BONNIE’S BEST BUD

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Bonnie, the totally scruffy Scottish Terrier got groomed today. She came home looking like a proper Scottie, wearing a very feminine floral scarf which though technically appropriate, is about as un-Bonnie as anything could be.

Bonnie, for a girl dog, is really a guy. She always was.

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There’s nothing girly about her. She’s tough and scrappy. A digger, a lover of dirt. She’ll take on anybody … well mostly … at least in play. She’s a very tough growly Scottie when she plays.

Here is our newly renovated girl, fresh from the groomer. Bonnie and her best bud Garry, on the deck.

IS HE STILL ALIVE?

By Garry Armstrong

The phone rang and the caller ID flashed one of Boston two major newspapers. I figured it was the sales department. I handed the phone to Marilyn.

I heard Marilyn respond “yes” several times and was puzzled. We didn’t need and couldn’t afford expensive home delivery of newspapers. Then Marilyn said “He’s right here. Why don’t you speak to him?” She had a broad smile on her face. I was even more puzzled.

Long story short. The caller was a reporter working on a series about Boston schools and the 40th anniversary of court-ordered school desegregation. She was looking for people who had covered the story in 1974.

forced busing Boston

Photo: Associated Press

Apparently my name came up in her research. I confirmed I had indeed covered the story and shared a few anecdotes about the first day of what some called “forced busing”. I also shared some stories about my coverage of Boston schools over the following 25 plus years before I retired. To give some context, I mentioned that I’d also covered the civil rights movement for ABC Network before coming to Boston.

The reporter seemed impressed. We agreed to meet again for a more detailed interview. I hung up the phone and smiled. I looked at our four dogs seated around me and they understood. They were grinning at me. I could read their minds. He’s not just an old fart who feeds and plays with us. 

I looked at Marilyn with satisfaction. I wondered what she had said to the reporter when she took the call. Marilyn smiled and recounted the conversation. “She asked if you were alive. Then she asked if you actually remembered what you used to do. I bit my tongue and didn’t say ‘That’s a matter of opinion.'”

I looked back at the dogs. They were still grinning. How fleeting is fame.

A FURRY SUNDAY HELLO FROM NAN

While all the other pups were sacked out in the sun, Nan patiently watched my every move from her place at the gate. As a reward, I did her portrait. Unlike Bonnie who runs and hides as soon as she sees the camera in my hands, Nan stands still and smiles.

Nan at the gate

Nan at the gate

Which means I have a lot more — and better — pictures of Nan than of any other dog. Because she will always give me her good side. I’m not sure she has a bad side!

WELCOME TO MY WORLD, WEEK 25

Share Your World – 2014 Week 25

What is your favorite type of dog?

My favorite kind of dog is the kind that I have. Currently, that would be a Scottish Terrier, a Norwich Terrier, a miniature Dachshund and an Australian Shepherd. Previously, there were others — PBGVs, mixed breeds, and others.

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If I were to foolishly express a preference for one or another of these fine canine citizens, I am sure that they would learn about it from their doggy friends on Facebook and would turn my life into a living hell.

Bish and Nan Biscuit Time

I love them all equally, as can be demonstrated from the fair and equitable distribution of biscuits, not to mention the endless stream of said treats starting with early in the morning and only ending when I finally limp down the hallway and close the door.

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Name one thing not many people know about you.

Off hand, since I started blogging, everyone in the known universe seems to know more about me than I know about myself.

Have you ever gone scuba diving? If you haven’t, would you want to?

No, and not really. I’ve gone snorkeling in the Caribbean and enjoyed it, but all the equipment you need for scuba diving is too much for me. It looks like work.

What was the most important event in your life last week?

waring mini oveen

I bought and got (I just love Amazon) a tabletop convection oven. Now I don’t have to use the great big oven for our itty bitty meals.

I’m hoping it will help get our electric bill under control. It works really well. Faster and neater than the big oven — all for under $100, including shipping!

BONNIE IS BACK!!

BONNIE IS BACK.

It was a long day for us, but Bonnie is fine. She had, I gather, a lovely day full of biscuits and romping with her new pal, a Boston Terrier. Garry and I are finally breathing!! Yay.

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Thanks to everyone who kept an eye out. She was apparently picked up by a motorist on Rt. 98 and taken home to Douglas where she had a fine mini vacation. Many thanks to the Uxbridge and Douglas Police, both of whom helped make sure she found her way back to us.

And especially thanks to Joyce, Uxbridge’s intrepid Animal Control officer for her support and assistance.

GO DIRECTLY TO JAIL!

Uxbridge’s jail is part of the old city hall and in this century, it’s a storage area. At home, we have our own prisoners. Four furry internees.

dog prisoners in garden

I would let them run free if it weren’t for nasty old Rt. 98 at the top of the driveway. There isn’t a  LOT of traffic, but cars come around our blind (and reverse-banked) curve too fast. We have more fatal accident on our little stretch of road than anywhere else in the area … known as “death alley” to the cops. Motorcycles, cars, and once Garry nearly bought the farm when he and a telephone pole got too intimate. What chance does a dog stand?

I don’t know why they never run the OTHER way, into the woods where there are 75+ acres of trees and meadow — and no motor vehicles. But they always head for the road.

The “Beware of Dog” sign isn’t because they are dangerous, but because the world is dangerous to them. It’s to prevent delivery people from opening the gate thus letting free the incarcerated doggies.

They are getting older and aren’t as frisky or fast as they were. But even old Nan can hit the driveway running in a mad sprint of death. It’s not good for my heart. If I chase them (which in any case, I can’t do), they run away because “chase me” is a classic doggy game and they love it! I have to stay calm, call them back with biscuits — before they become road kill.

My heart is in my mouth the entire time they are loose, so they will remain prisoners of love. Not so terrible. Not such a cruel life, with their 24/7 doggy door and sofas for beds … and far too many biscuits.