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Public Service Announcment

We take time out to bring you this public service announcement:

On walkabout last week, lost in thought on a lovely day, I had the misfortune to be jumped by what appeared to be a Pit Bull Boxer mix dog. This post intends to offer ideas about aggressive dogs and what you might do if threatened by one.

Too many people across the United States are attacked, bitten and sometimes fatally mauled by Pit Bull mix dogs.  About 1.7 million people are bitten each year by dogs of all kinds and approximately 800,000 require medical help.  From experience I can say it is surreal to turn and find the snapping jaws of an angry animal within inches of your face.

While begging the pardon of those who enjoy Pit Bull mix dogs, they seem to follow in the footsteps of other dogs kept for their cachet of danger including Doberman Pincher, Rottweiler and wolf-hybrid dogs.  Although I generally agree breed-specific legislation is a bad idea because it targets dogs and not the habits of owners, it must also be said Pit Bull mix dogs are bred to fight.

There is no such thing as a registered American Kennel Club Pit Bull dog.  Pit Bull dogs are a mixed lot, some small, some large.  Cross-bred with Terriers, Boxers or Bull dogs, there is no standard of the breed nor generally expected temperament and tendencies.  Possessing the musculature and jaws of a Bull dog or Boxer, along with the aggressive and changeable nature of Terriers, the resulting dog is physiologically intended for action and attack.

That said, history has it that they can be loveable, gentle dogs with the proper breeding, socialization and training, and I believe this is likely the case.

The dog that jumped me stood about 5’3″ on its hind legs.  It jumped on me repeatedly, as if to try and knock me down, but did not bite me, for which I am grateful.  Big, agile and aggressive, it jumped on, and at me for what seemed an hour, but was probably about five minutes.

In response to its sudden appearance and attack, I stood still and looked the other way.  Jumping on me from all sides, I tried to keep my back to the dog, but otherwise made no movement and no sound.  I did not make eye contact.  I believe this response may have made a difference in whether it bit me – -or not.

It is difficult to remain still when there is a dog of that size and state jumping on you,  hard not to react in either a frightened or defensive way.

When the owner finally appeared, the dog continued to jump until pulled off of me by force.  The owner apologized, explained it was a puppy and they were working with it.  Explaining carefully it was not personal, I said I appreciated the apology but would  follow up on the incident.

I contacted Animal Control who responded they would visit the premises, speak with the owners and let them know about local ordinances and state laws on the matter.

If it had to happen, it is good it happened to me.  My neighborhood is a lovely place to walk for folks of all ages.  Many young mothers and toddlers walk this place, as do the elderly.  I do not know any mother who would stand still as a dog jumped on their toddler, or stroller.  The resulting defensive action may, or may not, have set this dog off.  With luck, the owners of this dog received an important message and act accordingly.

If you walk, watch your neighborhood, know where the dogs are.   Loose dogs of any kind are generally prohibited in most municipalities.  For good reason.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming…

Shooting Stars

Peerless blue day driving east, sky brightening, sun not yet risen.  Clear cantaloupe colored horizon, scattered shooting stars of short airplane contrails falling like fireworks.

Later in the morning, setting out trash at the curb.  Skyward two contrails form an intersection the height of the sky, dwarf the earth, impossible to miss.  Marks the spot, so near, so far…we are all here, just now, in time.

Soul and Shadow

Do you see it?  The trees are stirring, shrugging in strong breeze, coloured leaves drift down, only to whip upwards, their journey uncharted.  This realm is browning, rich russets, gold and purple hues spread thickly where the greenwood grows.

 Do you hear it?  The wind has gathered confidence, pulling at homes, across waves, pushing on those who resist.  The gaps in windows and doors give wind voice, easy to believe it is speaking to you.

 Darkness and decay, wind that tears, these things frighten humans, with good reason.  They speak of impermanence, of what seems solid but is not.  Restless landscape, few times speak to the transitory nature of life better than emergence in spring and descent in autumn.

 The Celtic autumn is at an end.  Come October 31, the festival of Samhain (“Sow-in”) celebrates the beginning of the Celtic winter.  With November 1 comes the new Celtic year.  Apropos that winter births the New Year, as all things Celtic begin in the dark.

 There is code in the wind, uniquely translated by each soul, shaped by age, experience, wisdom. Howsoever you cast your eye on that which cannot be articulated creates the image that draws toward you.  You are the world you see—a promise, a gift and a curse—or more simply, what you see is what you get.

 There is no hell as great as that which humans create for themselves right here on earth.  Hell was never the ground of Samhain.

 Do you understand it?  Warmth in the darkness, wildness on the wind, things are as they should be.  What is chaos but creation?  As things end, others begin, impermanence a force to be counted upon, not feared.  Samhain greetings to you and yours.

What it is

Interesting thought for a day, found on a scrap…

Bring me what you have
I’ll take it.
From where, one cannot know
To where, the same
Bring it with you,
I’ll take it.

Ode to Longshot

It has been just about a year since Longshot, a late season Monarch butterfly I once knew.

Brought inside from freezing November cold, Longshot emerged from its chrysalis too late, with stiff wings.  Passing on amidst fine fresh cut flowers and greenery, Longshot had a view of a sky he or she never touched.

Buried under the milkweed in my garden, I have visited Longshot as the winter and my legal ordeal wore on.  Spring and summer came, with some luck the worst part of a high conflict custody matter is behind me.

Come autumn, the garden is again a riot of bursting seed pods, crimson grass, yellow leaves, azure and purple sage.  Color to rival summer in every way, hummingbirds only now trailing away.

The spell of autumn is different, tales of things that come to pass, like Longshot, or custody trials and the ill they weave, decaying in their time.

Though globally, monarch populations continue to decline,  more visited my garden this season than any year prior.

Here is to you Longshot, for the will to live in the toughest of times and the heart to come again in the spring, eternity is yours.

The way of things

Apparently having seen enough, the road closed its eye.  The googly eye is gone.

The Eyes of the beholder

On walkabout, I came around the corner and spied the statuesque trees that line the north side of my property.

The youngest of the three is almost the height of its neighbors, and like my son who planted it from a maple helicopter, lacks only in girth.  The other two, red and yellow maples respectively, resided here before we.

Deep inside each tree I notice autumnal colours near the trunk, yet hidden except for those looking.

They say beauty is only skin deep, and in some instances, perhaps it is true.  But like the brilliance of those just turning leaves, for those that can see?  I think beauty more often starts on the inside.

Forecast

Looking south just yesterday, the googly eye is now glancing northward.  Given the expanse of that roadway is north-south, this parallel movement may mean something…or not.  I will keep you posted.

For Sale

The Neighbor is moving.  The “For Sale” sign went up yesterday.  Not only is the Neighbor moving, she is getting married.  Big change.

I moved to this neighborhood in 1999.  With child in arms I stood in the backyard and listened to the wind.  The wind is different here, I liked it.  We bought.

Not long after, I got to know the Neighbor when I walked over with just-baked chocolate chip cookies for her daughter, who had recently had wisdom teeth extracted.  I pointed out the cookies were still gooey, the Neighbor said she liked them that way. I knew we could be friends.

Just months after moving here, the Neighbor’s world fell into unanticipated divorce.  A steady and caring woman, she did her best.  She survived and thrived, raised her children well.  There are few women so able.

On October 12, the Neighbor is marrying the Handyman, a fellow of fine stature and character.  Both of them born and raised here, their union does this small town proud.  Heart and soul.

From my worldview, my family landed in this neck of the woods in part to allow me the grace of an acquaintance such as hers.  At no time during my long marriage was my spouse as good a friend to me as the Neighbor.  And as my own marriage ended and divorce turned dark, the Neighbor still walks each step with me.

The strange and hilarious moments we have shared are priceless Neighbor,  I will always be grateful.  And I am grateful to the Handyman, who in marrying the Neighbor, is only moving her one mile to the north.  He got lucky. I did too.

The Neighbor is moving.  After many years, the Neighbor is moving in a big way.  Hers is a good story, deep with loss and gain.  The best kind of life, the best kind of woman.

“For Sale,” I sure hope someone nice moves in.

Just hangin’ around

Perfect autumn day.

On walkabout the landscape is brilliant.  Crystal clear air, forever blue sky, green lush lawns, each tree its own perfect expression.  Every leaf in place.  Pregnant.  Tis’ the season but the fiery palatte of autumn has not arrived.  A secret moment whose arrival is still  known only to the trees.

I thought I heard them whispering, but it could have been the breeze.