There is a perhaps unreasonable concern around our house that our dog Sasha doesn’t crunch her food enough. Nevermind that Sasha Moon Piperaceae doesn’t have teeth for grinding—that her teeth, much like a shark’s, are meant for tearing flesh into portions just small enough to fit down a wide throat. We want to hear the sound of her kibble actually breaking into pieces. Somehow we believe, without science or reason, that Sasha needs to chew her food, if not 26 times, at least once.
In the morning Sasha only gets dry kibble. Then for her three additional daily feedings at 10 am, 2 pm and 6:30 pm she gets kibble with wet food mixed with water.
In the morning—to get her started on a good paw—Jillian holds one piece of kibble at a time and says, “Okay, crunch it. Crunchy-crunch.” Jillian does this three or four times and when she hears a few crunches and is satisfied she says, “Good dog,” and then pours the first of two installments in her bowl to discourage her from gulping it down all at once.
I’m just as guilty wanting our little Piperaceae to have more thoughtful eating habits. When I take Sasha to the small, oval park around the corner to play frisbee we often walk over to our neighbor Heidi’s chain-link fence to say hi to her big, white, shepherd, Abby. Both Heidi and Abby are equally aged and Abby is not in the greatest shape. When they go on walks Heidi reports that Abby sometimes looses her balance, sits down and then slides into a splayed position that she cannot get up from. Heidi has learned to take a strap with her so she can thread it under Abby’s belly to lift her back onto her feet.
Still, despite Abby’s decrepitude, she is better at crunching than Sasha. Part of our visiting ritual is to give Abby a little handful of kibble through the fence followed by the same for Sasha. Abby seems to average about three or four good crunches out of the tiny handful I give her. Then I look at Sasha and say, “Look what a good cruncher Abby is.”
This doesn’t seem to register with the little Moonbeam although she does sometimes turn her head to the side in what appears to be an attempt to understand. The perky ears and noble face are effective in making me think some learning might be going on. Afterall, my comparison of Abby’s crunching to hers is not meant to shame her as much as get her to see old Abby as a role model to live up to in terms of mastication.
When I give Sasha her small handful, more often than not I don’t hear a single crunch. She swallows it down happily but despite her joy and obvious desire for more (if I would only do her the favor) it displeases me that there is no deliberation, no sign of savoring the texture or flavor of the baked-in crumble.
Even our cat Ruby Lou with pointier teeth is better at crunching. It could be there are more chances for a nugget to hit upon a tooth in a smaller, rounder head.
To get my fill of good chewing I really need to head out to the country and be among the horses and cows. I’m going to do that when I visit Tennessee for a few days after Christmas.
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The iconic image of General Ulysses S. Grant outside his field tent keeps popping into my head. It’s not because I think we are headed toward a civil war. A unified uprising is more likely when people realize the scales of democracy have tipped heavily toward a wealthy oligarchy. Things may end up more like the age of the guillotine in France when someone famously tried to say to the poor masses, “Let them drink a double mocha chai latte with oat milk.”
The real reason Grant keeps popping into my brain has more to do with his tent than his position as a warrior. I’m starting to think more seriously about using one in place of a cabin or, at least, as a placeholder to get me more quickly to the real reasons I want to be on the land — for peace and quiet, reflection, to learn about nature and commune with it. Those reasons spiritually, philosophically and aspirationally outweigh comfort but in actuallity it remains to be seen if comfort outweighs them. (I installed a small, window, air-conditioner in Aunt Linda’s upstairs room where I stayed last summer.)
It will be easy enough to test my theories about camping out. I’ve done it once on the land but really should experiment more outside the hottest and coldest times of the year. That will be easier when I retire. The count down for that is a year and a half although I sometimes have a strange premonition that I won’t make it that long, that I will die a violent death or that a disease will latch upon me. Is this merely the next stage in aging—to prepare for one’s own demise or is it a dangerous meddling in self-fulfilling prophecy? Did the crooner d4vd actualize his darkest thoughts put forth in his music videos or is he being set up? For a frightening exploration into dark self-fulfillments this old movie based on the Stephen Crane story can’t be beat: The Blue Hotel
I guess the reason the image of Grant works for me is that I imagine his tent furnished with a desk and chair and other amenitities which might make living out in the elements feel less so. But the reason his persona doesn’t work is because I don’t wanna study war no more although, of course, our society is steeped in the expertise and it’s hard to escape its constant advertising. I should nudge my imaginings toward replacing Grant and his tent with something like a biologist’s which no doubt have been equally accommodating for some. Jane Goodall? Surely there was a time when John Muir had something more than a bed roll and a backpack out in the field.
Lower cost and effort are obvious advantageous to tent living versus cabin living. Effort is debatable, but I think if you compare everything that will go into building a cabin, there are many, many years of setting up, tearing down and furnishing a tent before those lines would cross on a graph.
The lessor environmental footprint is perhaps the biggest, lasting advantage of going with a tent. Although I’ve already invested in some destructive/loud tools like my chainsaws, after thinking long and hard I’m pretty much set to do without heavy equipment like tractors, skid steers or comparatively benign ATVs. My next post may deal with that.
I am thinking very hard about buying this power wheelbarrow although greater acquisitions are a slippery slope. Going the way of bigger, better, and more expensive is dazzling and compelling but ultimately that way is more about chasing a dream that isn’t mine instead of living the one I have.
On the health front, I recently found out I have some beginning arthritis at the base of my left thumb. In the x-ray report it is called “mild first interphalangeal joint degeneration”. Interestingly, it’s not bothered much by indoor bouldering, but hurts a lot (or was) when riding my electric bike. It’s a very specific sore spot activated by direct pressure or a sort of fulcrum grip for instance if I were to lift a tray of food by the edge, one-handed with the pressure of my fingers under and my thumb on top.
I’ve actually been listening to the doctor’s recommendation to rest. I’ve not been climbing or riding my bike for close to a month now. In some ways the less busy schedule has been nice but I’m starting to miss not having a windshield between me and the world and the fun of indoor bouldering.
I bought some rather expensive herbal pills that seem to be helping with arthritic inflammation and some padded bicycling gloves which I’m going to test out when this Thanksgiving break is over.
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Since many of you may have some relaxing time coming up I’ll tell you about what I’m watching and reading (or rather, listening to on audio).
TV
The Change — British comedy-drama about a woman who keeps a journal of every household chore she’s done for the last thirty years and then decides to split and take a break from her family. Written and co-directed by lead actor Bridget Cristie the second season is co-directed by Mackenzie Crook creator of Detectorists, another favorite show of mine.
Plurabis —Vince Gilligan, the maker of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul created this interesting twist on the zombie apocalypse theme. Funny, frightening and thought-provoking it stars Rhea Seehorn who was the lawyer girlfriend of Saul in Better Call.
Good Cop/Bad Cop — Light, lightly irreverant and comically macabre with a cast of not overly attractive characters who you might get a crush on. Sibling rivalry with sibling love. Cute is a word that doesn’t quite fit but wouldn’t be wrong.
Matlock — Kathy Bates plays a lawyer fronting as a homespun, lovable, story-spinner inside a firm she’s trying to get the dirt on. I like it but Jillian is kind of over the second season.
Man on the Inside — It’s so refreshing to have a mystery/detective show that doesn’t involve murder. Also, it stars Ted Danson and is set in San Francisco. What’s not to love?
Books
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain and James by Percival Everett. James was picked for the Pulitzer Prize this year. It is a reimagining of the Huck Finn story with Jim, the slave, as focus and main character. The jacket cover claims it is ferociously funny which is a stretch, but it is certainly ferocious. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so clearly what it might have meant to be a slave in a world surrounded by the enemy. This was the real zombie apocalypse with all whites as the zombie’s. Are we awake yet? It is certainly worthy of the Pulitzer though it didn’t win without controversy.
As for the original Huck Finn it’s clear why it is considered an American classic. I don’t know how much Twain has been studied as a nature writer but I felt it strongly in his descriptions of the Mississippi River. He is certainly a humorist and on par with the likes of modern-day David Sedaris. I don’t get the last fifty or sixty pages of Huck Finn and why Twain decided to give so much ink to the sadistic nature of Tom Sawyer. Maybe someone can explain?
All Fours by Miranda July — a disturbing, dark dive into sex, self-actualization, partnering, parenting, art and public acclaim. It’s called a novel but I’m guessing it’s autobiographical. If you’re a tortured egoist or have done a good bit of navel-gazing you might not want to revisit and if you haven’t you still might…not. Nevertheless, the main character’s misery and trouble are compelling and often very funny. What happens when the Anti manic-pixie-dream-girl becomes perimenopausal and feels like the window is closing fast on her last chance at sexual fulfillment? I’m just two-thirds done so I can’t say if there is a happy ending. (Not that I need one but I’m kinda hoping.)
Phew. I’m glad to finally get out a blog post after so long. It helps me stay sane, ground me where I am, tell me what I’m doing and what I want to be doing.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Spotty West Goes East 