Tuesday, June 26, 2018


It's been five years since I've published anything on this blog.  Again, I'm amazed that it's still here and intact.  I pulled it up to show a friend a picture of Sally, and then as I revisited some of the content I remembered how much fun it was to write.

I had given it up in favor of Facebook, but I'm reluctant to spam people's feeds and rarely post anything there.  Facebook just jams whatever you post into the faces of your friends and acquaintances.  "Hey!  Look at me!  Do you like this thing?"  Twitter is worse, sounding your barbaric TWEET over the rooftops.

I miss this outlet.  Maybe I should go back to it, see if anyone even notices.  Maybe I don't even care if anyone notices.  Maybe it's just an outlet to write my thoughts.  My musings.

I think I'll go back to Planet Jabberwocky, but first a post about Flicker that I drafted five years ago, but never published...


Flicker is getting more comfortable around the house, and is building up some real trust in us and her surroundings.  While Flicker is learning us, we are learning Flicker.  She's quiet and doesn't vocalize much, which is a big change after Roadie's hair-trigger roo and Sallie belting it out like Janis Joplin whenever she's excited.  Sallie is easily excited, so we often have Janis in the house.

Flicker?  Not so much.  I tried a YouTube video of greyhounds rooing, which is guaranteed to elicit a roo from any greyhound.   Not Flicker.  She ran around looking for the dog, but she wouldn't sing with it. Flicker's a quiet girl, and that's okay.   I'm a quiet guy.  I don't sing along either, Flicker.  I can relate.

She does have a voice, though, she just uses it sparingly.  Jan saw her digging in the yard and tapped on the window to stop her, which proved to be very effective with her hyper-awareness.  I happened to be standing at the same window when she decided to continue work on her excavation project, but she remembered the window and gave it a quick check before digging in.  There I was.  She backed slowly from the hole, her tunnel forgotten, and she actually barked at me.  She has a voice!  It wasn't a bark of fear or aggression, it was more like caught-in-the-act surprise.  "Whoa, I'm being watched!  Hole?  What hole?  Oh, this?  No, no...I was just smelling this hole.  I found it here."

We did learn that her silence can extend to when she has to go and we're in another part of the house. Her reluctance to speak overcomes her need to pee, but her placement has been considerate. We're learning her limitations.

She's a sweet girl.   She regressed a bit when Mike and Holly were here, choosing a secluded spot upstairs after pacing too many circles around the coffee table, but she came right back around once the house was hers again.

Flicker.  She's a quirky one.

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