Lovers of dogs and cats
reading the following will
understand at once. Another
reaction will come from
those who just don’t understand
pets: ``Well, you fools!
It serves you right!’’
I’m bunking down these
days in my study to give
Anne respite from my Parkinson’s
restlessness. It’s a
great arrangement, with
her right across the hall in
a welcoming queen-sized
bed and with a new TV.
And I have a comfortable
single bed in what I now
think of as my ``man cave.’’
My bed, desk, books, lounger,
laptop — what more
could I ask? And most
nights I have the company
of Simon the cat. It’s like
camping out for us guys!
Simon spends many
nights at the bottom of the
bed, right between my ankles.
But cat lovers will understand
he also likes to
settle on some high eminence
in the room. His favorite
spot in the man cave
is atop the Xerox copier. It’s
suitably high and placed
just next to the west window.
Hunkered there, Simon
has a view across the
west field and right down
Allison Road, almost to the
bridge.
I’ve put a thick throw of
rough-woven wool on the
machine’s top and know
he’s grateful for it in his
catlike way. Which is to
say, he recognizes its value
and is glad that I know
what is due to him. I find
that an endearing quality
in cats. Others may call me
wacko.
One recent night, Simon
was enthroned on the Xerox
and I was deeply asleep,
settled down for a long winter’s
nap. Sometime in the
small hours, I half awoke to
a low electrical growl and
then a couple of clicks, but
then sank right back into
sleep. A minute later, or
maybe an hour, I came
awake again to ``thunk,
thunk, whirrr,’’ and again,
``thunk, thunk, whirr.’’
The Xerox was running.
Simon was over there, making
copies.
I jumped up and cut him
off after three sheets. On
his part, he rolled over and
stretched, then meowed inquiringly.
I guess that,
shifting earlier in his sleep,
he had pushed the machine’s
``On’’ button. Then,
later, he’d hit ``Print.’’ Repeatedly.
OK, no fault, no penalty.
Except to my sleep. For it
took awhile for me to settle
down again. After all, what
to my wondering eyes had
appeared? A gray-andwhite
cat, printing copies
in the night. If I had any
dreams after that, I’ll bet
they were interesting ones.
Sheep at electronic pianos,
maybe, and hens lined up
like Rockettes, kicking up
drumsticks high in front of
them.
The only disadvantage
of my man cave is that it’s
right above the kitchen,
and that’s where Blue the
dog sleeps. And does so
soundly, unless internal
distress makes him think,
``I gotta go—right now!’’
When that happens, he begins
moaning, at first softly
to himself.
If conditions worsen, he
shifts to a low register and
begins sounding like Long
John Silver. ``Arrrr,’’ he
says, and then, ``Arrrr!’’ But
there’s also a whiny, background
wheeze — as if the
crusty old pirate were choking
on a fish bone.
All this I can hear
through the floor and am
intended to. And when I get
up, pulling my feet from
under a disturbed Simon, I
sometimes open the bedroom
door to find Blue
standing right there, dancing
from foot to foot, all
wriggles and smiles and
wagging tail.
He knows he has violated
a major house rule:
``THOU SHALT NOT, OH
DOG, PAD FROM KICHEN
INTO DINING ROOM,
MUCH LESS UP THE
STAIRS, LEST THY TAIL
BE SHOVED UP THY
BUTT AND SNATCHED
OUT THROUGH THY
JAWS, TURNING THEE
INSIDE OUT!’’ But all his
dancing and smiling is to
convince me that desperation
has trumped ordinary
rules. I, of course, buy it.
Downstairs we go. I add
to my bathrobe my outdoor
coat and my red Elmer
Fudd cap, and we head out
into the Arctic darkness. I
have him on a leash and am
almost jerked after him as
he streaks for a favorite unloading
depot. I stand shivering,
admiring Orion overhead
lying at rest on his
back, as I’d sooner be. But
then Blue gallops back in a
kind of victory run, and
back we go into the house’s
warmth.
There’s a reason I have
Blue on a leash during such
night treks. There’ve been
several of them lately, all
following of a single cause.
Somewhere down in our
woods is a something in a
horrible state of decay. Blue
is ecstatic over it, and keeps
running off to fetch home
more pieces. So we keep
him under protective arrest.
It’s protective for us,
for what he hauls home is
beyond description.
Somehow he got away
from Anne a few nights ago
and galloped off into the
woods. My Anne, single minded
in her devotion, ran
off after him. And, as darkness
deepened, her wobbly
husband trundled after
both of them. I caught up
with Anne at the far end of
the property, halfway down
a steep, snow-covered
slope.
``Get back to the house!’’
she yelled, ``You’ll fall
down!’’ This from a dear
woman of a certain age, in
the blackness and halfway
down a snowy slope, with
every chance of snagging
her foot in brambles and
tumbling all the way down
and into Oaks Creeks.
Then I heard a distant
woof. ``He’s back up by the
house!’’ I shouted and headed
that way. Sure enough,
there stood Blue, just outside
the sheep gate. Whatever
he had dragged back
from the woods, he had already
hidden for future reference.
Everybody got back inside
safely, but on toward
morning I heard the choking
pirate below me again.
And so I unsettled Simon,
opened the bedroom door,
and found that dancing,
apologetic dog.
Why put up with such
things? For petless people,
I have no answer. For others,
none is needed.
Read about Jim Atwell’s
book at JimAtwell.com
Columns
Jim Atwell: In the winter darkness. . .
- Columns
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From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: More from 1986 ...
This week we continue with the discussion of telephone service from the pre-dial days. On March 12 we noted that: “No one has yet produced a telephone directory from pre-dial days, but Doug Preston of New Hartford recalls that some business (which one?) in the village had the phone number 7.”
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Celebrations abound at the Thanksgiving Home
April was a month of celebrations and much to appreciate. We had a 90th birthday celebration for Wanda Noyes on April 4 including her family and friends. Personal care staff Dee Bouck worked with residents to hand paint Easter eggs for the tree in the activity room.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1986 continues ...
This week we continue our journey through the columns of 1986 with the answer to the question “for whom, according to tradition, was Hannah’s Hill named?”
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Baseball book features local contributors
Baseball is part of the nation’s fabric. Most kids have a memory of the game either from playing Little League, attending a major league contest or meeting a favorite player. In Cooperstown that feeling is magnified since we are the official home of baseball. We get to see firsthand what has made the sport the national pastime.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Returning to 1986 ...
For the past several years now we have undertaken sharing some of the area’s oral history we have collected over the years that we have written this column. Therefore, this year, we would like to go back to 1986 to share that rather unusual year. Those who were here then no doubt remember that it was that year that the village celebrated the bicentennial of its founding.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: CCS balancing act ... side two
Last week we shared a number of activities in which students at CCS can participate. We thought it was an impressive, if not overwhelming, list. And we are indeed pleased that the young people of our area have these opportunities. However, we think it is also important to keep in mind that these undertakings do have a cost associated with them. They are not free. In fact there are, no doubt, those who would say they do not come cheap.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that and the other side ...
We note that the CCS Class of 2012 is presenting its senior class play, “Snow White” by Tim Kelly, this week with performances 7:30 p.m Thursday and Friday, March 29 and 30, and at 11 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturday, March 31. All performances will be at the Nicolas J. Sterling Auditorium at the Middle/High School.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: That green thing ...
Of late we have noticed that our email inbox has been much busier than usual. In fact, we find ourselves hard pressed to keep up with all the various messages we receive. As a result we suspect we have not answered some in as timely a fashion as might be thought appropriate.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: What you need to know
In their last Sunday’s bulletins, all 84 churches of Otsego County were to have carried announcements of an important meeting; most of them did. But because the announcement is so important, and not just to the churched, here it is again.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Living the magic of ‘Hoosier’
A lot of people consider “Hoosiers” the best sports film of all time. The 1986 classic follows the exploits of a fictional small town Indiana high school basketball team in 1952 as it attempts to achieve the impossible dream of a state championship. The story is inspired by the true life achievement of the 1954 Milan team, who with an enrollment of only 161 students shocked big city power Muncie Central on a last second shot to win the state title. It’s the kind of sports story that represents something that is hard to grasp unless you live in a small town.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: The most perfect village... home to heavy industry?
We suspect we would get a whole lot more accomplished if we spent less time thinking, pondering and musing about things. In fact, there is a good possibility we might actually have completed our goal of cleaning the basement if we only focused on the task at hand, instead of trying to figure out the world around us. It almost makes us wonder if it is possible to think too much about things. We certainly hope not because should that be the case, we are in deep trouble.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: The past in the present
Clichés abound about the value of photographs. Most are probably true at least to a certain extent. What I do know about an image is that it represents something of the past that is not the pastitself. But that is the power of any image. It represents something that once was. The beauty of an image, revisited, is that it functions as a catalystfor reliving in the present a past experience. My own view, one that I thank the Spanish writer Jorge Luis Borges for, is that all we ever can experience is the present.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Workshops held for Thanksgiving Home residents
We welcomed Linda Keller, Ph.D. of the Bassett Research Institute and Ida Baker of NYCAMH who presented a six-week workshop for residents and staff.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Late-winter hamlet news
Well, at least I’m “guessing” it’s late winter now — in the winter that wasn’t. But, if not snow, I can provide a flurry of Fly Creek news to share with you, scooping Associated Press, Reuter’s, and United Press International, not to mention all local news services except our General Store.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Waiting for spring to have sprung ...
Difficult as it to believe, both January and February seem to have flown by and we find ourselves turning the calendar over to the month of March, which we have long thought is one of the more dreary months of the year. Of course, as in the pastthere are signs of spring as reflected by the tapping of the maple trees. For many years, the trees sprouted buckets to capture their all important sap. However, we now know to look for the sap collection lines that are strung from tree to tree.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Kennedy: a unique individual
It’s been almost 50 years since the Kennedy assassination shocked the nation. Since then much has been written about President John F. Kennedy and whether he would have achieved his destiny (whatever that may have been) if he had lived. It is said he inspired young people in a way that has never been equaled. And there is the notion of Camelot, espoused by his widow Jackie, that there will never be a time of hope and promise like that again.
Continued ...
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From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
