laddie boy, a white house airedale

Having won the presidency by a landslide, the isolationist, pro-business
Warren G. Harding brought to the White House in March 1921a rambunctious young Airedale named Laddie Boy, whose first official act was to tree the Wilsons'
cat. Tales of Laddie Boy, along with his occasional press interviews and
letters to other dogs and people, brought some life and humanity to an
administration otherwise noteworthy for its corruption, its support of
immigration restrictions, its tax cuts for the rich, its imposition of high
protective tariffs, and its veto of a bill providing veterans' benefits. . .
Laddie Boy held a chair at cabinet meetings, as did Florence Kling Harding,
the president's wife. . .
Even Laddie's siblings and offspring joined the ranks of celebrity.
In fact, in late July 1921, Albert R. Lowrie, answering charges in court that
his Airedale, Dickie Boy, had slaughtered a neighbor's chickens, asked the judge
whether he honestly believed a dog who was full brother to the president's own
Laddie Boy would stoop so low as to kill some scrawny chickens. The jdge
agreed that he failed to see how that could happen, and the case was dismissed
for lack of evidence. A year later in New York, several boys rescued
Laddie's five-month-old son, Happy, from an enraged goat. The puppy had
wandered away from his home on Eighth Avenue two weeks earlier to join the ranks
of New York's street dogs.

From Mark Derr, A Dog's History of America: How Our Best Friend Explored, Conquered, and Settled a Continent (New York: North Point Press, 2004), pp.267-8.

beach kitten

The formerly homeless kitten -- now named Elizabeth and the latest addition to what I might as well turn into a wildlife refuge -- came with us to the beach at Westport this Sunday.

She didn't like the surf. It was loud and crashy.

She liked the beach itself, which was made up of many many pebbles rounded in the surf. I liked the pebbles too. They were great on my feet, and I brought home a pocket full.

Westport is home to the Westport Maritime Museum, which has a whale skeleton among other things. Also you may find, at the hole in the wall place whose name I didn't get, perfectly fried oyster baskets, and cranberry-oyster ice cream.

it's a squirrel, right?

We're going to road trip to the coast today.

Speaking of the coast we were walking along Point Defiance last night when the curatorial spouse looked over at a wall we were passing and said, "What the heck is that!?"

He thinks it's a bat, but bats, last time I checked, don't have fluffy tails nor a predilection for acorns.

beautiful joe

His first master killed his siblings when they were puppies, and neglected his mother till she became ill and died. When the master came to poke her body for signs of life the dog rushed to defend his mother -- and got his ears and tail chopped off with an axe for his pains.

But a kinder master saved him. His new family named him Beautiful Joe. A popular book was written about him, and a park and benevolent society exist in his name.

This is a true story, and you may visit the Beautiful Joe Heritage Society website here. It is based in Meaford, Ontario, as is the park, where he is buried.

You may also read Beautiful Joe for yourself online at Internet Archive.

The first notice that he took of me when I was a little puppy, just able to
stagger about, was to give me a kick that sent me into a corner of the
stable. He used to beat and starve my mother. I have seen him use
his heavy whip to punish her till her body was covered with blood. . .

It gets happier from there, eventually. Honest.

mule surprise

In a Colorado town, the impossible has occurred.

A mule has had a baby.... well, what to call it? You see, mules can't have babies. A cross between a female horse and a male donkey, a mule has an odd number of chromosomes, and can't therefore reproduce.

Oh yeah? says Kate, the black mule, who managed the feat somehow. Read about it at the Denver Post.

Meanwhile, did you know there's an old Brazilian myth about the Headless Mule? This is a form of curse put upon a woman for certain sins; she turns into a headless mule Thursday at sundown till Friday sunrise. Wikipedia will help you out there.

And here's a South Carolina folktale about a talking mule.

saint francis

I didn't go inside -- the sign said "No food or drink" and there I was with a huge loaf of bread -- but on Vallejo Street just off Columbus stand the National Shrine of St. Francis of Assisi.

That's right, the saint in your grandmother's front yard. Well, my grandmother's front yard, anyway.

"Francis anticipated (animal cruelty) laws by over six hundred years. He wasn’t a mere sentimentalist about bunnies and birds and pets—he simply lived from his heart the respect for all creatures—animal and human—that Christ’s Incarnation brought into the world. Through humble divine love, Francis discovered the same compassion that human laws, centuries in the future, would require of us all. And so Francis was a perfect example, in a reverse sort of way, of the fact that “love is the fulfillment of the law.” "

The scope of the website is, not surprisingly, Catholic and reverent in tone, and the photos of the church are beautiful. I will certainly enter next time.

Learn about Saint Francis, see the church!

i play doghouse

That's Beat slang for bass fiddle. I went looking for the genesis of "cat" as a term for "cool guy", and stumbled upon the Beatitude: Dictionary of Jive, in which I learned that Cat (n.) -- musician in swing band. Also Hep cat (n.) -- a guy who knows all the answers, understands jive.

There's a fair amount of pet types in your true blue Beat speak:
Mouse (n.) -- pocket. Ex., "I've got a meter in the mouse."
Yarddog (n.) -- uncouth, badly attired, unattractive male or female
Canary (n.) -- girl vocalist

And some are just funny, frankly.
Mash me a fin (command.) -- Give me $5
Sadder than a map (adj.) -- terrible. Ex., "That man is sadder than a map."

I should ask my dad if he used some of these when he was a teenager in a beret in San Fran with a beret* and a goatee -- for all of six months. He said he did it for the chicks.

* I see I have the word "beret" in here twice. I guess the thought of my dad in one made an indelible impression.

java cat

Image from the trip: not that the cellphone cam did it any favors, but this is the "mascot" of Javacat at 20th and Geary San Francisco.

I asked why the place was called "Javacat," but the owner said she'd bought it with that name. Too bad. I was hoping she had a story.

But here's a review of Javacat along with a bunch of other good caffinated SF hangouts.

a robust vintage with a soupcon of dog hair

I was thinking fondly this morning of my visit to the wine country, and how beautiful the labels of many wines are. Not that one should choose a wine by its label, but sometimes one will.

And if you are in that mood, perhaps wanting to celebrate a beloved beast with a good vintage, perhaps you should shop at Critterwines.com. There you may select Two Dog Vineyard Merlot, Bobcat Zin, or Wren Hop Pinot Noir.

home again

Back from the warm golden Bay Area to the muggy gray and green PNW, to my cats, and to an enormous amount of laundry I have to bug off and do.

I come back with a little sun, three bottles of wine chosen at Folio Winemakers Studio (who had an excellent black and white cat on their porch), and tons of great memories. One thing I do notice about the Bay Area is the hot and cold running pet boutiques; pets are a very important part of the residents' lives, and dogs of all sizes are everywhere.

I forgot to mention I went to the M H DeYoung Museum on Thursday - the first museum I ever saw in my life, when I was eight. So that is the spot where your friendly Curator realized that museums were something she needed in her life for always. It's been grandly renovated and beautifully too.

There's a Grant Wood there I had never seen or known about: Dinner for Threshers, from 1934. Look for the cat in the kitchen.

i left my soles in san francisco

The soles of my feet, that is. My best friend and I have been walking for about 9 hours today. . . Chinatown, Union Square, Yerba Buena Arts Center, Clement Street, hanging off cable cars, cruising down Haight Ashbury and up Telegraph Hill. The weather is 70 degrees, the sky is blue, the fog was starting to gently puff into town as if it were from an old-fashioned perfume mister.

Let me not forget to tell you that we went to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Not only is it a physically comfortable, visually exciting building, but the exhibits were lavishly sized, plenty to see and enjoy for each -- Martin Munkacsy, a forgotten but joyously gifted photographer, and Matisse: Painter as Sculptor. Go see what's at SFMOMA -- remember, exhibits will change depending on when you read this.

In the museum shop I found something I crave. Jewelry of sweet little flowers and humorous pet sketches by the Oakland artist Mark Poulin. He should expect an email from me when I get home and find some $.

playtime: curator takes a break

Off to semi-sunny San Francisco with me until Sunday!

If I can post I will. But, you know.

Later!

philosophy

Yesterday I had mentioned in passing how Romantic philosophy encouraged hiking -- and the love of animals, such as the dog you bring with you.

I thought this morning I'd give you a little more about the development of that philosophy in the 17th century. In his 1754 Discourse on Inequality Jean-Jacques Rousseau noted in the preface that animals, being sensitive beings, "ought to participate in natural right, and ... man is subject to some sort of duties toward them," specifically "one [has] the right not to be uselessly mistreated by the other."

Meanwhile, in 1791 John Oswald produced The Cry of Nature, or an Appeal to Mercy and Justice on behalf of the Persecuted Animals. That work is less popularly known than Rousseau's, and more direct to the purpose -- some quotes here.

walkies, for cripes' sake

July.
Small house.
Big, amped spaniel.

We're working on a long overdue dog run, but till then -- we have to get him out of the house. Come to think of it we have to get US out of the house. Hiking with your dog: a pastime celebrated since Romantic times, when you could glory in Nature with a tame representative of it by your side.

Where to go, though? Where are we allowed to take this insane bird dog?

Hikewithyourdog.com knows. American/Canadian locator page here!
Ooh - I think we'll take him to Sequim Bay and let him go hog wild.

brits knit for kits

The Victoria and Albert Museum -- a terrific place and one I greatly look forward to revisiting some spring soon -- has one of the most forward-thinking and involved websites I have ever seen for such an institution.

They love to get people involved. Easy to do, perhaps, when your museum celebrates small, personally-scaled arts such as jewelry, clothing, and book illustration. But then, knitters love company, don't they? And they love to stretch (you should pardon the expression) their knitting.

Into, say, cat beds. Cat toys. An icon of Flying Spaghetti Monster which also makes a most excellent toy. Cats surely find this an appropriate celebration of their traditional accoutrement of yarn.
It makes for comfy chairs too.

the old writer and the cat

"By the time Papa’s fourth wife to be, Mary Welsh, moved into the Finca in 1945,
Ernest had twenty-three cats and five dogs. They were treated as royalty. The
cats slept in the guest bedroom and later lived in a room on the second floor of
the white tower Papa had built for his pets at one end of the terrace. He and
Mary called the cats "purr factories" and "love sponges" that soaked up their
love and in return gave them comfort and companionship."

This is from Hilary Hemingway's foreword to Hemingway's Cats: An Illustrated Biography by Carlene Fredericka Brennen. The book's website offers a handful of photos and excerpts detailing the great love Ernest Hemingway had for his sizable tribe of felines -- a tribe, I might add, that still lives at the Key West house and museum kept in Hemingway's memory.

two wombats, owls, kangaroos, wallabies, a deer, armadillos

. . . "parakeets, peacocks, a raccoon, a Canadian marmot or woodchuck, a Japanese salamander, two laughing jackasses and a zebu or small Brahminee bull."

This is a list of the inhabitants of Dante Gabriel Rossetti's garden at 16 Cheyne Walk in the late 1860's. I don't think they were all there at once, if you're wondering. He had moved to Cheyne Walk after the tragic death of his wife in 1862. The pets were a way of consoling himself, and much more constructive than drugs, which I'm sorry to say he also used to salve his broken heart.

The wombats were his favorites. He always had a thing for them. In fact, his preferred meeting spot at the Zoological Gardens was "The Wombat's Lair". The British Museum has a great drawing from his hand, mourning his short-lived 2nd wombat. Background on it here, nice closeup here.

a dog walks into a bar

I still feel in a mood for lightness. Thus, some rather swell dog jokes that I personally haven't heard yet. But stop me if you've heard these. . .

Dog Breeds That Just Didn't Make It

Collie + Lhasa Apso - Collapso, a dog that folds up for easy transport

Spitz + Chow Chow - Spitz-Chow, a dog that throws up a lot

Bloodhound + Borzoi - Bloody Bore, a dog that's not much fun

Pointer + Setter - Poinsetter, a traditional Christmas pet

Kerry Blue Terrier + Skye Terrier - Blue Skye, a dog for visionaries

Great Pyrenees + Dachshund - Pyradachs, a puzzling breed

Pekingnese + Lhasa Apso - Peekasso, an abstract dog

Irish Water Spaniel + English Springer Spaniel - Irish Springer, a dog fresh and clean as a whistle

Labrador Retriever + Curly Coated Retriever - Lab Coat Retriever, the choice of research scientists

Newfoundland + Basset Hound - Newfound Asset Hound, a dog for financial advisors

Terrier + Bulldog - Terribull, a dog that makes awful mistakes

Bloodhound + Labrador - Blabador, a dog that barks incessantly

Malamute + Pointer - Moot Point, owned by....oh, well, it doesn't matter anyway

Collie + Malamute - Commute, a dog that travels to work

Deerhound + Terrier - Derriere, a dog that's true to the end

-- And some hysterical actual dog food ads from New Zealand!

the slacker cat post

Slacka!
Yes, your friendly Curator has been busy with various private-sector drama. It's 90 degrees out. Ah the stickiness. It must be hot, the cats are all three feet long and 2 inches thick as they lie about. Not really, but, you know.

It is 10:05 and this is my

Official Cat Themed Slacker Post to a page of funny cat links.

Enjoy.

humanity dick

That was Member of Parliament Richard Martin's nickname as the first man in the world who saw to it that legally animals have certain rights. He did so in Britain in the mid 1820's at a time when there weren't even any laws established protecting the safety of children; but although the animal legislation came first, that for children followed after shortly as a direct result.

The movement that became the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals started in a coffee house that catered mostly to artists and actors. Horses, much used and abused as draft animals then, were its primary focus at first, soon spreading to all other creatures -- an early major legal battle was won over a badly beaten donkey.

And now this good Society protects creatures here in the States, too. Learn more!

500 dogs, 5 pounds a dog

"Once there was a drover in Scotland who used to go at times to England with cattle and sheep and somtimes with pigs. He had a very good dog. An Englishman took a fancy to the dog and wanted to buy it; he was willing to pay anything the drover asked. The drover sold the dog for five pounds; the Englishman would have paid more if he had been asked to."

So begins a cautionary tale about greed from Scotland's Outer Hebrides, a beautiful and stark area where wanting too much will simply not work. However, through the cleverness of his compatriot George Buchanan, the drover not only learns a lesson but might actually go home with an extra pound or 5 in his pocket. That's a practical twist on a human foible and you may read the rest of the story here. Learn a bit about the Hebrides here.

this'll probably happen to me someday

I love Cecil Adams and The Straight Dope. He fears nothing. This is why he will take on questions such as:

Will cats eat their owners?

Long story short: Yes.

women with dog, 1891

The Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute is one of the most beautiful and contemplative collections I have ever visited. Nestled off to one side of Williams College in the Berkshires -- did I tell you all this already? -- its galleries pace calmly among a landscape of old trees and leaf-strewn lawns.

One of the treasures you can see there is Pierre Bonnard's (French, 1867-1947) Women with Dog. In this direct, innocent work you can easily see how he played with the elements of Japanese woodcuts, which were a new exciting find at the time. Things would be imported from Japan wrapped in old woodcuts, and the French artists knew a good thing where they could borrow it. The tilted viewpoint, the particular dry indigo blue -- all borrowed, but the wiry hound is all French.

national pets

Happy Fourth of July everyone!

I think you'll agree today is probably the best day there is to finally cave in and post a link to The Presidential Pet Museum. It's not connected to the White House in any way, but goes all the way back to George Washington (who had hounds called Drunkard, Mopsey, Taster, Cloe, Tipsy, Tipler, Forester, Captain, Lady Rover, Vulcan, Sweetlips, and Searcher).

feline heroes

Cats get a bad rap.

They are supposedly so busy being mysterious and only in it for themselves that they can barely get in enough time to scratch the hand that feeds them.

Tell that to Tia Dawn Jenkins, who suffers from a number of conditions. Tia can't see well at all, and has seizures. This didn't stop her from taking in a cat her jackass neighbor was going to feed to a pit bull. (Quick, animal lovers - what is that jackass neighbor doing wrong?*)

That rescued meal-to-be was named Samantha, and she saved Tia from a terrible fire. Find out how!

*Thinking that feeding a cat to anything was an appropriate activity; teaching God knows what to a pit bull; and, I'm thinking, drawing breath in the first place.

holy mother of god in a smoking birch bark canoe!

That's just another of the convoluted exclamations favored by Sam, the 6-foot detective dog who's the laid-back half of the pair in the Sam & Max comics. The other half is a rabbity thing named Max, who has to remind people frequently that he's not a rodent ("I'm a lagomorph. Look it up!")

They were created by Steve Purcell during his years at LucasArts. He now works for Pixar, which is a good place for his wacky fantasy and humor, though of course streamlined in a more commercial direction for those projects. Sam & Max have a tendency to walk right into trouble of a most unlikely kind, such as a haunted grocery ("Beast from the Cereal Aisle"), and the great, unparalleled "On The Road," in which we learn who's ripping off the nation's roadside-attraction manatees.

Sounds like you'll never catch up? Oh sure you will - start with Wikipedia and the the unofficial website.

dog carts: or, i wish i could make my dog do this

Vixen is a cute brown dog with fluffy ears. She's roughly the size of a small Golden Retriever.

Which is big enough to pull a little cart.

Her "mom" is a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism, and in the course of researching medieval dog carts so as to be culturally accurate, she turned up a treasure trove of material. Did you know that the French Canadians have over two hundred years of working dogs pulling dog carts, but that Britain outlawed all vehicles pulled by dogs in 1855? And that dog carts were a popular child's toy, similar to owning a bicycle, for hundreds of years?

More information, and lots of great illustrations, here.