Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more!

Security breaches are rare due to our excellent emergency protocols and my extreme vigilance.  There is however no accounting for human errors and thoughtlessness.  They are a careless species and no amount of training and counter-measurement will eliminate incidences altogether.

I blame my human mostly.  She stood right there as the horse "Paganini" pushed his door open with his nose and sauntered out slowly.  It took her several moments to react.  I remain baffled at the human lack of reflexes.   They are so slow to respond to anything.  Suddenly Paganini was walking briskly down the aisleway. He paused for a few mouthfuls of hay at the edge of the barn before trotting exuberantly into the parking lot and then exploding around the trailers.  By now all the humans were following him with halters and leads in hand.  I hung back knowing full well he couldn't be captured in this way.  To no avail, the humans sent him bounding across the rocky swale and though he hesitated for a moment he crossed through a breach in the tree line into the neighboring farmer's field at a flying trot.

"Houston we have a problem!"  Jack and Jade were now flying full tilt after him on their long legs.  Now completely beyond the farms boundaries there was no telling where he might go.  My legs may be short, but my low center of gravity means I can handle the uneven pasture terrain with ease.  I bolted straight after Jack who was in the lead closest to the horse.

Into the Breach!  Tail erect and ready, eyes keen, legs pumping furiously, chase, chase, chase! Nessarose

You won't like me angry

was ready at the front line with me.  I started howling instructions in my native scotch terrier dialect, to my human's great shock and horror.  She says my "yodeling" is offensive to the ear.  I say so is her damned singing.  Nevertheless I am a faithful dog, As Jack sprinted into the woods after Paganini's footprints I was forced to come to my human's plaintive worried call.

"Hamish you will get lost out there!" And so both Nessarose and myself were abruptly shut into the office as the humans continued to flail around in search of the horse.  Strange that creatures with slow reflexes and almost no sense of smell whatsoever should undertake the tracking of an escaped fugitive without the assistance of the dogs. (Can you hear me frowning?)

Nevertheless, as is usually the case the horse managed to get stuck in a thicket.  At which point the slow moving humans were easily able to catch up and capture him.  He was returned without further incident. Since there can be no help for their slow reaction times, clearly the humans must learn to latch the stall door, so that the horse cannot simply let himself out.  It is the humans not us dogs who would benefit from electric shock training.  They say with age comes wisdom and I have learned not to waste energy on those things beyond my control.

On a brighter note:  I overheard her say the tickets for Scotland have been purchased.  Ha! Sept. 15th. This is really happening.  I have never flown on an airplane before.  I understand it is very dangerous as they are often attacked by giant dragons and destroyed.  Being a dragon slayer myself I am reasonably confident this shouldn't be a problem on our particular flight.  Friends and colleagues keep asking if I am excited.  Of course I am excited to finally see my native land, though I must admit a certain sense of the inevitable to it.  As I have stated on previous occasions,  Scotland and Scottish individuals are cosmically drawn together by some greater power beyond our understanding.
On that note....I have decided that sometimes it is best to bend with a strong wind rather than against it.
Gerard Butler.  Alas since I cannot convince my human to stop embarrassing herself it seems I might as well embrace the cause.  Possessed now of my own tablet equipped with camera,  I have decided to begin a photographic series titled:
"Soon to Be"

The first installment is loosely inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's "Sunflowers."  Please follow me on instagram @hamishwagsthedog. Here it is:

Sunflowers

Sunflowers in gallery

I will also be further expanding my self portraiture series:
"The Writer's Lens. Self Portraits of a Scruffian"

Selfportrait4

My human reminds me now that I must also return to my children's manuscript.  So much to do.  So little bacon. And I have not been provided with a meatball of any kind in ages.  I understand it's good to have goals.

Finally.  Paganini's mood has been repentant since his escape. But he cannot be trusted.  There is a devil in him for sure.  A handsome one.

Birthday wishes

Scotsmen are great adventurers.  Myself I am descended from a long line of explorers, adventurers and all around swashbucklers.  My earliest ancestors battled dragons.

painting by Margaryta Yermolayeva http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/margaryta-yermolayeva.html

These days the beasts are hard to come by, so few of the modern day Macdonish Hamwalders have ever even seen one.  I am mostly plagued by catawampi.  Slippery devils, they are very difficult to track, though easily dispatched upon their discovery as they often fall into long protracted sleeps.

Gandalf the Grey

My stars appear to be aligning.  This seems appropriate since my birthday is approaching.  It is a major milestone.  10 years old for a dog is beyond the middle of life for most of us.  I confess I do not feel middleaged.  Only wiser.  Perhaps I shall become a wizard and live in bearded magical immortal glory. Just like Gandalf.

I admit to spying on my Human.  My industry has paid dividends, since I do believe I have discovered my birthday present. She has been pouring over books about Scotland for several weeks.  She has purchased a number of new woolen items of clothing, and my kilt and bow tie have been got down from the closet.
Therefore I deduce:  We are going to Scotland.

In light of this I am completely at a loss for words.  Nevertheless I must try...

SCOTLAND!  my native land!  The place of my ancestors. Place of mist, mountains....and D R A G O N S
If I am lucky enough to catch one I will bring it home and display it as a full- mount trophy.  Obviously.
My human shall receive a Cleopatra-collar style necklace of its claws.  And I will feast upon its liver!!

I AM THE BEAR! MAGNIFICENT AND TERRIBLE...

I have never flown on an airplane before.  Only because I have heretofore refused to endure the indignity of riding beneath the seat in a pet caddy.  However I will all too gladly suffer this humiliation in order to visit my ancestral lands.  It will be a great homecoming.  I fully intend to elope with some strapping Scotsman.  It is my destiny.  

PS.  Dear Human:  I also know about the tablet.  Thank you. Now please set up my instagram account immediately.  I have a lot of catching up to do. 

Ready?  I was born ready.

Listening on May 14th 2015

I am in the process of composing a masterful blog post but fate has conspired that I lay it aside.  Word came early this morning of my Great Grandmother's passing ( on the human side of course as I have no remaining connection with the canine side of my family).

Grandma Edie. I never got to see her often as her house was deemed to clean for Scottish ruffians like myself.  She enjoyed feeding us table scraps.  Quietly of course so that no one would notice.  She would slip us little morsels under the table and then laugh and chuckle to herself as though she'd gotten away with some naughty deed.

self portrait 2: variation

Quite a business one's human so sad. A dog does what he can to comfort.  She likes to hold onto me.  But what she wants is someone to hold onto her. I'm just not so big.

A deep chest and thick arms she says.  A strong shoulder just to cry on.

I don't have these things.  We dogs just stay close and listen to the heartbeats.  We are ever full of wish.  After all life is short, especially for a dog.

I write often as I can.  But my human's voice is not often heard.  So here I use this platform to share something none of you might read otherwise.

And I say Goodbye to Grandma Edie.  We'll meet someday on the rainbow bridge.
Please read:
I Dream of Bears 

Setting the Record Straight

There are many things to talk about.  I confess the glorious spring weather has me in an elevated mood these last few days and life is good. I am even inclined to admit that though I mourn the recent stripping of my patina, my clip and shave has left me much more comfortable in the heat.  And I was after all left enough beard and brow to give the appropriate appearance of severity when necessary.

Such a Handsome Devil!

Being so low to the ground it is absolutely necessary to carry a strong appearance of severity and fierceness in order to convey the appropriate sense of authority, a sort of  Command Presence. A deep voice is helpful to this end also. It is in fact critically essential. No one will ever take you seriously without a strong commanding voice.  At the risk of sounding breedist this is exactly why chihuahuas will never hold positions of high authority. They simply don't have the right vocal frequency to carry it off.  The Scots on the other hand.... well we're known for it.  I hate to state the obvious but the voice of Sean Connery is as iconic as the man himself.  No one anywhere in the world wants to hear the words "Bond, James Bond" with nasal undertones in the soprano range. Think of the infamous "Jock" in Lady and the Tramp, an excellently strong Scottish voice.  His lines are better remembered than any of the tramp's " Everybody knows that a dog's best friend is his Human!"
Shrek.  You can't have an ogre with anything other than a deep resonating brogue.
Vikings.  Almost all of them depicted in film everywhere.  Well at least the vikings in the "How to Train Your Dragon" series. Scottish voices all!  Which brings me to my next point. As I am Scottish, and naturally possessed of the many stout masculine qualities befitting a fierce dragon-slaying scotch terrier, there is really only one possible man to narrate the story of my life and my many characterizations. I would simply do it myself but so few people can speak or understand Scotch terrier, and as I lack the vocal apparatus for actually speaking in English, I shall have to have a narrator or translator if you will. It follows naturally that this can only be none other than the great Scotsman Gerard Butler.

also Scottish. also a Handsome Devil

Allow me to be perfectly clear.  These ideas are entirely my own and they have absolutely nothing to do with the opinions, emotions, obsessions or ridiculous fantasies of my Human.  She is entirely responsible for her own ridiculousness.  However it seems that there has been a great deal of confusion over my alleged infatuation with the actor.  Myself I am simply stating the obvious:  Gerard Butler is the only possible choice to voice my musings, for the obvious reason that he is in fact Scottish, often bearded, quite fierce ( or at least very good at pretending to be which is really the most important thing) and he is also a handsome devil.  These facts bond us eternally as Scottish brethren and we would undoubtedly be very good friends should we ever have the chance to meet.  Unlikely we ever shall, since I am so busy with my writing and my security duties for the farm I certainly don't have time for such dalliances.  I simply need his voice to properly share these fabulous musings with the rest of the world.  I am merely proposing a business arrangement in which I will deign to share my jerky and my canine carry-outs with him in exchange for his audio files of my writings.  A high price to pay for sure, but hopefully worth it in the end. I have read that he is very professional in such matters and he is certainly not a vegetarian, so he would consider jerky fair payment. IF he does a good job I might also allow him to stroke me with his foot.  But probably not.
Now as for the ridiculous, girlish, silly obsession my Human has for Gerard Butler I simply have nothing to say other than PREPOSTEROUS. My human has achieved a level of silliness in this matter that defies rationality and even more preposterous is the manner in which her friends encourage her.  Signed photographs, proclamations of certainty as to their suitability for one another...  It makes a total mockery of my very serious and necessary bid to do business with the man!  There are only four things in the world I hate more than dragons, and that is human feet.  And cats.  And soap of any kind. And being made a mockery of.
I will be contacting Mr. Butler myself with a peace offering of steak and I will be putting an end to all of this nonsense.  I have no doubt the man has better things to do with his time.  ( ie: narrating my life.) No doubt we shall soon cross paths at some fundraiser or awards ceremony, or perhaps doing the Tonight Show. Or Ellen.  Or just walking down the street.  Scottish individuals are naturally drawn to one another.  It is some strange cosmic twist of fate. I believe fully in the inevitability of the acknowledgement of greatness in all things inevitably bound for greatness and all of its acknowledge-able accolades.  In other words I am bound for glory and as such I am further bound to attract others who are also bound for glory or already glorious.  It's just the way things are.  So there, I've stated it simply.

who would ever want to be king?

Chance Favors the Prepared Mind

Many months ago I opened a fortune cookie and my fortune read as follows:
Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.

Subsequently the world has gone completely topsy turvy.  Everything we know changed.

My human is never one to do things by half measures.  She also has a habit of leaping without looking and also fiscal irresponsibility, impulse-driven behavior, as well as some selfish tendencies relating mostly to how we share the chaise lounge. ( Her legs are just entirely too long, they don't fit, and it is very rude. She should have no legs, just like me.)

In short, I am trying to offer all of my loyal subjects an explanation for my extended hiatus on blogger. See I have spent the last seven months putting out fires.
We had to find an apartment and move.  This involved getting all of our belongings out of storage.  It also involved the creation and implementation of a completely new security protocol.  This was needless to say extremely time consuming.
At the same time Leah left her job at the Ridge.  She decided to open her own business again, so while moving house we were also moving horse. This proved to be a much more complicated and extended process even than moving into the new apartment.  Though it has born many fruits.  The most obvious of these being the fact that Nessarose and myself now have free rein over nearly thirty beautiful acres on the magnificent Tolleshunt Horse Farm.   However, I cannot even begin to express or explain the web of security measures such a vast property requires.
Firstly, there are cats.  Two.  The striped one is most definitely a catawampus. hrumphf!
Deer.  Everywhere.  Literally. Everywhere. They are in the pastures and paddocks, on the walkways, and in the parking lot.  ALL OF THE TIME.
Canada geese. ( Otherwise known as the Honking Hellbeasts of the Hinterlands) Need I say more.
Wild Turkey. Foxes. Possums. there may even be a wylie...

Rough Drawing of a Wylie

Although I have not seen it.  I catch its scent from time to time.
Staying on top of all this nonsense is exhausting.  We had no money in the beginning so we were forced to work seven days a week at it just to make ends meet.  Thankfully my older brother Revel fell into a promotion and was able to send us a much needed lifeline.  We might have starved to death were it not for his success.  I am proud to say that Leah, Nessarose and all the horses remain safe.  I believe we have an excellent protocol, and I declare the farm almost impenetrable to hostiles. Though I remain always vigilant.
After about two months of a grueling schedule we were able to take a breath and we have traveled considerably in the past few months.  Though we only seem to have one destination: the Wee Bairn's in Albany, NY.
I have mixed feelings about this.  Of course I love the Wee Bairn.  She is my niece.  I particularly enjoy her feeding times since she throws most of her food on the floor for Nessarose and I to clean up. However,  Leah does seem to forget I exist whenever the Bairn is near.  I have recently had to reduce myself to whining aloud in order to gain her attention.  This is highly unusual, since usually, I can hold an entire room's awe and wonder by simply existing. Though it seems the Bairn is the only one able to do that whenever she is present.  She is also something of a velcro baby.  If I pass within her reach she instantly latches onto my hair and it is very difficult to release her.  For now, the food raining down from the high-chair certainly makes up for all of this.

Some other important developments:
We once again have the king bed.  This means I can comfortably sleep in Leah's spot while she flails helplessly trying to get me to use the other 7 feet of the mattress.  I cannot.  And I will not. Humans just refuse to understand it makes no difference whatsoever how large the bed is.  I will lie on top of you.

The Ithilien Clubhouse

We also have a clubhouse at the new horse farm.  Our very own lounge room with a tartan armchair and ottoman just for me and a fireplace.  It is my sanctuary.  I smoke my pipe and contemplate. No matter how busy I get I always leave time for contemplation. (8 hours a day as a rough guideline) This is how I can be certain I am a fully self-actualized Scott.   Thank you so much Sarah Nir!
My children's literature project has had to be shelved completely, though it remains at the forefront of my mind.  The lack of progress frustrates me. If I am to be famous, I really must get this book back on track.  I must add I have been neither bathed nor clipped in many months.  My patina is glorious.  It shall be its own character in my animated film.  Rather like Pepe Le Pew.

Finally, I have decided to take up the strange human hobby of "Prepping,"in which "preppers" hoard and stock pile essential items in preparation for the end of the world as we know it.  Seems like a slightly flawed notion since there is no real way to know what would qualify as essentials if the world as we know it were to end....However. Since I am the head of security it seems a useful precaution.  I have begun by stockpiling carrots.  I have chosen carrots because horse people leave them absolutely everywhere so I have been able to collect them easily for the time being.  I have begun burying them individually at intervals around the farm.  These intervals are based on a complex algorithmic equation known only to myself ( and I often forget it) in order to give the appearance of randomness.  Leah did catch me burying one the other day, but she seems to have chalked it up to random dog behavior so I think the remaining carrots are safe.

The Bairn and I

A Wee Bairn

A WEE BAIRN

A road trip to family.  Grandma and Pop-Pop.
Suburbs and leashes for We.
The crate set up- quick in your house!
Leah's away.

Pictures and stories on her return. A wee bairn.
So precious so sweet.
I'll hide under the table. When do I get to meet her?

The crate folded down and packed in the car.
Back to New Jersey so soon?
No!  quick- in the toyota we're headed to
Ari and Rima.

Two cars loaded with small human furniture,
food, a collection of plants.
And all the way talk of The Bundle.

Straining on leashes. Fly up the stairs.
Seek out the bundle.
"not now Ham. Later. Back to your house."

A tiny white bundle. Passed 'round overhead.
Cooing and smiling everyone.
Craning through bars- sniffing,
Can't steal even a glimpse.

Baby's first walk, swaddled close against Ari.
Now get the dogs.
Here Hamish. Here Nessa.
Lift Hamish high, Ari bend close
The Wee Bairn.
She smells of Heaven
and Milk.

O Horrible! Part Deux

When opportunity knocks, one must be prepared to embrace it fully, no matter the consequence.  So, recently stripped of my excellent rotting animal cologne, the arrival of a marauding skunk seemed a most fateful occurrence.  I know it is unusual for me to post back to back blogs such as these, but such an extraordinary turn of events cannot pass by unmentioned.
To think- a deliciously vile dead-thing to roll in, my patina mocked, my coat scrubbed clean, and only  a day later a wayward skunk visits us at the farm.  I could not wish for a more perfect set of circumstances.  The gods must indeed be smiling!
Such a wonderful animal a skunk, truly!  To be sure, there is some discomfort and trauma in donning the mantle of the skunk's aroma.  No matter how much one wishes to acquire its scent,  the physical moment of spraying is always a shock. Of course there is almost no way of avoiding contact with the eyes.  This is most unpleasant, but readily resolved with some vigorous eye rubbing and paw licking.   The skunk's pungent odor is unlike all others in its unique ability to linger.  No amount of bathing, scrubbing, scouring, soaping, scraping, wringing, washing, can eliminate it totally.  It will only fade over time.  Months after a spraying one may still detect the faint odor of skunk on a damp wet day.  Sublime!
Sublime indeed though most definitely lacking in subtlety.  On the heels of the rotting animal incident described the day before last, I had fully intended to seek out a more refined material to begin my new Patina.  Usually if I add odor covertly and incrementally, Leah's poor sense of smell keeps her from taking any great offense for quite some time.
But a skunk!! Who could resist it?  Please don't think any less of me. I am after all only Canine. A marauding skunk nevertheless!  It was prowling about the yard near the trash ( neatly set out for pick-up).  There was nothing to be done but give chase to it!  The thing would only rifle through the garbage and make a mess.  I pursued it, vigorously running headfirst into its mystical, ripe, oily spray.  It simply could not have been avoided.
I admit it burned my eyes something fierce!  But I am a TERRIER!  A Scotch one at that, descended of a long line of dragon-slayers, Patina wearer extraordinaire!  The burning would subside.
Unfortunately in the heat of the moment I did not think through to my Human's feelings on the matter.  I should have thought it out better after the incident the previous day regarding my lux scent of decaying rot. To the point: Leah is most displeased.  I have been bathed thrice already.  Last night I was shut in the hall until a naked Leah placed me, at arm's length, in the bathtub.  There I was vigorously scrubbed and lathered, my human in nothing but a pair of dishwashing gloves, trying to remove the skunk's oily residue from my face.  Today I received an extra special bath with Leah's de-skunking potion ( an odd mixture of peroxide/ baking soda/ dish-washing soap), and then another bath with regular shampoo.
Alas, bless the poor Skunk. Perhaps he shall inherit the earth, for though my stench is greatly diminished it lingers still!! Having lost its thickness, the aroma no longer hovers and hangs and rises from my person, but if you lean in close it will most definitely grab you!  I look forward to a morning soon when the air is humid and damp, I wander inside from my morning roll in the dew and Leah bends down to pet me, then she pulls back "oh god Hamish!  even after all this time you still smell of skunk!" Hahaha...This Patina won't be removed so readily.  I will gladly suffer the many baths of the next week in order to savor that moment when she realizes....It's still there....