Mr. Doodle's Dog

The Wire and the Albatross

"How the Young Wire Fox Terrier Freed Himself From The Clutches of a Boor" an allegory by Volterrier.

Digital gouache by Gimlet Rose. 2008

Chapter One. Our Hero Finds a Tie, with Attachments.

A young wire fox terrier with the name of Sammy was walking in the woods one fine day and came upon a red tie.

It was attached to a large boor.

Now, Sammy had heard of this large boor. It had attained mythic proportions in the Fox Terrier World of which Sammy was a part. It stood guard at one corner of the Fox Terrier World, and charged a toll for all who would enter. But, coming upon the boor in the woods, it did not look so mythic. The boor looked isolated, bloated and greedy. A grim package indeed, with a bright red tie wrapped around its blotchy neck.

The boor peered at Sammy with a jaundiced eye, not liking what it saw, and determined right then, that Sammy's mere presence was a threat. The boor could tell that Sammy was curious, you see. Curiosity is a wonderful and expected trait in a wire fox terrier, but the suspicious boor saw it as a threat.

"If you want to come into this part of the Fox Terrier World, you must pay my toll," grunted the boor with the red tie.

"What is the toll and why must I pay you?" Sam evenly inquired. "This part of the Fox Terrier World is the same as every other part I have traveled. Fox terriers have famously free countries. Why does it cost to enter this part, and why are you the one collecting the money?"

"I'm too busy to answer your questions," snorted the boor. "But, this is my part of the Fox Terrier World, because I said so, and you must pay me for one year's admittance."

What do you do with the money?" Sam asked.

"Haven't I told you I'm much too busy for your questions? I am under no obligation to answer you. The money in my hoof. Now."

Now, Sam did not cotton to the boor's toll, or tone, but recall that Sam was the curious sort. And he had the money for the toll.

"Here is my money for a year's admission into the part of the Fox Terrier World you so jealously guard," said Sammy.

Chapter Two. Our Hero Receives Nothing but Platitudes, and No Information Booklet, for His Money.

The boor snatched the money from Sammy's paw and then took a red tie out of a side pocket. "Here is your red tie, Dog," said the boor. "This is your ticket into this part of my Fox Terrier World. And don't forget that it is my world. In addition to the tie, you will be glad to know you are helping me educate others about fox terriers. And you are helping terriers in need, too.

"Although you have paid me, I will now set conditions on your travels here. I will not allow you contact with the other fox terriers you meet here, unless I have advance notice of what you plan to say to them."

"What?" Sam asked in surprise. "You take my money then you censor me. And just how do you educate others about fox terriers? You certainly don't appear to know very much about them, and you don't appreciate our innate curiosity. Not at all."

"I have an information booklet which I do not give out," drawled the boor. "And I do not have to tell you anything about the fox terriers in need who may or may not have received help years ago. Although ... that was so long ago, I can barely recall their names, imaginary or not.... Nonsense, Dog! I have your money. You have a tie. Now go."

Chapter Three. Our Hero Sees Red.

Sammy placed the red tie around his neck and walked into the boor's terrier territory.

As Sammy ventured further, the tie chafed. It seemed to scour the skin on his neck. Loose threads appeared on the tie's hem and the fabric felt very coarse. Sammy took a moment to take a closer look at the tie's label.

"Made in China," read Sam. 'Wouldn't you know it. That jingoistic boor wanted top dollar for admittance into a world that does not belong to it, wanted money for an information booklet that it does not give out, and even wanted money for dogs it does not help ... it makes perfect sense that its tie was made in China."

Chapter Four. The Emperor's Tie.

Sammy continued on his way into the boor's part of the Fox Terrier World. He met other wire fox terriers wearing cheap Chinese ties, and many of them were very pleasant. Sammy thought it odd that all the fox terriers, although very chatty, never acknowledged each other's cheap and fraying ties. In fact, it was common for the ties to occasionally cause the wearer to trip, since they would not remain tied for very long and slide along a wearer's legs. Sammy came to resent what he termed his "Faustian Red Tie."

"What has that boor's toll done for me?" bemoaned Sammy. "I have entry into a world that is roped off, and shouldn't be; that has a toll attached to it, when it should be free; censured contact with other fox terriers, when the contact has been paid for; an information booklet that is not sent out and needy fox terriers who are not helped. All that for good money that might have actually gone to help dogs in need."

"What a rook. And what a boor."

"I see exactly what that boor is up to, and I want no part of it."

Chapter Five. Our Hero Blows The Whistle, but Not His Top.

As soon as Sammy's words came out of his mouth, he stopped and pawed the cheap, red, Chinese tie that was chafing his neck. He unknotted the tie and unwrapped its hold on him. It wasn't difficult to do, since the tie was already in tatters.

"I look at this tie that represents all the false stories the boor sold me, and other fox terriers, and realize the boor took us all to the cleaners," Sammy said with deliberation. "It's one thing to cheat a dog out of some money when he has a disposable income, but when it comes to the false claim of helping needy dogs ... that is too much. Let me walk a bit more and consider what actions to take."

"I realize," Sammy spoke to himself, "that the other fox terriers who gave money to the boor did so because they thought they were helping other fox terriers. And they may be very upset and disillusioned to learn that their boor actually despises them while it takes their money. It would be better if I cut my ties with this boor and walked in other territories of the Fox Terrier World where curiosity and candor are valued. I think I'll stop by the FTC and the IRS dog inns on my way and let them know what is going on. Yes, I feel much better already, now that I will not be paying that boor again and adding to its coffers. What a weight has been removed from my shoulders.

"Not to mention that I dislike cheap Chinese ties."

They came tumbling ...

Thoughts were tumbling and falling all over themselves today.

There are times when we find expression onerous. How many dog-hours must we spend in front of the computer until we are swallowed whole?

The rats outside taunt us with shrill cries of "Enjoy your blogging!"

We will. We do. But we need to paint.

Sam finds paint delicious, especially lime green. I live for color and surprise. It is sweet irony that we are white and black and buff dogs, after all, when we might enjoy being pink, orange and purple.

At least I would enjoy those colors. I've worn cobalt blue before.

We need to paint. We need to return to our easel and to our colors and gouache. There are several dogs waiting for their portraits to be painted. Only dogs have the patience we require. No cat would wait for us, not even the understanding Joe.

There is one more digital image we're working on, and that is just waiting for second thoughts. Then, off it goes and we're free to paint.

The cobalt moments can't return soon enough.

Table For You

Food critic Orson Owelles on Sherpas and why you clean your plate: 'Because it's there.'

Photo of Orson Owelles and risotto by Joe the Cat.

Editors note: We're thick with owls and vowels this year. It was one of our resolutions for 2008: get a food critic, and make it an owl. Not only do they know their grub, they can usually be relied upon to try something different. Orson Owelles is of the Screech persuasion and lives in the vicinity of our Druid Tree.

"Owl, wise and old, seeks good food."

That's my credo. I'm a raptor and I know good grub. The freshness, taste, value and communal nature of a dish or a meal are on my radar.

Alton Brown? We've met. Bright guy. Brownies? Cakey, please. Small Vermin? Over here! Catchy food writing plus good risotto?

I've found some of that in Tampa.

The Culinary Sherpas, Greg and Michelle Baker, write a food column for a nearbylargemetropolitandaily and they also run a personal chef service. They're Sherpas who blog and carry tales. Is that a Tibetan thing?

Last week I flew over to that nearbylargemetropolitandaily and sampled some of their work. The Sherpas were nice enough to invite a few Flavorites to lunch, their treat, and I tagged along.

Those Sherpas are passionate about their food and their work, or I can't see straight.

They served up risotto with mascarpone, peas and cracklin' with lavender-infused salt. My wings spread in silent applause. And then, and then ... the killer: braised chicken with carrots, onions, celery, porcini mushrooms, fennel, white wine and fresh thyme. The sauce was a reduction of the braising liquid and just a tad wicked.

That chicken was falling-off-the-bone tender. And you have to know, I love things that fall off bones.

I liked the Sherpas. They didn't bat an eye when I popped up. Not everyone is so understanding of owls at lunchtime. They expect us to appear at night, for some reason. Owls eat lunch, too.

You can find the Sherpas at their web site, Culinarysherpas.com . Note that they have a dog and a cat.

I like them even more for that.

--Orson Owelles, wise old food critic, Mr. Doodles Dog

Give a Nibble, Take a Nibble

Beg to differ, not defer.

"Gimlet in the Pink," digital collage. (2008) Gimlet Rose

Murphzha innerruuph ahmoomantt?

Ack. That's better. We had something in our mouths. As we sometimes do, we were chewing mercilessly on rawhides. May we interrupt a moment and talk about mouths?

Ours have teeth. Plenty of them. About 42 pointed pearly whites for the average dog. The average human usually has a set of 32, and they're fairly blunt. You're sharp enough to see that we outnumber you.

Let's leave it at that.

The question has been raised: how do you pry open a dog's jaws? The answer is simple: if you want to live long enough to be considered long in the tooth, you let the dog's jaws do the talking.

Would we be prying if we asked what possessed you to ask such a question? Did the dog take something that did not belong to him or her? Certainly that's a matter for mediation. Is the dog in danger of swallowing something horrid? A chicken bone, you say? Ah, well, then ... do a Janet Leigh and scream.

There is nothing quite as hair-raising to a dog, or as jaw-dropping, as a good human scream. Let it out. Bellow. Yowl. Bay at the moon. The higher the pitch of the scream, the quicker your remedy. No dog can tolerate a human pack member in distress. At the very least, we're annoyed at the tiptoeing upon our audial territory.

Let's not delve into the subject of toes and paws, though. Not now.

Back to the bones and the jaws and the mouth: a dog considers the mouth to be sacred. We smile, we bark, we bare our fangs in great shows of theater ... you do not want to enter that realm.

Surprise us. Startle us. Perhaps you can persuade us ... but do not pry.

A yelp helps, and that's the better bite.

 

Let's not try to sugarcoat it or ... avoiding those rotten chicks

Easter surprise!

Doodle staffers Jack Bunny and Dash, on why it's better to give to legitimate nonprofits and why the IRS wants you to dig into their information basket.

Photo of Jack Bunny and Dash by Joe the Cat.

Editor's note: Jack Bunny is a carrot wrangler and dangler who claims a familiar connection to legendary anarchist Bugs Bunny. Dash is a former detective and print journalist who turned to Doodling just to get a crack at Nigel's gin cabinet.

JACK BUNNY: Nothing quite  like a surprise in the basket.

DASH: Nothing like an anarchist rabbit to spring something on an unsuspecting public on Easter.

JACK BUNNY: Hey, when I promise a basket of goods and the return of warm weather, you can rely on it. I'm not one for empty baskets ... or empty promises.

DASH: My reporter's nose detects some rabbit's foot trickery here. So, tell us, Jack, how do you fill an Easter basket and what should a body look for? How do we sort the good eggs from the rotten ones?

JACK BUNNY: Here's the deal. Easter baskets: sure, everything looks great. You have your nice woven basket full of hard-boiled eggs and candy, or maybe presents or a combo. Maybe you have a chocolate rabbit with a good set of ears. All of it is brought to you by an Easter Bunny representative and all of it is a surprise, meant to herald the arrival of Spring. It's all good stuff.

DASH: Where's the downside?

JACK BUNNY: You've been given this gift, and maybe you've given one or two. You're in a good mood. You're eating chocolate and sugar after all. Eggs are a source of protein. You have it all in that basket. Things seem good, at least on the surface.

DASH: But ... they're not?

JACK BUNNY: There's always someone out there, some miscreant soul, who shoves that rotten egg into the basket, or some bogus treat. It really puts my ears in a twist. Because, remember, all of this Easter basket stuff is a public service of us Easter Bunnies. We're a nonprofit organization of long-standing, recognized by the IRS.

DASH: You're performing a public service, and you do receive donations from people who help you fill and deliver baskets....

JACK BUNNY: Oh, yes. In fact, we rely upon goodwill and volunteers and cold, hard, cash. You know how much the price of sugar has gone up?

DASH: What's the crux of the problem?

JACK BUNNY: Believe it or not, and who wouldn't believe an Easter Bunny, there are bogus "charities" out there. Yessir. There are rotten eggs in this nonprofit basket, and a coupla rotten chicks who think it's better to take than it is to give.

DASH: Spill the beans, Jack. Give us the straight dope. Who are these rotten eggs?

JACK BUNNY:Chicks. Rotten chicks. Bogus nonprofits, stealing from people and Easter Bunnies. Dogs, too.

DASH: Chicks pretending to be goody-goodies and stealing from dogs, huh? Oh, I don't like the sound of that. Who are these chicks? What's their game? Are they into nonprofits that are NOT nonprofits? Jeepers. What a story. What a scam.

JACK BUNNY: Scam, it is. Even in these worsening economic times, there are still lots of generous folks who want to give and help others...

DASH: Sure. Sure, there are. But when these folks give to bogus nonprofits, they think they're already helped someone, and they may not be inclined to give to legitimate nonprofits. So, you could say ...

JACK BUNNY: Let's not dangle carrots. Call it what it is ... they're stealing from bunnies and dogs.

DASH: What's a body to do?

JACK BUNNY: Leave it to your anarchist Easter Bunny representative to tell you. You're a taxpayer, right? Well, the IRS has a wonderful search engine for nonprofits that YOU'VE paid for. Why not use it and check out these organizations? And, if you're still confused with the results, just call the IRS at their toll-free number.

DASH: Where is this IRS search engine? Is it in your basket?

JACK BUNNY: Yep. And you don't have to dig deep: go to IRS Publication 78, online search for charities. There's also a number on that site that you can call to talk to a friendly IRS representative. And, believe me, I've spoken to a few and they are friendly.

DASH: This is swell.

JACK BUNNY: There's more! If you want to do more, you can make a request of the nonprofit (or alleged nonprofit) you're interested in and request their IRS exemption particulars. They're required, by law, to have it ready for public disclosure.

DASH: The organization doesn't have a choice, does it? Those chicks can't give you the runaround?

JACK BUNNY: Dash, in my experience, rotten chicks will always try and give you the runaround. You just have to report them to the authorities when they do. Those chicks have to come clean with that IRS stuff. You can read about it at at the IRS site, here.

DASH: Jack, this has been one heckuva Easter surprise.

JACK BUNNY: You're telling me. I thought everybody knew this stuff. Oh, well, Spring, as they say, has sprung!

 

 

Joy, For A Number of Reasons

And all of them Tiina.

Illustration of Tiina from Finland by her elf buddy, Gimlet Rose

Today, Tiina turns 16.
Now, what does that mean?
It means we've all had the pleasure
of watching her leisure
on her pillows, bright and gay.
We've seen her in lupines, and in chilly moss forests.
Watched her pick berries and sit among flowers.
Tiina and Ville the cat have danced their elfin dances before our eyes.
She is the wire with the magical existence,
the one of whom we all wish "could we please be Tiina, even for a day?"
"May we sit with Anne and watch the world go by, and see with Tiina's eyes?"

Today, Tiina turns 16.
Oh, that number is putty in Tiina's paw. She adds a dash of spirit and joie de vivre to everything in her path
Oh, that wire.
Today, Tiina from Finland turns 16.

Editor's note: To see previous Doodle paeans to Tiina, visit her here.

Bloomsburied

How very Post-Impressionable
("Gimlet Gets Cushy")

Gimlet Gets Cushy; Gimlet, the Fauve Devil; Gimlet, etc. Painting by Gimlet. Acrylic on canvas.

We use colorful and visual language today.

How better to get our points across?

We see red, go green, are pea green, avoid turning yellow and sometimes fall into feeling blue. Today, however, we are in the pink.

Best of all, don't forget, there's Gimlet.

Is her silence golden ... or unusual?

Unusual, since her bark can peel paint. So much volume from such a small, white, whirlwind.

Gimlet, purple prose will not do. You are a Dashiell Hammett kind of dog.

--Nigel

 

The Velveeta School, or The Old Cheese Masters

Dogs eat homework all the time, but they draw the line at paintings.

"SAMMY IN MY FACE," digital art by Gimlet Rose, 2008.

Tillamook Cheddar.

We write this with straight and furry faces.

There is a famous dog painter, not blue, who goes by the name "Tillamook Cheddar." Perhaps you've heard of her, been to some of her exhibitions, or have read her book, "Portrait of the Dog as a Young Artist" (a twist of James Joyce).

Cheddar is into the"Scratch" school. Meaning, she is a subtractive artiste, scrounging positive space from negative. She's not into Old Scratch or devil worship, to our knowledge. Is she into Old Spice? You have to wonder ...

Yes, well, we are no Cheddars, although we do like our New York sharp, pal, or not at all.

It caught our fancy, this cheesy form of painting. Could we paint something with our new Painter software? Gimlet took the challenge and Sam took it upon himself to stand still for a while.

This doesn't resemble Sam's current curly form, but it could be him someday, in his tricolor best. It's possible Gimlet has proved a whiz, then, and become not only painter and pet but psychic. Those are three "p" words, added to the fourth "p" as in "pop" artist, which could be another post on dog artists named after sodas.

Gimlet, named after a drink, demurs.

Sir Walter Mitty, Plus Collar

Thrifty with his actions, generous with his words
Geordie the Scaly Scot, Nov. 1994 to March 18, 2008

Illustration of Geordie by Gimlet Rose

Geordie the Scaly Scot left Saskatchewan yesterday on his longed-for move to perpetual warmth and leisure.

Will he be happy? Of course. Indolent? Naturally. Wry? Need you ask?

Everything about Geordie remains bemused. He will always be the Scottie Who Couldn't Help But Shoot Straight, The Dog Who Had Everything and The Dog Who Put Up With Nothing Less Than What He Wanted.

What a life. What a Scottie. What a dog.

What stories and what a fabled existence: The Geordie Myth, the recalcitrant, leisurely, gourmand Scottie who captivated and captured his "owner" Linda, and legions of Terrier-L readers. He cut a fine figure of a dog, walking a little ways, and then sitting down as if he were made of poured concrete. "No! I won't budge. We'll rest here a while and then we're turning around and going home. It's time for a snack or time for dinner. It doesn't matter, it's time to eat something. Let's go!"
From a wily puppy who indulged in cover-ups of his "mistakes" to the boisterous young dog who commanded Westies Fiona and McTavish, and then matured into the patriarchal dog who adored a charming Flossie,  Geordie was synonymous with "character." His main trait was charm, liberally dashed with guile and determination.

Were "The Geordie Stories" all true? Did he slay many a giant meat loaf and write the Great American/Canadian Novel? (Geordie was American by birth, Canadian by Golly.) Of course they are, and he did, he did. Geordie was a little bit of everything we love most about dogs, and life itself.

Enjoy your sandy beach, Geordie, and send us a card sometime.

--Nigel, Gimlet, Sammy and Joe the Cat

--In 2004, Geordie was gracious enough to give us his recipe for his very own Savoury Cheese Biscuits. Treat yourself to Geordie and his unispecies biscuits here.

--Also in 2004, Geordie graciously consented to an interview: not of himself, but of his little Flossie. Read Linda Winkler's take on what it's like to watch a young Scottie lass grow here. 

The road not yet taken, and the dogs and cat who'll take you there

Gimlet and Sam prepare for new literary adventures in their "Doodle Express," otherwise known as their Superdoodlenova. Photo by Joe the Cat

Gimlet: It's a little anxiety-provoking, Sam.

Sam: Learning to drive the new car, or learning to drive a car? I think we're doing both.

Gimlet: Not the dogs, or the driving ... wire fox terriers were born to drive. No, I mean it's giving me pause to use new blogging software.

Sam: We're not in Mr. Doodles Dogland anymore?

Gimlet: Oh, we're still at Mr. Doodles Dog, and we're still The Doodles and wire fox terriers and all that entails ... we just have a new computer and have made some changes in the way we do things.

Sam: When did we get such a big payroll? Sweeney, Dash, Tom Cat-Jones ... Fala? Do you see the talent on the right-hand side? And look, there's a left-hand side. That's new.

Gimlet: New is what it's all about.

Nigel: We're not new. I'm sitting on the back seat and you can't see me, but I'm still here. Joe's on the hood. We're all here, and so is the world that surrounds us. That's not new. We still have our blogging material, and as long as we have that, we'll be fine.

Joe the Cat: New camera, though, and I heard there's a camcorder in the offing ....?

Nigel: Teach a cat new tricks, Joe?

Joe the Cat: Why not?

Gimlet: We have our methods, and we have our madness. That's all we've ever had, and all we'll ever need.

Nigel: Off we go, and let's try not to run over our muse.