Grutz says, "Offing Ducky #1. How many more?" or "So let me get this straight, you're not a one trick pony?"

Dead ducks tell no tales.

Ducky #1.  You served us well.  You won't be forgotten, but how many will follow you into the sunset?

I had a dog, Daisy, an elderly whippet, when I was in high school.  She was very, very, very low key.  Sure, if given the chance she'd race down the road like a bullet, but otherwise, she slept a lot.  She didn't 'fetch' or 'chew on things' (like a blanket I just caught Arnie munching! Arg!).  Arnie, as I've just described, is not like this.  I was hoping that copious amounts of exercise would reduce any destructive behavior.  Other than the odd blanket, ahem, Arnie has ravaged a rubber kong chew toy and Ducky #1.  So within a week he's mangled or destroyed two toys.  I'd like to think this will not be a lifetime trait for him.  Hopefully he'll slow over time.  As much as I don't want to crunch the dollars on weekly/monthly toy purchases, I have to remind myself that it's an investment.  A few bucks here and there is much better than a couple hundred on furniture or rugs, etc (which, aside from the hole he just chewed in the blanket, he's got a pretty clean slate).

Any dog owners out there have any information/hints at 'chewing issues'?  He hasn't done anything too terrible, but I'm noticing as he's exploring his boundaries and limits he's 'testing' his teeth on things here and there.

Patience?  Seriously?  I'm an American.  I have no idea what 'patience' means.

Our friend Bobby Redwood (who, with friend Ross, attempted to canoe down the Mississippi before the Coast Guard closed the river a week or so ago, but that's another story!) has a great dog, Rusty, who we got to know when we sublet from Bobby.  Now Bobby is a heck of a guy and has a heck of a dog.  Rusty is well trained and very mindful.  This was our last experience with a dog and it's hard not to project onto Arnie.  I want him to do all the dozen plus tricks that Rusty can do.  I want him to be mindful off the leash like Rusty.  All the books I read have commands that can be learned in an afternoon, but only mastered over months.  We've had Arnie for just over a week.  He's made great strides and is very mindful.  But it's going to take time.  I guess I will have to be patient. (Though it's un-American (wink)).

Well, Arnie and I are off to the pet store, to get some more toys and a Ducky #2.  Don't worry, I'll keep documenting the demise of ducks.  Any guesses how many he'll go through?

I'll get to birthdays later.

Grutz says, "Turning lemons into lemonade." or "Good lord, when the when was the last time I was out until 4 a.m.?!?"

It's all in how you look at it.

The front door to our building is kind of crummy.  Well, not the door itself, rather, how it's hung.  And the worn and warped 19th century metal threshold.  To enter or exit, one must exert an-above-average-required-to-open-a-door amount of strength.  The bottom of the door catches and rubs (ever-so-NOT-gently) the metal threshold sending a shrieking banshee-like cry up the stairwell.  Followed by a decidedly ferocious "thud" upon shutting.

I am a master at identifying this particular entryway's call.  Like a seasoned ornathologist, I can immediate identify 'when' and 'where' the door at 1124 W. 19th Street opens and closes.  Last night early, early this morning I perfected my skill when the drunk kids down stairs came home from the bars.

Now this 'screech-thud' is familiar to most who've visited our abode.  It, though, is still new to Arnie.  He didn't like it.  Or maybe it was the folks coming and going for over 2 hours.  Or maybe it was the pounding on doors or honking of horns or a drunk gal yelling for "Becky!" a few, what felt like, dozen times.  Maybe he was just tired and cranky.  Who could blame him?  So a little after 2 a.m., Carleen and I heard Arnie bark.  This was his first bark, indoors, and we didn't want to upset any of the other neighbors who actually might be sleeping/add more noise to the already ridiculous cacophony/let Arnie develop a bad habit.  So I stood over him for about 2 hours redirecting him when he felt compelled to bark.  Arnie was actually great, sleeping until someone clomped up the stairs, talking loudly (about every 5-7 minutes), at which he'd lift his head and start to manifest a growl or weak yelp, which I would then hastily end.  Around 4 a.m. when I thought all the festivities had finally ceased, I went up the creaky spiral staircase up to my restless wife to catch some winks.  Alas, party-harty young people of the world!  So Carleen went down for a bit to sooth him.  I couldn't really sleep and as I laid there, I told myself that this was a wonderful opportunity to bond with Arnie and a great lesson on not barking, not honing a grudge against some folks I don't even know.  Carleen and I will have many, many chances to teach and redirect Arnie over the next 15 or so years.  Every moment is a teachable moment with a pooch, I just have to keep telling myself that and not get pissed off at drunk kids, which I have to say, I really didn't, I was more baffled.  But honestly, can YOU remember the last time YOU stayed up until 4?

It's summer! No wait, it's fall.  Nope, it's summer!  Aww, it's like early spring.  Welcome to May in Chicago! (sun, rain, rain, rain, sun, sun, rain, rain, clouds, rain, sun, oh, and always windy)

So it was in the mid-80s earlier this week.  Yours truly has his farmers tan.  Already!  And now it's been raining/misting for about 48 hours and the mercury is hanging out around 45º F.  Yeesh, spring time in Chicago is a game of chance.  It's windy, wet, and cold and we have an energetic dog that needs exercise.  "An exhausted dog, is a well behaved dog." as I've been know to say (ok, that's the first utterance).  So Carleen and I have been faithfully devoted to our daily constitutionals with Arnie, regardless of weather or, for that matter, time of day.  On these walks I'm remind of how variable the weather in the upper midwest can be.  Even when it's bad, I always remind myself that late spring, summer and early fall are worth the crummy weather the rest of the year.

Besides, it could be worse.  We could be in the flood plains along the Mississippi.  Oh, how I love the flood wall in Dubuque.  An eyesore she might be, but what a fine buffer from flooding.  Or you could be up in a tree a few hundred feet up in the cold and rain, like these guys.  (If you haven't visited the bald eagle's nest in while, the ugly eaglets are now not-nearly-as-ugly adolescents.)

Who's birthday is it today?
Hal Borland (May 14, 1900 – February 22, 1978) was a well-known American author and journalist. In addition to writing several novels and books about the outdoors, he wrote "outdoor editorials" for The New York Times for more than 30 years, from 1941 to 1978. Hal Borland was born on the plains in Sterling, Nebraska. His family moved to Colorado, where he grew up. After attending local schools, he studied at the University of Colorado. He studied journalism and graduated from Columbia University.  Borland started writing as a journalist for publications such as the Denver Post, The New York Times, and Audubon Magazine. From 1941-1978, he wrote what he called "outdoor editorials" for the New York Times.

In 1945 he and his wife moved to a 100-acre farm in Connecticut, and lived and worked there. She was also a writer. He published several collections of his nature writing, in addition to novels and other non-fiction books.

Gus Viseur, born Gustave-Joseph Viseur (15 May 1915 – 25 August 1974) was a Belgian/French button accordionist.

Gus Viseur was a virtuoso in the musette genre, during the swing era in the 1930s. He is the only jazz accordionist who is a member of the famous Hot Club de France, conducted by Charles Delauday.Gus Viseur began his career playing in the streets of Paris. He managed to get a great sound from a chromatic button accordion. It was clear that he was doing something innovative: He helped create the accordion-jazz style known as manouche. Meeting Django Reinhardt and performing with the legendary Quintet of the Hot Club of France was an important new chapter in his life. Later he even played bebop in the fifties. He was the first to draw a link between Musette and Jazz, but he never forgot Musette. That was his main voice. There is an unbelievable strength in his playing, that gives him the ability to improvise in all those different music genres. In addition to his numerous recordings he also performed in cabarets and nightclubs.

-thanks wikipeida!

Grutz says, "The good, the bad, and everything in between."

A joyous and important lesson.

Carleen and I adopted Arnie this past Saturday evening in Dubuque, Iowa.  We cautiously went to bed that night keenly aware of the chance of just about anything happening could and would happen.  Worst of which would have been Arnie relieving himself on Mom's carpeting.  Aside from setting an alarm at 2:30 am to take him out, I meticulously placed the previous week's Telegraph-Herald around the floor, just incase.  Other than wanting to get into bed, Arnie was very well behaved.  No accidents, no chewing of shoes, no speaking in tongues.  Carleen and I were very happy with this.

I rose Sunday morning a little after 5 and left my beautify wife sleeping deeply while I trekked with Arnie towards the Mississippi River.  A breath-taking sunrise greeted us.  Glowing softly from behind the eastern bluffs of the River, the sun quickly gained strength and crested the horizon, blanketing the western bluff, our bluff, in gold.  Down in the river valley, the sun had yet to make its introduction, so the blues, pinks, and reds still dominated, reflecting calmly off the tranquil water.   Arnie startled a bald eagle, its loud launch from the nearby tree startled me greatly.  But awe quickly replaced my surprise, viewing the huge wing-span soaring over the lock and dam.  We then beheld three cranes gliding over the water of the Mississippi below us, exhibiting their wing's dark tips and long, regal necks.  It was all magical.  The captivating vista, the spring explosion of flowers and plants, the numerous fowl and animals.  And the fantastic Arnie.  It was all very moving.  I honestly noted the precise moment as all of this came together.  I began to dream about the joyous adventures Arnie and I would undertake.  The number of times we'd be together just like this.

We strolled back to Mom's house and settled ourselves on the back patio.  Arnie was wonderful and he was terribly mindful.  I figured this would be a good time to take him off his leash.  He trotted away but returned when I called him.  Great.  Just great.  Then Arnie noticed the squirrel.  And he was off.

I bolted (and by bolted I mean trotted, I'm not in that great of shape) after Arnie.  I came upon him rolling around in something.  He then took off again, into the woods.  I pursued, call his name, worried that I'd be waking the neighbors as it was before 7.  I flew like a deer after my prey, running blindly as I lost sight of him.  Anyone watching me race through the woods would have seen a messy looking man, slowly lumbering in and around trees.  No grace here.  But it felt like I was booking.  But deep down I knew I wasn't.

After a few moments without seeing or hearing him (not very likely, the breed is known to be quiet) I began to worry.  Not about Arnie, he's tough and smart.  Rather I worried about getting back the house, pants and shoes dripping with dew, and waking everyone, again before 7 on Sunday, and going out looking for him.  The first full day with him and I've already lost him.  My heart was pounding, from exertion and anxiety.

Trotting back the the house I caught a blur of white and red through the leaves.  Near Mom's shed was Arnie, walking towards me.  Oh my goodness.  Whew!  I wrangled him up and got him back to the patio and back on the leash.  So we enjoyed the early morning heat.  After a few moments of petting him, I noticed a distinct odor on Arnie and my hands: skunk.  It was faint, but it was there.  We had a long day of driving ahead and no way would my wife tolerate this stench in the car.  I postulated that either Arnie was rolling around in some skunk-love as mentioned above or he'd been sprayed in the past and the dew and heat was bringing out the smell.  Regardless, Nick had to get washing.  Arnie tolerated the soapy water and the Hy-Vee brand dandruff shampoo scent masked the skunk smell wonderfully.  I don't think he was terribly bothered by it.  The skunk or the shampoo.

All of this transpired while the house on Jonathan Lane slept.  I learned that we will have wonderful times with Arnie and that we will also have some-less-than-great times with him, too.  I'm  glad all this happened so early in our relationship, reinforcing the fact that this will be more rewarding that I can even conceive and more demanding than I can imagine.  Thank you Arnie, for this is a precious lesson.

So what is Arnie?

Arnie is listed on his adoption contract an Australian Cattle Dog(ACD)/mix.  He's got the speckling and red of the heeler, but he has a bobbed tail and floppy ears.  Upon further research, I speculate that he's more Australian Stumpy Tail Cattle Dog(ASTCD)/mix.  Obviously, the tail is one clue, but he's more leggy than an ACD, not as stocky, too.  An interesting history for the ACD and the sub group, ASTCD. Australia's vastness lent itself well to cattle raising.  And by vast I mean hundreds of miles between ranches.  And no barbed-wire.  So herding dogs from England were used.  They weren't durable enough for the taxing Australian terrain and their propensity for barking spooked the cattle, which resulted in stampedes.  So these dogs were bred with dingos.  Yes, dingos.  (Yes, say it out loud, you know you want to.  Just say it.  "A dingo's got my baby!")  The native wild dog was perfectly built for the Outback and they didn't bark.  These dogs proved, however, to be a little too head strong.  A few more dogs thrown into the mix, including the Dalmatian (for it's devotion to its owner) and some selctive breeding, you get the Australian Stumpy Tail Cattle Dog.  Not sure where Arnie got his floppy ears, but we'll take them.

It doesn't matter what kind of breed Arnie called.  All that matters is that Arnie is part of our family.

A long time coming, smart data for your brain, today's birthdays.

Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, Marquis of Dalí de Púbol (May 11, 1904 – January 23, 1989), commonly known as Salvador Dalí, was a prominent Spanish Catalan surrealist painter born in Figueres.  Dalí was highly imaginative, and also had an affinity for partaking in unusual and grandiose behavior. His eccentric manner and attention-grabbing public actions sometimes drew more attention than his artwork to the dismay of those who held his work in high esteem and to the irritation of his critics.


Irving Berlin (May 11, 1888 – September 22, 1989) was an American composer and lyricist of Jewish heritage, widely considered one of the greatest American songwriters in history.

His first hit song, "Alexander's Ragtime Band", became world famous. The song sparked an international dance craze in places as far away as Berlin's native Russia, which also "flung itself into the ragtime beat with an abandon bordering on mania." Over the years he was known for writing music and lyrics in the American vernacular: uncomplicated, simple and direct, with his aim being to "reach the heart of the average American" whom he saw as the "real soul of the country."

He wrote hundreds of songs, many becoming major hits, which made him "a legend" before he turned thirty. During his 60-year career he wrote an estimated 1,500 songs, including the scores for 19 Broadway shows and 18 Hollywood films, with his songs nominated eight times for Academy Awards. Many songs became popular themes and anthems, including "Easter Parade", "White Christmas", "Happy Holiday", "This is the Army, Mr. Jones", and "There's No Business Like Show Business". His Broadway musical and 1942 film, This is the Army, had Kate Smith singing Berlin's "God Bless America" which was first performed in 1938.

Grutz says, "I am the Alpha and the Omega!" or "How I learned to embrace my rightful postion."

A quick note on human to dog relationships......

This is me.  No, not one of the best tasting beers in the free world.  The Alpha King.

Arnie is a dog.  He is not a human being.  He does not have a human temperament or personality.  He therefore is not treated like a human.  Rather, like part of the pack.  And at the head of that pack is me.  I truly am the boss of the hot sauce.  My rearing as the 'golden child' has trained me well, oh yes.  And Arnie and I are doing very, very well.

More to come.....
There's so much to share with you all about our new family member, including a shocking scandal!  Arnie isn't an Australian Cattle Dog (aka heeler) but an Australian Stumpy Tail Cattle Dog!  STOP THE PRESSES!  (Ok, the "Stumpy" as they are fondly known, is only recognized by the Australian and New Zealand kennel clubs, but still, the ASTCD is different than the ACD!)

And.......................dingos!

Grutz says, "Oh great. Another mouth to feed."

Now you're messin' with of son of a.... 
Yes, the Dubuque Kennedy Mall is tacky.  It's the oldest in Iowa.  Antiquity is good, if not great for just about anything.  But not malls.  With all the plants and new skylights, old fountains, new fountains, no fountains, carpeting, kiosks, couches and flatscreens with the Cubs game for the husbands, "The Mall" is still tacky.  But from the acne-sporting youth to the high-waisted mall walkers, folks just make there way to "The Mall".  Which, even in this culture-less mecca of consumerism, provides a fantastic opportunity to do good and enrich your life.  You will find a wonderful, wonderful endeavor: The Dubuque Regional Humane Society.  The Society has it's main headquarters out on the westend, but it has its "showroom" at the mall for all those wondering eyes to gaze upon dogs, cats, bunnies, birds, and small rodent-like critters.  What a spectacular PR move by the shelter!

Carleen and I will swing through when we're at the mall, in this case using a giftcard.  We've speculated and dreamed about adding a new member to our troupe.  Timing, housing, jobs, life, money, etc., have always trumped out.  Also, finding the right fit.  Well, that is a thing of the past.  We've found our fit.  He's smart, calm, handsome, and house trained.  We've definitely open a new chapter in our lives.  There will be ups and downs, starts and stops with Arnie.  But we're only focusing on the ups right now.  Arnie is part of the Grutz clan.

Arnie, in all his speckled glory.

Now he's looking at me, sending me this message, "Put that thing down and play with me."  I have the feeling that I will be doing a lot of that.  And I couldn't be happier. 

Surprise! It's a boy (dog) !

We’re on the way back from an Iowa weekend, and I wish we could have stayed longer.  It was beautiful and green and sunny, and despite all the driving, every bit of it was enjoyable.  Especially the part about us bring home a four legged friend!  Welcome to our world Arnie, the blue heeler + something unknown wonder dog!  Right now he’s sitting in the back seat looking contented and wise.  No barks, no peeps, just wet nose nudges now and then to remind us that he’s there.  

This is before he decimated half of that chew toy. 

Hanging out in Theresa's kitchen.

Arnie had a little bath and sat out side in the sun after he may or may not have rolled in a skunk in Theresa's back 40 acres. 

Chillin' on the bench, basking in the sun, what a life. 

You may be interested in our spur of the weekend adoption story: Dubuque, IA is home to one of the most brilliant and successful animal adoption schemes.  This would be the animal shelter in a mall phenomenon.  Yes, Arnie was adopted after we enjoyed an Auntie Annes parmesan dipped pretzel.  We decided to walk into the shelter, not with the intention of adopting anyone, but Arnie, with his speckled red and brown coat and big eyes spoke to us.  We aren’t even allowed to have dogs in our apartment so it shouldn’t even have been on our minds, but there was something about him that demanded our attention.  He is 1 or 2 years old, and has the best temperament.  He is the perfect amount protective, and is a people dog.  He wants to be close to us, sitting in the middle of us, and sniffing everything.  There’s so much more, but I hope you get the gist.  We are thrilled with Arnie.  

"I am here!"

It's been a while I know...

The only way I could bring myself to write was over a root beer float.  Really, I've been craving one of these all day, and it's not that I don't want to write, but I am a little supersaturated on the screen time front. And Nick has been doing an excellent job on the blogging front.   He's kept you all up to date and is so funny (even my mom thinks so!) while he's at it.   Between writing lesson plans and looking up recipes for pear tarts and pizza dough and watching almost all of the episodes of The Wire, I have had enough of my computer these days.  I never thought I'd say that, I love you my laptop, lately though, I have been gracing the keypad a lot and my eyes could use a break.  But not yet, I owe you some words.

School has been good, better than good actually.  Kids are making steps more forward than back, and I feel like I am continuing to get a grip on what my role is.  Not without pain and disappointment though and I was reminded of it first hand the other day, when out of the blue one of my dearest students transfered.  No good bye, no good luck, no gathering of her belongings.  Just gone.  Apparently, her mom "gave" her to her step-dad, who lives a good distance from school, so she is transferring.  And that's it.  I crossed her out of my grade book with some sadness.

Yesterday, among many wonderful things that happened, I (successfully) baked a french pear tart.  It was the highlight of my morning, and the sense of accomplishment I felt was so grand!  Especially after we tasted it.  Bake your own french pear tart from this recipe, and read this food blog too.  FYI, I recommend poaching the pears in sugar and lemon juice and then boiling down the liquid to make a delicious syrup!  I added some mango puree to mine and it is divine.

Behold pear and almond (filling) heaven. 

After we dug in, and then had some more. 

I didn't mean to write only about food, but it's the small pleasures right?  I do have to mention that I am preemptively missing The Wire, and wishing I'd watched it so much slower.  Sadly, I have 1 episode left.  This series has carried me this Chicago winter, and I doubt there will ever be another series like it, that can transport me to another place and time, that causes me to change my vocabulary, and to wonder about the "corner kids" in my current neighborhood.  Please, make a recommendation if you can, but it's unlikely that anyone can live up to McNulty and Stringer Bell, Prop Joe and Bunk.  I love all of it.

Pocketful of Names, by Joe Coomer, is the other, thankful, distraction I am having.  I have been enveloped by this somewhat epic novel that takes place on the coast of Maine.  Those that know me well know about my ocean obsession.  The idea of living on an island, feeling the tides and the seasons, and being surrounded by water is so appealing.  I would drink black tea with milk and have shortbread everyday.


Nick has recapped our quick Spring Break trip so well, I don't need to say much, but I want to leave you with my favorite picture of Nana and I taking in the sun at the Merriweather Post Estate.

Nana is one of the most amazing women I know. 

It's time to get ready for tomorrow, to set out my clothes, and to print my lessons and homework assignments. 

I promise I won't be a stranger.