My Town, by Buster

Dear friends,

Mom and Persephone have snuck off to Florida to bask in the sun, enjoy the ocean, and, I hope, get eaten alive by mosquitoes.

I'm bored. Not just "bored," but "cosmically bored."



So, what's a male terrier to do? The only honorable thing--steal the car and go for a ride!

Behind the wheel of Dad's PT Cruiser, I can feel the raw power of my masculine countenance. I set off for the most exotic destination I can think of. My home town.


Let's take a quick tour! Now, one must understand that NOTHING ever happens here. Well, actually, once--back in 1776--a woodchuck declared its independence from the Crown, and promptly returned to its burrow and went to sleep. But basically, Cheshire is a quiet lump of dark matter in the Universe.



Most of the houses were built around the end of the last Ice Age and look like this.

Historically known as "The Bedding Plant Capital of Connecticut," (feel the adrenaline!) our town has found a new industry in oldness.

It's almost Halloween, and the Pumpkin Merchants are making trillions in squash derivatives and gourd-swap defaults.


It's amazing how an investment can grow...

This is Cheshire's version of Wall Street.



The Quinnipiac River meanders through town with the force of a supernova. Quinnipiac means "Long-Water-Country" in the aborginal Algonquin dialect. Significantly, the river's origin is a place called Deadwood Swamp.


Once, there was a watch factory here. But people became tired of knowing what time it was.


This is Cheshire Academy. It was founded many years ago by Anglicans in the hope that Cheshire would become more like its namesake across the pond. That was the trouble--it already was. Now Cheshire Academy draws students from all over the world. They walk across the street, go shopping, meet the natives and smile, sadly.


All Congregational Churches around here are called the "First Congregational Church." I've never encountered a "Second Congregational Church."

Maybe Cotton and Increase Mather gave sermons condemning witchcraft here. If so, maybe the witches won, because there isn't much fire-and-brimstone oratory going on.



This is our high school. It has a good football team, an awesome marching band, and the coldest bleachers in the galaxy.



Cheshire Nursery is a pretty good place to buy perennials, but their assortment of gourmet birdseeds warrants four stars in the Michelin Guide.


I don't like this place. Let's keep going!



Now that's better! Sweet Claude's Ice Cream Parlor! It's October 26th, and a tropical airmass brought warm rain followed by a perfect sunny day. I think I'll stop and join those folks on the lawn. I hope they have my favorite Chipmunk Entrail flavor.

Did I tell you that Cheshire was invaded by aliens, who left their young incubating in giant protoplasmic ova? When they hatch, we're all going to be in big trouble!

Here's Cheshire Park. It's where four-legged geniuses like me run and pirouette and catch frisbees and eat squirrels. Oh, the bliss!

Giant Mutant Cat! Must leap out window, catch him, and save humanity!


There aren't many places in this town that are not in the shadow of my little, private mountain. It's 200 million years old and was formed by an ancient volcano back in the days when Connecticut connected to Africa. I'm still looking for zebras.


Finally--I'm back in my front yard.


Where Norbert the Nuthatch holds court.



And Bailey, the whirling Dervish greats her long-lost adventurer at the gate.


The back looks cozy--so many leaves, all unautographed!


It's been a long day! I hope you don't mind...

Nap Time.

Cheers,

theBuster

Goddess Persephone's Return to Hades

This is so tedious.



I, Persephone, goddess of Spring and harbinger of greenness am doomed to return to that horrid creature in the Underworld every year.



My old buddy, Hades. Don't you think he's kind of cute?





As soon as the frost hits the pachysandra,



And the morning glories lose their luster,


When Persephone's Garden begins to wilt,


And the frost collects on the windshield,


When the leaves clutter my little pathway,


And ghosts dance in New England graveyards,

It's time for...

ROAD TRIP!

Mom's taking me to Florida for a couple days.

It sure beats the Underworld!

Luv,

Sephie

Buster Prepares for the World Series

Dearest blog correspondents:

I, Persephone, have the honor of writing today with my ongoing observations of the general foolishness of males in general and male canines in particular.

This afternoon, I was roused from my slumber by much noise and cacophony outside. I glanced through the window.



There he was, the apotheosis of alpha-malehood, the quintessence of quirky pride.



Wendy the Woodpecker, my new avian accomplice, looked on in quiet bewilderment.



Poor besotted Buster had had the misfortune of watching the American League playoffs the other night. Convinced that the Redsox could not be allowed to fall to the Devil Rays, he had decided to offer his services as shortstop during tonight's game.

It even occurred to him to practice. Hence, the pandemonium beneath the maples.

I suppose, in a bizarre way, he had his priorities right. When the central challenge of the game is, in fact, finding the ball, I must admit that Buster's persistence is admirable.


When he finally lost the ball to either the leaves or a wormhole to another universe, he collected his clueless countenance and posed for his baseball card photo.

I think he's kind of cute.

Best wishes,

Your friend,

Persephone

Stuff I Like About Autumn

Well, first, there's the fact that my humans spend LOTS of time at work.

Which means that I, Buster, am in charge of the house, and everyone gets to do what I say.

Except for Persephone & Bailey & Harold the Australian Finch & the mice that try to eat my dog food.




I like the constant presence of Canada geese. They're as big as I am, and that's a lot of bird to chase.



I love the crimsonness of everything. Trees, sumac, and Mom's face when I pee on the toilet.



And my dog-mom Bailey's expression when I bark without interruption at nothing in particular for no apparent reason.



She has very expressive eyes, I think.

But she loves me. I think.

TTFN,

theBuster

Buster's Testosterone-Laden Male Bonding Experience

Hey, Bloggers! It's Buster the Outdoor Adventure Dog here. Today, the women-folk all departed on a long errand, leaving just me and m' dad!

So I hopped in the trusty PT Cruiser..


And drove Dad to the nearest flyshop!


He was muttering something like, "I'm out of 8X tippet and there's going to be the Mother-of-All Caddis hatches tonight."

Then we stopped at Agway...


"Why?" you ask. Well, 'cuz I asked him to! There's a madness to my method.


The gullible soul emerged with a "Chubby Buddy" mouse. I like the idea of eliminating the chase and getting right to the meal.


Now, I don't NORMALLY take my meal from the dashboard. But I was hungry.


Oh, Bliss!


In truth, I came to like the little fellow, so I held him tight all the way back.


My mountain was getting its autumn cloak of colors. We could just see Bailey's castle at the upper left.


Home, sweet home! But first, one VERY IMPORTANT errand...


Now, that felt better! Remember, this was a "male" bonding experience.

Dad left for the Farmington River, in my favorite town of Barkhamsted...


I wasn't allowed to go, 'cuz Mom was afraid I'd be eaten by a bear. But she let Dad go.


The sun went down...


And thousands of tan-colored tricoptera emerged from the depths and swarmed upstream. Life was good.


As the sun set, the deer shook their heads in sympathy as the crazed river-dweller headed home.


I was there, waiting to listen to the fish stories!

Cheers,

theBuster