Saturday, October 6, 2007

Unmentioned Dog

Looking back over this blog's short history, it strikes me that I have not posted much about those who mean the most to me and have also had the good grace to remain alive. (Looking back over others' blogs for the same time period, I see that I am not alone in that.)

What I want to do here is fix one of those omissions.

Ft. Harrington has many animals; regular readers of this blog not only know that, but it's probably the reason why most read the damn thing. I post pictures of chickens, little spaniels, and kitties.

But I don't post much of this:

Kelsey and my knees, this evening.

Kelsey is so much a part of my heart that I hold him in the same reserve that I do Diane, or Adam, or that you hold those who are too precious for exposure to the net at large. He is who he is, and that is as integral to me as my heartbeat. He is the only four-foot in the Fort who has a job -- he is a watchdog, and a gurard dog, and a protector, and he takes that job seriously, and does it well, and has done so for ten years.

He also loves me with the unquestioning, ultimately forgiving, devoted dedication that folklore ascribes to all dogs. Maybe. This one has it true, though.

And that's probably all I'll post here about him until something transpires to make another post necessary.

[This post was edited from its original form to remove references to others' blogs that might have been interpreted to be criticisms, but weren't meant to be.]


Chris said...

hey, if it means we get more photos of that sweet face, you can cast nasturtiums at me and call me names anytime you desire.

Anonymous said...

Flattered to have been mentioned!

Other Ronnie

Mike said...

I didn't object to the earlier reference, now excised. In fact, I'd have responded sooner but was thinking it over -- this type of blog is personal, but I tend to hold back a fair amount. That tends to be the case with my professional writing, as well, when I had a column and now that I write "editor's notes" instead. I do some personal pieces that are really about the weather more than about me, and, since I'm pretty far from the family, they don't come into it too often, except for a few grandpa postings in which I unabashedly show off the kids. I don't think that it's a conscious choice, however -- I can't punch the radio button quick enough when those NPR personal essays come on with their solipsistic epiphanies cloaked in writers-workshop prose. I don't have much temptation to write them myself, while the blogs I read tend, I think, to at least use more direct, conversational writing, and to be more honest about the significance of their ramblings. (Sometimes a chicken is only a chicken, but that attitude won't get you on "All Things Considered.")

Dann said...

Well, danged.

Now I'll never know if I made the list.

And Mike, I think you have found yet another oasis in our vast desert of disagreement. [grin]


Brian Fies said...

Diane must be thrilled by the comparison--though I have a feeling she's not surprised.

I don't know if you mentioned me, either, but you could've. It's an interesting topic, this idea of who and what we keep private when we blog, and one I've thought about. After laying my mother, father, and sisters pretty bare in my book, I've deliberately kept my wife and daughters out of the spotlight (or my 12-watt approximation of a spotlight). I don't mention their names nor post their pictures, except for one photo of my wife. I like your formulation "too precious for exposure."

Funny thing is, I thought I was doing them a favor. But yesterday I posted a photo of myself at a football game and my wife said, "Why didn't you use the picture with both of us?" And I simultaneously thought "Well, why didn't I?" and realized maybe she feels a little left out when I blog about everything in my life except her. I think my kids might feel the same. So in the past 24 hours I've begun to think maybe I'll start working in a little more family, with their permission.

However, I also share Mike's distaste for rambling solopsistic epiphanies. (I call it the "Anna Quindlen Syndrome," which may not mean much to those who didn't read or don't remember her syndicated column. Let's just say there's a lot of literature built around perceiving the secrets of the universe in a baby's poopy diaper that I don't appreciate.) That's not the kind of writer I want to be. A slippery slope to be skirted at all cost, I agree.

Chris said...

However, I also share Mike's distaste for rambling solopsistic epiphanies.

Um, me too. Very much so.

*Looks at watch, mumbles something inaudible, heads nonchalantly for door*

Sherwood Harrington said...


Responding to even some of this deserves its own post, and not a tag on the comments. So it will; look for "Poor Kelsey..." coming soon to a monitor near you.