all"

Trump gives his own coronavirus response a 10 out of 10

"I have a good feeling" about suspect drug 

"I have a hunch ... "

   

"The only way out is through ...."

Burn down the house

Cape Breton's Ashley MacIsaac plans online music festival during COVID-19 pandemic

https://www.cbc.ca/radio/asithappens/as-it-happens-monday-edition-1.5499097/cape-breton-s-ashley-macisaac-plans-online-music-festival-during-covid-19-pandemic-1.5499103

Take this guy's temperature...

Popcorn thought

Old Polish proverb:

Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

But of course, it is. 

Worried about Gus ....

On this happy day of the plague, I go for a walk ... near the old bridge below Palmer Rapids.
I hear a honk honk honk as I get out of the car, a cry of alarm at three-second intervals.
I see a single (1) Canada goose, paddling down the opposite shore of the river, yelping his heart out.

When have you ever seen a single goose?

He didn't seem injured.
Did the flock make him self-isolate? 

What do the other geese know about Gus to ditch him?
Did they see him sneeze into his wing?
Drip a bit from the beak?

Or was Gus taking a good goose poop when the goose gang resumed their mass flight to Wherever? 
Is he diabetic? Health-challenged?
Do geese not count heads at take-off?

When I left, Gus floated 500 feet further south towards  the Quadeville chip truck, honking all the way. 
Alone.
Nobody answered him. 
I fear the system is failing.

Flatten the curve!

Canada Post offices have a new door sign.
You must limit touching mailboxes, doorknobs and counters.

So just touch yourself. 
As often as you can.
But not on the face.
There are plenty of other places to touch.

Flatten the curve!  
Pitchforks up! 
Millennials are winners!
Geezers to the gallows!

Sunset moose

Masked man (not the Lone Ranger)

z

Cover art by Brian Stauffer

US reader sez:

"Just saw a bumper sticker in the grocery lot that made me laugh.
First time I've seen this one. Red, white and blue letters that say:

Any Functioning Adult - 2020
 

And the riverbank talks ... of the waters of March....

.



 Antonio Carlos Jobim wrote this song 30 years ago.

There are over 100 cover versions in six languages.

But each March is unique, and so is Brazil's Jobim ... 
hit PLAY above.


And the riverbank talks

of the waters of March

It's the end of all strain

It's the joy in your heart...


It's the mud. It's the mud.

Jobim and Elis Regina sing it in Portugese at ...



https://youtu.be/wBEesrdaRog

Notes from the new American Kingdom...

. NEXUS, the U.S. pre-travel, line-jumping clearance program, proposes not to process citizens who use marijuana. Medical pot is legal in 33 states, recreational in 11 states. One presidential candidate proposes national legalization, similar to Canada.

. Forty percent of Americans are overweight, one in 10 is morbidly obese. Today, Dunkin' Donuts debuts breakfast bacon strips, eight in a pack, 12 grams of fat, 9 grams of sugar.

.  "Potato pay" is featured in a new commercial for packaged French fries. If your child eats a piece of brocolli, you "potato pay" them with a crusty sliver of the tastier vegetable.

Desus & Mero, awestruck at Dame Judi Dench's furry kittycat turn in the disastrous Cats: "Did she miss a car payment?"

Christie Blatchford

Blatch mourns Obie's passing in one her sweetest columns...

https://nationalpost.com/opinion/christie-blatchford-i-have-had-dogs-my-whole-life-but-obie-blatchford-was-my-one

Blatch and I were pals when the Sun was a party school, crossing paths in hallways or at social events. I knew she was an exceptional newshound with a keen eye for bullshit, underdogs and social injustice, and one of the Sun's prime claims to legitimacy.

She swore like a trooper and seldom let any fool crack her sometimes facts-first veneer. It cloaked a complicated softie.

I'm struck by how many pieces I read this morning remark on her empathy. Caring--like newspapers themselves--seems  oddly dated, increasingly rare and dammit, old-fashioned.  

Sad.

 Sometimes I go about pitying myself, and all the while I am being carried across the sky by beautiful clouds....
  --Ojibway proverb

Here, fishy

An ice fisherman notes that the photo below didn't include the old joke that appeared on Page Six...

"You're always supposed to take a bag of peas with you, dunf.  Cut your hole, then line up all the peas in a circle around it. When a fish comes out to take a pea, you grab him."

That's what's happening in all those ice shacks. 

 

Frozen fisherman

brrr

Muskies and pike circle this hut, waiting for a hand to get too close to the hole ....

"we're after the same rainbow's end ..my huckleberry friend...."

One guy, in a room in North London, makes his own choir.







Jacob Collier won two more Grammys last night, his third and fourth. A musical Michelangelo with a computer. He's 25.

His multi-tracked chords, dischords and harmonies bend your ear, break your heart, then push your spirit skywards.


Best arrangement, instrumental or a cappella

Moon River (Jacob Collier)

Best arrangement instruments and vocals

All Night Long (Jacob Collier, Jules Buckley, Take Six)


For Moon River, he got 150 friends to send him a video of them singing the word "moon" ... in the opening above, you can identify the faces of Quincy Jones, Coldplay, David Crosby, even his mum.

And then ... just see for yourself above. See/hear new colours. The final minute of his four key changes is electric. That last chord? Jeeze...

All the hundreds of individual tracks and images were done in Collier's music room in North London. Audio and video files, perfectly synched in a hellishly complex arrangement.


Johnny Mercer, Henry Mancini and Audrey Hepburn must hear something like this in the great beyond.

Or to see what he's done with Lionel Richie's party anthem, All Night Long, click here ...

https://youtu.be/nspqYGz-Z1s

He plays two dozen instruments.
With loops, he can back-up  himself.
Jacob live at TED, 15 minutes here at...

https://youtu.be/dDZoGcQVjJg 

Odd thoughts

Podcasts?

"It's just radio that's hard to get to."
--Ky Krebs

"Swatted a fly the other day and thought, Outlived you."
--Peter Schjeldahl 

"I changed my password to thisisamassivewasteoftimeandnotthepurposeofyourlifeonearth"
--Dayna Tortorici, on Instagram 

"Podcasts: they are the internet for our ears. Now we can be on the internet all the time"
--n&1

zefrank's puffins be dropping some beats

The new neighbours are nuts

mmm

Ye gods! Are Harry and Meghan mad?

Why would our Non-Royals choose to set up house on what my morning news feed tags as Vancouver Island--"a largely uninhabited" wilderness that "is no luxury retreat"?

More important, why do the rest of us cough up $300 a night to zone out in this wasteland?

Read this yourself:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/meghan-markle-and-prince-harrys-unusual-rustic-island-paradise?ref=scroll 

Astonishing!

Let 'em eat clams.

It snowed last night.

It's winter. It snows here all the time.

But each fresh morning, as sunlight pierces my house like a lightsaber, I pass these two in the dining room. The photo, from an old TV show, is the only thing I took with me to the next gig. Thirty years ago, this photo was already history.

Two stoic faces stare from yard snowdrifts, looking through decades of winters into mine. The photo haunts me. I tell myself the blue light in their upstairs window is Netflix. But it's not.

Their winter is unimaginable. 

And in the viewing, softens mine.

The horizon that marks earth from sky

Mom does not want to be hooked up to no machines  she texts

day after Auntie passes

That's no prolonging life   that's extending death.

--Tommy Pico, in Feed (Tin House Publishing)

Words I had to look up this week ....

numinous ... things that are numinous seem holy, spiritual and mysterious

foustie ... disgusting/putrid/over-ripe/mouldy  scottish dialect (north east), but has found a way into wider british english

dreitch ... bleak, miserable, dismal, cheerless, dreary 

smirr ...  a mist-like precipitation, Scottish ... a soft rain that coats everything

quotidian ... daily, occuring every day, ordinary, mundane 

Life is a portage ...

Northern Scavenger's epic Labrador trip goes up on youtube next month ... here's just a taste. Wow! Click above.

Alex and Noah are two affable guys who share their best Canadian wilderness adventures.

And while you wait, you will not believe the fish in ...

Ready for January ....

Oh my

What are the odds there's a Jeopardy-style game show hosted by Triumph, Insult Comic Dog famous from endless TV appearances? Or that somehow, some way MSNBC's Lawrence O'Donnell, Pete Davidson and Anthony Scaramucci are panelists? Political jokes, media jokes, dick jokes are shouted into a rowdy crowd at a Brooklyn synagogue. There is only one episode so far ... it may be the only. Worth an hour of ear time, just for the Larry King joke.

True Facts: Mating Dance of the Ostrich

This morning, zefrank uploaded his latest triumph to youtube ... one of two dozen nature spoofs he's concocted over two decades.

It's true ear candy.

Can his Ostrich My Neck Out For Ya eclipse previous pitches for mudskippers and marsupials? I think Pete the Ostrich has a hit.

Click play above, and perhaps below ...

Zefrank's marsupials
https://youtu.be/gNqQL-1gZF8

West Vancouver sunset

Winter bossa novas....

Around 3:30 p.m. each day, the two would make their way from a backroom, where birds perch on makeshift trees and in cages, to the front of the store, where the cash register sits... their talons clicked against the tiles... Everyone knew what was about to happen for the next 20-or-so minutes.
--Washington Post

Music for parrots to spoon by ...

 

Algonquin Park, winter morning

The dog's favorite night

It is the best, it is the worst, it is the last, it is the first night of the year.

It's each dog's favorite adventure.

For shortly past ten each New Year's Eve, we load the red sled with cheese and cold apple wine, a few brittle bits of white birch, tuck a harmonica in my parka and begin the half-mile climb to … the waterfall.

It is New Year's Eve again … that final, perfect, bright white night of the old year.

You come too. Light the lantern.

Christmas is over.

For some of us, Christmas has been over for a long time. Christmas is too often guilt and greed and gluttony. Christmas is family stress and the Yule drool of over-stuffed, bad-tempered consumer children. Visa and MasterCard are the holiday's happiest celebrants.

But New Year's is another matter entirely.

New Year's Eve is a clean, cold, secular holiday which still happily resists drunks and the animators of TV cartoon specials. It's a fine time with none of the electric rat-rag icicles Canadian Tire crazies have hung on houses from here to Halifax and back again.

New Year's isn't rotten brats kept awake until midnight, nor know-nothing relatives hunkered down before the tube for an afternoon of imported football.

It isn't bumping bodies in Nathan Philips Square or blowing car horns up and down Yonge Street. It isn't dropping mortgage payments to throw confetti at bored headwaiters atop the city's higher hotels.

It isn't sitting home feeling sorry for yourself. Or a tear-y, beer-y pub crawl where strangers get sick on your shoes.

Put on your mittens. Follow me. We leave all that behind… the yahoos, the yelling, the shabby old year.

Climbing the high hill, the snow scrunches underfoot like cornstarch. Our breath floats away in icy fogs, like 2019. Don't be sad. It's just the way thing ought to be.

The dog pads along in happy wonder, putting his paws carefully in our footprints.

We leave the road now, to climb the ravine, half-hypnotized by stars overhead and the gurgle of the frozen brook wrapped in ice.

It's very quiet. And cold. Not lonely, but alone.

We are alone in this world. We come that way, we go alone as well. And New Year's Eve is a perfect time to rejoice in your own magical renewal, trapped in your unique travel between beginning and end in the baffling universe.

Catch a snowflake on your tongue.

Do you know the odds of eating that single ice crystal in all the world? The stars shine and we are here at the waterfall--for the what? A tenth, twentieth, thirtieth time?

The dog picks snow clumps from his paws. I light the fire while you make a snow angel. By flickering light, the frozen falls shimmer. High in the tops of distant trees, a stange call floats by on the night breeze. Wolf? Polar owl?

We sit on the buffalo sled robe, the sharp slice of cold apple wine in our throats, looking deep, deep into the fire.

Who knows where Justin or Drake are tonight? Who cares?

We sit in the snowdrift like the wolves, to sing in our souls and bay at the sky. We will be in love and out of love, or somewhere in between, thoughts suspended in flicker and hiss of the fire.

My harmonica notes float away in snow squalls, circling in spirals up til they vanish over the trees.

The fire crackles and over the hill the icebound lake crackles back.

The snowdrifts shifts … a hiss … a whisper … a lover turning in bed … the sound of rabbit whiskers when a nose crinkles … snow crystals tumble into drifts … drifts building, moving into one another … the drifts, the years, the sifting, shifting snow.

A crisp, northern New Year's Eve in a Zen forest, where trees crack in the cold, but no human can hear them.

We're here! We see it!

You remember a half-forgotten song. The dog digs a hole. The apple wine cuts our breath like an icicle.

And sometime between the lighting of the birch logs and the last ember,  it is 2020. And it begins to snow.

Hey, friend. I really like ya.

Thanks for being here. Thanks for being. Thanks.

The bottle is empty.

Our toes go cold and noses drip.

There is nothing left to connect us to the old year. So without a whimper or a bang, we put out the fire … and let it slip away.

The waterfall vibrates, ice spiders weave invisible webs in the dark and we walk, arm in arm, back to the road. The dog soils a snowdrift in celebration.

Hey! Got on the sled! With a plush you are off, hurtling downhill into the blackness. The dog disappears after you.

The sounds of sled and shout fall away, far below me. The sky shines, alive with stars. And four lines come as always from the depths of memory…

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide.
Above the earth is stretched the sky,
No higher than the heart is high ….

Yes.
Happy New Year.
See ya.

Merry Moosemass

The Dog Who Loved Christmas

 

 Shaefer/Graham Bezant

True, all dogs love Christmas.

But these next few days are the officially-sanctioned Dog Disobedience Days.

Nothing dogs do this week is worth the time or trouble to yell at them.

At last, there is enough going on to interest dogs.

Many of the best holiday events are conveniently staged below knee level, where dogs get the best view.

But one large dog--in his middle years and wise beyond time or space--shivers in delight at the first flakes of snow. 

He quivers on the day he first sees his breath. 

He knows the happiest hours are just ahead. 

This particular dog sings as The Great Day of Winter approaches: his is a sweet soprano whimper, as clear and determined as a kindergarten kid at a pageant, trying to soar to the tricky "sleep in heavenly peace" moment of Silent Night.

"Gosh," people tell the mutt, bending down to rub his ears whenever he sings: "You are certainly one dog who loves Christmas."

And he is.

Weeks before the big day, The Dog Who Loved Christmas tracks each present as it comes in the house, watches coyly as it's wrapped, and memorizes its hiding place til he is alone. He unwraps it so it can easily be re-wrapped, two or three times if possible. 

When the presents are finally moved to high shelves or locked closets, The Dog Who Loved Christmas opens whatever he can reach: eight-packs of toilet paper from the bathroom cupboard, boxes of corn flakes and raisin bran--often in the living room. When everything is finally moved out of his reach, he knows Christmas must be very, very near.

During those delicious last days, if the door opens and The Dog Who Loved Christmas is indoors, he seizes  the opportunity to go out. If the door re-opens and he's outdoors, he comes in. Sometimes he travels in the direction of the door-opener. Other times he races from the opposite direction, always timing his speed and momentum to squeak cleanly past his doorman's knees.

If anybody tries to direct the animal's activities, a kinder soul is sure to warn: "Hey, leave him alone! You know how much that dog loves Christmas!"

The Dog Who Loved Christmas most loves his tree. It is  always set up in the coolest room of the house, the very space the dog himself favors for sleeping. 

It is clear to him the people in the house bring the tree inside as a special present for the dog. 

He watches as it's decorated, sniffs the unfamiliar indoor odor of pine, sprawls for hours on the floor, using the family as cushions. He likes it when they turn the lights on. Or turn them off. 

The Dog Who Loved Christmas sleeps under the tree at night and pretends he is camping. He makes sure to sleep on the opposite side from where he marks the tree when no one is around. It is after all, his tree and there is a certain pride of ownership. Sometimes people stick their finger in the tree's pot. "Yep, still wet," they say. He is happy to help.

On the day the family decorates the biggest window in the house, The Dog Who Loved Christmas hurries upstairs. Standing on his hind legs, he presses  sweet, heart-shaped dog noses on the frosty windows of the bedrooms. Then he slips outside to admire his work, with a side trip under the porch--the better to coat his paws with clay to decorate the rugs.

"Look!" he imagines visitors cry in glee. "This house belongs to A Dog Who Loves Christmas!"

The Dog Who Loved Christmas counts on a fine buffet of appealing snacks on the holiday, always placed on coffee tables and low snack trays where he can see them. There are cheeses and round little crackers, sometimes smeared with stinky fish. 

The dog feigns disinterest and prays for a phone or doorbell to ring, the better to snatch a few. At Christmas, no one keeps count. 

Alone by himself at night, The Dog Who Loved Christmas helps himself to hard candies from a low bowl, sucks each piece for a few seconds, then spits it back to try a new flavour. They always wonder why the candy sticks together.

The Dog Who Loved Christmas enjoys an occasional lick of chip dip and sometimes, to amuse himself, carries a few potato chips in his mouth to his water dish. There, he floats them like boats. Then he whimpers pathetically til someone comes.

"What's wrong?" they are sure to ask. "Oh poor dog! There are chips in your water dish. Let me get you a new one." They fetch a fresh dish of lovely, cool water, give him a pat and sometimes a treat. Minutes later, there is a familiar whimpering, new chips in the water dish and a new victim to say, "Poor dog."

The Dog Who Loved Christmas rolls happily in the wrapping paper on Christmas Eve and--since he growls menacingly at anybody who tries to retrieve wrappings--gets to guard the paper overnight. It's collected the next morning, no piece bigger than a torn movie ticket, while the dog takes his morning walk. It reappears New Year's Eve as confetti.

On Christmas Day, The Dog Who Loved Christmas sits politely under the dining room table. He is so quiet visitors peek underneath to convince themselves he is even in the house.

"I can't believe it!" they cry. "My dog would be begging, barking and carrying on! Why I'd never know your dog was even in the room! What a Good Dog!" Dozens of times, hands appear under the table offering turkey and tidbits.

The Dog Who Loved Christmas learned at a very young age that dogs who never beg get more turkey than those that do.

Every guilty person at the table eventually offers something tasty, a careful pay-off.

Indeed, some years so much food is gingerly collected below the tabletop laughter and conversation, that The Dog Who Loved Christmas has to slip away to the basement two or three times during a meal, and ralph everything he's eaten into a cool corner.

He always upchucks against an outside wall, so no incriminating evidence can be found til Easter. Sometimes he re-eats the barf for snacks. Then it's upstairs for another pound or two of dinner.

After the meal, The Dog Who Loved Christmas races outside with the kids. It is his duty to destroy forts and snowmen as quickly as tots can build them. Bundled in snowsuits, the kids can barely feel his nips. The smaller ones have difficulty walking. 

The Dog Who Loved Christmas grabs them by their parka hoods and drags them backwards through snowdrifts, playing crack the whip. He does this only with wee ones who can't really talk, so they will not report him to the authorities. Of course, bigger kids all think it's funny.

On Christmas night, The Dog Who Loved Christmas sprawls on his back under the tree, fat and happy, his legs splayed like a broken toy with his mouth open and snores like a horse. 

Every year at midnight, they take his photo for the family album. 

There are eight years' worth of pictures of the animal, paws to the sky and snoring. 

So cute, so content, under his tree. 

"That Dog Sure Does Love Christmas," somebody always whispers, as the camera shutter clicks.

Sometimes the dog's eyes flutter open and he even hears them say it. 

It makes him very glad to please them so.

 

Hey! I smell Jingle Butt!

".... if the fates allow ... "

                         https://youtu.be/2qV-C3OU8hU

Winter solstice

"Finally, darkness is defeated ...
 We're moving toward the light."
                --Erik Normark

Erik lives in northern Sweden.
He's a naturalist and ace photographer.
He hikes. He sees.
Listen to the ice! 
Watch him here ...

https://youtu.be/Kf7eo1FB5wU?t=3

Moose mittens

December sun

Be a happy Xmas pup...

https://youtu.be/9O2EaREJeqg?t=19

Two weeks til Santa--but here's a killer gift. My favorite Christmas song is secretly a jazz samba? Thanks Gerald Albright! Very tasty!

Vince Norman arranged Cannonball's kick ass showpiece....

Click thru to....

https://youtu.be/9O2EaREJeqg?t=19 

 

Dog Who Loved Christmas coming

Are you a blog pal who asks about a much-remembered column, The Dog Who Loved Christmas? It will appear here holiday week...

"Here we are on December 7 — the day the president reminds us that Ukraine bombed Pearl Harbor."
 --Rahm Emanuel at Gridiron Dinner