Good Intentions Paving Co.

The road to you-know-where is paved with good intentions, so it goes.  Understand now that this means good intentions that were never accomplished.  

For the past week I have had about six or seven different great ideas for a post, but didn't sit down to flesh them out and now they have flown into the land of 'nevermore'.  They are gone, done, over, air-biscuits, space vapour.  

This all leaves me with a guilty conscience and an empty blog.  Oh dear.  Oh my.  Oh dang.

Quick!  Look at this!!!

I mean YOU!

 

 

That should distract you from my failures.  Speaking of iguanas and I believe that I am, there was once a female iguana named "Inga" at the Butterfly Conservatory in Niagara Falls Canada, and she was a big gorgeous gal who hung around at the top of a very tall palm tree.  Apparently the Parks Commission had gotten her a husband who did not meet with her approval, and so she dispatched him.  I guess she was no fan of arranged marriages.  At any rate, on our last trip down to see Studly's family, we went to the Conservatory and I couldn't find Inga anywhere.  An attendant told us that she had passed away, a virgin queen to the end.

How sad.  There were however, more butterflies and more beautiful foliage representing many different biospheres and the visit was totally worth it even without the iguana.  I made friends with a butterfly who hopped onto my hand and acted like a ring.  It refused to leave so I just told it to make itself t'home and enjoy the ride.  Eventually of course it flitted off to whatever it is that butterflies do, but I can tell you that I was mighty honoured to be singled out by the lovely creature.  

Not that it made up for lack of Inga, but then, nothing possibly could.  I hope you are in a great iguana paradise Inga.  May there be loads of fruit and some decent guys for you!

All of which is to say - "Hey look!  A post!"

What Jean Luc Picard Said

"Make it so".  Since this whole blog thing is based on the fact that I am a person who makes stuff, I have devoted very little space to stuff I have made.

There is a good reason for that.  I didn't want to blather on without pictures and I couldn't seem to overcome my inertia to take some pictures.  Today I shrugged off the moorings and engaged the engines and that will about do it for the Trekkie references.

Although I usually have exhibited as a painter, I find that lately I have wanted to invent things in fiber, specifically in knitted goods.  Clothing, hats, preemie things, dolls, teddy garments, dressed up critters, and even some sweaters have been keeping me happily occupied.  All are of my own design or else they have begun as a pattern but my constitutional incapability of following instructions always ensures that I tweak and change things until the item undergoes a metamorphosis and becomes my very own.

First up are my best sellers, the Birbies.  A Birby is a flightless bird that has no wings or feet.  Birbies roll or are carried by their besotted companions.

A flock of Birbies

Next is a happy teddy with matching cardigan and hat, followed by a wardrobe of raglan sleeved pullovers.

 Sock yarn is great for critter clothing.

The pullovers cover Valentine's Day, Spooky moon for Halloween, potted flowers for spring, an autumn leaf, and a dressy red top with frilled lace trim.

Down we head to some of my favourites, the Flumps.  As yet they aren't named.  I just love making these and no two are ever alike although that can be said about everything that I make. 









Here are two well dressed girly frogs.  The frogs were purchased from Ikea but the clothing is designed by yours truly.

Last but not least for today is a plain muslin doll dressed up with a knitted wig, underpants, sweater, socks, shoes, felted satchel and teddy bear, and a hand-sewn skirt.

This is what keeps me from withering away with uselessness when the fibromyalgia symptoms of pain, depression, and exhaustion overwhelm me.  The creative spark is more necessary to me than vitamins! 

The Animals That Live In Our Hearts Part 2

This is Piper, a purebred Scottish Terrier - proper name is Aberdeen Terrier.  You will remember the black dog from Black & White whiskey, or the thick-brogued, fellow from "Lady and the Tramp".  


These dogs have held a long spot in the hearts of my family.  My paternal grandmother had a scotty, and my father spent a great deal of time with his sergeant-major's Jock during the second world war.  My sister now has her second scotty.


Us?  Well, after our beloved Moo died, we were dog-less for over a year and had no wish to look for another.  We would half-halfheartedly discuss another dog, but then let the conversation die.  It seemed that we would just not bother again.


Then, one day out of the blue, our friend Greg called with a woeful story of a little dog that needed a home because her family could no longer care for her.  Mum was a school principal and dad had Alzeimer's.  The care giver had no time to give the dog, a five year old female scotty.  Without missing a beat I agreed to take her, then went to wake up my husband who had just come off of a midnight shift to tell him we were about to become dog people again.


That evening Greg, his wife and daughter, brought Piper to us.  I fell in love instantly as is my wont, and Piper moved into our lives.  She had been bred of champion stock in France, and shipped here to a breeder who showed her and put a lot of championship points on her.  Piper was then bred twice and had two litters of pups who went on to become prize winners and calendar dogs.  After her usefullness as a money-maker was completed, she was sold as a pet to the aforementioned couple.


Now she was ours.  Piper was a great little dog.  She was so quiet we couldn't quite believe it.  She hardly ever made a sound which is grand for apartment folks.  She adjusted to us very quickly and developed a huge crush on Studly as dogs do, although she and I maintained an easy friendship as well.


Piper was not only quiet, she was never in a hurry.  Studly got no exercise whatsoever when walking her as her methods consisted of taking a couple of little steps then sniffing the bejarpurs out of whatever was on the ground.  It could take an hour to go around the block.  I insisted she walk to heel but Studly let her make all the decisions.  His patience with her was endless.


This was an extremely popular dog in our building.  There is a Bingo game each Monday evening and the Bingo players are very serious about it all, but they would call a break to visit with Piper if she walked past the common room.  Ditto for card nights.  Piper would stroll into the lounge as if she owned it and go to each person and say her version of 'hello'.

Watching her walk away was a surefire medicine to make you smile.  Those funny little hairy legs and that foursquare body were guaranteed to make the worst curmudgeon grin and bend over to stroke her head.  Our friend Chuck considered her to be his 'other' dog. Piper could charm the angels themselves I'm sure.


In Pipers sixth year with us she developed lumps under her chin, and when we took her to the vet he found a big mass in her abdomen.  The verdict was grim.  Cancer had invaded and it was aggressive and fast-growing.  She had stopped wanting to eat or walk and that morning she had laid herself down outside, an act so unlike her that it frightened us.


We had to make the hard decision to give her an easy death before the illness robbed her of all quality of life.  We kissed her and thanked her for her love and companionship.  Studly told her not to worry, that  'Daddy will make it all better'.  Then, while we held her in our arms and kissed her head, the vet helped her gently slip away.


We are still in the mourning phase of this goodbye and as of right this minute, our plan is to not have another dog, but to give ourselves some time of freedom from schedules and so forth.  Maybe what we are really doing is giving ourselves some vacation from heartbreak.


Of course, just this week we had our dear friend's precious boy Kagnay with us for a few days while he was away.  It was awfully nice to have this little bundle of affection around and we willingly enslaved ourselves for him.  I think we are basket cases when it comes to animals.  Kagnay and Piper were good pals so it kind of brought her back for a bit too.


Time will tell as it always does.  Never say never is an old chestnut but I have lived long enough to realize its truth.  We will see.

This is Kagnay the miniature pinscher.  How adorable is he?

By ANY Other Name

Pet rats suffer outrageous epithets from those who don't see past the name.  Surely dogs would suffer the same were we to call them 'wolves' as this is essentially what they are.  We have domesticated them to the point that they are tame, affectionate, easily trained, and boon companions, so unless one has a pathological fear of them, the term 'dog' strikes no revulsion or fear.

NOT a wolf

Rats have been domesticated as pets for hundreds of years and in fact they were pets first.  Rat baiters caught rats to throw into pits for terriers to pull apart.  It was a horrible, insane, grisly sport, but in the process the baiters noticed that the rats who had either white or fawn markings were tamer, had milder temperments, and were easier to handle.  Somewhere along the line someone began to breed them and likely one of their children made one into a pet.  It was because of this amiability of temperment and the similarity of rats' diet needs to ours that they became a prime laboratory animal.  This is only a tiny notch up the nasty ladder in my personal system of belief, but in the process of all of this beastliness the good was somehow drawn out by creating the perfect companion pets.

Domestic rats are like small dogs in loyalty, love, train-ability, intelligence, and companionship.  They clean themselves constantly as do cats, and they are cheerfully sweet, showing the capability for humor.  It takes very little time to convert a pet rat hater into a fan.

How sweet is this?

Their biggest drawback is that name.  RATSSSSSSSSSSS conjures up visions of plague, garbage, sewers, poverty, slums, and filth.  

Of late, fans of the pet have taken to calling them 'ratties' to differentiate them from wild rats.  This does not fool the ratophobe however, or the rodent-averse.  They need a new name, a new designation that encompasses their loveable qualities and their cuteness.


My friend Matt came up with the perfect moniker last night.  We were playing with Raoul and Mortimer and  Matt commented on how more people should get to know them and thus learn how wonderful these little animals are.  I climbed on my usual soapbox about the need for a new name.  With nary a blink Matt said:

" Adoramites"

It resonated.  It made sense.  They are wee mites of pets and they are totally adorable.  I've begun to spread the word and shall from here on in, refer to my pet of choice as adoramites.


My own particular adoramites are waiting for me to go and get them for some quality tummy tickling and ear scritching, and as their willing slave I shall do just that.  You really should be checking into these pets.  Get some books and do some googling.  Write into the forums and use the term 'adoramite' and get it around.  Within two years it will change the perception of these small critters from 'ewwwwwwwww' to 'awwwwwwwwww'.

Greg's adoramite Rosie.  Awwwwwwww!

The New Babies

Raoul and Mortimer, four weeks old

You may have noticed that the photo for this blog is of a pet rat.  He was the loveliest fellow and his name was Horatio.  Big H was a sweet, loving, smart, clean, loyal little guy and we dearly loved him.  His death from cancer was a sad time.


Life however, is pernicious.  It insists on flourishing no matter our devastation.  Today, to prove the point, our daughter purchased two baby boy ratties and we installed them in the rat mansion.  This is a retro-fitted bird cage that had been originally constructed for a parrot or a couple of cockatiels.  It is a hammered pewter beauty that now has four levels, a hammock, nesting boxes, food bins, water bottle, toys, bedding, perches, and a ladder.  There are numerous other activities and toys in the cupboard to rotate throughout the coming months.  They shouldn't find themselves getting bored.


The new lads entered carefully, noses in constant motion, and little bodies poised for action.  After some sniffing about, they found food, and took some to a nest box.  We had put the box they arrived in inside the cage as well so that there would be something familiar for them.

We watched them all evening as they became accustomed to their new digs, and as they began their orientation into our family.  At bed time I put my old socks that had been worn for a few hours in the cage with them so that my scent would accompany their dreams.  This will help with the bonding process and is well worth the sacrifice of some old footwear!


Eventually they will spend a lot of their time on my shoulders or in my lap.  Domestic fancy rats are amazing pets; clean like cats and they bond like dogs.  Their only flaw is their short lifespans.  

Japanese ink drawing of rats

One lad is charcoal grey with a dark tail and white tummy.  His name is Mortimer.  The other is a lovely champagne hooded rat with a pretty white splotch on his head.  His name is Raoul.  Don't ask why the names.  They just seemed to fit.

Chances are that these two will feature in future posts along with some photos once I get them off the camera and onto the computer.


This is going to be a grand adventure.  It is so good to have critters in the home again.

Welcome to our world Raoul and Mortimer.  May your days be long in the land.


Thank you Rachel.  It is so good to feel the joy of pets again.