Sat - February 2, 2008

Break Out The Fizzy Water

Grab a bottle, get in the mix.
Pour a bit and mix it up.
Hoist a glass to our favorite pup!
Gimlet Rose turns 10.

Impromptu illustration by Gimlet Rose
Where she gets her inspiration, no one knows.

Gimlet is the color.
A shade of green,
A state of mind.
A little white dog. A big black nose.
A resounding ... bark!
Triumphant
in the park.
Gimlet.
Rats tremble.
Politicians dissemble.
House is in shambles.
Toys tumble.
But Gimlet ... the color of joy,
A Springlike treat.
So tiny, so sweet ...
Gimlet, our delightful wire girl.
Happy Birthday, my sweet.
--The Doodles

Posted at 12:51 PM      

Mon - December 10, 2007

PAGAN PUPPERIES

O come all ye doggies.
Faithful, all ye Fidos!
Gather round the orange thingy
That is clearly made of blingy.

Ah, Tailwaags time of year.
Dogs, dogs, dogs ... in pure abandon.
It's that time of the year, let us make clear...
Dogs do what they will... sit on that sill.
Bask in the sun. Steal that bun!
Roll, roll, roll ... and have your fun!
--ancient and mysterious canine carol

Gathering round what we thought was an orange Christmas tree (made in India) we begin our celebration of Tailwaags.
Excited though we are, we realize the "Christmas" tree is also a Halloween tree. Those are tiny, grinning pumpkin sequins. Those wily Indians have managed to combine holidays with the aplomb of Tim Burton.
All the better to celebrate the canine holiday that is devoted exclusively to joy and abandon.
Blue, red, green and white dogs... pink, green and silver wreaths. The season, like no other, for pure, exuberant COLOR!
You can leave presents on the rug, or bark to your heart's content.
This is the time of year to snatch a biscuit or write a book.
Up to you, entirely.
Take your masters for a walk, and tell them how good they are. Praise them to the heavens.
For it's Tailwaags, and it's the perfect time for that tonic and lime.
It's the tailwagical time of the year!
The celebration ends January 1, or whenever you feel like it!

Posted at 11:25 PM      

Sun - September 23, 2007

Our Laurel Oak gave us shelter, shade and our own private world.

We bow our heads in memory of a magnificent soul.

Our Laurel the Oak died on Friday, September 21, in his home, our front yard.
We say "our front yard," but it belonged to him. His trunk, his sprawling limbs, his green leaves, dominated every aspect of the place. His was a commanding presence for us and for our street.
He died from complications of old age and a debilitating and contagious fungus. He had already dropped some main limbs. When an arborist informed him of his failing health and threat to his brother oaks in the back yard, he asked that we consider our role as his stewards.
No one can own a tree. It's beyond the limit of possibility. We can plant, water, feed and nurture, admire, appreciate, but we can't own. A tree belongs to the earth.
Our oak left us while we spent Friday in daycare. He knew our howls would bring down the heavens if we were forced to watch him go.
Our oak, protecting us to the very end.
Laurel, what an apt name for him. A laurel can be a crown, and he was the crowning glory of our street; a laurel can also be something that festoons, or decorates. He certainly did that. And more.
A laurel is also an honor. He honored us for the years we have lived here, and honored this street for over 50 years. A laurel can be a wreath, and he embraced our yard and home with a benevolence that enticed owls, squirrels, birds, rabbits, possums and even rats. He sheltered Zephyr from the hot Florida sun as she helped plant the row of azaleas across the front; he soothed Nigel on his walks around the front yard in his last months. It was a great pleasure for Nigel to roam among the ferns and under story in the front yard. He could transform himself into a young dog in the wild and relive former adventures. Laurel also harbored Joe the Cat when he was a stray and needed a cool and private shelter until he could find a home.
Maybe it was Laurel the Oak who persuaded Joe the Cat to select us as his new family.
The oaks in Laurel's family are short-lived. Fifty years was a very long life for one of his kind, and he was loved and admired to the end.
Now that Laurel's gone, we face a different sky and horizon. It's a new world. But he left us with several other trees who will now have a chance to grow and shrine with more sunlight, and an opportunity to have flowers in the front yard. We have so many gardening adventures ahead of us. Laurel left us with his tales, but with a new beginning.
Look at the trees in your life and take time to get to know them. Give them admiration and your thanks, because even strong oaks thirst for respect and devotion.
Some portraits of Laurel, taken by Joe the Cat. We think it's some of his best work, but Joe says he had a beautiful subject.



Laurel, from the front step.



Laurel, his right profile.


View of Laurel's domain, from the street.


Laurel, from the left. There's his scar after losing a limb.


Front row seats for the Laurel Oak Admiration Society.


For Laurel the Oak, with love from Joe the Cat

Posted at 10:54 AM      

Sun - April 3, 2005

Solidarity

Good-bye, Karel Wojtyla
May flights of angels lead you into Paradise

He made being Polish cool.
He helped bring about the downfall of Communism in Poland and in Eastern Europe.
He fought back against the Nazis.
He loved literature, the outdoors and the mind.
He valued life.
Yes, he was a doodles kind of Pope.
We may not see his like again.
It was an honor to have been around while he traveled the planet in search of peace for all.
He found his own peace a long time ago.
Farewell.

Posted at 08:16 PM      

Wed - February 2, 2005

Portrait of the very furry artist

Gimlet Rose turns 7

Photo by Joe the Cat

Gimlet Rose, Gimlet Rose,
Who else has such a cute black nose?
As furry as you are divine,
Gimlet Rose, you are sublime.
Happy Birthday, Gimlet!

--Nigel

Posted at 10:10 AM      

Sat - January 22, 2005

One last call

We say goodbye to a friend, neighbor and a yellow cat with the softest fur around.
We'll miss you, Tooters.

Tootsie.
Only she could carry that name and give it the lilt it deserved.
Tootsie Marston died on Monday, January 17, and emptied our street of sweetness and soft yellow fur.
She spent her days basking in the sun, on the warm pavement of her driveway; her evenings on frog-chasing adventures on the banks of the small lake behind her house.
Most of her time was spent with me, and I was always pleased to be in her company.
No other cat could lose herself with abandon in a neighbor's garage, and finding herself locked in, settle in for the night with a smile on her face. Immune to the worry she caused her master Helen, Tooters knew she was welcome everywhere.
And she made me welcome.
I was a lonely and frightened stray when I stumbled upon Tootsie's side of the street. She allowed me free reign to her cookie bowl and her hunting grounds, her kindness extending to introducing me to the people across the street.
Tootsie knew I would make them a good cat, being a great cat herself.
If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be here today, mourning her loss. Tootsie persuaded them to adopt me, and for the past eight years, the two of us have been neighbors, spending our days together, whispering in the sunshine.
How soft her fur. that blend of yellow and cream, riding in broad bands along her side and dissolving into broad swaths at her tail.
She must have been 16 when she left us. There are no more nightly summons of whistles from Helen, no more playing hide-and-seek in the shrubbery of her yard.
No more sweet, yellow cat.
That Tootsie Marston, how I miss her.
--Joe the Cat

Posted at 12:19 AM      

Tue - December 21, 2004

Divine Canine!

Merriment!
Bonfires!
Drinks!
It's rich in ritual and we like that!

Bacchanal Time!
It's the official beginning of the first day of Tailwäags, the ancient day of doggie celebration.
A little bit Pagan, a little bit Canine, it's the time to do precisely what you want and enjoy yourself at your leisure.
No pressure, no demands ... just roll on the rugs and bask in the sunlight.
Enjoy yourself!
Have a biscuit as you dance before the bonfire!
The celebration ends January 1, or whenever you feel like it!

Posted at 10:25 AM      

Sun - October 31, 2004

A Familiar Tale

Joe the Cat turns 10.
Witches take to the night skies.
It's All Hallow's Eve.

That Joe the Cat.
A vision in black.
The shy little stray
who wouldn't stay away
Turns 10 today.
A Cary Grant of a guy,
With his love of bowtie,
Joe loves to rat
But can lose them ... like that!
Our wonderful pal Joe the Cat.
Happy Birthday, le Chat!
--Gimlet and Nigel

Posted at 10:30 AM      

Sat - October 30, 2004

In it for the long haul

Celebration was the order of the day

On Thursday, October 28, Doggie Dad and Pat celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary.
The flowers, chocolates, cards ... it was joy central.
What can you say? We're lucky little dogs to have landed in this joint.
Most importantly, we got a doggie bag of filet mignon!

Posted at 11:41 AM      

Mon - June 14, 2004

We're still here!

Interviews, bites and off-the-leash remarks ...
That's what Mr. Doodle's Dog is made of.

Today we mark the first anniversary of Mr. Doodle's Dog.
Three of us, two wire hair fox terriers and one large black cat, run the place. That senior editor Nigel, young editor Gimlet and head photographer Joe the Cat.
It's a great pity that Einstein wasn't around for the age of the desktop computer, because I think he would find that time is alternately fleeting and forever in front of one.
There's the realization that we have so much to say, and so many words and thoughts to fetch.
We're glad we're still here and that our software has withstood the test of so many posts. But what brings us the most joy are the friends and readers we have picked up along the way.
There's Chad, of ChadsRags (who left us in April but still corresponds with us from the Great Green Beanie Beyond), the world's most astringent commentators The TerriORRS, Terry the Maine puppy, Tiina from Finland, Watson, America's Favorite Cat, Tiger Varga, Geordie the Scaly Scot ... the list goes on and on.
We thank The Daily Dave and Jeff at Side Salad for setting us on the blogging path ... and Sarah of Sarah Says for sticking right with us during the past year. Special thanks to our Doggie Dad for his editing and creative skills ... we don't know what we would do without him. We're grateful to all the readers who have sent us ideas and messages and shared their stories with us.
There is still a lot for us to bark about, and we shall.
Take a cruise through the archives and see what your favorites are... just go to the navigation bar on the right, scroll down to ARCHIVES and click on 'BROWSE ARCHIVES BY DATE."
We'll see you there.
Thanks to all for the past year of blogging fun.
--Gimlet and Nigel

Posted at 09:49 AM      

Wed - June 2, 2004

The thrill of the triller

Nothing ho hum about Heidi

Vintage graphic

Our friend Heidi is unique.
She is, lest you inquire, a wire fox terrier (kudos all around).
She is from Downers Grove, Illinois so there is something Lincolnesque about her. No, she doesn't wear a tall hat, but she does sport a beard.
Today is her birthday!
Heidi trills ... hence the nickname "Trilling Heidi."
Trill?
Warble, croon, carol, sing, lilt (ooohhh), vocalize, etc.
What Heidi does not do is pose for photos ... no photo op for this wire.
You can imagine the spectacle of a Steiffian wire fox belting out a Broadway tune in her little hamlet of Downers Grove ... we just wish we could sing a birthday tune to her and help her blow out the candles.
But, somehow, we think she has the pipes and can blow those candles out herself.
Happy Birthday, Heidi!

Posted at 09:42 AM      

Tue - April 13, 2004

THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE DOGGIE DADS

Our doggie dad celebrates his birthday today.
He shares the date with Thomas Jefferson.
He shares chocolate birthday cake with no one.

Illustration by Gimlet Rose

Happy Birthday to our Doggie Dad!
Once again, we feature a human on our site. Yes, it is a rarefied occasion.
Simply put, we have a wonderful dad.
When we chose our dad, we chose wisely.
He understands our wire fox terrier ways.
He encourages our independent thought. He indulges our constant questioning of authority.


Photos by Joe the Cat
Nigel traveled all the way from New York
to meet his Dad. Sept. 7, 1998.

He has a beard, just like we do.
He likes to tease Joe the Cat. So do we.


Gimlet adopts her Dad at Rey-Lee Kennels in Dade City, Florida. May 27, 1998.

Our Doggie Dad pays us a cheese tax every day.
He loves to challenge us with new toys.
He lets us sleep in when we want to.
Sometimes he lets us drive the car (if we promise not to veer off the road when we see a cat).
He walks us downtown and we get an outside table at Skip's Bar and Grill.
Yes, we did a good job of picking him out.
We wish him a wonderful day (why must he work?) with many more days to follow.
All spent with us.
--Nigel, Gimlet and Joe the Cat

Posted at 09:04 AM      

Sat - March 20, 2004

The passing parade

The pitter-patter of little Seuss feet.

Our cousin Sandy died Wednesday in Tallahassee.
We're not sure of her age. Was she 18? or more?
Whatever else she was, she was eternal. There was always a Sandy.
Sandy had fur with a manner all its own. Sometimes It stood in great spikes upon her head, or crowned her noggin in inspired arcs of fuzzy gold.
Her feet were her best feature. They were absolutely Seussian, manic bits of fur that she threw like a Clydesdale upon the ground.
Nothing pleased her more than to run away and find a ditch full of water and mischief. She always came back with bits of this and that sticking to her. She wore leaves like jewelry and was seldom without them.
She learned to live with cats and then more cats. She was always civil but managed to keep a proper terrier distance. Her diplomacy was remarkable and her occasional transgressions .... understandable.
Whenever we were all together in Tallahassee during the last remnants of a December, we would all march in our own Holiday Dog Parade. Off we would traipse through the oak-shaded streets of Florida State University Football Head Coach Bobby Bowden's neighborhood, Sandy straining at the bit, her wild feet loping on the road.
Oh, those were the days ... but what memories.
We can almost smell the leaves and dirt on Sandy now. Guess that was her signature scent, and much better than anything you'd find in a department store.
But then, Sanders was like nothing you'd find anywhere else.
Goodbye to our Sandy of the wild hair, wild streak and the biggest brown eyes ever to grace any dog.
--Nigel and Gimlet

Posted at 12:46 AM      

Mon - February 2, 2004

A potent cocktail

Move over, groundhogs! It's Gimlet's big day!

Born February 2, 1998 at Rey-Lee Kennels in Dade City, Florida.
First human parents: Jimmie and James.
Favorite word: "Hello!"
Height at shoulders: 14 inches.
Answers to: Gim, Gimme and Gimmetz.
Favorite occupations (because she is eternally busy): chewing, barking, painting, squirreling, ratting,
Almost named: Tonic. Instead, her sweetness and smallness was startlingly apparent, and the diminutive-sounding "Gimlet" arose. Her middle name comes from Rose's Lime Juice.
Big brother is: Nigel.
Puppyhood pal: Joe the Cat.
Favorite book: Frances Spalding's biography of the Bloomsbury artist Vanessa Bell.
Loves to: ride in the car and go to the park, where she loves to walk and investigate.
Little habits: petty theft, rolling in dirt.
Favorite dinner: chicken livers simmered in chicken stock, followed by cornbread.
Favorite toy at the moment: talking duck.
Occupations: Ratter, watchdog, blogger.
Dislikes: fireworks, flashing lights and big, off-leash dogs.
Enjoys: her fenced backyard.
Wishes: her pack could always be at home together.
Adjectives best used to describe: happy, effervescent, rascally.
Comment: "I love my name!"
Her parents say: "She's the happiest and sweetest little wire we could have wished for."
Wants to say this: "I love you, Nigel. I'm sorry if I don't always show my appreciation of you. You're a neat big brother."
Shares her birthday with: her Aunt Ann. "Happy Birthday!" says Gimlet.

Posted at 08:35 AM      

Sat - January 24, 2004

A 21-bark salute

We say so long to a very dear friend.

He was with us from the very beginning.
So many memories of prankster rabbits and talking clocks. A moose with a wicked sense of humor. A bear who danced.
A funny-looking man wearing a suit with big pockets ... who taught kindness, gentleness, curiosity and respect for all creatures.
It made sense then.
Still does.
There wouldn't be a Mr. Doodle's Dog without the influence of Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Green Jeans, Bunny Rabbit and Mr. Moose. You could say The Captain was the first pop cultural phenom, a TeeVee giant.
You could, but it wouldn't be accurate.
He was a genius of Shakespeare's rank. A teacher akin to Aristotle.
And yet he was very much a Hobbit, laughing and acting silly ... living in an age when television was golden.
And yet more gilt than gold.
Bob Keeshan and Captain Kangaroo arrived to save children from vacant television. He gave inspiration and rules to live by. The rules were always golden and delivered gently, but with no mistake.
He made it all very clear.
Mister Rabbit was our favorite. To this day we have a reference for rabbits.
And Bunny Rabbit wasn't all that well-behaved. In fact, he was a thief and a sneak, but you knew he was a prankster. A prankster because he was, deep-down, kind-hearted and under the aegis of The Captain.
A friend of our Doggie Dad's knew Bob Keeshan. The story is that Mr. Keeshan was a bit of a wild man in his younger days. He was friends with Buffalo Bob Smith. They would escape the city and suburbs of New York and travel to their cottages on the weekends. There they would drink and tallk. And Mr. Keeshan would enjoy swimming in a nearby lake.
And he would be swimming in all his clothes.
No skinny-dipping for Captain Kangaroo.
We will miss Captain Kangaroo and all his friends. But, really ... their lessons have been taken to heart by several generations and will be passed on. The ship isn't going down with The Captain.
Mr. Doodle's Dog and its talking animals salute you, Captain!
Wooooo!!!!

Posted at 06:46 PM      

Sun - January 18, 2004

A FABLED DATE

Cary Grant is a century.
Zephyr is .... the best of all possible dogs.

The very definition of a wire fox terrier.
The epitome of a movie star.
They share a birthday and a few other things.

Would Cary mind sharing billing with a wire?
He'd be amused. And besides, he's done it before: with Skippy (aka George in "Bringing Up Baby" ; and Skippy again, this time as Mr. Smith, in "The Awful Truth".

And what of Zephyr?
She was accustomed to the comparison.
Every birthday that rolled around, and there were 15 of them, the observation was made. She recognized a certain kinship with Cary.

The similarities between the two didn't end with a mere calendar page.

Cary and Zephyr were both clowns, acrobats ... devilishly good-looking sprites who landed on earth with elan. Each one went to ground, caught the zest of life by their teeth and shook it for all they were worth.

This on Mr. Grant from David Thomson's "A Biographical Dictionary of Film," second edition:
... he is the best and most important actor in the history of the cinema.
The essence of his quality can be put quite simply: he can be attractive and unattractive simultaneously; there is a light and dark side to him but. whichever is dominant, the other creeps into view. ..."
Slapstick and somersaults in tuxedos. Comedic farce. Cool menace. Dashing looks. Wry humor. Tenacity.
Oh, yes, he was yar.

Compare this with Zephyr: hind legs of steel springs for boundless jumps. A brown foreleg to set her off from any pack. Fearless. Ferocious. Tenacious. A throwback to the feisty terriers of King Edward VII's era. Cool menace lurking underneath the fuzzy Steiff exterior.
Very close to Mr. Grant.
Well, maybe not the colorful foreleg.

Add that she spoke human (not unlike Mr. Grant), that she was a true companion ...
She was also a muse.


Zephyr As Wild Beast. 1996. Terra-cotta with high-fire glaze. 18" high.

A toast to these January 18 partners-in-kind. We celebrate and remember your magic.
You are missed.

-- Gimlet and Nigel, for Pat

Posted at 10:38 AM      

Mon - December 29, 2003

Bloomsbury Blues

We've lost our wits and Alan Bates along with them.

Nigel and Gimlet (with her back to the camera) recall the brilliance and keen charm of Alan Bates.

Nigel: I certainly wasn't expecting to see Alan Bates in the obituaries this morning. I'm very sad about that.
Gimlet: I'm sad, too. He was eternally puckish. A rascal. A terrier of a man.
Nigel: The first time I saw him, he was courting Julie Christie in "Far From the Madding Crowd." Then I recall him wrestling with Oliver Reed in Ken Russell's "Women in Love." He was hard to overlook, even in that company.
Gimlet: He was great fun to watch in "Evelyn." He was always good. A classy man.
Nigel: I even liked him in "Georgy Girl." And that's to his credit, because his character was a jerk.
Gimlet: Well, who's a modern-day Alan Bates, then? Who takes his place?
Nigel: No one. He's one of those irreplaceable types. There aren't many, but he was one.
Gimlet: We're just out of luck?
Nigel: We are.

Posted at 09:14 PM      

Fri - November 7, 2003

Maximum Dog

Thoughts on the irreplaceable Max Gordon

Photo illustration by Gimlet

Today we mark the first anniversary of our good friend Max Gordon's death.
It would be dismissive to say we're remembering him. We have never forgotten him. He often runs in and out of our thoughts.
And when Max runs, he has a ball in his mouth. An ever-present, green tennis ball that's a bit slimy from constant play. He was and is seldom without one (except in our photo illustration!)
Max is that rare breed of terrier ... a tennis, pronounced ten-niece, whose distinctive markings include a strawberry pink nose, a mane of fur, and a corkscrew tail that serves as a mood indicator. Of course, Max's tail is always in the same corkscrew position, because he is always in the best of spirits.
Always.
The Max we see wears one of his many exotic bandanas, and he wears it with panache. He has a style of his own. Bandana, tennis ball, pink nose, corkscrew tail, mane ... we can see him now. He's devoted to our friend Betsy, her constant, loyal and understanding companion....
Max is not above a nip now and then. Which is, of course, a terrier thing, and another reason to like him. All that goodness with just a dollop of bad. A delightful mix of a dog!
We know there's a cycle of life, and everything and everyone must run their course and leave.
We just don't like it. Especially in this case.
In this case, we plead extenuating circumstances ... this dog must stay with us, because he is so wonderful, and just so Max. He is irreplaceable.
Which is one of the reasons we miss him. The world is full of great dogs, but it no longer contains Max.

Posted at 08:21 AM      

Sat - August 2, 2003

Being And Becoming

A neat glass of rye for Miss Loy

Myrna Loy was born August 2, 1905 in Radersburg, Montana. She began life as Myrna Williams.
She is best remembered as the perfect foil to William Powell in 13 movies. Their most famous pairing was as Nick and Nora Charles in MGM's 1934 film adaptation of Dashiell Hammett's "The Thin Man.'
She was an elegant package of beauty, charm and conviction and Franklin Roosevelt's favorite movie star. She was the only actress who could make her entrance in a movie at the other end of a leashed wire fox terrier named Asta, trip, fall flat on her face, and still look good.
That was in "The Thin Man."
To wire fox terriers, she is a jaunty walk on a city street, a crisp oat biscuit and a chance encounter with prey.
To Miss Loy.

Posted at 11:14 AM      

Tue - July 29, 2003

A Toast to Mr. Powell

William Powell was born on this date in 1892.

William Powell was born July 29, 1892 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
He is best known as the amused sophisticate on the other end of wire fox terrier Asta's leash in MGM's "The Thin Man" series of the 1930s and '40s.
David Thomson, in his "A Biographical Dictionary of Film" (2nd edition, revised, 1981), describes Powell in this fashion:
Powell expresses 1930s American cinema rather better than some of the larger names of the era. While other stars have been undermined by time, Powell remains as alive and sour as a cocktail put down momentarily for a telephone assignation, or an Abdullah still burning while its destroyer engages in a condescending kiss."
No one else could temper a terrier or Myrna Loy (we might have mentioned her first) as Powell did. No other film star had his combination of biting diction, sophistication and goofiness. His acting style was to give just a bit too much.
We miss his style more than a little.
Here's to the perfect foil to small white terrier dogs.

Posted at 08:58 AM