Doe

Some evenings I sit and watch a herd of deer on my parent's land. It is a solitary thing, but I enjoy watching their habits and have come to recognize the individual does and the buck. Last year one of the does had twins, this year she had one fawn. Tonight, I noticed she and her fawn were lying at the edge of a wood. It was a strange place to lie down. They usually are so sensitive to any disturbance and I have walked almost upon them before noticing them. The doe got up and I saw the reason for the strange behavior. One of her front legs is lame. I don't know if it is broken or she has just pulled a tendon but she definately hobbles. The fawn followed her along. And then I saw it, another doe shadowing the injured one. As if she was watching out for the doe and her fawn ready to help care for the fawn should the injured mother fall prey to dogs or whatever. Did they mutually agree to raise this fawn? Or did the mother doe solicite the other? Or was it the other way around? I wish I could help the hurt doe. I am not too much of a sentimentalist. Deer are like mice around here and they need culling, but this is my small herd that I enjoy watching and studying. Of course, they are not mine, but they have made my heart glad watching them these past years. And now she is hurt. And I can do nothing but watch and hope it is just a strained tendon that will repair itself.

We have to hold everything so loosely on this earth. We never know when or how it will be snatched from our hand but we have to be ready for it and willing to let it go. Fighting for it is futile; the pull is stronger than our grasp. And yet, we have to believe that it is for a purpose that things are taken from us before due time and we must must always remember to be thankful for each precious day we are given with something we care for or someone we love.

Tonight, I continue to wait and I hurt with a longing that is indescribable. And I curse my silly hand for grasping after three years of patiently teaching it to relax and keep its palm open. And yet what did I do but grasped as soon as I was in my love's presence. Grasped like some wild, deranged, starved thing. Even while doing it my soul cried out for me to stop, but something so animal overtakes us when we are in the presence of something we have desired for so long and tried to teach ourselves that we did not really want. It overpowers us. Or is it only the weaker ones it overpowers? Or the ones who closed off their hearts?

I sit here in the fading light of the porch and I fear that he is gone from me. How can men do that? How can they compartmentalize and move on so well? Why is it that women love, even long after all hope is gone? Why this cruel trick? Keep putting one foot in front of the other I tell myself. But this salty fear in my mouth chokes me with worry and longing. Were there some way to train my hand to stay permanently open. Only God can unclasp these fingers now.

Frustration

So I have waited for three years, why should a few more days matter? But they do. This is an eternity and I am sick to my stomach, elated, edgy, pensive, hopeful, and restless all in a span of a day.

Does he prefer life without me? How, how can he wait and be so slow to respond? Does he not think of me as I do him? I wish he would write or call...something, anything, to help cut these cords of tense hope that bind my chest to where I feel I cannot breathe.

Continuing to wait in hope

To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The Delinquent Equine & Hunting Pie

Too bad they are both going for over $100 on Ebay. Sheesh!

How to Beat the Claw Game

It's like a corgi in a manure pile! And the child's owners cannot get to it to pull it out! I love how you can tell the mother is saying, "Get out of there NOW!" and the child is just rolling about in all that stuffed animal ecstasy.

Hope

Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark. —George Iles

I have renewed hope today and things are so much brighter everywhere, even at work! Though I have never wanted to receive a letter so much. Guster's Amsterdam chorus keeps roaring through my mind.

Here is stag boy photo of the day:

Stag boy picture of the day

This guy hasn't quite gotten the knack yet of laying all his rights back so they don't tower over the ferns...

Chattanunich

H's mother would be so proud of her old city to hear that they will be the American headquarters for Volkswagon. German restaurants and signs of welcome are springing up all over 'nooga. Too bad she's dead.

I noticed signs when I was there a few weeks ago so I looked online to find out why there was such a warm and fuzzy German feeling permeating Chattanooga:

One reason is that the planned Volkswagen plant in Chattanooga won’t just make new cars but will be Volkswagen Group of America’s head office for manufacturing.

“There will be a well-educated and high-powered work force,” said Tom Edd Wilson, the Chattanooga Area Chamber of Commerce’s chief executive.

O.K. so did Tom Edd Wilson catch any flack for saying that Chattanooga will FINALLY have a "well-educated and high-powered work force"?

Great response from a non-staghunter

This is a reply to one of those chat forums that can so often get bogged down in overheated arguments that end up with name calling and embellished "I heard" stories. This woman, who calls herself Exmoor Jane replied to another contributer named Gardenwitch with what I thought is one of the most honest, level-headed and informative replies as to why, even though she does not like hunting, she sees why Exmoor has staghunting and has taken the time to meet some hunters and discover that they are not Satan in disguise but mostly ordinary country folks.

Gardenwitch, hi - with the greatest of respect you do not know how staghunting functions. I am no expert but I have learned a lot since moving to Exmoor about how it works and the rationale behind it.

The breaking up of the herds is actually very healthy as it prevents inbreeding. And yes, they CAN and do pick out which stag to chase (it's called harbouring). It is not the luck of the draw and hounds are frequently called off the 'wrong' stag. Exmoor has a staggering healthy red deer herd - and, like it or not, it can be traced back to when staghunting was reintroduced. Before that the herd had declined nearly to a standstill as farmers would not tolerate deer damage.

I have watched the hunt from my window over the last eight years and so far have yet to hear a screeching screaming hoard of hooligans.

I totally understand that you find hunting an abomination. As I have said frequently, I don't like it either. But I do think it's important to have all the facts. So much of what goes on in the countryside is misunderstood. The hunting debate was, to my mind, a clear case of neither side being prepared to listen and learn from one another - surely understanding comes through reasoned debate and open enquiry, not from just shouting and yelling?

I think it's obvious you don't know any people who hunt. I do - and they are not hooligans and they do not suffer any particular form of pent-up aggression. Far from it. They are - round here at least - normal working people. All my neighbours hunt - farmers, housewives, agricultural workers, a cleaner, the primary school secretary. They know my views and respect them. The hunt will avoid our land if it possibly can and we never have the field riding over. We are always treated with huge respect and consideration.

And, just to mention your last point - no, they often don't catch the deer or fox!!

I do find myself in a curious position here - but I feel it is important to present the alternative argument.

Staghunting in Sports Illustrated?

Look at the date and it will all make sense... especially that awesome $15 payout that covered both cap and hireling! Some of her phrases and descriptions crack me up. Though I am guessing she was writing in all seriousness...

BOGERT ON STAGHUNTING

Sirs:
We went staghunting yesterday, in Chantilly (SI, Jan. 27), and the whole thing only cost 7,000 francs (about $15) and we had a terrific time.

First we hung around for about an hour, with all the horses standing in a row with their grooms, while they tried to decide whether to hunt or not. It was cold, and the ground was very hard and icy. Finally we started off at about 1:30 or 2. There is no jumping in staghunting! I had a marvelous horse, a Thoroughbred, who kicked all the time, but not badly, because of nerves. Anyway we hunted stag, and every now and then about five doe would go running through the forest right next to us. It was fabulous, and the French always get so excited. Everyone followed the entire hunt on bicycles, cars, foot, and when the stag appeared they would all shriek: "Tallyho!" and "Attention, attention:" etc.

Unfortunately, I was following a very official-looking man, who turned out later to be just learning (which accounted for the horn and the official-lookingness), and so we got lost and missed the best part of the hunt. We found them again, just in time for the kill, when the stag went into the water. All the men then stood in two groups on one side of a circle, and the hounds in a huge pack on the other. There was a man in the middle who held the antlers of the stag, who by that time had been skinned, and others with whips kept the hounds from misbehaving. Everyone else stood around the outside of the circle, and the two groups blew all the hunting calls back and forth to each other. After that, which took about half an hour, the hide is pulled off the rest of the stag, and the hounds, about 35, "go to it." Then it becomes awful, because there are millions of dogs running around with the bladder, heart, liver, in their mouths—all fighting and snarling. It is like a huge rug which moves back and forth dragging the carcass around, and every once in a while two huge, snarling dogs rise in the air above all the others. About 45 minutes later there is nothing left except a huge spine.
ELIZABETH BOGERT
Paris , France

Exmoor Oral History

This oral history archive is rich in info about Exmoor and the packs that hunt it. I especially like all the history about the Devon and Somerset staghounds. Dick Lloyd's interview is a favorite.

When I was last in Exmoor, in a much happier time, we stopped in a bookstore where I picked up a book on this project. I am so thankful people were willing to share about their lives and this cherished moor.

Exmoor is where I have been happiest and I dream of being on Dunkery Beacon again after a day of hunting and a feed of venison pie at the White Horse. Looking at the stars and over the Bristol Channel to Wales, my head on his shoulder, and talking about nothing and everything warm in the happiness of finding my best friend. I had given up ever finding anyone like him and I can still remember the shyness, shock and unbelief that he was there beside me and what a lucky lucky girl I was.

Anatomy of Courage

Courage is a moral quality; it is not a chance gift of nature like an aptitude for games. It is a cold choice between two alternatives, the fixed resolve not to quit; an act of renunciation which must be made not once but many times by the power of the will. Courage is willpower. —Lord Moran

I do not want to live without my best friend.

I do not want to live without my best friend. I miss him so much. I know it sounds corny, but he made the world technicolor (or is it HD these days?) Without him in my life everything is duller.

You don't have to go through life alone and empty. There is love and perfect trust right here and a heart full of desire for good things for you.

If you knew how lonely my life has been and how long I've felt so alone. If you knew how happy you make me.... You wouldn't shut me out of life.

I pray that you are well. That you are shielded from harm. That those you work with and come in contact with daily see what a fine man you are. That you are honest, full of character, integrity, a tender heart and all good things. That you feel my love for you across the miles and that it encourages rather than depresses you. That you learn to accept love and not reject it for something second-best. For you are worthy and I wish to wrap you up warmly in my love and admiration.

Sunday Mornings

I used to love Sunday mornings. I would try to wake up in time before he got up (because he is an early riser) and I would tuck in closer to him and croodle. I love the smell of him. Even when he had to be gone I would bury my face into his side of the bed and breathe him in. It is some bizarre primeval connection. He had this rugby he bought because he thought I would like it. I loved it because he wore it and it retained his scent better than thin sheets. I still remember the feel of it, the comfort of his arms through it.

I know he loves me. But it was so good to FEEL desirable and loved in his arms. He would get up to go make bacon or pancakes or toast with lashings of butter... but I just wanted him to stay in bed next to me.

This is no joy in life without my dearest friend. Today I woke up and as I often do I curled up to my pillows. A poor substitute for H, and I tried to remember past Sunday mornings of love and trust. But all I feel is unmoored.

I love you, my bright shining star of a friend. Do you feel the lack as much as I do? Have you cauterized your heart? Wherever you are this moment, know I love you and hope.

Be Humble Before It

Love does exist. It is not an illusion. I'm sure of that now. One merely has to recognize it and be humble before it.

I pray every night to wake up and not love him or think of him. But it is not taken away and so I must learn to bow to it. It will color every chapter of my life and the future will be the darker for all this savage painful loneliness. I have lost my best friend; I have lost him. He sees me as a stranger. There is nothing so painful. Even death is something that cannot be stopped. But conscious, deliberate cutting off. It is a death one has to live every day. I trust him that he is right and I want him to be happy. But is he? And does he still trust me and my love? I must learn to be humble even more. I have bent as low as I thought I could, but every day I realize that there is still room to bend more before it.

I must learn that if I see him at a hunt, that I am to not show how my heart leaps at the sight of him, my closest and dearest friend, or how I love to listen to his conversation and how much I miss our talks or even comment on his singular choice of braces and his charming head of hair. I am to not even acknowledge him as one would a mere acquaintance. I am not to greet him as a friend. I am nothing to his life. Not even seen by my best friend. Can one be humbled more than that? Every day I learn the answer is yes, one can.

Post Fear

This is one site that makes me sad and angry at once. 99% of the posts are about broken hearts that cannot mend or fear that a current love will end in irreversible brokeness. I cannot help but think that if there are this many destroyed people whose lives are in turmoil because the person they love and loves them doesn't think it is worth working at and so they choose a lesser life and you are sentenced to worse. Being a stranger. Fight against the world and those negative thoughts that say it isn't worth working for, rail against it. Do not let it or society closest to your everyday life ruin the most precious relationship you will ever have. The most precious things in life are born of savage pain and hard work. It is an imperfect world. But I wonder if we would treasure it as much if it cost us nothing?

Some quotes just from the first page of Post Fear that hit close to heart:

I'm afraid I'll never get over this. I'm afraid that I'm not strong enough. I'm afraid this will over take me and in the end..I'll be alone.

I'm so scared that if we get to a point. You will end up breaking my heart.

I'm afraid I will never be able to forget you.

I'm terrified that because you do those things. You will have no friends, no health, no life...literally.


I am so angry right now. I try to hate him, but I cannot. You know, I don't even like heels. They are awkward for a tall woman to wear and I cannot walk fast in them. But I loved wearing them for him because HE loved them. I loved getting them for him. It was one small way I could show him how much I wanted him and embraced him as he is. It was not about shoes but about loving him...everything that makes him, HIM. And how when he accepts himself, it completes me in a way nothing else can. How I wanted to please him and love him and show him that he was worth it. And now, he wants me to be a stranger and tells me I am just "very devoted". And it is breaking my heart in places that I already thought long shattered. Dogs are devoted. Waspish harpy wives are devoted. I LOVE.

How can he do this? How? I don't understand and it is a searing constant pain. I scream "Damn You!" but immediately "I LOVE You! Don't do this!" I want to make him hurt as much as I do but then at the same second I want to hold him in my arms and lavish him with unconditional love. Is it so horrible that I want this too? Am I so unworthy? Because there is nothing worse than being told that you are great and wonderful and too worthy....so be a stranger. I do not think I am unworthy of his love but am I to be small and mean and petty since who I am is TOO much? Would that allow me into my love's good graces? Would he accept me then? But wouldn't that make me a different person to the one he loves? I am so confused. And time has not eased it. Feelings have gone, but this love remains and burns. Like a fever it curdles all inside me. But unlike a fever it will not break.

Today's Best Line

So after returning from visiting the peeps at the nursing home, Mama and I went shopping. Not usually something I like to do on a Saturday afternoon, but I needed to return some very high heels to a department store as they did not quite make the impression I was hoping.

We also stopped at Best Buy which has finally made it to Monroe. I needed to buy a hard drive for work and mother bought a movie. As we were walking out the door there was a beep. Mother immediately turned whilst lifting up her bagged purchase and said, "Why is it beeping, he rubbed my thing!"

"Oh, He DID did he." I replied.

Then it sunk in to her just how loud she had said it.

Usually I get to say the completely ridiculous things, but this time my mother got the honor.

Dirty Little Heathens

So my pristine clean corgwn whom I carefully groomed and cleaned last night managed to escape from the grasp of my mother this morning and go hind hunting in our back pasture. They came back with sticky stinky coats. And in one hour we are supposed to present ourselves to the elderly at a local nursing home. And I haven't seen my friend Archie there for months and I always enjoy our sporting dogs chats. Snort.

It reminds me of gray ponies. I think God just loves to laugh so he made the majority of show ponies snow white. At least that is the color they are supposed to be. I have seen grooms in tears who after having gotten up at 2 am to meticulously scrub, groom, whiten and brighten a 12 hand pony and then having achieved perfection cover said pony in blankets from muzzle to hoof (garbage bags are handy here) so that they can run to the bathroom come back in five minutes to a pony that has pulled a houdini and has managed to smear green manure from neck to hip on their glittering white coat.

Ninth Century Corgwn Bones

Ninth Century bones found in mid Wales are believed to be evidence of the first royal Welsh corgi.

Case of the Missing Ritz Chips...

So I went to the store to purchase those heavenly heat wraps for pulled back muscles and I saw that they had those Ritz Toasted Chips and Wheat Thin Toasted Chips on sale. So I came home with a treat. I ate a few for supper and then carefully sealed them back up and put them on the table and went to my evening meeting (where I heard a really fascinating presentation on Israel, Syria and Jordan but that is another post). I came home and all was well. I fed the corgis and was preparing to go to bed when I noticed a bright red bag protruding from behind a book case....

My new Ritz Toasted Chips. Or at least the bag, because there were no chips to be had. The corgis would not meet my eyes either...

The amazing thing is that this was no typical canine theft. They had carefully and methodically shimmied up the table (I wonder if one stood on the others back cause I still cannot figure out how they reached the bag up there on their stubby legs), carefully unsealed the bag making no tears, consumed every last crumb, and then HID the evidence (this is where they failed obviously...their noses could not shove the bag far enough behind the book case).

This morning they just looked at me as if to say, "Hey you, bring home Wheat Thins tonight..."

Bull Terrabulls!

Ever since I read The Incredible Journey as a young girl I have wanted a Bull Terrier. And now they make them in the convenient snack size! I lurve my corgis but I think a Miniature Bull Terrier would add nicely in. And I need a new agility dorg. And what better than "a three year old in a clown suit"? Though I don't like clowns.... And would never disgrace a bull terribull by calling him a clown.

A life-changing gift

This is inspiring: Dolphin discovery aids Injured Vet and Young Girl

You never know how one good deed will multiply to accomplish things you could have never have hoped to be a part of. While I am glad that the dolphin is doing well, I am even more inspired in how the substance they came up with to hold the prosthetic tail onto the dolphin is now being used to make injured vets lives better. Just awesome.

That being said, this is one amazing humanitarian organization: The Smile Train.

For only $250 you can positively change the life of one child for his or her entire life. It doesn't matter where a child is born in the world, a cleft palette is something that will negatively impact his or her life every day. And it is so inexpensive to fix. Just $250 and that child can have a life where he or she is not ostracized. $250 is less than some of us spend on take out for a month or entertainment.

Boom

Another WWII bomb is discovered

It amazes me how many "live" bombs are still laying about under the earth of so many major cities from WWII. Even shells from WWI still lie under Belgium soil awaiting some poor unsuspecting farmer that plows too deep.

Why do we write

Today, I am reminded of a French movie, Children of the Century, about George Sand and Alfred de Musset. In the end, she realizes he never received her last love letters to him. She goes to the cemetery to read them to him and an old man comes upon her:

George Sand: "He never received them."

Old Man: "If he had received them would that have changed things?"

George Sand: "Yes...No...I don't know...I don't know. Love does exist. It is not an illusion. I'm sure of that now. One merely has to recognize it and be humble before it. We didn't understand it. We parted in the arrogance of youth. We didn't know then what we learnt with time: We only love once with all our soul. Today, I know it. It was him. He was that one time."

At least Alfred was really dead and could suffer no more on earth. How horrible to know that the love of all your soul is still alive. But does not want to be with you because "It doesn't work". That he wants to go on with his life and tries so many things and yet he just grows sicker physically, mentally and spiritually.

How it hurts to know that he will not accept love. That he tries to outsource his affections in attempt to recreate some of what we have. As if surface things like physical pleasure or fantasies can truly satisfy the deeper satisfactions of true love that go beyond physical or even words.

When as he told me that I was the end of his searching, that I was who he'd looked for and now would no longer search... how can he go through life only choosing second-best when his true love tells him he is worthy of all good things? I know his words were not trite or loosely said. He is too serious and honourable. He has too much wisdom gleaned from his past to have said them casually. It is not his character and they were never said in the heat of passion.

But with all good things comes the task of being completely vulnerable and accepting that he is worthy of having a woman love him with all her heart and soul. Who cares for him and wishes to heal his wounds. He continues to grow more ill, even though I have been away from him for three years. And yet, he would still choose illness over us. And this is very depressing. How can I be what I am to be if my love is miserable and keeps going down a path that only causes him more pain and suffering?

He has nose bleeds now, terrible nose bleeds. And yet, he did not seem to realize that when he was with me that they abated. In fact, they ceased. It was only after we were apart that they came back with a vengence. What causes him not to see this? Why does he think we cause them - the stress of being together when it is when he is running from us that he begins to bleed profusely. And why oh why won't he see that he deserves his one true love. That she was created to be a part of his life. To encourage and build him up. To help him see what a great man he is and is still to become.

Dancing Queen

How can you not feel better when you listen to Dancing Queen? I am looking forward to the new movie Mamma Mia. And I need something to look forward to today. I just found out that further education is out, that I have a new large debt to add to medical debt (cause you know if you work for a living you don't qualify for medical care assistance) and my job is being outsourced. Can we add that the economy and thus the job market sucks right now and that I have no money in savings? Yes, it is time to crank up Fernando.

Stop Naming Nuts!

Women in Art

Terrier Man says it right

How many breeds have been killed off by vanity, rosettes and cash for puppy schemes?

Does anyone, anywhere, who knows what they are doing, go the Kennel Club when looking for a working dog of any breed?

Terrier Man (see his blog listed to the right) says it rightly (not that I agree much with his political views!) but even at hound shows (proper ones that is) the huntsmen will tell you that often the most correct hound that wins the rosette is one of the most worthless of the lot when it comes to hunting. There are those beautiful times when tight feet, strong loins and pretty heads go with a nose, stamina and heart... but rarely.

I was at a dog show (yes, I know) with some corgi folks (they have really cool dog books stalls at dog shows I discovered) and there was a judging clinic held in one ring where they focus on a couple of breeds to educate people on what to look for. I think it must have something to do with judging certifications or something too but the public was invited. So I went because one of the breeds they were focusing on was the American Foxhound. Talk about disappointing! My corgi show friends were trying to push a show puppy on me at the time and I told them no. I like my 0ld-fashioned corgi. The ones now have chests almost touching the ground and fluffy coats. Charlie has proper little legs and a fine all-weather coat that takes rain a long time to get through. I wish that there were still corgis out there like him in the States. Carol told me that he is what they were pinning in the 50's in the ring but they are going to this new style now. Why mess with something that was working?

Look at what has happened to our terriers and working dogs. It is the same thing that is happening with our American Thoroughbred.

Loving longest when existence or when hope is gone

Two quotes from Jane Austen's Persuasion that score my heart to this day, especially now. I am only reminded that it is three years of trying to not to love him and a lifetime forward of loving him. I had hoped that three years would cool affection, love or devotion. But they only burn steadily. So, accept them, and love. Even if it means embracing the truth of love: that it is always to be given without any hope of return. And so I love him and my heart will ne'r forget the paths we walk together to still our minds from selfish wanting.


"There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement."

"I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by women. No, I believe you capable of everything great and good ..... All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one: you need not covet it) is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone!"

Anheuser-Busch sold to Belgium brewery

So, I don't really care too much about beer but my immediate thought when I heard this is whether the Clydesdales would be replaced with the Belgians....


And what about the dog? Will it now be a Belgian Malinois? Not that Clydesdales OR Dalmatians originate from North America. If Bud wants to be really authentic it would be a mangy six mule hitch and a yellow cur dog. But then, that is advertising.

You GO New Yorker!

I think I am going to start subscribing to the New Yorker again! This is hilarious! You go New Yorker for not bowing to the politically correct cow.

I especially liked Harold Ford Jr.'s hilarious remark, "I've never seen a candidate treated this way!" W-w-w-what?

If Vanity Fair and The New Yorker keep this up, I might have to start believing they are thinking for themselves again.

The life we live after that

From the movie, The Natural:

Iris Gaines: You know, I believe we have two lives.
Roy Hobbs: How...what do you mean?
Iris Gaines: The life we learn with and the life we live with after that.

I Need You at the Dimming of the Day

This is by one of the truest accounts of abiding love I have ever heard sung. It has been held in my heart for many years for the one that pulls me like the moon pulls on the tide:

This old house is falling down around my ears
I’m drowning in a river of my tears
When all my will is gone you hold me sway
I need you at the dimming of the day

You pull me like the moon pulls on the tide
You know just where I keep my better side

What days have come to keep us far apart
A broken promise or a broken heart
Now all the bonnie birds have wheeled away
I need you at the dimming of the day

Come the night you’re only what I want
Come the night you could be my confident

I see you on the street in company
Why don’t you come and ease your mind with me
I’m living for the night we steal away
I need you at the dimming of the day
I need you at the dimming of the day

If Only Everyone Saw You The Way Your Dog Does