May. 19th, 2017

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These questions come from Feodora

1. How did you name your pets?
2. Poirot or Miss Marple?
3. Do you have a FB account too?
4. Books - hardcover or paperback
5. Mobile(cell phone): Windows/Android or Apple?


We've always cued on the pet's appearance/personality, and a bit of fannishness. There was Jennyanydots, from elliot's Book of Practical Cats. She was a dilute tortoiseshell who looked as if someone had splashed paint on her, thus, dots. And the solid grey Merlin--actually named after football star Merlin Olsen. Jenny's daughters, Buttercup,a relatively rare yellow tabby female who we thought was a tom, and who had the demeanor of Miss Piggy, all "Mew? Mew? Meeeoww?" when she wanted something, and "Kiiiii-YAAAAH!" when you denied her whatever it was she wanted. Her sister, a true tortoiseshell with the brightest orange showing through the densest black fur, we named Ember. Another mostly black tortoiseshell who was very hoppy as a kitten, we named Cricket. Thomas was named before he moved in on us from neglectful neighbors, and would not answer to anything else. My mom's white miniature poodle's ears showed some apricot in her lineage, and was named Taffy because of the taffy-color on her ear tips. Our three-legged feral rescue was TC--originally for Three-Claw, but also for Tripod Cat, Thelonius Clawed, and other nicks with those initials. Punkin moved in on us from *other* neglectful neighbors, was a big orange tabby with a very sweet and grateful disposition.

While I love the period-ness and the fussiness of Poirot, I have more admiration and fellow-feeling for Miss Marple.

I do have a FB account, which I use to keep in contact with distant relatives and old friends I see nowhere else. I never post there.

If I truly love a book enough to want to keep it, I'll find it in hardcover, either new, or good-condition used. Neither the hands nor the eyes enjoy mass market paperbacks, no matter how inexpensive, so for reading I prefer trade paper, good used condition.

While I have a smart phone, I deliberately don't have internet access enabled. I use it for calls, texts, a contact list, and photos. I don't even have games on it, or maps or gps. I enjoy my status as phone luddite, thanks.
 

In Dreams

May. 19th, 2017 02:04 pm
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You know those dreams, either ominous or unsettling, that follow you out of sleep and color your whole day with a touch of gloom, unease, or sadness? We've all had those, right?

This was not that. I was working with an outfit that rehabbed and released arctic wolves. I was not the only rehabber working with these particular wolves, but it was my job to check on them periodically and see how they were adjusting to being wild. One was rescued as a cub and hand-raised, and released as an adult. The other was rescued as an adult, injured, and rehabbed back to health before being released.

The release point, which was also the check-in point, was a cabin in a remote area: basic, small kitchen, bed, stove, toilet and sink partitioned off, as was long-term food storage. I was not the only person who worked with these wolves, but once released, they were my project to check on and monitor.

There's nothing like watching a full grown male white wolf in an expanse of new snow, for hoppiting through two-foot drifts and rolling in pleasure. Such joy in their being, and in me, watching them. I would arrive at the cabin, and make some human habitation noise, and one or both would appear in a day or two, come say hi, spend some time close by the cabin, playing, resting. And then wander off with purpose to do wolf things.

There was a bit near waking where the older wolf hadn't appeared for the past two visits, and I'd begun to wonder if he had died. But at my next check-in he had come, and was lying in a corner of the roofed porch. He had come back to die.

I did think that was odd, that a wolf would be more likely to go off alone to die, and that my conscious was telling me what I wanted to hear. But then I woke to birdsong outside my window. The amazing joy of watching the wolves cavort in the snow, their accepting presence, and quiet willingness to be near have followed me into waking. The images are still vivid. It was a lovely, lovely dream. Thank you, subconscious!

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