The Never-ending Song

Today I placed a photo of a Turkey Vulture which my granddaughter, an amateur photographer, took in the Badlands of Florida, into a frame which I have hung on my living room wall.  The bird is soaring, wings wide spread, his tail straight and stiff behind his glistening black body.  His crimson head with golden beak pierce the sky. I love this photo which Lily-Anne took just for me.  She knows how I honor the Turkey Vulture. I saw my first Turkey Vulture when I was 22 years old, working in a veterinary hospital in Stamford, Connecticut.  A client told me about the nature center there and how they needed volunteers to help care for  the "inmates".  When I went to offer my time, I was immediately charmed by the fox.  He was as tame as a dog and badly in need of grooming.  His heavy red coat was matted and dirty.  So I began with him.  Nearby was a cage with a large black bird.  I thought "buzzard" when I glanced at him, until one afternoon when I finished with Mr.

Gray squirrels are everywhere in upstate New York where I lived.  They invade bird feeders, bury acorns all over the lawn, dive across the road in front of on-coming vehicles.  They tease the dog who strains at his leash to get a taste of that fuzzy flicking tail.  They seem to know exactly how far the leash allows the dog to progress forward, or if the dog is loose, exactly how fast he needs to run to stay just ahead of the frantic dog in order to reach the tree and safety.  Gray squirrels are often considered pests. But Gray squirrels are cute.  Their antics are always entertaining as they attempt to navigate all attempted efforts to keep them from emptying the bird feeder.  I guess it depends whether you have spent a fortune on seed for BIRDS, or if you just like watching clever, intelligent critters at work on a frosty winter day, how you see them. This day was early Spring.  Loggers were trying to get the last truckload of logs out before the roadways in the forest became too

My first dog's mother was a Norwegian Elkhound.  Her father was a traveling man.  She was just a puppy when my Dad finally gave in and brought to me the pup I had begging for. I was 14 years old.  This little blonde creature with black muzzle and dark brown eyes was the answer to my dreams.  Of course I named her Princess.  What does any romantic young girl name her pet? Dad named all of the cows.  That was mostly for identification purposes to keep records on their milk production, breeding history etc.  Mother came up with some of the names.  There were the usual- Star for the black cow with a white star on her forehead, Babe for the gentle Guernsey who would let us warm our cold hands between her udder and her rear leg on bitter winter mornings.  Clarabelle was a tall, rangy, wise, old, mostly white Holstein with a pendulous udder.  She was always being treated for a damaged teat which she had stepped on. Clarabelle was a character, a fence jumper, leading the complacent cows

When I was twenty years old, I began to think I wanted to raise dogs and board and train them for others.  My Grandfather built a wonderful building for me on my Dad's dairy farm.  The kennel building was on the other side of the house from the barn.  It had a box stall on one end for my horse and four good sized kennels which had sliding door access to a chain link, cement run area.  There were trees all around so that the runs stayed cool in summer.  There was a space for my office desk and for storing food.  I already had a Sheltie female.  She was my pal and slept in the house (in bed with me actually).  Her name was Tami. She was from a good Shetland Sheepdog kennel.  Tami was sable and white in color.  I heard of a 2 year old black Standard Poodle in the area for sale.  I bought her.  She was gorgeous and very well trained.  She understood three languages- English, French and hand signals.  The owners were no longer able to keep her due to illness.  Her name was Cheri.  So

As I squirted out some liquid soap from my bottle of Dawn into my dish pan this morning, I noticed a slightly different label. It said "New and improved."  Uh OH- a bit of caution crept over me.  I have always liked Dawn.  As advertised, it does a good job dealing with greasy dishes.  Hannah has greasy skin which leads to a tendency towards fungal spots.  My Vet told me to bathe her using diluted Dawn rather than any doggy shampoo.  Hannah had chew spots on her legs and near her stubby tail when she came to me.  She arrived wearing a "hood" and I was told it was lick granuloma.  It did not heal even when she could not reach to chew on it.  Now, without a hood, and with frequent (every two weeks) baths using the Dawn soap which I cut 3 to 1 - water to Dawn - and place in a squirt bottle, she has no doggy odor, no fungal spots.  She rests quietly.  At first she had such a terrific case of damaged skin my Vet also gave me a spray bottle of Fungicide meant for horses

While it is true that I have spent the majority of my life "up North"- (meaning Vermont and upstate New York), I still think this is way too hot now for May, even in Virginia.  The new flowers that were set out a few days ago are looking most unhappy this afternoon,  including those which are in the shade, despite my daily evening watering.  The sun is intense.  The sky has had some clouds drifting past and there is a good stiff, if warm, breeze.   The parking lot smells like hot tar. One of my neighbors who used to raise Quarter horses in Connecticut has two little Shih Tsu dogs.  She has to use a walker now and she has taught those little dogs to trot out with the walker like a team of Hackney ponies. This morning she was headed out with them for their daily long walk at 7:30 am--a very wise move.  Something people are apt to forget it just how hot the pavement and sidewalks become in this kind of heat. The best rule to follow is-if you would not walk in bare feet on it,

I wrote this many years ago when  they were building the Northway from Albany up through the town of Warrensburg, where I lived.  This happened to a place with which I was familiar. Tearing the Homestead Down The money's in our bank account The new house bought in town; My heart as vacant as the silent House they're tearing down. The hill on which we picnicked So many childhood hours Is a noxious, noisy gravel pit. Where are the dainty flowers We gathered for our Mother In daydream days gone by? Dead, as is the great oak, Gnarled roots turned to the sky. Down there by the road way, (The stable's gone from sight) Iron hands of progress Work to fell the house by night. Straight over Mother's garden A million cars will fling And all that will remember Is a lost bee, circling. So they came to give their fair price For the flattest piece of loam, But there isn't any fair price For the spot you've made your home.

One of the reasons given to us for not allowing the Hummingbird feeders was -they attract bears!  That does seem pretty far-fetched to me.  Especially since we have two large dumpsters on this property whose contents, I feel sure, would be much more attractive to a bear.  With or without bird feeders, we have opossums, raccoons, deer, chipmunks, mice, moles, snakes, MANY rabbits-even a large tortoise visited the community last summer.  We are not located out in the country as it might sound.  There is new development going on all around and the lovely tall, straight, old trees which stood on the hill right above our buildings were all cut down two years ago .  They became expensive boards to build the condos being constructed up there now.   Nature has tried to make a come back.  The Evergreens, mostly pine, have covered the bare slope.  For a while we did not see any deer.  They are out there once again.  Now more brazen than ever, venturing into the flower beds and grazing in full

The many-colored little blooms (ones now approved by management) in my flower bed are brightening up my corner of the community.  Thanks to those sweet girls who planted them, and to my daughter who added the golden Primroses.   To maintain their beauty they need a lot of water and that means hauling it out in my wheelchair- two gallon jugs at a time. It is very hot here, and dry.  We could sure use some gentle showers. I remember the sudden summer showers in upstate New York where I had my first farm, Singing Meadows. We had a shallow, hand-dug well and that first summer was a really dry one.  Between watering animals and the large garden, that well was very low by August.  Rain, even a good thunderstorm, was most welcome.  When a black cloud appeared slipping around the mountain top, the children and I would grab soap and shampoo. The rain fell, soft and warm, and my pretty daughters soaped their long hair with with rainbow bubbles.  They always hoped the shower would last long

                                                    Dreams             photo by Sean Leahy My son, Sean, has been working on refurbishing an older model  motor home.  His Boxer dog, Lazarus, has been a watchful bystander.  The man has dreams of taking off, free to wander about the country, perhaps stopping by a lake, seeing places and wonders he has never seen.  Finding new friendly faces, new ideas, - finding peace.   His dream is by no means original nor singular.  So many dream of doing the same, be it the traveling across America or the solitary mountain cabin,- the thunder of the sea against the rocky shore from the beach house--someplace where the sky speaks to the soul. Once upon a time I dreamed too.  I had a handsome grey horse named Smoke Signal.  I planned in my mind our trip to the Olympics and I set up poles over barrels to practice for those fearsome jumps on the Olympic courses.  One day I woke to reality-- that it took much money and just possibly a better ho

Tomorrow is day 7 when I was supposed to have done something about Ginger. To begin with, I talked to the resident who was proclaimed to be the chief complainant and she said her complaint was never   against Ginger or me, but with another resident and her cat and that the issue had been resolved.  I reported this to the manager and she said we still would be going by the edict put forth at our meeting (which was no cat).   So I am going to try one more tactic--getting Ginger grand-fathered in as the community anti-mouse warden.  I have spoken to several residents and they offered to sign a petition.  Under the circumstances, (I was told not to talk to any residents about anything that could be seen as causing discontent), several other residents will sign before I do. This just has to work.  I am almost out of time (or Ginger is). Thank you for all the messages of ideas and encouragement.

Ginger came in this morning, fresh from her midnight roaming and her nap in the porch chair.  She gobbled up her breakfast, had a drink of water from Hannah's bowl, then played for a minute with Susie's toy.  She has no inkling of how hard I was trying to keep the tears from leaking down my cheeks, or the decisions I must make on her behalf in the next three days.  She went out and lay down on the sidewalk, rolling in the sun, displaying the perfect white bikini on her underside.  She is a happy cat.   Near the walkway where Ginger sunbathed is the flower bed -once stripped of the plants that had lived there, this morning brightened with tiny red and yellow blossoms, planted there yesterday by two young women with generous hearts and strong backs and hands. Little deeds of kindness.  Why aren't there more people like those two?   I have received several offers to help from complete strangers, from  legal aid suggestions to offer of a window bird feeder (which is also

I apologize to any who might have been looking for a blog here the past few days.  If you follow Jon Katz, he wrote today about the happenings.  He included the two letters I wrote to him so-- I will not go into details now.  I will just say that we did get per-mission to replant flowers in our flower beds (after many tore out their lovely perennials ) and though we are limited to height, it is at least a minor win.  As if to prove there are some wonderful people in the world, today two girls from a local nursery came with flats of pretty plants, soil, fertilizer and tools.  They went to the office first and got the approval of Kathryn, the manager, to set out                                                                            Ginger with dog friend                                         those particular plants.  Then in the very hot day here, they went to work, making the flower beds in front of three of my neighbors and mine, lovely.  Several of the flowers they pl

I had a horse once.  He was a dapple grey gelding, the result of the breeding of a Quarter horse mare to a Thoroughbred stallion.  He was not my first horse--actually the third, but he was the first I had selected and purchased on my own and trained myself.  He was a big guy-nearly 7 hands (a hand is 4 inches-height measured from ground to top of withers).  My Grandmother, who lived with us on the farm in Vermont, saw the ad in the local newspaper and told me about it. Grandma loved horses-had grown up with buggy horses.  She went with me to see the horse.  The owner, a grizzled old man, led Grandma and I out to his barn.  The horse was not in the barn.  He was out in a near-by field.  Pulling a lasso from a hook on the barn wall, the owner ventured into the pasture.  The horse threw up his head about to flee.  For an old guy, this chap was quick with a rope.  His first toss settled the loop around the horse's neck.  The horse stood still, knowing either from experience or just pl

When I first moved to the south (North Carolina) I missed some of the familiar birds.  I soon became acquainted with Mockingbirds.  They were everywhere.  But I did not realize there were so many because their songs were an entire repertoire of every bird they had ever heard.  I thought I had a birder's paradise, only to discover it was one saucy bird.  My first year in N.C. I had Mockers build a nest so low in a bush that I could watch the eggs from deposit to hatch and then the young long-skinny- legged rather homely chicks develop. The birds were quite friendly from the first.  Their parents favored a seat on top of the TV antenna on my roof  where they practiced their calls daily and often into the night.  I can only imagine how confused a lady Cardinal might be when trying to locate a mate and hearing the bright call, she responded, only to find she had been duped.  There sat Mr. Mockingbird! One of them also had an annoying habit of mimicing the sound of my telephone ringing

My Mother was trained at Peter Bent Brigham hospital in Boston Massachusetts as a nurse.  That was back when there were no LPNs, and RNs did the bedside nursing.  Mother never got to practice her skills. She had only dated one boy in high school and that was just for the senior prom.  She went right from high school. a straight A student, only child of an over-protective mother, to the student nurse's dormitory.  She had weekends free to go home and there was this boy she knew, the handsome guy who was an engineering student at Northeastern U, who rode an Indian motorcycle.  He also lived in her home town and offered her a ride on the bike home on weekends.  They married.  I arrived a year and a half into their marriage.  Dad was "old school".  The wives did not work outside the home. Mother would probably have become a surgical nurse had she stayed with her career.  She loved surgery. As it turned out, it was lucky for many crop-bound hens that Mother was who she was

This is a true story, though not one I witnessed in person.  I read about it several years ago and have never forgotten the impact it made.  It is about a cat. She was no one's cat.  Just a small faded calico (gray, tan and white), with tiny white feet and delicate whiskers.  She had no name, unless it was a name known only to her as cats are said to have.  She lived in an abandoned warehouse in the decaying section of a large city.   Other beings lived there off and on.  Some were other cats, drifting toms who passed through yowling their desires to the trembling few females who huddled in a corner.  Some were mice-delicious quick and easy meals.  Some were rats, ferocious animals with glowing eyes and sharp yellow teeth who dashed through the empty rooms in search of anything or anyone who could become food.   Some were humans who walked on two legs. Grumpy creatures often, who muttered strange sounds and hid themselves in old ragged coats.The humans sometimes smelled of good

What makes two people become friends?  Two individuals of diverse background, different culture, opposite gender, sometimes a great difference in age occasionally feel something in each other that attracts them.  Is it a common interest?  Or something that cannot be identified and labeled? This seems to happen, and not all that infrequently if you are to judge by the many and varied postings on u tube, among animals.  I am sure anyone who has owned more than one pet at any time has seen very obvious preferences of one animal for another.  Three pets are together in one household, and while they may all tolerate each other, almost certainly there will be two who will be more attentive to each other-more often found together.  Those two might well be of differing species. People seem to bond over a common interest, two young women each with a child, for example.  I once had two barn cats who shared child care duty.  They had kittens within a day of each other tucked into a nest in th

Six of us put out Hummingbird feeders on May 1st.  We were told we would be receiving letters of non-compliance and the feeders were photographed.  We still have the feeders out.  None of us have been given any notice as yet. Sylvia and I both saw one little female Ruby-throat sipping from two of the feeders this morning.  Not sure what is happening in the office or at the main office of Metropolitan Properties.  I do know they are having a meeting in North Carolina (home office) this week.  Perhaps a decision will be made.  It better be in our favor!  I sent an e/m making our stand and received no response. 

Technology is fun when you know what you are doing--which it appears I do not most of the time.  I was having a good time writing on my blog.  I even added a frame around it and thought how clever I was to figure that out.  Alas- the next time I went to write, the little "new post" gadget had disappeared.  I spent two days trying to get back to the blog page.  Decided I had surely been skunked.   I wrote to the ever-patient Patty, and once again, she rescued me.  So here I am to write in about a different sort of skunks. I like skunks--the black and white four-legged kind. Have you even seen a California spotted skunk? We had one brought to the vet clinic by a man who moved from California to Vermont.  He wanted it de-scented.  (We did not do it.)  They are small- much smaller than the average house cat, and white with black polka dots.  Adorable.  And though I am very much against making pets of any wild animal, I have to admit, that would be very tempting.   I have had a

                                                                  The New Stepford Wives                                                                                   by Cynthia Anne Daniello                                             We came to find a quiet place for independent senior life.                                            Joseph's Dream apartments promised shelter from all strife.                                             With happy hearts we signed a lease, we settled in our spaces.                                             Delightedly we planted flowers, hung curtains edged with laces.                                            We hung out tiny feeders, attracting tiny birds.                                             For several years we lived in peace, avoiding angry words.                                            One day a formal notice posted on our door                                             Said flowers must be uniform and birds coul

We had Bible study this morning.  The pastor, Rev. Larry Ross and his wife Janet sang several hymns for us. Rev. Ross plays the guitar-they both sing, harmonize beautifully together.  Today he had a new "toy"-a bluetooth speaker which played whatever he selected on his smart phone .Amazing! It is sad that more residents do not come to this. There were only 3 of us, and one of those was Janet's mother, Amy, who lives at Joseph's Dream. They are Southern baptists.  I am not.  Doesn't make any difference.  I love the new hymns I have learned and they do sing some of the old ones from the hymnal with which I am familiar.  Rev. Ross gives good lessons from the Bible.  Sometimes his interpretation is not as mine, but again, it is not a cause for argumentation, but rather a source for good discussion.   Today is National Day of Prayer Day and if ever a country needed prayer, it is the United States of  America RIGHT NOW.  Rev. Ross brought us print-outs of the prayer po

I admit it--I am worn out.  This flower (success) and Hummingbird feeder (possible failure) has taken all I had to give-or most of it.  My mind thinks it is 30 years old but my complaining body knows better. I have done all I know how to do.  Que sera, sera. Dear old Hannah seems to sense my mood.  She has been more affectionate than usual for her in the morning.  As I sat in front of my laptop, not knowing what to write, ready to forget the whole thing, she sat next to me, first gazing up with those  soft brown eyes, then going to the shelf where her leash reposes.  She raised one eyebrow, a particular gesture of hers that I adore , saying "let's go outside. I want to sniff the breeze and roll on the grass in the warm sunshine." I hugged Hannah.  I love her warm doggy scent--she has a nice smell.  She calmed me and we went out. She posed, bird dog style, reading the messages on the wind.  I watched the Robin on the lawn, tugging out a hapless worm.  The breezes ruff

May Day morning has arrived bringing sunny skies, slightly humid air and a light breeze. I rose with high hopes for the Hummingbird feeder cause.  Having been out on my scooter late last night speaking with those who were still up enjoying the peace of this lovely Spring evening here in Virginia, I was somewhat prepared for  disappointment.  I was told by a few residents that the flyer I had passed out two days ago-an invitation to join in the cause of reinstating the right to have Hummingbird feeders- was in fact,  propaganda!  Please define propaganda. Seems the community manager had actually said this to one resident who passed it on.  Not sure how much damage was done. Anyway, the faithful few were up early and had glistening,  syrup-filled, red and crystal feeders dangling from tall black shepherd's hooks in their flower beds.  About a half hour after her arrival, our  manager was going around taking pictures of each feeder and noting the unit number where the feeder wa