07 November 2007 ~ 26 July 2022

The Blue Crew lost our dear Django at 11:00 a.m. on 26 July, just three months shy of his fifteenth birthday.

Django or DJ or The Duke—as he walked proudly and distinctively like John Wayne–was the second rescue for our pack. With precious Sophie Blue at middle age and seeming to want company, Pinky combed the internet for Huskies. Finally, one morning in Seattle, a posting spoke to her. Petfinder listed a mother and litter of puppies available near Redding, California. The photo was of a beautiful female, a good marketing image, but not available. The pack had been abandoned at a foreclosed property in Southern California, saved by an Angel Society, taken to a shelter in Hollywood, then shuttled to a Samoyed Rescue in Northern California.

We loaded the Magic Bus for a round-trip to Redding, a long haul we could drive in one day each way. Calling our contact from Redding, we learned the shelter was another good drive west in Cottonwood. We opted to make the final leg in the morning through the deep environment of marijuana agriculture and abandoned road construction equipment. The shelter was a scam, and the place was a dump, though the litter was real—two boys, Itchy and Scratchy, and their sister, Saruh.

Watching the boys play, we selected Itchy. After paying a hefty sum for a de-worming, microchip, and care the shelter (which clearly was a side hustle) provided, we loaded the white bundle of fur with blue eyes into a crate and headed north. When contacting the microchip company to update the contact, we learned we had chosen Scratchy.

Django received his handle from his constant shuttles from shelter to shelter, a reference to Django Reinhardt, the amazing Gypsy jazz guitarist. Skyy was added for the blue-bottled Vodka we use in our occasional martini: Django Skyy Blue.

Django settled right in and added a lot to our pack. Sophie was dubious of his toothbrush and suitcase and wondered at first why we needed the little guy. But, she was accepting, and in her regal and aloof style taught him manners. Django went from gawky to elegant and handsome. He liked the Seattle neighborhood but was always up to the long car ride to our home in Hailey, Idaho. Our “boy with the waggity tail” made many friends, hiked, played, walked daily, slept near us, ate homemade dinners and treats, and learned to be himself in the orbit of Sophie. We were a good pack, always together, only apart for human travel.

For context, an explanation of the evolution of the Blue Crew: After constant travel in the mid-1990s, we settled and decided to rescue a canine companion. Awaiting opening hours at PAWS near Seattle, a young girl approached with a baby in one arm and a puppy in the other. She had purchased the puppy in the parking lot of a department store, but her mother was adamant that she could not keep the little white fur ball. Pinky remarked that the puppy had blue eyes and big ears, just like The Colonel. So, that puppy never entered the shelter, but into the hands of loving amateurs. We studied and learned fast. She was a mix of Husky and Samoyed—a SiberSam—whose photo framed the month of July in the 2003 Petshelter Network calendar and was one of the most beautiful dogs imaginable. As Huskies resemble the wolf, we selected the name, Sophie, after Peggy’s cousin Sophie Wolf. Blue, a rejected option for her name, was added for her brilliant blue eyes, Sophie Blue Wolf.

As Sophie aged, Django became confused. He was comfortable following her alpha personality and seemed reluctant to accept promotion in the pack. Then, at age fifteen, we lost beloved Sophie in the same sunroom and house where Django passed. A month later, we picked up the Idaho Mountain Express to read the memorial we submitted for Sophie and found the entire front page splashed with a photo of Django. We had submitted a shot Pinky took of Django sprawling on our bed for the annual Valley Pets issue, and the news staff unanimously selected it as the first-place winner. It was as if DJ was doing a proper send-off of his late sister.

Django, too, accepted a new sibling when we rescued our latest Husky, Mascoutah Blue, a puppy mill survivor. We were compelled to save the little girl from near where Pinky was raised in Belleville, Illinois. Now it was Django’s turn to grow up, and he calmly sat as we opened up the airline crate to let out this puppy who flew from St. Louis to Salt Lake City. Mascoutah was named for a little Southern Illinois town whose high school sports team was the wild Mascoutah Indians. (They still retain that mascot, although politically incorrect). It was as if she knew her namesake as she jumped out, spun a few times, and tore after Django. They played for hours, and we knew the pack was reinvigorated. She, too, inherited the moniker Blue for her eyes.

Django had a good pack, canine and human, and was busy, curious, and keen for almost any adventure. He traveled between homes and showed eagerness for a sniffari when we pulled into either driveway. He played vigorously, often showing off his wheels in wide, fast circles of joy. Racing to catch up with us at Adam’s Gulch in Ketchum, a woman once shouted: “Lookout, he’s coming in hot!”  He slowed as he aged but was always a Husky—stubborn and highly vocal.

Some years ago, he blew a knee in a hind leg and needed TPLO surgery by fabled Dr. Acker, a right-of-passage for dogs in the Wood River Valley. He had a slow but good recovery. However, Django’s neurological affliction in his lower spine could not be so easily fixed, and over the last several years, he became weaker and less mobile. We had no reasonable option except to keep him comfortable. We dealt with his lack of mobility, and he accepted our help while also letting us know that he was all in with the pack and had no plans to go anywhere. Our guardianship of Django continued, and he showed every evidence of understanding. He wanted to be with us, even in his weakened state. In this nurturing, we bonded even more with our dear boy.

Over his last few days, we were alert to Django’s lack of interest, wanting only to rest in the shade in his Hailey backyard. He struggled to get up, even with our assistance. Finally, when he stopped eating, we knew he accepted the end, and when he turned away from his ice water, we knew he had only hours on this earth. Pinky slept in the sunroom with Django, and The Colonel stayed with a confused Mascoutah in the bedroom. This was to be Django’s last night. We could tell in the morning that his breathing was irregular. Yet, with his wide-open eyes, he seemed to focus on his home and its memories. We smoothed Django’s beautiful coat and talked him through his last breath.

Yes, we who deeply love our dog companions often have reason to know the final signs, but nothing can fully prepare us for the separation. We are now in that dark tunnel of grief, sadness, and confusion of processing this profound change after almost fifteen years of love and friendship.

We kept him active, healthy, and happy, offering what we owed in the contract humans unofficially make with our beloved companions. They give us love in its purest form and only ask for shelter, food, water, and our love in return.

The strength of the Husky is the pack; the strength of the pack is the Husky.

On June 16, 1858, at the statehouse in Springfield, Illinois, the Repubican delegatess selected Abraham Lincoln as their candidate for the U.S. Senate.  His opponent would be the Democrat Stephen A. Douglas in an historic race.  Accepting his nomination, Lincoln gave what is widely considered one of this country’s great speeches, featuring the much quoted “A house divided cannot stand” theme.  Lincoln is remembered for his grasp of language and oratory in handling great issues and historic events.  One can only wonder how he would stand up to accept a Golden Globe.

Imagine an acceptance corrupted by vanity and inanity….as at the Golden Globe Awards ceremony. With apologies to Mr. Lincoln and his brilliant and courageous “house divided” speech.

“…..Gentlemen of the Convention.

If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could then better judge what to do, and how to do it.…A house divided against itself cannot stand.”

I accept this great honor with respects to my one room schoolhouse, the builder, the teacher, the janitor, the candles by which I read, the candle maker, the rails I split, the hardware store where I bought my long-handle ax, and, of course, my long-suffering wife Mary, not to mention…..

Tonight we will chill a bottle of Champagne and toast the prospects of the incoming New Year. Many others around the world will do the same. If the last year was difficult, one can toast to its ending, if all the chips are on your side of the table, well, toast your good fortune. Regardless, we can all toast the incoming year as an expression of hope. Our beverage will be a vintage Gabriel et Fils, a fine Champagne for the occasion, but we will talk more about Champagne in another posting.

This day is the third anniversary of our loss of beloved Sophie Blue Wolf, our Husky mix companion of more than 15 years. Although this day is melancholy for us, we will enjoy the bubbly and so many memories of this wondrous dog.

Years ago, considering once again bringing a dog into the family after years without, we visited a popular rescue shelter near our Seattle home. It was closed when we arrived, but just before leaving, a young girl approached with a puppy under one arm, and a baby in the other. She explained she purchased the puppy the day before, but there was no room in her mother’s apartment and she had to give it away. She wondered if we wanted it; we did not hesitate, though it was a sad and abrupt transition. Our lives changed immediately, and we drove to a nearby pet store for supplies with a small piglet-like puppy asleep in an empty Xerox box in the backseat. The fact we knew little about breeds, and had no idea of the requirements of a Husky as a companion, was just one of a number of issues in our long and exceptional learning curve.

When this piglet emerged from her little box, it seemed no more than days than she morphed into the most beautiful dog anywhere. Her combination of Siberian Husky and Samoyed captured the best in both breeds. Her architecture was perfect, her stature regal, the magnificent white coat fit for the red carpet, with blue eyes that could start a campfire. She had a Husky independence, even aloofness, but a strong affection for humans. Here was a dog selected from a scruffy litter of pups at a discount store parking lot who believed she was royalty. She was and that is how she lived her long life.

Sophie was with us nearly every hour of all those years of her life. She traveled from the beaches of the Pacific to the shores of the Atlantic and the Gulf, wading in most of the major rivers and visiting many of the national parks along the way. She attended business meetings, sleeping under the boardroom table, and would stand in line at breaks for refreshments. Sophie had abundant friends in the Seattle neighborhood and along the trails of the Wood River Valley, canine and human, though she seemed to favor the humans.

Beloved Sophie had a grand life, though she suffered a variety of setbacks in her final years. As she went blind and lame, she continued to communicate to us how important was her pack, both immediate and extended. She wanted to continue on and she did, pushing against limited mobility to take short walks and spend time with those she loved. She died quietly on her bed in the sunroom of the Idaho house with Pinky resting at her side. The Colonel, awakened suddenly from deep sleep, joined the passing, drawn somehow by the powerful spirit of this amazing animal.

So it is that we will throw back some bubbly and salute our beautiful girl on this evening, just three years from her passing–three years during which we have thought about her every day. Her siblings Django Skyy Blue, who adored Sophie, and new rescue Mascoutah Blue, both white Huskies in her image, will join us.

Cheers and Happy New Year.

A cherished book in the Tipsy Table library.

Our favorite Mickster turns 86 today. No, not Mr. Jagger, but The Little Big Man, Mickey Mouse. What age is that in mouse years?

It seems today’s journalism is 30 of this and 20 of that, so today Tipsy Table celebrates MouseMan’s 8th decade with 8 trivia facts that may surprise you about The Real Mick:

• It is rumored that Walt Disney was afraid of mice, but remained sympathetic to the small creatures.
• Mortimer was his original name, but Walt’s wife Lillian suggested the change to Mickey, after one of her friends Mickey Rooney.
• Mickey is notorious for the three-finger discount—throughout the years the studio saved a mouse-zillion dollars in the time it would have taken artists to draw that fourth finger.
• Mickey’s ears always appear round, no matter what the angle, and always face forward.
• 

  Macy’s Parade, 1934. Photo courtesy William J. Crawford.

  Early artists of at Walt Disney Studios found it amusing to draw caricatures of Mickey and hide the “spots” in other Disney films. The game of finding the famous mouse continues in all the Disney theme parks. Check out the fun at http://findingmickey.squarespace.com /

• Mickey’s first spoken words were “Hot Dogs!” in the 1929 short “Karnival Kid.”
• Mickey was the first cartoon character awarded a star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame in 1978.
• The Big Guy first appeared in the Macy’s Santa Claus Parade on 29 November, 1934. He boasted 25 handlers–more than Justin Bieber has today.

1st class British stamp issued March 2014.

Today, 27 October,  marks the 100^th birthday of the magnificent Welsh poet Dylan Thomas. Born in 1914 in Swansea this gifted man of letters died much too early at the age of 39 in New York on 9 November 1953. Dylan had the gift of language at an early age and knew it, writing good poetry as a teen and publishing a book of poems in his twenties. He lived fast and worked relentlessly, producing great works that were made to be read aloud, which he did so well. Dylan Thomas experienced much darkness in his short life, fought against depression, suffered severe alcoholism, and moved frequently to avoid debt. He was comforted throughout his abbreviated life by women, his art, and benefactors who recognized his genius.

Critics can make a case against Dylan, his self-destructive character, the alcohol abuse, and ultimately the waste of a rare talent. But, who can question anyone who can characterize himself as a “roistering, drunken and doomed poet” and then write the following about life and death:

And death shall have no dominion.

Dead man naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion.

1^st verse from “And Death Shall Have No Dominion” by Dylan Thomas

The album cover of our prized Under Milk Wood L.P.

Tipsy Table has a special affection for Dylan Thomas and his work. We are the proud owners of a Caedmon LP of the incomparable verse for voices piece “Under Milk Wood.” Dylan holds forth in his celebrated voice on this album and it is a masterpiece that tonight we will listen to again.

We were pleased to find that Swansea, on the banks of the River Tawe, is home to The Dylan Thomas Centre.

From the Centre’s website:

The Dylan Thomas Centre, photo courtesy Gareth Lovering.

Built in the 1830’s, the Centre was once Swansea’s Guildhall, and later a Technical College.

When Swansea was chosen to host the UK Year of Literature and Writing 1995, the opportunity was taken to refurbish this splendid old building (which had, sadly, fallen into disrepair) as the National Literature Centre. Under its Welsh name Ty Llen – literally House of Literature – it was opened in 1995 by US President Jimmy Carter and the late Trevor Gordon Burtonshaw (Leader of the Council), as the major venue for Festival events.

The Centre was re-named the Dylan Thomas Centre in 1998 after the opening of ‘I in my Intricate Image’, an exhibition of the life and work of Dylan on permanent display.

Today, the poet’s 100th birthday, the Centre celebrates the grand opening of the new exhibition funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund.

http://www.dylanthomas.com/exhibition/

We also recommend listening to the many audios that are available of his work as read by Sir Richard Burton who, if possible, is an even better voice for these precious pieces. We have checked out A Child’s Christmas in Wales from The Seattle Public Library, which can be found on-line as read by the author. Later in the holiday season, we will find a copy, pour a hot cup of tea (a whiskey is also a good companion, but just one) get comfortable in front of the fireplace and enjoy this masterpiece.

Click the link to listen to Sir Richard Burton reading Rev. Eli Jenkins’ Prayer from Under Milk Wood.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgMRD84MTQY

Last week was the National Humane Education Society’s Wolf Awareness Week. NHES is a compassionate organization that has designated days, weeks and months of thoughtful attention to the humane treatment of animals. This group also selects October as “Appreciate Vegetables Month.” How can one go wrong with that?

The twelve founding principles of the organization focus on opposing cruelty to animals in fighting sports, trapping, and unnecessary hunting, while also reducing overpopulation through sterilization, rescue and shelter, and even advises on best practices for euthanizing. They sum up well with their principle 12:

2. To recognize in animals their capacity for friendship and their need of friends. To befriend all Earth’s creatures, of the land, the sea and the air; to defend them against ravages by mankind; and to inspire in human beings compassion for all.

From the NHES posting: “This year, National Wolf Awareness Week (October 12-18) is especially important as lawmakers struggle over the fate of wolves in the northern Rockies.”

NHES inspires us this season when hunting and trapping are considered some kind of constitutional right, even so codified in some states such as Idaho. The State of Idaho’s House Joint Resolution 2AA and related legislation supported a constitutional amendment to protect “the right of every person in Idaho to hunt, fish and trap.” Don’t neglect that last word “trap.” It appears these legislators neglect to read NHES principles “3. To strive to abolish cruel trapping” and “4. To discourage hunting, especially as a sport.”

In this poor state of Idaho affairs, the few remaining wolves are getting lots of attention. From the Governor down through the ranks, a slaughter of hunters in their faux military camouflage outfits, with high-powered assault rifles sardine into their fume- spewing, off-road vehicles and, with a tipple or two of manly Bourbon, set out to trash the environment and hopefully kill something, almost anything, in order to rid the region of the despised wolves. Sadly, that is less an exaggeration than it should be. It doesn’t even approach a characterization. It is all too real.

Tipsy Table heartily endorses the recognition of this National Wolf Awareness Week and we are enthusiastic to join in with the small but determined group in this least educated of states to say “we appreciate the wolf.” Our library includes wonderful and beautifully illustrated books on wolves by naturalists including Barry Lopez and Farley Mowat. In the Sawtooth Range of Idaho, Jim Dutcher has published meaningful research, lived near wolf packs, and produced informative videos. We see these books on coffee tables of friends and acquaintances, so we do know some in this valley understand and appreciate these wild animals. Why then has, throughout western history, the wolf been a target for exploitation, literally and figuratively?

The wolf is, for a variety of reasons, the Rodney Dangerfield of wild animals. It does not get the respect it deserves as a key agent in environmental balance. Schools in Minnesota teach a course in animal ecology that explains the role of wolves as top predators in the boreal balance, carefully illustrating how the wolf keeps animal populations in a sustainable balance. Perhaps it is a good time to include this course format in all schools, or at least those in states that still have a science curriculum.

Throughout past decades, even while packs were being eliminated in all regions of the country, traveling exhibits on wolves attracted large crowds at museums and community centers everywhere. We are certain that if there were a national election, wolves would defeat wolf killers by a landslide. Yet, what has occurred is another instance of the well armed minority destroying wildlife. We find this beautiful animal hunted, trapped, poisoned, and killed for no good reason other than a fictionalized justification.

The big bad wolf, the wolf man, and vampire-like folklore, mischaracterize Canis lupus as an orange-eyed, bloodthirsty, ravenous threat to the village. This fantasy played well into the competition early hunters and trappers felt in this country. The wolf pelt was prized as much for its trophy as its warmth. Earlier this year, the State of Idaho hired snipers in helicopters to kill seven wolves in the Frank Church—River of No Return Wilderness Area. Currently hunters in Salmon ID are petitioning to hold a Wolf and Coyote Killing Derby, on public lands, held over three days each January for the next five years.   As human hunter and trapper prevail in the wild, we can be sure the ecological balance will be disrupted, and it has. Oh, and don’t forget that Idaho, a state strapped for funding public education, somehow found money in the budget to hire these sharpshooters.

In Idaho, these intelligent wild animals are blamed for everything from cattle predation, to kidnapping and eating of children, even to the occasional loss by the Boise State University football team. If the weather is bad or the stock market is down, well, blame it on the wolves. Forget the fact that these animals have solid family values and there are few (if any) same-sex marriages, just consider that they are rampaging everywhere and must be killed. So, we say, hey, stop a moment, think about these beautiful creatures of the wild, and Cry for the Wolf.