One of my favorite books as a child was Go, Dog. Go! by P.D. Eastman. For some reason, it hasn’t been banned yet. Amongst its many virtues, including illustrations of dogs riding roller coasters and driving race cars, is the tiny story arc related to the budding relationship between a pink lady poodle1 and a yellow gentleman hound. She is enthusiastic, while he has strong opinions about her fashion choices. She has designs, and she is undeterred. He is willing to let her keep trying. Eventually, he has to admit it: he does like her hat.
Although this book was created for beginning readers — my copy includes the seal, “I can read it all by myself,”— I continue to go back to it every couple of years. I re-read it to experience the revelation born from the depiction of an honest and playful interaction between a pink poodle and a yellow hound. I re-read it to admire the primary-colored illustrations, which seem to be entirely missing from my adult world. But mostly, I re-read it for the reward of ending the journey with the unforgettable image in which [spoiler alert] we find all the dogs who were introduced throughout the book gathering for a festive get-together on top of a tree. What joy! What abundance of spirit! As a child, I stared at this dog party illustration for hours. If you have never read Go, Dog. Go! please do so soon.
Watching this year’s June come to life made me feel like I was attending that dog party. Sure, there were sunless Sundays and many afternoons that were not fit for lounging on the deck. There was a weekend where it rained every day, and more than a few dog morning dog walks that required a warm hat. Even so, the colors thrilled, and life literally flew by, in all its tiny and shockingly vibrant forms.
In the garden, mountain laurel blooms peaked out in concentrated, shy bundles, then miraculously opened, cup by cup. The spotty Dotty surprised with an undercover offering (I didn’t know they could do that). The Rodgersia grew fast and tall (literally before my eyes), then hailed their elegant, soft white spikes, fragrant and unabashed. The ever-hardy Euphorbia branched out in delicate constellations of spotted, dainty flowers, mesmerizing the bees. The pink and white peony blossoms looked sweet enough to eat. And yes: the weeds grew too, but I am slowly dealing with all that. During the month of June, I was so thankful for all the good stuff of life that I’m not so upset about the Himalayan blackberries which I have yet to remove. At this point, if you haven’t killed the shrub, you might as well wait a couple of months and enjoy the berries before you do.
On the Champagne Trail
The resident tweenager coyotes, Sundance and Cassidy, whose gaits are becoming ever more graceful, continue to roam. From time to time, their father, Robert Redford, makes an appearance - still fluffy and gorgeous; still red behind the ears. Aurelia the fawn, is a little taller now, but still never far from her mother. The bucks are sporting fresh, velvet antlers. Douglas squirrels franticly scale the conifers and squeak nervously when I walk by with the dog. In the early morning hours, the barred owl’s laments echo across the canopy. The rabbits2 emerge shortly after sunrise and focus on whatever is fresh that day. Bless them for eating the weeds on occasion. One of the trail cameras caught sight of a Pileated woodpecker tackling the remains of a mostly decomposed log, while against all odds, the neighbor’s white-toed cat continues, almost nightly, to saunter along the trail, seemingly unnoticed by hungrier, craftier predators.
The victorious barn swallow couple, who won the real-estate battle to build their nest on the eave next to my bedroom window, have successfully bred and are actively feeding their heirs. I am reminded of this daily at 4:42 a.m. I regret to say that one of the little ones prematurely left the nest, and did not survive the landing. I curse these charming birds as they poop on my house all summer, but am still saddened when one of them doesn’t survive.
When not taking notice of the burgeoning surrounds, I am working on new poems that have been floating around in my headspace for a while. I hope to share at least one or two this summer. I started reading Victoria Chang’s collection of poems, Obit, which I can’t recommend enough. Absolutely stunning writing. I am finally within 20 pages of finishing Absalom, Absalom! I have been on this Faulkner train ride for several months, but it has been worth it. Thank you to whoever left that book in the Little Free Library on Anthes Avenue.
Next week, I will share my latest cocktail recipe called The Czech 77, a new interpretation of the French 75.
Until then, have a safe holiday3 and remember, if you’re going to wear a hat, wear your best one.
Now that I think about it, the pink poodle from this book was likely the subconscious influence for Zsa Zsa the pink poodle in my young adult fiction story, Siren and the Serenade.
Sadly, RHD has hit the local rabbit population in the city of Langley. I really miss seeing all those bundles of fur on my way to work in the morning.
If you have a dog that is sensitive to the sound of fireworks, try the CD, Through a Dog’s Ear. Within minutes of playing this music my pup transforms from a shivering, nervous critter to a calm, resting hound. Sleep, Dog. Dream!