Saturday, January 28, 2017

Trump and Lincoln

Trump:  . . .. with malice toward all and charity for none.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

A Mountain Feist named Dilly

This is a picture of my husband, Phil, and our dog, Dilly. She will be 3 in May. We bought her from an Amish farmer for $20.00 (Her adoption story, "Silly Dilly," was posted on 9-8-14.)

When we take her for walks, people often ask us what she is. We used to say we didn't know. Sometimes, to avoid getting into a discussion, I'd just say she was an Amish Akita. The response was usually a second look and a sage nod. Those with opinions often suggested "rat terrier with maybe some Jack Russell."  Finally, someone who actually knew what he was talking about pronounced her "a mountain feist" without a moment's hesitation.  He is Amish, too, or at least he was, having left his community, but he said the farmer who'd sold her was known for breeding and raising this type of dog.

So what's a "feist?" My dad used to call me "a feist" when I was kindergarten age, so I suppose, when it's human,  it's something small and mischievous.  The second time I encountered the word was in The Bear, a short novel by William Faulkner. Only Faulkner called it a "fice." George Washington had a feist and Abraham Lincoln mentioned the feist in a poem he wrote, according to Wikipedia. The Wikipedia article characterized the feist as a small hunting dog that originated in Appalachia. It trees its prey and its prey is the squirrel. That's Dilly. She rushes furiously out the door at the mere sight of a squirrel at the bird feeder, but she loses interest once the squirrel is high in the tree. This is probably not a good trait in a hunter. Dilly is protective of my husband and me, and slow to warm up to strangers. Once she decides you're all right, though, you've got a friend for life.

You can find out more about dogs like Dilly by checking out the "Mountain Feist Squirrel Dog" page on Facebook.

Friday, December 16, 2016

More Fun with Hearing Loss

I went to the drugstore to pick up two prescriptions, one for me and one for my husband.

"OK," said the clerk, 'I'll take care of yours first, and then I'll do his."

After retrieving my prescription, she asked for my husband's name.

"Phillip," I said."With two 'l's'."

"Phillip is perfect," she then announced.

I looked puzzled, so she repeated it. "Phillip is perfect."

I still looked uncomprehending.

"Phillip's birthdate," she enunciated clearly.

"Oh," I said.

Monday, November 28, 2016

The Potted Palm

Fidel Castro appears to be listening
to a speech by an American tourist,
who probably had a few too many.

Early in 1959, my parents happened to be in Havana when Fidel Castro came to town. My parents were attending the convention of the company my dad happened to be working for at the time. It was a very small company and my dad was good friends with the company's owner, Owen M., the American tourist who is giving a speech in the picture.

Here's my dad in the middle of
a group of Castro's "campesinos."

My parents didn't know what to make of Castro, but they had a good time in Cuba. A handsome Cuban, a friend of Owen M., asked Mom to have a drink with him in the hotel lobby. Mom noticed a nearby potted palm quivering suspiciously. My dad was hiding behind it to keep an eye on Mom.

After they got home, my dad said, "I think Castro is probably OK." Mom said, "I don't know about that. I saw machine guns on top of some of the buildings."