Sun - December 9, 2007

Only Angels Have Wire Fur

Nigel gets his Doodle Dog due at the Tree of Memories.

Nigel as ornament. Eat your heart out, Pier 1.

What an afternoon.
I traveled with two loyal staffers by car to Anderson-McQueen Funeral Home in St. Petersburg. We were going to place ornaments for Nigel on their Tree of Memories in their Pet Passages room.
Were we spiffed up? Yes, of course. Nige would have it no other way. The debonair bon vivant is Nigel.
A green velvet bow graced my leather collar and fortunately my wire fur is coming back, thick as coconut matting.
One of the Doodle staffers had called Anderson-McQueen and asked if dogs could come to the Pet services. (Why wouldn't they? Why hold a memorial for pets if pets can't attend?) The reply was yes, I could come, if I could tolerate about 150 people at a social event.
Could I? I was born to it.
I was carried into the funeral home (alive and well) and an usher noticed that I was a dog, so we got special treatment. Yes, we were whisked away to the Pet Passages room; it had lots of people and three trees, each packed with remembrance ornaments.

We paused for bit, realizing that each ornament was really the life of a dog or a cat. There were dozens and dozens of the ornaments on the trees. You could feel a bit of a buzz in the air, too.
Many, many, unseen, wagging tails and twitching whiskers. The barest flutter of wings. That's what I heard and felt. The room was full of cherished animals.
So many of the hand-written tributes on the ornaments read "I love you," "I miss you terribly," "There was no one like you."
Well.
Devotion is a funny thing. The word itself has such a delicacy, but the reality of the word is steel. It has a strength and purpose. Devotion. Enough that people flaunt convention and demand that their pets be recognized in life and in death. Devotion brought so many people into the Pet Passages room this afternoon. Many came over to speak with me and pet me. We had to inform them over and over that I am a wire fox terrier, not a schnauzer and not an airedale.
Does no one remember Nick and Nora Charles?

After a while I sat on one of the couches. People turned and looked at me. There were smiles, and I'm glad for that. Everyone in that room was missing a loved one, and thinking of them, so I'm glad my wire fur and green velvet bow pleased them.
We began writing on Nigel's ornaments. Just quick notes to him ... On each one there was "Mr. Doodle's Dog" and I did a quick sketch of him. I can draw Nigel with just a few strokes. A few strokes and he's there for me. How lucky I am.
Two of Nigel's ornaments went on the trees. I advised my people not to place Nigel next to any cats. The ornaments were placed, and we kept one to take home for Christmas.

A woman in a long, cobalt-blue gown wheeled herself over to pet me. She spoke with me about her dog, who had died this past summer. She laughed when she tickled my beard. Then her husband came over to meet me, and then a friend of theirs came over. They were all talking about special dogs they'd known. Someone even whistled at me, and I turned my head: it was one of the funeral directors! He walked over and kneeled in front of me, and asked if I could get on the floor with him. I said sure, and we had a nice chat.
Then we had to leave, but not before we'd had a walk through the main room to listen to the harpist. Wouldn't it be interesting if Joe and his Black Cat Trio had been asked to play at the Pet Passages event?
Maybe next year.

Then it was time to leave, but not before we bent the ear of the funeral home owner. Yes, I spoke with the owner, and he did pet me. Never underestimate the appeal of a small, white, terrier dog.
We spoke business for a while, of how their Pet Passages program had far exceeded their expectations, and how The Tampa Tribune was now running Pet Tributes. Paid pet obituaries and memorials debuted two weeks ago in The Tampa Tribune. One of the Doodle Dog staffers had the idea and pitched it to them.
They bit.

So Nigel not only got his wings (hello, Frank Capra) but he partied again. Nigel and parties and plush sofas and cocktails ... they are forever linked. He could walk into any room and find any lap and sit on it. No one could take over a room like Nigel.
That was this afternoon. Now I'm still wearing my green velvet bow, and Sammy, who couldn't go because of his high anxieties, is sitting with me as I type. Joe the Cat is in the living room, guarding the house.
And Nigel? He's here with us. As always, the life of any party. And the one he's at now just won't quit.
--Gimlet

Posted at 09:18 PM      

Tue - May 1, 2007

As Fate Would Have It

An iconoclast with class

The End

Nigel Prescott, American-born statesdog, philosopher, adventurer, essayist, barrister, mixologist, canine behaviorist, pioneering dog blogger and ball player (he sometimes went by "Shoeless Nige") died Saturday, April 28, 2007 in his doggie dad's arms at a veterinary clinic in Palm Harbor, Florida.
He died of complications from living an extremely long and happy life.
He was somewhere between 15-and-a-half or 17.
Nigel was timeless, but he was not ageless.

The Beginning

As a legendary wire fox terrier, the facts regarding Nigel's beginnings are suitably misty. Born sometime between 1990 and 1991, he may have been born in or around Brooklyn, New York into a litter that included his brother Harry. "The Lucky Dog Brothers," as they were sometimes referred to, more than likely made their home in New York or Connecticut. They were the pampered and adored wires of a young man whose untimely death left the two dogs, at the age of 6 or 7, in danger of being "put to sleep."
Fate intervened, in the guise of a kindly and savvy secretary who looked into wire fox terrier rescue and discovered the names of Frank and Caroline Mouris, the wire breeders behind Br'er Fox Kennels outside of Nassau, New York.
They were not named The Lucky Dog Brothers for nothing.
Frank rescued the two brothers from their peril in Connecticut and brought them to his home for placement.
Nigel was the brainy brother; Harry the handsome. After some time had passed, an older couple from Poughkeepsie whose wire had recently died drove to meet Nigel and Harry.
The dog brothers interviewed the couple. Harry lavished affection upon them; Nigel, however, did not.
Harry left with the couple and moved to Poughkeepsie to begin life as Harry Ginsburg, loving wire son of Gordon and Dorothy. He entered into a life of adoration, afternoon tea and biscuits and keeping company.
Nigel was left at the Mouris Ranch to ponder the remainder of his life. His reserve had cost him a home.
A granddaughter who wanted a companion for her grandfather came upon Nigel. He left the Mourises and began life as a dog. A yard dog.
Nigel gambled with his fate and howled. He howled frequently and with gusto. After a month of Nigel's bellows, Nigel's new master requested an interstate rendezvous with the Mourises.
Nigel was returned to the Mourises care and ranch.
He again pondered his fate.
As Memorial Day weekend 1998 approached, Caroline posted a notice about Nigel's adoption "availability" on a wire fox terrier site: "One of two wire brothers I recently adopted out is back (not his fault). If anyone is interested, please contact me."
Nigel's fate was to be decided in a relatively new format: the Internet.
Caroline received word that yes, someone was interested: a couple in Florida, who had a female wire puppy and wanted another wire in their family.
"The wire's name is Nigel. He IS older," noted Caroline. He is around 7. He is a gentleman on a leash and a joy to groom. But if you just want him to babysit your puppy Gimlet, forget it. Nigel is a wonderful dog who deserves the best."
The couple had to prove their mettle.
But Fate decreed that Nigel would retire to Florida.
And vagabond that he was, he hitched a ride in early September with Florida wire folks Dave and Marsha Gemmer, who were showing that year at the terrier show at The Montgomery Kennel Club. The Mourises drove from New York to transfer Nigel into the Gemmer's care. A crate was bought for him, but Nigel did not ride in it. No, he planted himself on a rear seat in the couple's RV while the family wires were lodged in the back ... in their crates. That is how he rode in style from Pennsylvania to Palmetto, Florida, on his way to a new life.
On September 7, 1998, Nigel met his new family.
He displayed supreme disinterest in them.
'What an unusual wire," they cooed. "We love him!"
Nigel entered into his new career as Nigel Prescott, Floridian, on September 7, 1998. The birth date, he often noted, of England's Queen Elizabeth I.

Nigel and his new dad in The Terrier Temple, in the back yard of their Dunedin home. Sept. 7, 1998.
Photo by Joe the Cat

The Florida Years

Nigel brought a bit of Edith Wharton's New York when he arrived at his new home in Dunedin, Florida. His reserve was palpable, but he did have a sense of playfulness. "Nigel must have a ball!" Caroline had insisted, so tennis balls were thrown at his feet. He also had a bit of the William Powell/Nick Charles wryness mingled with independence and cool appraisal. A Mr. Nigel cocktail, as it were. He later created a cocktail modeled on his traits:

The Mr. Nigel, signature libation of Mr. Doodle's Dog.

Photo by doggie dad
Nigel in his 1971 Chevy Bel Air, beginning his Fall 1999 roadtrip to Canada. He was later detained on suspicion of narcotics trafficking at the border by Canadian authorities, but was released when he argued that no one would smuggle drugs in such an old car.

Nigel traveled frequently with his dad: sojourns to Canada, New York, Auburn, Alabama and Tallahassee soothed his wanderlust. He enjoyed dips in the salty waters off Honeymoon Island State Park in Dunedin. He loved to swim, play tug and fetch. The catch was that Nigel did not do the fetching: he ran AFTER a thrown ball but then threw the ball down like a challenge at the thrower's feet.
He was not the average dog. He was not the average wire. He was a dog of exceptions who proved himself to be exceptional in everything life presented to him.
He possessed those things in life that all dogs yearn for: a loving family and dog-friendly home, good furniture to sprawl upon, a large front window from which to observe the neighbors on parade, a dog door, a fenced-in backyard and a daily home-cooked dinner. No cans of dog food or dry kibble for this bon vivant.
And he had Gimlet. A younger, wee wire who wished to play and play with him. He sometimes indulged her.
More often, he did not.
But that was Nigel's way.
His charm always arrived two steps ahead of him, giving him instant entry into any situation. He was as at home at a cocktail party as he was at a barbecue. He enjoyed people and they enjoyed him. His credo maintained there were no strangers, only good laps.
Nigel enjoyed his years penning Mr. Doodle's Dog. Dog blogs can be found on any internet street corner now, but Nigel was one of the pioneers of the format. He won two Peebody Awards for his ruminations on life. He walked away when his eyesight began to fail him. His nature was that of an optimist, but he became apprehensive of the turn domestic events were taking.
And so he retired from the blogging scene, and his swimming, and his ball playing. He took to solitary walks in his garden after long walks in Hammock Park began to tire him.
He gave the illusion of effortless mastery of life. He approached life, and its end, with confidence and bravery. We could go on with Nigel's good qualities, but he would be aghast at the invasion of his privacy. He loved to chronicle events and not necessarily himself.

This unassuming wire who was probably born to a back yard breeder in Brooklyn used his sharp intelligence and charm to overcome any obstacle Fate threw at him. He lived to a great old age and remained independent up to his final moments.
He leaves behind his loving parents, his younger sister (me), Joe the Cat (who always showed him much kindness), a foster brother, foster parents, grandmother and aunt and his friends. He asked that he be mourned for a suitable time, but no longer.
Nigel insisted that after some time has passed we resume Mr. Doodle's Dog. The cataracts now fallen from his eyes, he sees very plainly that there is room for an astral canine blogger and yes, there are interviews to be had with fellow scribes Kurt Vonnegut and David Halberstam ... and their dogs.
He further insists that we not forget Eugene O'Neill. The playwright who gave us this entry deserves a post or two.
There are no second acts, but there is still a bit of Nigel if we only look for him.
-- Gimlet Rose
A tidbit: If Nigel taught me one thing, it's this: always refer to a dog as a "who" and not a "that"... it's all a matter of perspective.

Photo by Joe the Cat
Gimlet and Nigel enjoy a marrow bone break from Mr. Doodle's Dog editorial duties. January, 2004.

Posted at 07:09 PM      

Fri - December 3, 2004

Going to Pieces

A little tile, a little grout
That's what genius is all about.

Gimlet . Mosaic by Katherine M. Humphreys 2004

Gimlet, rendered in bits and pieces. Or is that bites and pieces? No matter. Gimlet is a piece of work, and art, and is very pleased with her likeness.
The wonderful Katherine M. Humphreys, more of whose work you can find here, rendered Gimlet in tiles for Pat's birthday last month.
It's magnificent. What else is there to say?
--Nigel

Posted at 09:21 AM      

Tue - September 7, 2004

THE MAGIC POOCH

He's a bit of magic and class that Mozart would envy.
Mr. Nigel has a birthday!

Happiest of birthdays, Nigel!
Yes, we're a bit windblown and tired, what with the Hurricane That Wouldn't Leave just having left, but nothing would make us forget Nigel's day.
Truth be told, and it seldom is, we don't know precisely what day Nigel hit Planet Earth. He came to us as a wonderful present, a wire fox terrier who had lost his first doggie dad and was in search of a new family.
Nigel found us.
He is one of the best things to ever happen to this little pack. He's a wire unlike any other, reserved, contemplative and ready to mingle at a cocktail party in an instant.
He's our guy.
And so it was on September 7, 1998 that Nigel arrived in Dunedin, with only his collar and a plastic container of dog food. We celebrate each September 7 as the day Nigel found his new doggie dad, Gimlet got a big brother and I got someone to watch my every move.
Happy Birthday, Nigel! May you have many, many more!
--Joe the Cat

Posted at 09:37 AM      

Thu - May 27, 2004

THAT'S CONSTRUCTIVIST THINKING

We're in for a little retooling.

Self-portrait by Gimlet Rose

Observations.
Reservations.
Hallucinations.
We all wander and roam during the day. At least in our heads. That's good. Who could withstand a full-court press of reality?
We can't.
We like taking a few steps back, taking a new look-see at how our lives are going. Often, they are going and going ... gone without full enjoyment or understanding.
Gimlet needs to spend more time with her painting. I need to spend more time with my memoirs. And let's not forget the roses we must both smell.
Joe the Cat is the only one among us who is content. He seems to have navigated the heady waters of Life. Maybe he knows he's got it all ... family, home, love.
Maybe Gimlet and I will spend more time appreciating what we have. Yes, I think we will.
--Nigel

Posted at 09:49 AM      

Sun - September 7, 2003

A HAPPY DOZEN

Fanfare, please. Blog dog Nigel has a birthday

A September 7 birthday, a regal pose, cutting eyes ... the iconic presence that surveys all.
Am I talking about Queen Elizabeth I ?

No .. I'm talking about Nigel. He's 12 years old today!
Five years ago today he arrived in Dunedin to begin his reign as my older brother.
Nigel and his brother Harry had been placed in wire fox terrier rescue when their Doggie Dad died. Frank and Caroline Mouris fostered them for several months at their terrier palace in the New York countryside.
Harry was adopted by a nice older couple.
That left Nigel.
He was soon adopted by an older gentleman who had never lived with a wire fox terrier before.
Nigel was soon returned. (Fox terriers are not for everyone.)
Pat found out about Nigel and plans were made for him to fly down to Florida in early September.
But Terrier breeders and Floridians Dave and Marsha Gemmer had motored up North in their RV to attend a big dog show. Caroline met them and they offered to give Nigel a lift to Florida when they returned home.
Nigel and his new crate (he never used it ... I inherited it!) made the journey from New York to Florida with the Gemmers. Pat and Bill met Nigel at the Gemmer's and brought him home (with a stop at the pet store to pick up his new wardrobe and some toys).
Then they brought him home to meet me.
The rest, as they say, is a waggy dog tale.
--- Gimlet

Posted at 10:21 AM      

Sat - September 6, 2003

The importance of being Frank

Our friend Frank Mouris has a birthday

Happy 60th, Frank!
What? You don't know him?
Frank ... what to say about Frank Mouris?
Oh, he's funny! he writes the most pun-filled, but not puny, letters ... he spends half his time in his animation studio ... snipping and filing and cutting magazines ... all sorts of visuals. He's funny... have I mentioned that? His brain must be like a legion of steel filing cabinets, stuffed to the brim with arcane papers and items that only an arty sleuth could put together.
He's an animator and a filmmaker ... but that's not the half of it.
Sure, he has his Frank Film and the little Oscar statuette that goes with it; his Frankly Caroline, that wry bit of frankumentary; and he says he's working on Franker Film, but ... well, he wouldn't have to do anything but write letters and e-mails and he'd be the best in our book.
Frank loves fast cars ... his fancy now is BMWs, and I think he is something of an automotive encyclopedia.
Frank and his wife Caroline breed wire fox terriers with names such as Beckett, Ming, Gideon, and Bailey. They have a kennel, too, and they do wire fox terrier rescue, which is how I met Frank.
Frank is my foster Doggie Dad. He took me and my brother Harry to his home when my first Doggie Dad died.
I'm a big Frank Fan.
Happy Birthday, Frank!
---Nigel

Posted at 06:50 PM      

Mon - June 23, 2003

Remembering Jack

Indianapolis photographer and journalist Kathy Petreré shares images of her late wire fox terrier, Jack.

Some dogs are natural performers, the perfect foils for keen-eyed photographers.
Jack, a wire fox terrier, was such a dog for Indianapolis photographer, journalist and dog lover Kathy Petreré .

Kathy's images of Jack, a willing partner to her playfulness and invention:


Jack in sheepskin clothing.


Jack on piano stool.



Jackie Sparkle.


Jack under rug.

Kathy's photos of Jack catch the wire spirit, abandon and sense of mischief.
More of Kathy's photography and work as a Master Artist with VSA Arts of Indiana can be seen at See Spot Write .
Thank you for sharing Jack and his play, Kathy.

Posted at 07:31 PM