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my beloved beet

dogs

“Circus Dogs”

Auto-generated description: Several puppies are gathered around a drum, with one sitting on top of it, in a dimly lit setting.

This painting hung in my mom and dad’s house for 60 years or more. Now it’s my sister’s. Artist unknown. I love it. 🐶

Noice, Abe

Hard to imagine a sweeter time than the Sunday afternoon between Christmas and New Year listening to “My Bar’s Jukebox” and enjoying local IPAs in the backyard on a sunny 67(F)-degree day with my associate.

A small dog with curly fur stands on a patio next to an outdoor table and a large planter with flowers.

Pub Name

If I ever open a pub, “The Dog and Water” might be in the running for a name. 🐶

A small dog lying in the sun on a teal couch; in the foreground is a glass of water on a table.
Maggie
As an adult, my family has had three dogs. Sweet, sweet Maggie (officially, Margaret Rose) was the first.

Early Maggie (and early kids):
Three kids and and a sweet dog

Late Maggie:
A sweet dog

Things I Really Like: an Ongoing List

  • Birdsong
  • Tottenham Hotspur Football Club
  • Archie
  • Tamales
  • Black licorice
  • Woodsmoke
  • Good Table Talk (more often, actually, Bar Talk)
  • a Ploughman's Lunch in a pub's garden
  • a 5:1 Martini, with a dash of orange bitters and 3 olives
  • Wind Chimes
  • Telephone calls with my out-of-town kids
  • Tacos with my in-town kid (and kid-in-law)
  • Resident Taqueria
  • Heat
  • Daffodils
  • Steel-cut oatmeal and a soft-boiled egg
After an illness, walking the dog | Jane Kenyon
Wet things smell stronger,
and I suppose his main regret is that
he can sniff just one at a time.
In a frenzy of delight
he runs way up the sandy road—
scored by freshets after five days
of rain. Every pebble gleams, every leaf. 

When I whistle he halts abruptly
and steps in a circle,
swings his extravagant tail.
The he rolls and rubs his muzzle
in a particular place, while the drizzle
falls without cease, and Queen Anne’s lace
and Goldenrod bend low.

The top of the logging road stands open
and light. Another day, before
hunting starts, we’ll see how far it goes,
leaving word first at home.
The footing is ambiguous.

Soaked and muddy, the dog drops,
panting, and looks up with what amounts
to a grin. It’s so good to be uphill with him,
nicely winded, and looking down on the pond.

A sound commences in my left ear
like the sound of the sea in a shell;
a downward, vertiginous drag comes with it.
Time to head home. I wait
until we’re nearly out to the main road
to put him back on the leash, and he
—the designated optimist—
imagines to the end that he is free.
Less is more; Not.
Per my true love (via Robt. Venturi), "Less is a bore." Archie (and I) like it!

bedroom with giant green leaves and pink flowers on the wall, a blue flowered bedspread, an orange small blanket, blue pillows, and mini goldendoodle dog sitting on the bed
🐶 📷