A Blue Moon Inspires Buster to Fine-Tune his Classic Leap

Yes, it was a Blue Moon--the rarest of lunar events!

Twice in a single month, the full moon shone brightly over the evening snow. With a lycanthropic howl, I set about perfecting my "Classic-Buster" leap!

What, exactly, is "Classic Buster?" It's, well, rather vestigial. Evocative of earlier times. Mother, apple pie, and rotting mastodon carcasses on the pleistocene tundra. Nasty Neanderthals competing with wolves for scarce protein resources. Oh, the romance of it all!

Now, the "Classic Buster Leap" is necessarily preceded by the "Classic Buster Stalk." Here I am sniffing out a Giant Ground Sloth in quintessential Kerry Blue form.

Now...The Leap...

It is performed in precisely five highly-choreographed movements:

I. The Launch

Note the semi-camouflaged position of Canis Busterensis Terribilis at the very beginning. This fearsome predator is actually airborne before his prey even notices his presence!


II. Gaining Altitude

In this phase of the manoeuvre, all legs are deployed to the rear, facilitating the aerodynamic lift-to-drag ratio. Ears are forward, and fangs are bared.


III. Preparation for Landing

Forepaws now extend in front of C. Busterensis. Head moves downward to better track the movement of the now-terrified Giant Ground Sloth.


IV. Descent

Fully-extended forepaws contact the cold tundra. Local Neanderthals scatter in fear. Ground Sloth knows its fate.


V. The Landing

Ever hear the phrase, "hit the ground running?" Here, I am moving horizontally at a dazzling rate even as I land. Note the tracks of the terrified sloth...


Putting it all together....

It's difficult to judge the vertical distance from this angle, but there are three steps and about three and one half feet to the deck...


Encore?

That ground sloth was awfully good!





My mom tells me I'm a growing wolf, and a single carcass just wouldn't suffice. I found a sabre-tooth tiger in the kitchen!





Anyway, that's today's report from the Younger Dryas. I can't wait for Global Warming!

Your friend,

Buster

Cats, Dragons, & Christmas--And an Award!

At long last, Christmas morning dawned with a chilly New England half-light. The snow would soon melt, to be replaced by, well, more snow. They say that if you don't like the weather here, just wait fifteen minutes. But none of this matters--because the Scarlet Elvin Creature had come to visit!

I, Buster the Elf-Destroyer, awoke early in anticipation of catching the Crimson Curmudgeon in the act of entering my domain and separating him from his scheming white beard. But alas, he had already arrived and left!



Bailey came down the stairs in her usual "what, me worry?" state, blissfully unconcerned that an Intruder had successfully landed eight reindeer on the roof, slithered down the chimney, and somehow extracted himself from the heat-exchanger of an oil-fired furnace with seven metric tons of gifts.



Then, there was the fearless Sephalumpagus! It's shameful that a Kerry Blue Terrier, direct descendant of Sean O'Callaghanarrghan the Alpha Wolf of Baile an Fheirtéaraigh, should spend her time upon the laps of humans.




Still, one must admit, she tends to get what she wants! If she were human, she would doubtless be blond. Did I say that?




Bailey proceeded to shred everything in sight while the humans bantered.

At some point, she tired of exercising her incisors and just settled in for some tissue-diving.



Then, something extraordinary happened! I discovered that the Vile Elf had left a disciple to wreak havoc and destroy Western Civilization. And it was enormous, with a confident feline arrogance. Immediately, I fell in love.



I had met a foe equal to my skills in tooth-to-tooth combat! I set about the difficult task of taking out the Giant Cat...

It was about that time that the dragon arrived.



Did I say "dragon?" It was ferocious and, well, BLUE!




Bailey, on the other hand, had no problems with my new nemesis. She has no taste in choosing her playmates.

She finally settled into her accustomed perch on the back of the sofa. Oftentimes, she succumbs to a dissociative disorder and thinks she is a cat. The horror!




Stage Two of Bailey's procession toward Somnolence led her to the chair...



Which led inexorably to Stage Three: OBLIVION.



Well, that was Christmas. Sorry it took so long to get this posted, but my Webmaster-with-the-Opposable-Thumbs was "otherwise engaged" (e.g. incorrigibly disregarding my most urgent entreaties to get off her posterior and earn her keep) and all I could do was bark and shred things. Oh, I DID eviscerate that cat! One of my better works, if I may say so.


Just after Christmas, Sue and her seaworthy fleet of Portuguese Water Dogs honored us with a really cool award for scribbling on all fours. It looks like this--




--and we were deeply touched to receive it! As with most awards, it came with the onerous responsibility to pass it on to folks whose blogs we read with enjoyment and great anticipation.

Of course, there are rules.

We'd rather invent our own, but it's kinda like, when you accept the Nobel Prize, you've gotta dress up and follow the protocol.

We'd rather howl at the moon, but on the other hand, we really want to show our appreciation to Sue and her Porties and those other blogging dogs we'd like to give this award to...

So...here are the rules:


Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most deserving Bloggy Friends.

Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and the name of the blog from whom she/he has received The Award.

Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on her/his blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.

Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit This Post and add her/his name to the Mr Linky List. That way,we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!

Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on her/his blog.

Now... (drum roll!)...Here are my nominees:

The Extraordinary 'Splorin Wolfies of the Fundy Shore

Woo...Hooooo !! We just love watching sight-hounds careen across the moors of serene Annapolis Valley, where the sun is low on the horizon and one expects Anne of Green Gables to pull up any minute in a carriage wearing a fashionable bonnet! Okay, so we Southerners can't distinguish Prince Edward Island from the Bay of Fundy, but we love the Wolfies and Groucho the Rogue Afghan!

Clive, the Cutest Dog in Dublin
and his awesome sidekick, Murray!

We could stare into Clive's face all day! And his adventures in Dublin's Fair City keep us tuned to his blog every time we log on.

Noah & his Maties, Willow, Tess, Lucy, Denise & Bryan
in that wondrous place where summer reigns
and the mountains are blue.

We often wonder what life would be like in the Land of Wombats and Platypuses, where people walk upside down, and where 'dales are allowed to congregate in groups of two or more without being declared terrorists. D & B's adventures with four 'dales and a B & B are better reading than any account of the Seven Years War. We're still digging our tunnel to the Blue Mountains!

Stanley & Stella, Emperor & Empress of the Republic of Gooberstan

Gooberstan is definitely a State of Mind, reputedly on the border of Kansas and Pandemonium. We love watching Stanley and Stella re-enact daily the choreographed pas-de-deux between Inspector Clouseau and Cato.

Maggie & Mitch, the Airedales
who frequent Sleeping Giant State Park
and its adjacent ice cream paradise--Wentworth's!

Maggie & Mitch have rich inner lives, reflected in a passion for artistry--which includes stuffed animals, barns, paintings, fine woodworking, and all the things that touch the human heart. They are indeed precious!

Okay--I gotta go! My new buddy, MegaCat, just got sewn up by some concerned human, and I must repair the damage.

Happy New Year!

Your faithful friend,

Buster

Snow!

Hey, bloggy buds! Christmas is upon us and here in the Land of Cotton Mather, in boreal Connecticut, WE HAVE SNOW!

Actually, it came several days ago, to be precise, but it's on the ground, and we wolfskinder are getting in touch with those atavistic parts of ourselves--the howling, predatory doppelgänger, the ancestral yearning, that is unleashed (literally) by falling white stuff!



It's at times like these that Persephone, Bailey, and I take out our well-worn Book of Breathtakingly Mediocre Poetry and read again the collected works of Robert Service...



The winter! the brightness that blinds you,

The white land locked tight as a drum,

The cold fear that follows and finds you,

The silence that bludgeons you dumb.

The snows that are older than history,

The woods where the weird shadows slant;

The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,

I've bade 'em good-bye-but I can't.


Only the oratorios of Salieri and reruns of Gilligan's Island bring such palpitations to my canine heart!




There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold...

Don't you think I could play the lead in Call of the Wild? No grizzly bear would dare mess with me!



Can you remember your huskies all going,

Barking with joy and their brushes in air;

You in your parka, glad-eyed and glowing,

Monarch, your subjects the wolf and the bear?


Then, of course, there's Bailey...

Admittedly, the overcoat is a bit whimpish--and she does seem perplexed that the snow is so deep and she is so short--but she's coming along. I don't expect it will be too long before she's ripping the viscera from a caribou.

One small problem! Canine color-blindness! Gotta work on that!




Well, we'll have more to report soon! NORAD has just picked up Santa on his way south! He was intercepted by a flight of RCAF F-18s, and at last report, he's being escorted to Australia first. Crikey!

Merry Christmas,

Buster

Hôtel Bailey: la préparation correcte de la chambre à coucher

What does it take for a small, independent dog-hotel to earn the coveted "trois étoiles" au Guide Michelin?

Bailey Blue, le Concierge Extraordinaire, will demonstrate:


First, one must express an obsessive attention to detail in each stage of the preparation of the bed.

A certain inclination toward perfection is required.

And the high standards necessary to maintain the coveted third star must be constantly kept in mind!

Et voila! La quintessence d' élégance!

Your humble servant,

Ms. Bailey Blue

The Busterization of Rudolf

Hey, blog pals--this is my FAVORITE time of year! Lots of soft, supple, chewable things laying about the house. Mom brought out of whole box of 'em yesterday, and while her attention was cleverly diverted by Persephone's demonic wailing, I snuffled about.

Yes, it was true. A THING OF UNSPEAKABLE EVIL had, after lying dormant for a full twelve months, re-emerged to bring chaos to my beloved home. I resolved to destroy it.




Let it not be said that I do not love my work!

The Rabid Reindeer Scourge will not lay waste to my abode again!




Prancer and Blitzen, behold the fate that awaits you if you dare land upon the roof of THE BUSTERIZER.

Uh, oh...Mom has some words for me. Gotta go!

Your friend,

Buster the Contrite

Happy Feet

And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.

Kahlil Gibran

Windows of the Soul: The Search for Buster's Eyes

Persephone here at the keyboard today. Many of our good friends out in the global wolf-child blogosphere have expressed some concern regarding the existence of Buster's eyes. Does he have a pair? Truthfully, Bailey and I never bothered to ask him, since we assumed that all male terriers are essentially blind to the important things. But it WAS an intellectually interesting question, and we had little else to do, because Mom wasn't home to torment.

So today, Bailey and I set out on a Quest. We decided to journey into that Terra Incognita, that Undiscovered Country, that Great Unknown. The Search for Buster's Eyes!



We realized in advance that this was not an easy task, and the Royal Society had provided us with very specific instructions.

After taking on provisions, we set out dutifully to the floor of the Bedroom. There, we discovered the creature, supine and comatose. We searched for evidence of orbs of sight...



Disappointed, we ventured further! After all, the intrepid Captain James Cook was not deterred when he failed to discover the fabled Lost Continent, that Terra Incognita Australis of the imagination, after he journeyed from Cape Horn to Tahiti. No sir! He observed the transit of Venus across the sun, enjoyed the hospitality of gorgeous and scantily-clad natives, and proceeded Westward! So we set out in a westerly direction to find Buster's Eyes...



A cry rang out from the main-topsail crow's-nest--"Eyes Ho! Two points off the starboard bow!" We sprang to our battle stations and beat the crew to Quarters.



It was a terrifying sight! The Creature emerged from its slumber, and we realized in a moment how Odysseus must have felt upon first viewing the Cyclopean horror.



A second eye was sighted in due course, and we knew with certainty that we had come upon a beast with stereoscopic vision! We trembled.



Soon, another protuberance emerged, and we understood the ghastly fear of impending annihilation experienced by Captain Nemo when the Nautilus fell into the grip of the Giant Squid.




It blinked! The Beast approached us cautiously... Closer and closer it came!



We took a photograph, hoping that those who came upon our remains might find the camera and view our very last sight.


Alas, the Creature simply stuck out its tongue, rolled over, and proceeded to nap.

A narrow escape!

We shall report more in a subsequent installment on..."The Search for Buster's Brain!"

Your faithful correspondent,

Persephone

The Three Ages of Buster: a metaphorical visual experience (with apologies to Titian)

I. Tadpole

II. Impetuous Youth

III. Éminence grise

Okay, okay, enough a'ready!! This is Bailey, taking over the keyboard from the metaphorical Bozo. He doesn't know Titian from Alaric the Visigoth! I'll give him a visual metaphor...watch this!

Well, that's what I think! Actually, this isn't a bad metaphor...kinda fits the season. (Yawn)

Okay, two more weeks 'til the Winter Solstice. It is so naptime!

G'night...

Bailey

B. P. & B. private eYes...

It's B.P. & B. private eYes at your service here.
We have made note of the strange comings and goings of our people. They go (without us) and then they come back .......with bags and boxes and "stuff" and rush by saying...."don't look, don't look!!!". So what exactly is happening around here? Do any of the rest of you notice anything strange happening at your house?

•You Must Keep Watch•
•SEE everything•
•Do Not Leave Your Post•

The strangest part is they all work separately.
Don't show ANYTHING to us -- or ANYTHING to the other humans in the house.

shhhhhhhhhh -- It's a SECRET!

Which brings me to a concern. What occupations require being scretive? hMMMMmmmm... yeh.. the wrong kind of occupations.

More concern.

I, theBUSTER, private eYe, am very concerned for the amount of "stuff" entering the house, because not much is exiting the house -- except the garbage, which is always taken out on a regular schedule... hmmm Not to mention lots of food enters, and kind of disappears, but that seems to be normal too.

There seems to be talk of bringing a tree into our house also.....
Could it be that the-great-and-wonderful-Santa-Paws, will be visiting? hmmmm some more.
It must be close...it's my humom's birthday today and he comes after that.....so......by my awesome powers of deduction....yes I am awesome.
oopsy, just got lost in a thought.... Hmmmmmmm ..........
it sounds like the big HOWLidays will be arriving soooooooon. wHoooOOOOooo0000000!

We must prepare.
Pull out the boxes unearth the lights.. we've gotta get ready!

Part 1. day .23. and counting....

theBUSTER, private eYe