Our 48-Pound Chicken

After turning three, and spending now more than half her life with us, I'd have thought Fergie would have become a bit more self-assured. But it turns out, we don't have just a dog, we have a 48-pound chicken living with us.

"What was that?" Our fearless defender. (Photo: Glenn Cook)

Today I had to come home to meet the furnace repairman (don't ask), and on the way home listened in on a conference call from the office. I got home and walked into the house, and was not greeted by a wagging tail--which, we've come to learn, means she's upstairs on our bed, where she likes to spend as much time as we let her get away with. I walked around for a couple of minutes, while the muted speakerphone carried the voices of my colleagues' discussion.

After a minute or two I heard a series of "wuff"s from upstairs. Fergie was clearly calling out to whoever was in her house, and vaguely challenging whomever it might be, but interestingly, not coming down herself to check on the situation. And I could tell something was up: these were not her full-throated barks that she reserves when people come to her front door. I headed upstairs.

I found our ferocious pup on the bed, tail wagging, but shaking and shivering as I've never seen her before. She was so afraid of these odd voices she heard in her house, she was so very scared. And I would say she was scared $#!tless, but that's not accurate. Instead, it was a dark spot on the bedspread that told me she'd actually been scared pee-less.

Aw, Fergie…

I comforted her, she settled down, she finally approved of the speakerphone, and I set about tidying up and readying the comforter for the dry cleaner's. I've said before, her ferocious growling and barking at strangers and other dogs probably is her way of trying to bluff her way through what is actually scaring her silly. It's sometimes cute how she tries to defend us; it's sometimes embarrassing when she does it to neighbors or contractors coming to the house. But it's pure Fergie, and lumps and all, soggy bedspreads and all, I think we'll keep her.

Happy Birthday Fergie!

When we adopted Fergie in February 2013, we knew she had been a stray for at least some time, so there was no paperwork saying with certainty what her birthday is. They estimated at the time that she was about 17 months old, based on her size and what teeth had come in, so we've used October 1, 2011, as her birthday. That makes her three years old as of yesterday.

Last night we had our "birthday party" for her. She had a "happy birthday" bone-shaped biscuit, which got pretty much devoured instantly. The kids had bought her new toys--a "sandwich" that comes in layers and squeaks, and a...thing, I can't really describe it, other than it's five soft rings on a soft post...kinda looks like the red one's supposed to be a tomato slice? In any event, the birthday girl had a wonderful time the whole rest of the evening, as you can see for yourself.


Before I play with any new toys, I have to honor my Lab roots and SHAKESHAKESHAKE it to make sure it's well and truly dead first!




These are MY toys! You may not have them!



I love love LOVE the squeaker in the middle of my "sandwich"!



I figured out how to get one of the rings off...now what happens if I do THIS?

Happy birthday to the Pums who makes our home an even better place. Many, many happy returns of the day!


The Next Adventure: Driving

As I've said before, the theme of this year is "adolescence," and one of the most significant adolescent rites of passage is learning to drive. We've now begun that phase of life, with David passing his learner's permit test last week, so there is now a new driver in the Commonwealth of Virginia.

I took him by on Tuesday in the early afternoon, and the Lorton DMV station was practically empty. He was immediately called up to the window, and began the initial processing, including the charming DMV photo. After a brief wait, he was called up to go on in to the computer testing lab, and my waiting began.

There was another boy there, who was called into the testing room moments after David. The minutes ticked by, and I have to confess, I didn't look to see how long it was--maybe five minutes? But it felt much longer. Then the other boy emerged, beaming--but not David, not yet. He took a little while longer, then I saw him come out, trying to motion me over as cooly and nonchalantly as possible, but I knew, just knew, that he had passed it--he couldn't hold it in, he was so happy.

I told him how proud I was of him, and after collecting the final paperwork, headed out. He refused to take a celebratory photo outside the DMV, naturally. We then headed home.

Entering our neighborhood, I drove up about a block and a half, so we would be pretty much alone, and pulled to the curb. "Switch with me," I said, and he did, to drive the last block and a half home. He learned in a hurry that it doesn't take a lot of pressure on the accelerator to make a car go, nor does it take a lot of pressure on the brake to make it stop. But he stopped at the stop sign well, and he drove right down the center of the street, making doubly sure he wouldn't hit anything. We turned onto our street, and he spotted neighbor Mark's car parked on the street next to our driveway.

"I'm gonna hit him," he said, and instead from an abundance of caution came to a stop at the entrance to the cul-de-sac proper. I told him he needed just to turn into the driveway, but he took the long way around the cul-de-sac, avoiding hitting anything except the brake pedal in the driveway, leaving two very short skid marks on the blacktop.

Our first chance to drive, and I liked what I saw: he brought a very healthy about of fear to it. There was no bravado, instead just a very, very cautious approach to piloting a car for the first time. He wanted me, when I bragged about it on social media, to use #beafraid or #beveryafraid to describe the fact that he was now on the road. But y'know, I won't. We have a lot to do over the next 45 hours of driving together, but if he can keep that healthy respect for what he's embarked upon, then I think people won't have anything to be afraid about when he's behind the wheel. If anything, the fear I have is more the fear of the idiots out there driving in NoVA who pose the greater risk to him. And so as I posted on Facebook, "To my son, I am very proud of you, and I look forward to this new adventure. To all the yutzes driving badly in NoVA, I love my boy, and if you hurt him I shall hurt you. That is all."

West Coast Family Vacation

We've uploaded a photo album of our West Coast trip earlier this month--click on the link, and come see some of what we saw in nine days out west!  Then leave a comment!

Things I Learned On Our West Coast Vacation

It had been a l-o-n-g time since I'd been out west, and several of the places we visited on our family vacation this summer were brand new to me.  Here's some of the discoveries I made along the way.

• It really is possible for it to rain in Death Valley.  We were there in a light mist, maybe 80 degrees, in early August even.  Doubtless a far, far better way to explore it than if it were 40 degrees warmer.
• That's not white sand in the pictures of Death Valley…it's salt crystals, leaching out of the parched and broken soil.
• It had been far too long since last I'd played blackjack, but playing against a three-deck shoe probably didn't help either.
• Trona, CA, is one of the most depressing places any of us have ever been to.  Run-down, unkept, just screaming "don't live here!" to anyone passing through.
• Go to Disney's California Adventure first thing in the day.  Everyone else went to Disneyland/the Magic Kingdom side, so we were essentially walking right up to rides for the first hour or two, including the Tower of Terror.  California Screamin' is a very good coaster ride.  The wait for the Cars ride was too long, but the ride itself went a long way towards redeeming it.
• Some of the rides (Matterhorn) really show their age.  Sarah found herself preferring Kings Dominion over most of the classic Disneyland rides.
• I bow to LA traffic as truly the worst in the nation.  It never stops!  There's never a time when there's not some miles-long backup as part of our day.  Get off the roads, people, and get into your offices!
• The geographic diversity of California is really amazing.  Dusty, dry deserts and steep rocky canyons to the south, foggy San Francisco, simply stunning coastal drives near Mendocino, and hairpin turns through redwood forests in the northern extremes. 770 miles long, and it shows it!
• The legacy of student protest remains at Berkeley.  Administration buildings never have two door handles, either one or none, so students can't chain administrators in (or out). Not sure that factoid sat too well with David or Sarah during their tour.
• The folks at Alcatraz have done a marvelous job preserving The Rock and the audio tour was great at relating stories and events.  In all the time I've spent in SF, I'd never been out there before, and was blown away at being able to see it all.
• Getting over the mountains to the Pacific Coast Highway was an adventure, with more switchbacks than I had counted on.  And the thick, thick forests and the first of the redwoods made it a dark and sometimes intimidating drive.  But, oh, once the coast pops into view…I know I've found a landscape I can wake up to each morning in retirement.
• I bought the most expensive gallon of gas I've ever bought in Mendocino, CA, within sight of the gorgeous Mendocino Bay.  $6.26 for a gallon of regular!
• I truly cannot recall having been to Redwoods National Park before, so being able to see what Mary remembered as a teen was special.  Again, up through the mountains with the switchbacks, before coming to the Lady Bird Johnson Grove and the mile-plus walk exploring those immense, ancient trees…stunning all in their own majesties.