vintage photo halloween 60s!

more ampersand finds!

I'm pretty thrilled with this score: not one, but TWO photos of the same family on what I'm going to guess was Halloween 1965. (Maybe they were headed to some other costume event instead, but my interpretation is convenient.) And as if the first one with the Siamese wasn't handy enough - other kitty photobombs take #2, to general merriment.

Yay! Happy Halloween everybody!

a little post for a littler mummy

Is everyone getting excited for Halloween yet? We are around here. Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. I keep trying to tape a tiny witch hat on Elizabeth, but she's not buying it.

This is a quick post, because it's not much. I found a touching photo of a tiny cat mummy - a kitten perhaps? - from a BBC.co.uk "Sacred Animals of Egypt Gallery." It's true I can't really tell how big it is from the photo (nor did they give any info on where it is exactly), but it seems like a darling scrap of a thing, somebody's pet miw tenderly wrapped and given to the ages. If you're interested in pet mummies, perhaps you'll also find it dear. Here it is.

mrs coolidge finds her cat

from Public Domain Clip Art, accessed 10/29/2010

click link for page with full citations

(John over at A Few Good Cats found this and sent it my way: John, you are the best.)

March, 1924: First Lady Grace Coolidge's cat Tige takes a powder from the White House. Local DC radio stations broadcast his disappearance. Oh! Where could he be?

Over at the Navy building, that's where. (Come on, everybody loves a sailor.) So here's guard Benjamin Fink, holding his precious find. Yay! Look at the puss on Tige: "But I wasn't done exploring. Mmf!"

a tiny sister and her friend

thanks wikimedia commons

No one knows who painted this, but it had to have been created in the years 1710 - 1712. I know that because this is a painting of Anna Elisabeth Theophila of Neuburg, daughter of Charles III Philip, Elector of the Palatine. Anna only lived from 1709 to 1712, and she's got to be at least 18 months old in this image. Why dress such a tiny child in a nun's habit? She may have been dedicated to the Church at a very early age, which used to occur frequently.

Whomever this lost artist was, he or she did a lovely job of creating a spirit of togetherness here. Of course the little girl's pose is formalized, but look at the entirely typical way she grips the fur on the pup's back while she introduces her pet to the viewer with an open hand. The dog, too, has its paws up in her lap, happy to be with her - or happy enough to stay still for a sitting or two! I wish I could find out where this painting is now. And I wish these two had not lost each other so soon.

vintage photo time! + curator break

another great ampersand find

A station wagon, a sun hat, a spot by the lake. And the family dog. Yes, time to get away.

Me too - but only for a few days. You'll see me again next Wednesday. Be well till then!

bouguereau: bacchante on a panther

public domain

Yes, I know you don't get to have a panther, and I don't either (Elizabeth doesn't count, despite her high opinion of herself). But . . . isn't this glorious? For a few seconds in my dreams I was a wild creature on an even wilder beast, galloping though a golden world, my blood up for the hunt. This is a work from 1855 by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905). (Say boo-guh-roe.) He was a French academic painter particularly known for the lush, pale beauty of the female forms he worked into his genre and mythological paintings. You've probably seen quite a few of them, actually - you might meet some old friends in the Wikipedia entry on him.

By the way, don't you find it interesting that he is clearly well versed in female anatomy, but winging it when it comes to the panther? I've just seen one (at the Mirage's Secret Garden, so I was very close to it!) and I guarantee you the cat, though compact, is not built anything like this.

jonathan swift: "advice to a dog painter"

Happiest of the spaniel race,
Painter, with thy colors grace,
Draw his forehead large and high,
Draw his blue and humid eye;
Draw his neck, so smooth and round,
Little neck with ribands bound;
And the musely swelling breast
Where the Loves and Graces rest;
And the spreading, even back,
Soft, and sleek, and glossy black;
And the tail that gently twines,
Like the tendrils of the vines;
And the silky twisted hair,
Shadowing thick the velvet ear;
Velvet ears which, hanging low,
O'er the veiny temples flow.

-- Jonathan Swift (1665 - 1745), better known for writing Gulliver's Travels; poem included in The Dog's Book of Verse, J. Earl Clauson, ed. (Boston: Small, Maynard & Company, 1916) p. 33.

review: "dewey's nine lives" plus giveaway!

Dewey Readmore Books began life as a tiny kitten dumped into the book drop at the public library in Spencer, Iowa. He grew up there, befriending people from the town, the state, and then the nation. Eventually Dewey had fans worldwide, thanks to his own sweet self and a little help from his guardian, Spencer Public Library director Vicki Myron. In her new book Dewey's Nine Lives: The Legacy of the Small-Town Library Cat who Inspired Millions (New York: Dutton) Myron continues the story she began in Dewey of the creature whose accepting nature warmed many lives, not least her own. Nine tales tell us not only more about Dewey, but of other cats whose love changed and sustained the hearts of their humans.

You'll learn about Tobi, who gave a quiet local woman in Spencer a sense of belonging; Spooky, a veteran's friend and fellow survivor; and a gray and white tabby of whom her person says, "I have never been loved by anyone. . .the way I have been loved by my Cookie." The tales come full circle with Rusty and Page Turner, who popped up in Myron's and her companion Glenn's lives at just the right times.

Each of the nine stories illuminate different kinds of human pain and difficulty. The love of a cat - or cats, plural - gets everyone through, in ways that mirror the same but unique paths of life we all tread. Vicki Myron has found a way yet again to bring her special friend back and to bring us all together. She calls it "Dewey's Magic," and if that's what to call the feelings of compassion and creature-kindness this book evokes, that's a fine name by me.

And now guess what? You can win this book!
I have a copy for one lucky winner.
We'll do this the usual way: Leave a comment on this post, and Monday November first 2010 (All Souls' Day, kitties included), Elizabeth will bat the lucky winner out of the hat.
Go for it, Museum friends!

thoughts on dog breeding, from 1906

There was not a dog living, according to writers of the eighteenth century, that was not a cross between two other varieties, or even impossible crosses, such as the mastiff being from a cross with the hyena, while some other breed had a dash of the Bengal leopard. The former assertion was made by such eminent naturalists as Pallas and Burchell, and even Lowe stated in his modern "Domestic Animals of Great Britain" that it was very possible. The wild dogs of India were said to be a cross between the wolf and the tiger, and other equally ridiculous statements were made. That the dog and wolf will cross, and that a cross between the fox and dog has been repeatedly claimed, are well-known facts, but these are mules and will breed only with the parent stock, whereas, no matter how widely different are the varieties of dog crossed, the progeny is fruitful inter se.
At Wilton House, England, there is an epitaph, as follows: "Here lies Lupa, whose grandmother was a wolf, whose father and grandfather were dogs, and whose mother was half wolf and half dog. She died on the l6th of October, 1782, aged twelve years." That is the record of an experiment conducted by Lord Clanbrassil and Lord Pembroke. Others have experimented in the same way, but it is the interbreeding of the progeny that is the impossible and proves them to be mules.

-- from The Dog Book: A popular history of the dog, by James Watson (Doubleday, Page and Company, 1906), p. 4.

vintage photo time

"August 1960" reads the processor's stamp on the back of this Ampersand bulk-bin find. So those plastic chairs were still pretty groovy then, but that's not the point of this photo. No, it's all about the shaggy gray dog. Is that football a special toy? Did it just happen to be there?

I must admit that were this my dog, I'd give him/her a bit of a wash, comb and trim before snapping the photo. Yet at the same time that is precisely why I appreciate this image: apparently all the dog had to be, to be beautiful and special to the photographer, was itself. Same concept as that behind many of Rembrandt's portraits of his companion Hendrickje, for example. Well, it has been said that truth and beauty are the same thing.

i went to vegas

. . . for the first time ever (that's why I've been AWOL), and top of my list for the 48 hours was Siegfied and Roy's Magic Garden at the Mirage. Though this is not a large park at all (and you will spend $15 to get in, I'm warning you), I found its beauty and intimacy remarkable considering. You walk very near the animals' enclosures, and will find a large predator staring at you carefully from 6 feet off.

Though I wouldn't be so irresponsible as to say they were friendly as we know pets, the lions and tigers seemed curious and benign as they looked us over. And the two white tiger cubs they have right now - romping, rolling, chewing little monsters - well, they were almost close enough to touch, and the experience was happy and rare.

featured artist: poor dog farm

image copyright s. georgieff and reproduced with kind permission of the artist

At Poor Dog Farm in rural Pennsylvania, watercolor dries on paper and becomes a bird in a rakish hat, or a gator with a crown, or - as you see here - a bright eyed dachshund becomes a queen right down to her perfectly pointed tiny black nails.

Sam Georgieff is the kingmaker behind these royal personages, and when asked where the kings and queens came from replies: "The first set were the hares. I wanted to paint a set of March hares and then added the crowns as I wanted to distiguish male from female. I liked the set so much I started other kings and queens." I bet there are plenty of March hares and April, June, and July hares, and so on, around his 1890s farmhouse.

What a wonderful thing that Sam's love of watercolor and its wash of action as it dries matches up with the critters he knows, and makes a charming funny world happen. Go take a look at his Etsy shop and you'll see just what I mean.

"cutest pet" halloween contest

My friends at Beloved Pets Pet Blog want to invite you to their Cutest Pet Halloween Ideas contest! Here's the deal: by October 15th, drop Beloved Pets a line at blog@become.com with a cute Halloween pet costume idea or a pet treat recipe - be sure and send a picture - and the best entry every week will be posted at Beloved Pets. (I know I'm a little late there.) And then -

There, your recipe, idea or costume will get voted on by our readers via the Facebook “like button.” If your entry gets the most “likes,” you will be entered into our poll to win a $50 gift certificate to Amazon. The voting will being on Monday October 20th and will end on the 25th , so make sure you get your family and friends to vote on your entry. Beware, ghoulish comments won’t help you win—only Facebook likes will get your entry chosen.

Go take a look and try for that $50 Amazon gift card!

Bonus: I was looking for some interesting Halloween pet quote to throw in here, and while I didn't find that I did find this: At President Andrew Jackson's funeral in 1845, his pet parrot Poll was kicked out for swearing. (Using words she'd learned from him! Aw.)

happy feast of st. francis!

Happy World Animal Day! It's also, not coincidentally, the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. In honor of animals everywhere and of that gentle man who asked that we all take thought for our furred, feathered and finned siblings, I want to share a bit of a particularly good Francis story. Here's how he befriended the terrible Wolf that terrorized the city of Gubbio.
* * *

To the astonishment and horror of everybody, Francis declared that he would himself go out and meet the wolf.

Though all the crowd begged him not to venture, and filled his ears with accounts of the cruelty of the beast, the Little Poor Man, followed by one or two Brothers, went out from the city gate and down the road toward the spot where the wolf was thought to lurk. Behind the Brothers came the citizens of Gubbio, still frightened, but curious to see what would happen, and, it may be, quieted by the coolness and fearlessness of Francis. Close at the heels of the Brothers marched certain venturesome boys, and at the very end of the procession dangled a group of smaller, timider children, round-eyed and open-mouthed, who clutched each others' hands, and were always ready to scamper home at a moment's warning.

About a quarter of a mile beyond the gate, where a wood of tall oaks and walnuts shadowed the road, those who were nearest turned pale at the sight of the wolf, coming swiftly along, with his great jaws open, eager to spring upon Brother Francis, who walked ahead and alone. He went, not as a soldier goes to meet an enemy, but as one might go out to meet a welcome friend.

As the unarmed man and the wild beast neared each other, Francis called, cheerily: "Come hither, Brother Wolf! I ask you, for Christ's sake, to do no harm to me nor to any one." Then the crowd saw, with wonder, that the terrible wolf stopped running, and that the great, wicked jaws closed; and, presently, the creature came softly up to Brother Francis and, meek as a lamb, lay down at his feet.

And Francis spoke to him as one man might reason with another: "Brother Wolf, you do much harm in all this countryside, and you have committed many crimes, hurting and killing God's creatures. Not only have you killed and eaten beasts, but you have dared to kill men, made in God's image, and, therefore, you deserve to be punished like the worst of thieves and murderers; and all the people cry out and murmur against you; and everybody is your enemy." The wolf lay perfectly still, with his head flat in the dust of the road, and his red tongue lolled out like that of a winded hound. The people forgot their fright, and spread themselves in a circle that all might see and hear; the children tiptoed closer, to look at the monster who had filled all their dreams with terror.

"But I wish, Brother Wolf," went on the voice of Francis, "to make peace between you and this folk, so that you shall not harm them any more; and they shall forgive you all your misdeeds, and neither the men nor the dogs shall trouble you any longer." Then, with body and head and tail, the great wolf seemed to agree to all that Brother Francis said. Perhaps the wolf somewhat wondered what he should do for dinner, if he could not kill a sheep nor a child; perhaps he was so charmed by this strange, gentle voice that he forgot all about his dinner.

Brother Francis did not forget, as his next words showed. "Brother Wolf," said he, "since you are honestly willing to make and keep this peace, I promise you that, as long as you live, the men of this place shall give you food, so that you shall never go hungry; for I know well that it is hunger that has made you do all this evil. But I want you to promise me, in return, that you will never harm any human being, nor any animal. Will you promise me this?" And the wolf nodded his head, as if he said: "Yes, I promise." And Francis said: " Brother Wolf, I want you to make me so sure of your promise that I cannot doubt it." The man held out his hand, and the beast lifted his paw and laid it clumsily on Brother Francis's palm, as much as to say: "Here is my hand. I will keep my part of the treaty." "And now," said Francis, " I wish you, Brother Wolf, to come with me, and not to be afraid, and we will finish this business."

Francis turned back toward the city, and the wolf walked beside him like a pet lamb. . .
* * *
-- from Sophie Jewett, God's Troubadour: the story of Saint Francis of Assisi (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell & Company, 1910), pps. 104-108.

chet phillips has two new series!

image copyright chet phillips 2010 and provided by kind permission of the artist

I am very excited to bring you today's post, because yesterday Chet Phillips dropped me a line to say that he had not one, but two new trading card series! Above you'll find someone from his "Literary Pets 2" pack. Hm. . . slender, sensitive, impeccably dressed, but what's with the cockroach? You've guessed it: here's Franz Katka. You'll also see G.R.R. Tolkien and H.P. Lovecat, among many other perfect reinterpretations of authors you've read all your life.

And then! Get a look at the Artistic Pets series, where you'll meet Vizla Van Gogh and Frida Kahlico, among others. Like the Literary Pets, each artist is completely plausible (I can't tell you how much I want to type "pawsible;" there, I lost) and has small enjoyable elements to find, such as the clouds on Rene Pugritte's shirt, or the crazed, down-the-nose look in the eyes of Labrador Dali.

Chet Phillips' powers of invention and deftness of execution never fail to amaze me. Get a look at all the card series here, and then you'll want to check out his Etsy shop.

new york state, 1913: a dog's prayer

We are the little brothers, homeless in cold and heat;
Four-footed little beggars, roaming the city street;
Snatching a bone from the gutter, creeping through alleys drear,
Stoned and sworn at and beaten, our hearts consumed with fear.
Is your heart too hard to listen to a starving puppy's cries?
Or too gay for the patient pleading in a dog's beseeching eyes?
Behold us, your little brothers, starved, beaten, oppressed;
Stretch out a band to help us, that we may have food and rest.

-- No kidding, this is from the Documents of the Senate of New York, Vol. 29 (1913), p. 89, regarding requested aid for a Humane Society Shelter.