Excused Lame

To Navasota this weekend for the Brazos Valley KC shows:  as pleasant a drive as can be imagined with the wildflowers beginning to bloom and, as a contrast to the coastal plain, rolling hills in Waller and Grimes counties with ranches on either side of the road featuring new calves and foals.  Our own little part of Kentucky here in Texas.

These were Ilya’s first shows since the 2009 BCOA National Specialty (which was his first show).  Although a big, imposing dog with a nice body, his inexperience in the ring showed and he placed second in a class of two both days.  Brother Dutch was Best of Breed both days for six more points to his Grand Championship; with 24 points he needs but one.

Nothing in the group either day, not with Brian Livingstone’s Pharaoh Hound and Gerry Thornton’s Saluki there.  Looking back at Lacey’s show record, she didn’t pick up her first group placement until she was well past three years old.  Dutch just turned three in January and still has some maturing to do as well as acquiring the winning attitude that made his aunt such as success in the ring.

Brothers Dutch and Ilya are remarkably closely matched in size, structure and coloring (amazingly so for Borzoi), so my lovely bride will be showing them as a brace at the BCOA National Specialty next month.  She was in Louisville last week judging an Otterhound sweepstakes and while there she had Mike McCartney run us up a caricature of the two with my lovely bride trying to keep up.

A true miscarriage of justice in Houston:

A woman who pleaded guilty in the shooting death of her husband and was sentenced to probation on Friday after reaching a deal with prosecutors is now telling her side of the story.

Charlene Hill shot her husband Danny Hill on Nov. 14, 2006 in their Richmond home.

For two trials Hill claimed self defense. In the first trial, the jury hung 11 to 1; and during the second trial Hill agreed to plead guilty an instant before the jury told the judge they had found her guilty unanimously.

Hill, whose case became a courtroom drama that hit national news magazines, maintains she was abused for nearly 30 years by her husband, an ex-con. Hill received probation and 600 hours community service, with no prison time.

Unfortunately, Mr. Hill was not available to tell his side of the story.  Like the Mary Winker case, a woman murders her husband and then says that it was in “self defense” due to spousal abuse.  Might be true but it also might not.  There might be other motivations (greed, financial mismanagement, etc.).

In any case the husband isn’t around to defend himself.  The ya-ya sisterhood rallies around the poor widder woman.  A light sentence – maybe not even jail time! – is handed down for a crime that a man would go if not to the death chamber then to the clink for the rest of his natural days.  Could he claim spousal abuse (more common than you’d think if you only watched the Lifetime channel)?  As though anyone would believe it!

Revolting, in a word.

Last summer we took in four rescued Borzoi, one from the Houston area (quickly re-homed) and three from Oklahoma, two bitches and a neutered male.  The three Oklahoma rescues were in terrible shape when we got them:  rotten teeth, black with flea dirt, badly matted, suffering from skin problems and full of parasites.  While not starved, they were all undersized and clearly suffered from malnutrition.  They all went directly to our vet’s for treatment:  the girls were spayed, their coats were cut off, any bad teeth extracted, vaccinations given and tests run for heartworm.

The male, whom we called Smoke, was the very worst off temperamentally.  At the vet’s, he tried to hide under chairs and benches or in cubbyholes.  He lay flat to the ground and wouldn’t raise his head to look us in the face.  We have no doubt he was abused by a man since he would have nothing to do with me.  Never had we seen such a woebegone, defeated dog.

When the rescues came home, we set them up in large, comfortable crates in the breakfast area off the kitchen.  Smoke was given a crate nearest the traffic so that he would become accustomed to our comings and goings.  A nearby door gave quick access to an exercise pen outside.  Smoke would huddle in a corner and not want to come out but my lovely bride, whom all animals implicitly trust, was able to coax him out.

All the rescues had unlimited access to food and water.  One of them – Nethie, a bouncy, happy girl – thought she’d hit the jackpot; her head was always in a food bucket.  In the morning and evening I’d fix a meal of kibble and canned meat for them.  I and only I would feed Smoke.  The television in the next room was usually tuned to the Baseball Channel so that Smoke would hear mostly male voices in a comfortable, non-threatening environment.

Smoke never became outgoing but he learned to trust even me not to harm him.  One of the girls, Ahnor, went to a new home in Florida and Smoke and Nethie went out to the kennel.  Smoke was in the same pen as Alan, who basically ignored him.  He lay on his hammock and, if not outwardly happy, at least lived a tranquil life.  He would even bound off his bed to come to the gate when I handed out evening treats.

On Sunday, Smoke went to his new home here in the Houston area.  He’ll get to live in a house with a couple of rescued Afghans and a brace of rescued Italian Greyhounds.  His new owner has given him the name of Stan and says that while he’s unsure he’s settling in without major incident.

Good luck and God bless, Stan.  You deserve it.

My lovely bride is in New York today for the Westminster Kennel Club show.  She was handling Dutch and, while the Beeg Boy didn’t get any awards, he made every cut to the last.  Quite impressive considering that Dutch was among the youngest of the entries.  He’s at least a year away from being truly competitive at the breed/group level so while this isn’t everything we could have gotten, it’s about what we might have expected at the best.

The judge, Espen Engh, was kind enough to ask my lovely bride whether Lacey was still alive.  Mr. Engh gave Lacey her last and greatest Best of Breed win at the 2006 Borzoi Club of America National Specialty.

Congratulations to Casper (Best of Breed), Annie (Best of Opposite) and to Gennady, Sean and Mandalay Bay (Awards of Merit).

Historically, Westminster has combined the spacious comfort of the Black Hole of Calcutta with the hospitality of the Bataan Death March.  This year, I understand, was even worse.  There are renovations taking place at Madison Square Garden and the usual benching wasn’t used.  Not mentioned in the premium list was that all dogs have to be crated instead of being allowed to lounge freely at their designated spot.  This created something of a panic as our party had only two crates for four dogs.

As well, I was watching the Red Wings – Rangers game yesterday afternoon and suddenly realized it was being played at MSG.  So along with desperate exhibitors trying to get set up under conditions even more crowded than usual there were hockey fans wandering around.

Something really should be done about this.  The Westminster Kennel Club isn’t some impoverished club just getting by, it’s the most prestigious and wealthiest club in America.  Why conditions have to be so unnecessarily miserable for exhibitors is a mystery.  Don’t expect the dog press to be concerned as they’re too busy going to glam parties to think much about it:  “Pity about the lower classes… Something should be done… Yes, I’ll have some more champagne…”

Actually it’s from last week, but where else would it be than the New York Times?  From Wen Stephenson’s review of Mark Hertsgaard’s Living Through the Next Fifty Years on Earth:

The American social context too often remains the largest obstacle, Hertsgaard observes, not only to adaptation at home but to cutting emissions globally. It’s not clear how to change this, but an honest, urgent, grown-up national conversation — beginning in Washington — would be a start.

When someone of the Left urges a “national conversation” they don’t really mean a two-way discussion of an issue.  What they want is a show trial where they dictate the ground rules and then deliver a lecture that their opponents must only agree with.

Well, as a AGW skeptic (or a “denialist” to use the Left’s term) here are my questions that should be answered in this “honest, urgent, grown-up national conversation”:

• Are temperatures across the globe increasing?  What are the measurement methods used and are they robust and reliable?  Are the data open to all?
• If global temperatures are increasing, are they within or outside historical variations?  How are those historical variations measured?
• If global temperatures are increasing, what dangers and what benefits might result?
• If global temperatures are increasing, what are all the possible explanations – natural, astronomical and anthropogenic – and to what extent to these contribute?
• If global temperatures are increasing, will the increase continue linearly, exponentially or are there natural corrective mechanisms that will moderate the increase?
• If global temperatures are increasing, is it better to adapt to it or act to try to correct it?
• What is the ideal temperature we should want the planet to be?
• If there are corrective changes to be made, what are they, who will be affected and to what extent?
• If, after we undertake corrective changes, global temperatures continue to increase, what would that say about the original AGW hypothesis?

Of course, none of that will come up in our “honest, urgent, grown-up national conversation.”  The narrative has already been written:

• Global temperatures are increasing!
• Mankind is responsible!  Well, not all mankind.  Not those poor Third Worlders, nor China or India.
• The West is responsible!  Well, not the Europeans; they’ve issued bold memoranda and held heroic meetings on the problem.
• The Americans are responsible!  Well, not all of them; after all, the Left has made sympathetic noises about the problem and we wouldn’t want to deny them their trips to exotic locales to discuss it.
• Then it’s Republicans that are responsible!  Yes, that’s it!  Republicans!

One of our clubs, the Fort Bend Kennel Club, had its shows this weekend.  Dutch was Best of Breed both days, picking up more points toward his grand championship.  On Saturday we were surprised and delighted when the Beeg Boy went Group 3 under Pat Trotter for his first group placement.

Dutch’s sister Carmen was entered on Sunday.  She thoroughly misbehaved out of sheer exuberance.  I could see that the judge really wanted to give her Winners but when she acted like that I wasn’t surprised in the least when she was Reserve.

Well, all of that may be unfortunate but we’ve had some brighter news on the show scene.

Dutch, the Beeg Boy, finished his championship at the Cen-Tex KC shows in Alvarado in late November by going Best of Breed over specials under Michael Loller; he may now be styled Ch. Soyara’s The Flying Dutchman.  Dutch is the first of our Virago x Faith kids to finish.  Now on to brother Ilya.

In addition, Knight finished his Grand Championship in early December at the Conroe KC show under Pat Murphy.  Knight is the first of our dogs to obtain the new Grand Champion title.

Both these boys are entered at Westminster in February.  We’re sure they’ll do us proud.

I’ve noted my distaste for how oblivious Toy dog owners are with respect to how their little charges affect larger dogs.  This attitude has now struck home.

My lovely bride had an accident three weeks ago while up in Dallas for dog shows.  She was at the hotel exercising Dutch when out of a side entrance burst a mob of little yappy Chinese Cresteds.  Dutch bolted toward the road and while Prudence was trying to reel him in on his long flexi-leash, the cord somehow became wrapped around the tip of the little finger on her right hand and severed it.

With 1) dog and 2) fingertip in hand she returned to the lobby and imperturbably requested the clerk call 911.  Luckily a fellow Borzoi exhibitor (also an RN) was in the lobby having breakfast; she stayed with Prudence until the paramedics came, got Dutch put back up in the van, secured Prudence’s valuables and called me.

Fortunately, Southwest has hourly flights between Houston Hobby (near our house) and Dallas Love Field (near the hotel).  I got the news at 7:30 AM, showered, dressed and got to the airport to catch the 9:00 flight, was at the hotel a little after 10:00 to take care of poor Dutch (who was in a tizzy) and clear the room out and got to Parkland Memorial Hospital by 11:00.  I also had to go to the show site to collect all of our equipment there.

Meanwhile at the hospital, Prudence got the bad news that reattaching her fingertip was not possible. Attempting to save as much of the little finger as possible, doctors joined the little finger and ring finger together and grafted skin from her arm to cover the fingertip. Even though she was assured by the doctors that the surgery would take an hour, recovery time another hour and she’d be released by mid-afternoon, she didn’t go into surgery until 2:00, surgery took four hours, recovery another five hours and another hour was wasted with hospital bureaucracy trying to get prescriptions filled.  John F. Kennedy actually is still alive, he’s just trying to get released from Parkland.

Finally at midnight we left for a five-hour drive home.  By the time we got down to Houston, I was literally having hallucinations.  Bless their hearts, the house dogs left only one small puddle despite being confined for 24 hours. For more than one reason, they were overjoyed to see us.

My lovely bride’s right hand and arm are bandaged to the elbow. She still has limited use of her other hand because the IV site the paramedics established in her hand infiltrated and instead of going into the vein, most of the fluid ran into the muscle so her hand is grotesquely swollen. There’s a five-inch scar on her arm from where they took skin for the graft.  The ventilation tube they used for the anesthesia was too big for her throat, so that was bruised too.  All the other medically-induced bruises scattered around her body were too numerous to mention. She’s spent the last three weeks at home; fortunately Vicodin has worked well. 

Next week, she’ll have to undergo another round of surgery to separate the two fingers.  In the meantime, I’ve been her nurse, chauffeur, cook, secretary and kennel help.

We’re trying to look on the bright side of this:  10% discount on manicures in the future!

A happy 1/1/11 (as well as 1/2/11 to 12/31/11) from the Hounds of Soyara:

• Diva (BISS Ch. Soyara’s Beautiful Dreamer)
• Alan (Ch. Soyara’s Singer of Songs Esar)
• Honey (Ch. Soyara’s Magnolia Honey Esar)
• Belle (Ch. Soyara’s Southern Belle Esar)
• Ali (Ch. Soyara’s The Force of Destiny)
• Smudge (Ch. Soyara’s Smoke and Mirrors)
• Sarge (Ch. Soyara’s Ace of Spades)
• Tess (Ch. Soyara’s Cunning Little Vixen)
• Knight (GCh. Soyara’s Sir Agravaine Ex Libris)
• Stanley (Soyara’s Gandalf of Dana Dan)
• Chance (Soyara’s Against All Odds)
• Dutch (Ch. Soyara’s The Flying Dutchman)
• Ilya (Soyara’s Ilya Murometz)
• Carmen (Soyara’s Carmen Fantasy)
• Aida (Soyara’s Celeste Aida)

Plus Talker the Whippet and Fluffy (God, what a name!) the cat.

I went to get a haircut at lunchtime today and, as the car was low on gas, decided to get it filled up at the adjacent Kroger fuel stop.

In the usual course of things I prefer not to use Kroger gas to fill my tank.  One reason is that I prefer to leave the 10¢ a gallon discount for my lovely bride to use in the van.  As she had taken my car to the airport and I had the van, I decided to take advantage of the discount; besides, the windows were opaque and needed a cleaning.  The second, more sinister reason I prefer not to use Kroger is the clientele.  Today’s debacle was an illustration.

As usual, I pulled up behind someone who was just starting the refilling process.  Having finished a leisurely cell phone call, a female with the approximate shape of a sewer lid (he said ungallantly) ponderously debouched from the command center of her SUV and waddled over to the pump to fill her tank.  Bewildered by the extreme complexity of the payment process, she stared at the screen a good long while, pulled at her lipid-filled chin after several unsuccessful attempts to use a plastic card and eventually gave up and laboriously tottered over to the kiosk for assistance.  Much time passed.

Eventually, Our Little Genius made her way back to her vehicle, managed to open the gas cap and put the nozzle in.  A slow dawn of realization appeared on her stupified face when nothing happened.  Several more attempts yielded no greater success.  An attendant, no more svelte than she, had to be called over to help the decerebrate driver.

Not being the patient sort in the first place, by this time I was beside myself.  Luckily, before blood vessels in my brain went off like fireworks, another pump opened up and I quickly zipped over.  I do not know the dénouement of Madame Einstein’s struggles with 30-year-old technology.  Perhaps she drove off and was plowed under by a freight train she failed to observe at one of the nearby grade crossings; we can only hope.  My only concern in that case is that she might leave behind spawn as dim-witted as her.

November 3rd is St. Hubert’s Day, named after the patron saint of hunt and hound.  The eldest son of the Duke of Aquataine, Hubert was addicted to hunting but after the death of his wife in childbirth, he renounced his secular pomps and privileges and became a priest, later Bishop of Liège.

Goodthinkers have largely exterminated the hunt in Britain and Europe, but happily among us barbaric Americans the tradition continues.  The difference is largely that in this country the purpose of the hunt is not necessarily to catch the fox; the ones that are caught are usually old or sick.  Some hunters boast that they’ve never been on a kill.

St. Hubert’s Day (or, sometimes, Thanksgiving Day) also marks the Blessing of the Hunt in the mid-Atlantic states.  In a formal ceremony, hunters, horses and hounds are honored and blessed for a safe hunt.

To Austin this weekend for the Travis County KC shows.  On Sunday we had a 9:10 judging time; with morning chores, a three-hour drive, set-up and grooming time it meant waking up at 3:30 AM.  No fun at all!

Regardless of the time, we were happy we went.  On Saturday Dutch was Best of Breed under Anthony DiNardo, good for 2 points.  On Sunday, the Beeg Boy was Winners Dog for a point while his cousin Knight was Best of Breed under Nikki Riggsbee to collect his third major toward his Grand Championship.  Too many heavy hitters in the Group ring to do anything there but we have to be pleased with the results.  Dutch now has 13 points and both majors; he also showed extremely well, a tribute to my lovely bride’s work with him at handling class.

My lovely bride is judging next weekend at Fort Wayne, Indiana, then we have shows in Houston the week after.  Fingers crossed that Big Red can finish.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we think we have a winner for the 2010 Walter Duranty award:  the Associated Press for this story:

The party in Pyongyang stretched into Monday as North Koreans took the day off to celebrate a major political anniversary and to revel in the unveiling of leader Kim Jong Il’s heir-apparent, son Kim Jong Un.

Families packed baskets with food and liquor they received from the government in honor of the occasion and picnicked along the Taedong River and on scenic Moran Hill. Others headed to an amusement park, filling the air with screams as they braved a serpentine rollercoaster and rammed one another in bumper cars.

The scenes of revelry in North Korea’s showcase capital contradicted the austerity and shortages normally associated with this reclusive country of 24 million, and this was no ordinary weekend…

North Korea, with few natural resources and arable land, has struggled to feed its people since natural disasters battered its agricultural industry in the 1990s and aid from the former Soviet bloc dried up.

Natural disasters and lack of aid, eh?  The despotic and maniac policies of North Korea’s communist leaders had nothing to do with it?

As on most major holidays, every North Korean got a special gift from the government. Pak said he and his family took the beer, Korean soju liquor, meat, fish and snacks in their bundles to Moran Hill for a picnic — a popular holiday tradition.

Families were also gathering under the willow trees along Taedong River, where they had a view of some of Pyongyang’s grandest monuments, including Juche Tower, the palatial People’s Study Hall and the massive bronze statue of Kim Il Sung that overlooks the city…

Three generations of one family feasted on beef stew, dumplings, tempura, blood sausage and kimchi, the spicy fermented cabbage that is Korea’s most famous condiment. Further down the riverbank, a group of friends sang and clapped as one woman gave an impromptu dance performance before collapsing into giggles.

Down by the riverside, fathers were teaching their sons how to shoot at a miniature shooting range, while others clustered around a rattling foosball table. Others jumped into paddleboats that dotted the waterfront.

Jo Hyang Mi, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, took a break from a heated game of badminton to roll up her pant legs. Jo said she, too, watched Sunday’s military parade on TV.

“I was so happy to see Kim Jong Un after he was elected vice-chairman of the military commission” of the Workers’ Party’s Central Committee, she said. “I feel happy and full of conviction knowing that our country is powerful and that our strength comes from the leadership of our Great Leader Kim Jong Il and from Kim Jong Un.”…

Smart woman!  Some secret policeman may be reading this story.

As the sun set, the lights went on at the Triumph Children’s Park, an amusement park just a stone’s throw from the Arch of Triumph where Kim Il Sung made a historic speech just days after founding the Workers’ Party in 1945.

The park pulsated with neon, and tree branches laced with small lights gave the fair a festive air. Groups of friends posed for photos, and families crowded into fast food joints selling fried chicken, burgers, Belgian waffles and soft-serve ice cream cones.

Children raced around from ride to ride, lining up for bumper cars, a rollercoaster, a levitating pirate’s ship and other fun fair standards.

One little boy begged his mother to let him on just one more ride — a familiar plea all the world over.

Today everyone goes back to their daily meal of stone soup.  Shostakovich said about the finale of his Fifth Symphony, ““The rejoicing is forced, created under threat…It’s as if someone were beating you with a stick and saying ‘Your business is rejoicing.’ And you rise, shaky, and go marching off, muttering, ‘Our business is rejoicing, our business is rejoicing.’”  No one could blame the people of North Korea for enjoying the tiniest respite from the oppression and starvation that is their ordinary lot.  But why couldn’t the AP have added that perspective?

La Stupenda, bel canto soprano Dame Joan Sutherland, has died at 83.