What a difference a watchdog makes

I'm still thinking about the impending bankruptcy of the Charleston Gazette-Mail, often referred to as West Virginia's watchdog newspaper.

That expression hit home to me. For several good years, Goat Rope Farm was watched over by Arpad the Magnificent (above, with deer carcass), our Great Pyrenees. The bad guys stayed away while the big dog was on watch.

After he died, the predators moved in. Some chicks here, some grown chickens there, a turkey or two. It was on.

I hope the same thing doesn't happen here. Things are plenty bad enough already.

RIP Turk Lurk

It is with sadness that I report the passing of Turklurk, the one remaining turkey on Goat Rope Farm due to natural causes...as in a predator. I found him this afternoon on returning from a long day. Not sure when the crime took place or who the culprit was. Whether coyote or raccoon or whatever it didn't eat much, which is to say a lot went to waste.

This never would have happened when Arpad the Magnificent, protector of poultry, was alive.

The life lesson here, apropos of nothing is that when the good guys go away the predators move in.

The quality of mercy

A suspect has been detained in the case of the murder of Mama-san and six of her chicks, whose story was celebrated here before the crime took place.

I seriously considered the ultimate penalty against the offender, although I guess technically by the rules of evidence I would need further proof that it was this raccoon and not another one who did the crime.

At this point, I'm leaning towards telling it to "go (far away) and sin no more."

However, none of this would have happened if Arpad the Magnificent was still alive.

It's a sad fact that when the good guys go, the predators move in.

Restraining hands... or paws

Since the passing of Arpad the Magnificent this summer (pictured above), predators have already started moving in. A couple nights ago, we were awakened when an unknown critter attacked Pearl, our aging peahen. Last night she disappeared. This would have been unthinkable in Arpad's heyday.

It makes me think that all our lives would be a lot less safe without the often unseen restraining hands (or paws) of those who, without fanfare, keep things from being as bad as they could be.

I've more than once quoted the last lines of George Eliot's (Mary Anne Evans) Middlemarch here:

"...the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs."

(Note: not all of the good guys who faithfully lived a hidden life were as glorious or beautiful as Arpad. They probably didn't bark as much at night either. Come to think of it, I visited Arpad's tomb tonight and poured him a libation of goat milk. But the point remains I think.)

OFF TOPIC. Here's a final digression of grieving for a dog. After he died, I dreamed that I climbed a mountain and looked down. There was Arpad and some other dogs I knew who had passed running around and having a great time. I tried to climb over the mountain to them but it was too steep and I couldn't cross the line.

I think that may have been a classic Freudian albeit nonsexual wish fulfillment dream of good dogs living forever. I wish it was real. Or that, in the Buddhist spirit, Arpad had been reborn in the Pure Land of Amida Buddha, where he could work towards ultimate Nirvana under the most favorable circumstances. Or that I could ever be as cool as he was.

Elegy or requiem?

An unexpected big hit in the book world has been J.R. Vance's Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis, which is both a personal memoir and an attempt at diagnosing Appalachian ills. I think it succeeds very well in the former but not so much in the latter. The book was the subject of the latest Front Porch program/podcast. You can listen here. It's also on the menu in the latest Inside Appalachia.

Finally, thanks for the condolences from may people on the passing of Arpad the Magnificent. There's a big hole on the farm where a big white dog isn't.

Good night, sweet prince!

It is with great sadness that I report the passing of Arpad the Great, the Great Pyrenees security chief of Goat Rope Farm. We enjoyed him for 8 years. He died of an apparent heart attack in his sleep while fighting off a persistent infection.

He had the great combination of being protective but non-aggressive and he was loved by those who knew him as a genial goof. He also enjoyed dragging deer carcases into the yard for a little snack.

It won't be the same place without him. May he be reborn in the Pure Land of Amida Buddha where he can work towards final liberation under the most favorable circumstances.

As Horatio said in Hamlet, "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

In lieu of words

The Dude enjoys a spring day.

Calmer than you are

Somebody likes this weather anyhow. Arpad, security chief at Goat Rope Farm, is something of a snow bunny. (Photo credit: Spousal Unit)

Gratuitous animal picture

It's been a while since I went there, but this one of Arpad wearing a tiara is just too good to pass on. Some of us wear them better than others. (Photo credit: the Spousal Unit)

Much diminished

One annual ritual at Goat Rope Farm this time of year is the shaving of Arpad, our Great Pyrenees security chief. After a winter of running around, barking all night in the woods and brambles and eating rotten deer carcasses and getting sick--in the line of duty--his coat is rather nasty. Plus, he's so hot that all he wants to do is lay around.

We take him to a place with a dog whispering groomer who does the job, which usually takes more than two hours. When it's all done, we learn that he is mostly composed of hair and the summer product is a fraction of the dog he used to be.

Although I'm sure the procedure makes him more comfortable, he seems self conscious for the first week or so and doesn't like to make public appearances. I hope he won't mind this exception...

In lieu of a serious post...

...how about another gratuitous animal picture? This photo, taken this weekend shows Arpad, our Great Pyreness and official People's Commissar of Public Safety at Goat Rope Farm, with his latest treasure find, to wit a decomposing deer hide.

I don't presume to channel what he's thinking, but if I had to hazard a guess, it might be something like:  "Deer season--the gift that keeps on giving." For him, it's yet another proof of the generosity and benevolence of the universe.

And, while I love him dearly, at times like these I'm glad he's mostly an outside dog.

SPEAKING OF DOGS, Paul Krugman wonders here whether Ayn Rand devotee Paul Ryan's recent musings on "inner city" folks might be a "racial dog whistle." My only reservation about this conclusion is that I thought dog whistles were supposed to be so subtle that humans couldn't detect them.

SO WHERE WERE DOGS in the infinitesimally short explosion that gave birth to the universe? I'm guessing they were very tiny. And well insulated.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED

That's my baby

Arpad, Great Pyrenees security chief at Goat Rope Farm, in warmer times, with a friend. Or part of one.

One of the things I admire about Arpad and the whole Great Pyrenees breed is that they are like the ideal martial artist, protective but not the least aggressive, potentially as dangerous as a gun at close range but generally unaware of and unconcerned about the fact and not in the least inclined to show it.

Most of the time, Arpad is a genial goof and occasional low thief. If we had fair elections on our dead end holler road, he's be a shoo-in for mayor.

His supreme coolness often manifests itself when we go on a 5 to 6 mile loop walk along neighboring ridges. Up at the top, there are a couple of mean Rottweilers who bark at us and threaten to attack.

Arpad generally places himself casually between us and them but considers them so far beneath him that he makes no eye contact and does not acknowledge their existence in any way. Until, that is, he gets to the end of their territory, at which point he generally leaves a massive if fragrant calling car.

The Pod abides.

Bad to the bone

Arpad, the Great Pyrenees security chief at Goat Rope Farm, loves deer season and everything after. Here he is with another example of what he views as the generosity of the universe.

The question, as I see it, is is he just trying to get a leg up in the world or has he put his foot in his mouth?

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE WV LEGISLATURE, interesting things are happening. A bill that would create a Future Fund or mineral trust fund, something El Cabrero has worked on for a few years, looks good in the state senate. It has 30 sponsors and there are only 33 senators. A minimum wage bill has moved from a house committee and seems to have strong support (even some who hate it are afraid to vote against it). And a bill that would promote physical activity in schools looks pretty good at the moment. The bill, called Move to Improve, is a companion piece to last year's Feed to Achieve Act.

Lots of other stuff too, but it'll keep.

Canine theology

The medieval theologian and philosopher St. Thomas Aquinas famously came up with five proofs of the existence of God and any number of arguments regarding the divine attributes. Arpad, our Great Pyrenees dog and security chief of Goat Rope Farm, is something of a theologian himself. He came up with on proof of the existence and benevolence of the Deity, which goes something like this:

*This time of year, all kinds of deer carcasses appear in the woods.

*Deer carcasses are awesome.

*Therefore, God exists and is good.

The generosity of the universe

Arpad (pronounced Ar-pod), our Great Pyrenees and security chief for Goat Rope Farm, loves this time of the year. As deer hunters hit the woods, they often leave behind such tasty offerings as legs and spines, sometimes both all joined together. These are sources of delight for a good month or two starting when the leaves start to turn.

The above picture shows his treasure haul for the day. And the season is still young.

For Arpad, it's proof that the universe is bountiful and generous. It's all good. The Pod abides.

HOW BOUT THOSE POLLS? It looks like the government shutdown/hostage crisis thing hasn't worked out too well for House Republicans.

A GRIEF OBSERVED. My friend the Rev. Jim Lewis recently lost his wife Judy after a long battle with cancer. Here are some of his reflections on dealing with loss.

ELEPHANTS get the point. Too bad some people don't.

ENDING THE (REAL) HUNGER GAMES. Here's a look at some recent reforms that provide free meals for all schoolchildren. We're working on that in WV.

WE KNOW FROM "OKLAHOMA" that the farmer and the cowman should be friends. Apparently, it wasn't that easy even thousands of years ago.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED

Arpad's aristeia

"Aristeia" is a great Greek word that often comes up when talking about heroic epics like the Iliad. It comes from the work aristos as in aristocrat and means the best. In the context of epic, it refers to a hero's best fight or most glorious day on the battlefield.

In the Iliad several characters had aristeias, including Diomedes, Patroclus, Hector and Achilles. A full scene begins with the hero strapping on his greeves or leg protection and his cuirass or upper body armor, grabbing his shield and sword and various accouterments of war and proceeding to open up a can on the enemy. Often, this can opening is preceded by a lengthy boast about the hero's lineage and deeds.

Arpad, our recently shaven Great Pyrenees (above) had his aristeia last night. Or really this morning.

Around 4 a.m., we were awakened by the unmistakable sound of chickens in distress. The Spousal Unit ran out with a flashlight and I followed with the 12 gauge. Arpad was already in the chicken house. The flashlight soon revealed that a possum had climbed the walls of the chicken coup to where they roost. It was not the best place for me to deploy my artillery.

Arpad only barked once for a change but tried his mightiest to climb the walls. He is a genial goof most of the time but is fiercely protective of the other animals on the farm.

I dislodged the possum from his perch with a hoe and Arpad swooped in like the angel of death. It was over in a flash. When it's my time to go, I hope I die as quickly as that possum.

He killed it a couple more times for good measure. If he had a chariot, he may well have dragged its body around Goat Rope Farm the way Achilles dragged Hector around Troy.

Sic semper possumus may well be his motto.

He's a good boy. I think of him as My Sweet Little Angel Baby From Jesus In Heaven. Possums, however, may have a different opinion.

Return of the yeti

Regular readers of this blog may recall that Arpad (pronounced Arpod), the Great Pyrenees security chief of Goat Rope Farm, hit a rough spell late this summer when he had a disagreement with a motor vehicle. His tibia was broken. Surgery was had but for some reason, the plates didn't hold and the bone broke again, almost coming through the skin.

It was bad. There followed another surgery which involved metal bars going clear through his leg, which led my daughter to call him Franken-Pod. This meant the boy had to be pretty immobile and stay indoors for the first time in his life. 

Then there were days when the bars came loose and his leg smelled like a deer carcass. Like I said, it was bad. It looked like he might lose a leg. Or that we might lose a Pod.

Through it all though, he was the most amazingly patient patient, taking it all in stride.

After a while, he started really getting better. We had a scare one night when he got out and ran all over the hills barking at the bad guys like the good old days. We were afraid the leg would break again and he'd return with a blood stump.



I'm pleased to say that didn't happen. He's now back outside and on duty, taking walks when he chooses, barking at the villains, and surveying his domain, which in his mind is everything he surveys.

The Pod abides.

A leg up?

Some time back I reported that Arpad, our Great Pyreness and official Goat Rope Farm security chief, suffered from a broken leg. After surgery, things looked better until the bone apparently slipped apart.
It was bad. Real bad. Even a vet I know got queasy when he saw it.

The latest is another operation which entailed God knows how many metal rods going in and through the bone. He can get around amazingly well considering. He seems to be in discomfort although he's getting pain meds.

And getting through airport security is totally out of the question...

It's sad to see a good Pod down. It reminds me of the suffering of Aslan in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I'm also amazed and inspired by how brave and stoical he is.  But I'm hoping things will go better this time.

Two urgent items and then some

This blog was established to draw attention to the burning social issues of our day. I'm not sure what happened to that plan.

However, I would like to say thank you to everyone who has sent in good wishes for our Great Pyrenees Arpad, who, as reported here, broke his leg last week.

I am pleased to report that Arpad, perhaps more accurately referred to these days as Tripod, is doing much better. Last night he walked the perimeter of the Farm and barked at any and all nocturnal malefactors. Today he's gone farther and faster than ever on his walks and seems to be doing better all around.

The Pod abides.

Secondly, I received an email from the Spousal Unit. After reading this post about, among other things, Patrick Swayze's mullet in the movie Roadhouse, she wrote that his haircut was in fact not a mullet and sent the following link with mullet pictures to prove her point. After perusing the site, I still say Patrick was wearing one.

What do you think, Gentle Reader? When is a mullet a mullet?

This issue may not soon be resolved, but it does occur to me that Arpad might look good in a mullet. I know he may not like the cut, but then again he isn't very mobile these days. He should have thought of that before he broke his leg.

I THINK I'M JEALOUS. The Gazette ran this great story yesterday about a retired WV state trooper hiking the Appalachian Trail. He's almost done. That has always been a dream of mine, although the odds of it happening are pretty remote.

REWRITING THE GOSPELS.  What would Supply Side Jesus do?

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED

The injured list

I am sad to report that Arpad, security chief at Goat Rope Farm, had a losing argument with a motor vehicle (he didn't start it) and will be taking a couple of months off from active duty. It really pains me to see the Big Boy in such pain. He had a broken tibia which required surgery to repair. As you might imagine, persuading him to get up and go outside to answer the call of nature is an ongoing challenge.

Fortunately, the vet said he should make a full recovery.

MAKING IT PLAIN. Here's Robert Reich on the Ryan budget and why it is the Mother of all Bad Ideas.