Can I Keep It?

Whew

The last couple of weeks Hud and I have been social butterflies.  Good thing he has a five day weekend coming up.  I need a rest. 

We photographed the Rhodes College graduation for one.  Went to a wedding at the Metals Museum for another.

The river is very high from all of the snow run off up north.  It's racing so fast that the barges going downstream disappeared in  a matter of minutes, while the ones travelling upstream?  Are probably still fighting the current six days later.

We went to a Gatsby Party, which was grand fun.  And my Art Deco jewelry got to go out for the evening, which it adored. Art Deco jewelry loves a good party.

Our friends, the Flowers.  Hud has known Calvin since they were babies, like sixty years.  Not being hyperbolic, even.  For reals.

We're having the house refinanced.  Zali and Simone were not impressed.  They had to go to jail for a few hours while the appraiser was here.

Muhzer! Wee are ze stressed owt!

I should have put Simone in her Thundershirt. Hud and I did Paws for a Cause a couple of weekends ago and I gave in and bought her one to ease her anxiety.  Two years ago, without warning, Simone became petrified of thunderstorms.  The slightest rumble would cause her to shake so terribly that I was afraid she'd rattle her teeth out of her head.  When I discovered her hiding behind the toilet after I got out of the shower, I knew that I had to try something.  And you know what?

EffingFunderCanBiteMe.GrowlAtSomebodyElse,AshullSky.

It works!  

The Thundershirt doesn't completely put her at ease, but during yesterday's storms, she merely panted a few times.  No shaking!  Simone even managed a nap during a particularly strong line of storms.  I may get one for Boudreaux.  Zoe didn't teach him how to catch a ball like an Olympian, but she did transfer her fear of the vacuum cleaner.

And we went to bunch and lunches with a variety of friends.  That's about enough, isn't it?

Well, there is this:

A baby Fig Parrot.  From Zooborns.com.

You are welcome.

Little Dog

For something that was so long in coming, it all went down very fast.  

Zoe had been doing great.  A stellar patient. When originally diagnosed, she was given thirty days.  That was almost nine months ago.  Performing way beyond the challenges facing her.  She chased the ball every morning.  Ate her meals with vigor.  When she was given new foods, she always gave a satisfying moan, "Mmmmmmmm!"

She was happy.

Then, on Saturday, for the first time since she was diagnosed with cancer, she acted like she didn't feel well.  On Sunday, she did what she was asked.  We took her for ice cream, a habit we began as "Make-A-Wish-For-Zoe".  But it was clear, she did it for us.  She had given up.

On Monday morning, we already had an appointment with Dr. Michener, her oncologist.  I asked her get up one last time.  I begged her.  And dutiful dog that she was, struggled to her feet.  I helped her get as far as the side door.  She collapsed.  It was the last time Zoe ever got up.

We got to the office and had to carry her in on a liter. And Kathy came into the room.  She had told me when we started this journey that she never knew how long they had to live, but they would let us know.  Zoe was making it plainly clear.  She was done.

Hud's tears rained down on Zoe's sweet head as we said goodbye.  It was the kindest passing that I have ever had the privledge of witnessing.  Even Dr. Michener was in tears.  We had all done our best, but no one more than Zoe.

We got Zoe at the agricenter, eleven years ago as we went out to get beans on a Saturday morning.  She was bred to be a goose hunter.  Her litter was large with robust eight week old puppies of fifteen and sixteen pounds. She weighed eight.  The runt of the litter.  And a red head to boot.  I had fallen in love. The breeder asked Hud what he hunted.  He said that the dog was for me.  He asked me what I hunted.  I told him, "Designer shoes at fabulous prices!"  I thought he would snatch the dog from my arms.

But oh, was she a bad puppy.  A terrible chewer, she removed the dashboard from my car, ate the hard knob of the gearshift, demolished a couch and could crack a golf ball in half.  Hud said that if she ever caught a cold, he was going to put her down. 

At four years old, a switch flipped.  Suddenly, she was the gentlest, sweet, well behaved spirit in the whole house.  Hud trained her to catch the ball.  She began running with him in the mornings.  Finally, Hud fell in love.

She always thought she was a little dog.  Smaller than Simone even.  There was a chihuahua in the park that could flip her onto her back. Zali dominated her. She never knew what a great big beast she was.  At one of the Rhodes College games, a small boy asked me if he could pet my horse.

Farewell, my sweet tiny girl.  Safe trip and so much love to guide your way.  We miss you.

Hein Bark

Just about every evening now when Hud gets home from work, we take Zali and Simone on a little run around Hein Park.  It's a charming little neighborhood in the middle of the city and across the street from Schyterbolle.  The majority of homes were built in the early twenties right after they moved Rhodes College to its current location on the backside of the subdivision.  The homes are each unique and interesting.

There are my favorites, the airplane bungalow...

And plenty of Tudors like our home...

But we hardly get to see them.  It's all a blur of green and black and blurry white swishes. 

The person who draws the Simone straw is bound to be near a heart attack by the time she's finished with them.

Last night, it was Hud.  This is mostly what Zali and I saw.

Walking Zali is a series of stops and starts.  He's got to pee on every single lawn bag, postal box and ornamental shrub along the way.  It's a law all male dogs must abide by no matter what their size.

He also loves to poop on Hein Park.  He leaves Mrs. Brown and one of her kids on Cypress and the other gets dropped off at 666 East Drive.  It's their regular stops.  But in between his delivery duties, we run.  Or casually trot.  Walk really fast?  Okay amble.  We amble.

But the whole ordeal starts off with a cacaphony of noise and nervous tension.  Simone is excitable.  Very excitable.  I've taught her to jump in my lap and patiently calmly wiggle like a damn fool while I hitch up her bra. 

*MeTurnIntoEvilDemonBeastDammit!RunAndRunUntilYouTurnToButter!*

Eventually, I wrangle her into submission.

*NoYouDid'tDammit!ToldYouI'dEatYourFace!Ashull!*

By the time we get to the front door, the intensity of her squealing has reached glass breaking volumes.  The pitch can be likened to a supersonic squeaking of air being released from a giant ballon.  Our neighbor, Steve was leaving his house for a run as we passed in front of his house.  As he galloped past he said, "I thought a dog had been hit by a car!"  No, I replied, "Simone is just happy to be going on her run," as Zali and I stopped so he could relieve himself on the fire hydrant, oak tree and the fence of some barking dogs.

*See?MeStopDammit!SQUIRRRRREEELLLONGROUND!

YANKDADDEE"SARMOUTGETTINGIT!*

Oh, for the love of dog.

Gratuitous Shots of Simone With a Side of Furry Godmother

Hud is taking the Hall of Fame shots for the graduating class of Rhodes College today.  It's an honor given by the school  to deserving graduates.  Their photographs hang in a prominant hall for eternity.  Hud has done it for at least twenty years.  He set up the lights and asked me to sit in for test shots.  Simone, normally camera adverse, hopped into my lap.

 
After taking several nice portraits, she turned to tell me that she loved me.

 

I kissed her sweet head.

 

And that's when Simone pulled her signature move.  She pressed herself to my chest.  The soft weight of her body collapses hard onto yours. 

 

It's one of her most endearing traits.  I'm glad we finally got it saved. 

And I think Simone is changing her mind.  Maybe the camera doesn't steal your soul. 

It preserves it.

*All portraits by the talented Hud Andrews, of course!*

Blown Over

Hud came back from running with Zoe this morning.  Misty-eyed, he cradled a small package in his hands, carried it to the garden and buried it. 

He had found a mother robin on the trail.  Still in her nest.  Her eggs broken on her chest.  A sad symbol of the deadly storms that ravaged the south these long three days.

 

To read more, please go to:  http://canikeepit.typepad.com/the_/

Super Young Festival

I have been derelict in posting the pictures of the Cooper-Young Festival.  Hud normally uploads my pictures, but he's been so busy with MUS Homecoming festivities that he left it up for me to figure out.

Huh.  I feel like Zoe must feel on a daily basis.

I JUST sold my soul to Satan.  I can now move pictures from my camera to the computer.  The crying and screaming of obscenities helped amuse the old devil and he took pity on me.  In fact, I'm quite sure they're the only reason I slogged my way through it.

This is my booth directly after set up.  Later, it will be so packed with humanity that it will take seven minutes to cross from its opening to the trash can in the middle of the street.  One hundred thousand people made their way to this part of the city that day.  A full tenth of the population of Memphis.

And let me tell you, it is a REAL cross section of the city.  All different races, religions, BLGT, mohawks, tattoos, piercings -- you name it --Cooper -Young has got it and most of them have had a lot of beer.  It's probably why it's my favorite festival in all of Memphis.  I love to see all the different people getting together and having the time of their lives.

Poor Hud.  Eating carrots and pretending that it is NOT 100 degrees and all of Memphis swarms about the tent.  Next year, I am not bringing any artwork.  I am going to arrange a baby pool in the middle and fill it with ice.  I will never have to work again. 

It was hotter than the hammered hinges of hell.

We were set up next to my friend Tatia and her marvelous beads she makes at Solstice Studios. 

Zali and I made our way from the house, around Rhodes College and over to the Presbyterian Church this weekend where Tatia was set up at the Clanjamfrey Festival.  We witnessed the "Bonny Knees" competition.  There's a dog parade, that we missed apparently, in which people tart up their fuzzy pals and prizes are won for the best ensemble. 

Zali is sooooo winning next year.  I feel sorry for the other contestants.  I'm going to make him a kilt, knee ribbons, scarf and a tam.  That dog will wear anything.  I should have named him Smithfield.  Because, you know he is a ham.

And the weather?  Has dropped twenty degrees over the course of the week.

Today is 75.  There is no God.  Or if there is, He has a wicked sense of humor.

Five!

Sunday was the Zali Lama's fifth year on earth!  We spent the day celebrating my marvelous, sweet, funny little dog.  I thought I was a big dog person. 

And then, along came Zali.

Hud and I saddled up the Mustang and threw it's top down for a quick convertible ride over to Rhodes.  The ball fields there are perfect for allowing the two of them to run amok in the relative safety of the fenced fields.  After, Hud and I made our way over to India Palace for the buffet.  We picked up some lamb meatballs for the birthday boy.  

Then it was time for cookies and ice cream!  Zoe and Simone couldn't wait to get the party started.

 

Zali got the boy bear and Simone, the bikini girl...

 

Zoe ate an octopus...

In no time flat.

Zali and Simone savored every bite.

Simone's favorite part was the ice cream.

Zali wanted pony rides, so Zoe obliged.  I acted like a clown.  Hud was the professional photographer.  Kids parties are so expensive these days!

Zali was feeling so magnanimous, he even let Aida join the party.

But he wouldn't let her go in the ball bounce.    With her sharp claws, I can't say I blame him.  And he was the birthday boy.

Happy birthday, buddy!  I didn't know how great a little dog could be until I saw your handsome face that day fives years ago in Mississippi.  You have been a bright spot in my life and a light in my heart.

I love you, Zali.

Party With the King

A few weeks ago, Elvis had us over for drinks.

I have to say, for the King of Rock and Roll, he was a little stiff.  But his digs were way groovy, man.

Hud  had a rockin' good time.  There were photographs covering the walls.  Most were of Elvis kissing some brunette.  We met her when we drove up.  She was there with a tour bus, trying to crash the party.  It was tribute week.  Memphis is all about Elvis during the week preceding the sixteenth of August.  It's a regular United Nations of lamb chop sideburns and sequins.  Vernon wouldn't let her in.  She wasn't on the list.

The pool has been filled in, but oh!  The stories it could have told.  Seems it had a leak that couldn't be plugged.

So they made it a patio.

Girls would jump the fence to tap on Elvis' bedroom window.  It's on the left beneath the Japanese maple tree.

Don't be jealous, but I've been in the King's boudoir, drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbon.

I even used the phone in in his bathroom. 

I just called a friend to document that I was there.  Heeeee.

In truth, the party was put on by our Drinking Team buddy, Tracy Patterson, for Rhodes College Alumni Association.  Rhodes owns Elvis' first home.  It is being repaired  for party rentals and events.  He had the house pre-Priscilla.  The girls sneaking around, jumping the fences and peeking in his windows, had the neighborhood as itchy as a man on a fuzzy tree.  He politely moved to Graceland.

Call me, Elvis.  We don't have to do anything special.  Maybe we could just watch some TV.

Weekend Fun With Terra and Furry

The very notion of a four-day weekend was enough to put me in a rest-induced coma.  Well, not quite, but it did provide us with lots of chances for friends and fun.

Friday found us, as ever, at the Bar-B-Q Shop for lunch. What with graduations being as plentiful as mosquitoes, we were lucky to get there early and beat the rush.  The rush came, and we waited hungrily for more than half an hour for our lunch.  It was worth the wait, what with the to-die-for onion rings and all.

Friday evening we entertained our friends from Rhodes, who I may or may not refer to as the Rhodes College Drinking Team.  We hadn't scrimmaged in quite a while, and an evening on our back porch, under the arbor with the ceiling fans whirring, seemed like just the tonic for some weary souls.

Allow me to introduce our friends. 
Here is my buddy, John, who keeps Rhodes safe from stopped up drains and toilets.  He is a great plumber and an even greater guy.  I call him Stallion, like Sylvester Stallone, the Italian Stallion.

 

La brought her new boyfriend, Chip, to the party to meet all of us.  He was very brave and seemed to have a good time.

Sadly, I have not yet shown you his face.  I roll that way.

Here he is in a reflective moment.

Here's La with Tracy, who had so much fun Friday night that she went out Saturday and bought herself a new car.  It was about time. Oh, did I tell you that Furry sets a mean table?  I was so busy photographing our friends that I forgot to do Food Network quality shots of the food. It was wonderful: hot wings, chips with Furry's homemade guacamole dip with basil (instead of cilantro...some folks just don't like cilantro); cilantro shrimp with calamata olives; and brownies and strawberries for dessert

Here's a nice shot of John and Tracy.

Here's Furry explaining to Simone why she can't eat off the table today.

 

Carmen did her Babushka Dog impersonation and had us in stitches.

I think everyone had a good time.  I know I sure did.

The next morning, Saturday, was a non-running weekend day, but Zoe still had to get her exercise.  So we went next door to the vacant church.  Churches make great neighbors, particularly vacant ones.

Here is Zoe waiting oh-so impatiently for me to tie my shoes and COME ON, DAD!!!

Zoe was, how can I say this, not my favorite dog by a long shot until I discovered that she liked to chase the ball.  Now I get to throw and wear her out in the same activity.  And I must say, for an almost nine year old dog, Zoe is an amazing athlete.  She usually catches the ball on the first bounce, and can leap high in the air to catch it.

She will stare at the ball until either the ball begins to cry or I throw the ball.

And if I don't spring right into action, she bays like a hellhound.

 

I love seeing this coming at me; she has so much fun.

 
Did I say that she was a touch on the slobbery side?

Oh, and she doesn't bring it back to me and lay it at my feet.  Oh noooo.  She drops it ten feet away and buys a little breather time, which I think puts her in the summa cum laude division of lab students.

 

Is this joyful enough or what?

I love my Slobber Dog.

One more thing before I wander off.  Yesterday, Sunday, we went to see the Stax Museum for the first time.  I LOVED IT!! The videos of musicians from my boyhood were so lovely to see.  I saw James Brown do "Prisoner of Love," covered in sweat, higher than the Beatles making Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  I thought I had heard every version of this song, but I had not heard this one.

It was so moving to hear Steve Cropper (a member of the Bar Kays, who backed Otis Redding) talk about what a wonderful family feel that Stax had, until Dr. King was killed, and then the comraderie between the white and black musicians changed.  I never knew that the sessions guys at Stax hung out at the Lorraine Motel (where Dr. King was killed), because back in that day it wasn't smart for black and white to mingle in Memphis.

My favorite part: On the display board for the Memphis Horns (Andrew Love and Wayne Jackson, both of whom I am proud to call my friends), they used MY portrait of them, one I did for their headshots back in the mid-80s.  What a thrill.

All said, it has been a great weekend.  I am signing off now, wishing you a happy week, headed to Rhodes College to exercise the papillons.

Saturday Fun With Furry, Terra and Friends

The Furry Godmother is resting this Sunday afternoon, what with having single-handedly painted her office to repair the damage caused by a recent roof leak. She has graciously allowed me to preach from her bully pulpit, and who could resist such an opportunity.

I confess: We are creatures of habit.  Good habits, but habits, nevertheless.  One custom that begs for weekly indulgence is our trip to the Bar-B-Q Shop on Madison Avenue.  If I am off, we go on Friday; if I am working, we go on Saturday, and we try to be there at 11 a.m. when they open.

We have been going so long that the we are not merely on a first name basis with the staff, we consider them to be part of our family.

Here is a photo of Rob and Furry, taken right after we walked in.  Note the U of Memphis Tigers poster on the back wall (a must-have item for a Memphis barbecue shop) and the brick walls.

 

Kathy and Carl are always smiling and welcome us when we walk in.

One of the first things I noticed about Rob is that he rarely stays still, evidenced by his moving while I am trying to take his photo.

The food is past wonderful.  Here are some closeup views just to torment you.

We split a sandwich and Rob drives the kitchen help crazy by plating it for us.  We each get an order of fries, we share the beans and a large order of slaw, and we get an order of onion rings, too.  We practice our lean diet all week and we treat ourselves on the weekends with lunch here and on Sunday at the India Palace. I will post images of that lovely meal at a later date.

And here are the to-die-for (not from) onion rings.

Rob also moves too fast to take photos of us (I should have asked Kathy; she got a great shot of her and Tommy Smothers a few weeks ago. She said he kept everyone in stitches the whole time he was there).

After we finish our beautiful lunch, Rob always brings us a to-go glass of tea for the shopping which invariably follows.  And the second thing I noticed about Rob, right after the perpetual motion comment, was that he signs the back of his ticket.

 

It is a little thing that is a big deal.  In one fell swoop he tells you thanks, and reminds you of his name, so you will ask for him next time you stop by.  I was so impressed with this gesture that I used him as an example of world-class service when I trained my phonathon callers at Rhodes.  And I will do the same now that I am at MUS.

Bellies full, happy to have seen our friends for the weekend (get well soon, Heather; we missed you Saturday; saw you walking across Madison as we walked in), we headed over to our favorite pet store, Hollywood Petstar, where Furry said hello to her puppy away from home, the aptly named Biggs.

Unlike Zoe, Biggs knows he is big.  And he is still growing, headed for 250. That's a lot of food in and poo out.  Glad he lives with someone else.

Thanks, Furry, for letting me play in your sandbox.