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Category Archives: Halloween

Would you rather: Princess or Demon?

Posted on October 21, 2013 by Donna Black-Sword
Which will it be?  Demon?

So, my friend asks, turning to me during a companion animal nutrition presentation at the office. Which you rather be called? 

Which what? I whisper back. The presenter has been going on about answering the nutritional needs of the lactating feline and canine. Queens, to be using the appropriate terminology for the maternal cat. And of course . . . oh don’t make me say it out loud. You know, a girl dog.  A beech, or something.  Great, now I’m blushing.

Would you rather be a Queen? he clarifies. Or a Beech? 

Oh that. Good question, I say. The apex of personality tests, this query. Taking a moment to ponder the implications of each position of status . . . a queen can govern over man and country, but a beech, well … done properly a beech could quite possibly rule the world.

It’s all about choices, isn’t it?  And motivation. That too.

I think, I say. I would like to be a baroness.  A lady both titled and a landowner. The wealth is implied, right?

Not only is this dialog a for real reenactment, but it continues as a long running conversation among co-workers. Such is the life in the pet food business.  A true story, y’all.

I’m reminded of this conversation, not because there’s a direct link to anything here, but rather it rose above the detritus of my muddled mind as I’m reviewing the photos for this week’s post.

Or princess?

And, as I allow myself the luxury of a deeper thought, perhaps it’s because I offered a similar persona-style choice to Euka in the way of the imaginary world of Halloween.

Ah, the magical and mystical holiday of Halloween, where you can let your creativity flag fly high. That one day where you can go about in confidence that it’s socially acceptable to don the attire of your alter ego. Impress friends and family as a caped super hero or a favorite celebrity? Or go all creepy with a stumbling zombie or toothy vampire? Maybe you can breath new life into that age old debate of which is more awesome – Pirate or Ninja?

Oh hey, what about a princess or a demon?

Which would you rather be?

If nature takes it course as we would expect things to be, Miss Euka will miss the usual autumn festivities here at Sword House this year. I honestly don’t have the energy to go into the drama of it all just now, but clicking on last week’s Story Sunday post, Then this (ugh) happened, can fill you in on our mandatory change of plans for my favorite time of the year.

So after dragging the Halloween costumes from the basement storage, I was rather jazzed to see our little girl had several choices available to fit her small frame. Yet as fast I’m pulling the costumes from the box, I’m dismissing the options just as quickly. I want something to stand up to Euka’s unique personality.

Jager’s old costumes are summarily considered, then set aside. The skunk would likely fit body-wise, but no, it’s not the right look for Euka.  Same with the banana outfit. That one’s a spit take to see Jager sporting, but again, not for our spunky girl.

Hmm, how ’bout the pretty, pretty princess dress? This was Inga’s first Halloween costume and the lovely pup just rocked it. Ok sure, let’s give this a try. I secured the gown’s velco and cinched up the tie to the girly-girl pink and pointed hennin*.  And …

Gads, she looks miserable. Right?  This image was brought to you by the courtesy of Iams biscuits. Nothing less would get that outfit on her.

Fine. I peeled the thing off of her before she could do it herself.

Ok, let’s see what else.  There’s the orc riding Warg from Lord of the Rings. But Jager wants to wear that one all the time.  There’s festive belled collar for the court jester.  That felted wonder was hand-made in a short-lived burst of fine motor skills one Saturday afternoon. And it too was set aside atop the pile of rejections.

And oh yeah. The demon costume.

Alrighty then. On with the cape and devil horns. I’m not surprised to find these all slip on the pup like a second skin.

No squirming. No complaining. And no dog cookies as a bribe.

She so owns this look.

Oh, but what do you think, dear reader?  Do you prefer the princess for our delicate flower?

Or is this spirited personality totally rocking the demon look?

I have a contract for you to sign. Trust me. Here, use my pen.

________________________
*The pointy princess hat is a hennin. I know, I’m such a nerd.  I really need to work out getting on a trivia game show, like Who Wants to be a Millionaire.  Then I could stop this nonsense about dreaming about being a rich baroness and just live the life.

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Then this (ugh) happened

Posted on October 13, 2013 by Donna Black-Sword

Then this happened.

Uh huh, you say. Of course it did, sweetie. Now might you clue us in on what you’re on about now? Because this is making absolutely no sense.  You know that, right?

No no, it’s ok.  I can explain.  Really.

You see, it all started when I was finalizing travel plans with the puppy raiser of Euka’s littermate, Ella, for the following day. This effort of carpooling coordination is worthy of due diligence. Should traffic karma be on our side, the drive to Dublin for the Canine Companions for Independence’s Walk’N Roll fundraiser is darn near an hour and a half.  Or it could take longer if I-70 snarl-ups arise. And those are the times when it’s important to really like your carpool partner.

As a final thought as we close our IM conversation, Maggie says to me so Euka still hasn’t started her heat cycle yet?  Are you sure she’s not already pregnant? When are the puppies due?

I know, right? I’m hoping for Rottweiler Labrador cross, actually, I say.  A Labrottie.  Cuz it sounds like an Italian race car.  Then I make rrr-rrr-rooombaa race car sounds.  Which Maggie can’t hear because we’re IMing.

I’m feeling a “Caption This” post coming on.

This a running joke between us, the puppy due date thing. Our delicate flower, Miss Euka, is the last girl in her litter to, well, become a woman, as they say.  All the girls have either started their first estrus cycle or have finished the process to return to the business of growing up to be service dogs.

Wait just a sec, you say. Not only does that have no connection to the enigmatic photos you keep throwing on here, but what’s this about service dogs in heat? We dedicated readers are all over here thinking you might want to cut back on the cold meds a little.

Ah, yes. I love that word, enigmatic, too. It’s no mystery it makes me rather happy to see you use it, hahaha [snort]. And I appreciate your concern over this nasty cold bug I’m trying so hard not to spread to friends and family. Even though one of you gave it to me first. And I know who you are, buster.

And hang loose here, people.  I’ll tie all this together for you. Just give me a minute willya, sheesh.

About that going into heat thing … Euka and her sisters were selected at birth as possible future breeders of possible future service dogs. I’d love to go on and on about CCI’s stellar breeding program, but after just a few sentences I’d be making things up. I’m simply not that close to it. Let’s just stick with the facts here then.

From CCI’s website:

Best of the Best.  Breeder dogs and their puppies are the foundation of our organization. We carefully select and breed Labrador Retrievers, Golden Retrievers and crosses of the two after an intensive evaluation process.

Our breeding program staff checks each dog’s temperament, trainability, health, physical attributes, littermate trends and the production history of the dam and sire. Only then are the “best of the best” chosen as CCI breeder dogs.

Did you catch that?  Best of the best, y’all.  Now as a possible future breeder, Euka was determined to have the right stuff, genetically speaking, to be considered a candidate for the breeding program.  She will be evaluated as she matures and this assessment will continue after she begins Advanced Training at CCI.

That is, we carry on as normal with this puppy raising business. Because even though she is a candidate, the odds are very much against her. The dogs in the final selection for the breeding program are held to some very high standards. Only a small percentage of potential candidates are selected to make more service dogs for CCI.

And when I say, we puppy raisers are tasked to carry on as normal, what I really mean is exactly that. Until our little girl goes into heat, that is. And then things take a sharp left in the fork of Puppy Raiser Lane.

Ok, heads up. Here’s where we connect all the dots in this story for you. Ready?

Recall that Maggie and I were joking about Labrotties in our IM?  I’m still making stupid race car sounds, when I reach down next to my chair where Euka is napping.  A casual peek just to double-check the status of the girly goods and . . . Maggie? I gotta go. I’ll call you later. 

Growing up on the farm, it was a Rated-R experience when any of our dogs started a heat cycle. We had dogs we’d never seen before visiting our place like it was Discount Day at the brothel or something. And with that psyche damaging childhood experience, I am fully aware of the dangers of Italian race cars.

Nothing to be done about it but deliver Miss Euka to the safety of the CCI regional center. The Spa Experience, we call it.

And because Euka will likely be at the Spa for the next three weeks, we’ll miss her lovely presence at the various and sundry Autumn season festivities. Only my favorite time of year, no big deal. So I’m grieving over the loss of photo ops at the pumpkin farm with Euka. I have to accept there will be no shots of her admidst the painted autumn leaves. No girly girl Halloween costumes.

Wait, what? No costume photos? Oh nuh uh, that ain’t right. I look at the clock. Between the revelation of our situation and getting Euka to the Spa, we only have about two hours of daylight left. But in those two hours?  One of  ’em is the photographer’s favorite.  The Golden Hour of Light.

I’m so getting a Halloween photo of the princess. This will happen. Oh yes, y’all, this will happen.

I have a lot of frames that look pretty
much just like this one.

But yeah, before that happened?  The stuff in the above photos happened. I just wanted a shot of Euka all back lit by the setting sun.  With devil horns on.

And this happened.

I blame the hormones.

She tossed those babies off her head and, with the devil horns clamped in her maw,  proceeded to run about like ….ok, like the devil was hot on her tail.

There’s nothing like a good romp about the yard to drive out the gremlins, wouldn’t you say?  Once the imps were out of her system, things settled down a little.

So, then this could happen.

Ah, a nice back lit golden hour photo of Euka rocking a set of devil horns. That’s all I was after here.  Well, once I lowered my standards some.

I was successful in a couple of other costume shots too. But those photos will have to happen in a later post.

Because right now, people?  I’m missing the little devil girl and I have to go wake Micron up ‘cuz he looks like he needs a hug real bad [sniffle]. And that’s gonna happen next.

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Wordless Wednesday: Who is it? Candygram,ma’am.

Posted on October 31, 2012 by Donna Black-Sword
Land Shark

 Cue the Jaws theme . . .

  • Victim: Yes?
  • Shark: Mrs. Arlsburg?
  • Victim: Who?
  • Shark: Mrs. Barganuke?
  • Victim: Who is it?
  • Shark: Flowers.
  • Victim: Flowers for whom?
  • Shark: Plumber ma’am.
  • Victim: I don’t need a plumber. You’re that clever shark aren’t you
  • Shark: Candygram.
  • Victim: Candygram my foot. You get out of here before I call the police. You’re the shark and YOU know it.
  • Shark: Wait. I’m only a dolphin, ma’am.
  • Victim: A dolphin? Well, okay. (Opens door and screams)

Right, that’s from the infamous SNL Land Shark skit from November 1975. Who remembers watching that live on that Saturday night?  Hey, all you people under 40 can put your hands down now. We know better.

My generation not only was there for this landmark comedy, but we repeated the dialog as a running gag.

Some of have even kept it up for the last 37 years.
 

Candygram, ma’am





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A vengeful spirit

Posted on October 28, 2012 by Donna Black-Sword

Here to serve as comic relief after that ghost story post is Banana Dog. Jager’s snappy costume from a couple of years ago, one in which he agreed to be a good sport about it all.  Here’s my dignity, y’all, says Jager. At least she lets me carry it around on a stick.

But the vengeful little spirit got me back by unloading himself about a half mile into our trick-or-treat walk through the ‘burb.  And so I got to carry a steaming bag of shame all the way back home.  Dang, Jager, I gag out. What’d ya eat for dinner tonight, a possum or something? 

And anyway, I continue as a family with a Sponge Bob kid gives us a wide berth. You went before we even left our yard.

Nanner nanner, says Jager.

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Ghosts in the walls

Posted on October 28, 2012 by Donna Black-Sword

Now keep in mind that older houses make noises, explains my mom. They creak and moan, but it’s just the sounds of the house settling. I don’t want you to get scared when you hear weird things.

We nod at this new information. My sister and I were at the terribly impressionable ages of eight and nine, my brother just a babe in arms, when we were plucked from our cozy ranch house in the ‘burbs. After moving from one platted neighborhood to the next, and changing schools three times, the rents had bought a small farm in the country. A few furrowed acres of neighbor buffer, a rutted gravel lane and the pre-civil war farmhouse that became our final childhood home. 

The house was indeed aged. Built up from the original rough hewn log cabin, it was two stories of living space with a dirt floor cellar. Questionable fuse-style wiring brought us electrical power and we relied on the wood stove in the kitchen as our primary heat source in the winter months.  The outhouse was a two-seater affair, so we were livin’ large there.

Ah, just kidding. Kind of. We really did have a two-seater outhouse, but it was just for showing off.  There was plumbing in the house, in both the kitchen and the single bathroom.  Do note that the important adjective of modern  is woefully missing before the word plumbing. The ancient well pump was dependable not at all. But we could count on the kitchen pipes freezing every winter.

Ok, ok, it wasn’t this bad.
Yet, looking at this photo does bring up a twinge of nostalgia.

And yeah, those creaks and moans. Like the old house was arthritic with its knees popping as it settled. And Mom’s advise was only effective during daylight hours. In the dark of night with the nearest neighbor much further than a B-movie scream away, things could get a little creepy.

My bedroom was upstairs and built directly over the log cabin. Even without a strong wind to help, sounds would come from the very walls like a mournful spirit, only to end their sad song with a sharp snapping noise. The hell with restless spirits, I think now as an adult. I realize now the flippin’ house was probably just one “monkeys jumping on the bed” game away from imploding upon itself.

Anyway, one particular summer evening was a night of restlessness for the old homestead. The walls were humming their usual benign sad song, when a thunderclap of a SNAP jolts me awake. I open my eyes and let them adjust to the darkness. A quick scan of the room to be sure everything is still as it should be. Turns out to be a big mistake, that decision.

I see the rocking chair across from my sleepy self and what?  I blink hard. But no, there it is. A face in the chair. No outline of a body, but merely a man’s face, middle-aged, weathered by the sun.  Dark eyes fixed on me. Was he watching me sleep? I can actually see the painted design of the back of the rocking chair behind this apparition.

Remember when you were little and scared of monsters under the bed?  Did you ever hold yourself real still and think if you don’t move a muscle the monster will either not know you’re there, or if it does know, it will think you’re maybe already dead?  And Monster Code dictates that there’s no glory in menacing dead folk, so you’re completely safe, right?

Ok, that same coping skill works for see-through ghost heads in rocking chairs. I slammed my eyes shut so tight I saw stars. One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi . . . how long does one wait for a ghost to disappear?  There’s a fire alarm blaring a red alert in my panicked noggin. What seemed like thirty minutes, but was more likely fifteen seconds, I squinted one eye open to look again. And it’s gone. Good thing too, because by then I needed to use the bathroom something bad.

I know, I know. The imagination is a powerful thing. And I was just a kid. The story is true and based on my memory, so much so that I could describe the image right down to the deep lines in its forehead. But you know, back then I loved to read the creepy comic books of the ’70’s like The Witching Hour and Eerie. So yeah, my brain is hard-wired to enjoy a stroll on the creepy side of things. I might have even been tempted to go the Goth route back then, but Gold Circle didn’t have have that kind of cutting edge fashion. So I agree, this close encounter with the spiritual realm was all likely a remnant of a child’s waking dream.

Sure, now what about the little kid in the Dutchboy haircut that would look out from the living room window?  Now everybody saw that kid’s apparition. Who’s that little boy, visitors to the farm would ask.  We don’t know his name, was our answer. Hard to explain that one off, folks

The farmhouse is gone now. Weeds have overgrown to allow merely a mention of where the foundation still lies. Our childhood home, those walls that witnessed our family history of coming of age and teenage drama that only girls can manage. The walls that moaned as we eventually grew our wings to leave the nest are lost to their own history. Now when we drive past and look across the fields to see where the big white house used to stand tall above the corn, so far back from the road, I wonder. 

Where do ghosts go when the walls are gone?

The red arrow is where the house once stood. The yellow arrow is the nearest road. A quarter mile of gravel lane separates the two arrows.  Take a moment to appreciate the solitude, the privacy, the flippin’  walk to catch the school bus.

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