ch. 6, v.10-18

Perambulation the Second
Here the salted wind has the force of a giant mastiff
Thundering across the unguarded expanse of the sea to buffet us with unfathomable growls.
We must pursue our way with dogged determination,
Our puniness finding a seam of vincibility,
In which our reward.


For here only the beauty of the poodle's ears held aloft like unto the benedictine headdress,
And through our great exertion the exultation of making our path.







Celebrate ye dogs allowed with the leaping and twisting
And the mixing of silica deep in the layers of your coat.

ch. 6, v.1-9 (journey to cape)

On this goodly cape of sand there is a seasoning upon the air--a seasoning as of the the corny triangular snack that falls too rarely to the floor of our kitchen when my companion nourishes herself in haste in the moment that suspends between her evening return and our evening perambulation.

But also on this goodly cape of sand the days unroll unfettered by such hastefulness and make instead a devotion of perambulation upon perambulation.

Perambulation the First
This path leads us we know not where and there without worry.
Even be it not one but many paths switching our small pack at each bend
Still we follow with well-seasoned confidence.
For ever aside us attends this inlet, a mutt of river and marsh,
Good in odor and bright with reflection.



Yay, the nones of this spring might blow a stinging blast upon our hides
But for this company of timber, a generous palisade of pine that is pitchy and oak scrubby.




Exegesis and Commentary

A weekend on the Cape in March to get away from routine and worry. Our first walk was at the Mashpee River Woodlands. It's odd now to see these pix of us so wrapped up against the cold, but at the time the weather seemed quite wonderful: brisk but good in the sun.

There were several more walks before the trip was over. After many months of fermentation, they seem ready to emerge from Frida's individual experience now.

ch. 5, v.1-12 (scion)

O my companion what shall reveal to the sight of your eyes
The trials we suffer in the crevice that is your CRX?
Yea it is swift and faithful in the mechanism of its engine
It pleases you in the sweetness of the pedal and the wondrous loveliness of its frame
But, nay, do not allow these enchantments to stop up your ears and eyes and nose.



Hear you not the whimpers pressed from my lung when the poodle rests upon me the 50 pounds of her woollen body?
See you not the bent form of Karen Who Is Tall at your side, neither also the struggling to rise of your diminutive yet aged parents?
The weakness of the weakling human nose makes of it an instrument almost useless for navigation,
But does yours--not unimpressive of magnitude--fail even in detecting the creeping plague of moisture upon CRX's furnishings and upholstery?



Lo, but perchance you have heeded these signs, for before us now gleams a box of silver,
Expansive of interior and room for the head but still modest in consumption of the fossil fuels.


Hail, Scion, the new engine of our travels.

Exegesis and Commentary
Sad. Nobody else loved my CRX anymore. But they were all right. It was too small for two dogs, a six-foot-tall girlfriend, and the occasional need to drive my parents around. And the seals around the windows were all drying out (hence, the plague of moisture), the fabric on the ceiling was falling in, the passenger's side seatbelt and window didn't work anymore etc. But the engine was still so good and it handled so beautifully, except for parking, which was a pain b/c it had no power steering and what with my shoulder and neck issues, well, okay, it was time to let the car go . . .

But I was lucky enough to look on Craig's list in the last week that a nice, extremely responsible young woman from the South End had her 2006 Scion xA posted. It's still small enough, cute enough, and zippiness enough to please me, and it accommodates all my pack so much better.

ch.1, v.14-23 (franklin park)

The firmament presses close upon us heavy and rich with moisture
As from an o'erturned cistern the water breaks forth
Falling through coldness of Northern climes
Descends in gentleness upon our hides.
It is as a cloak of soft jewels and the ground beneath our paws
Becomes like the skin of the tree called birch.
Upon it small and quick varmits trace their marks.




Behold, the fragrant pleasures of my mighty muzzle
Are made visible in the sight of my companion's eye.





Exegesis and Commentary
Dogs in the snow. Beautiful and joyous. That's all.

ch.4, v.1-20 (visitors at midwinter)

Strange patterns come upon us as the sun approaches and surpasses its winter stand.
Karen Who Is Tall fills once again her satchels for a voyage and departs,
With her the poodle who bears now a heavy coat of wool upon her hide.
My companion obtains a reprieve from her diurnal absence and keeps council in the den
Or together we inspect the paths of our snow-bound territory.







She performs only short excursions alone
Returning sometimes perfumed with strange fragrances.
The spoors of grandhumans are about her
And once the aromas of duck and cattle, of ginger tamarind
And other spices of lands far beyond both the rising and the setting of the sun.




In the deepest recesses of a night, travelers break our solitude--
Two pilgrims whose odor is known to me and one that is new but welcome.
I luxuriate in this good company--it is generous of praises and rubs for my belly.
They fill up the beds of our den and warm its air with the livingness of their bodies.
The pack grows.

We make many and unusual excursions together
Unto the new den of the grandhumans and
Unto the public house known as brendan behan
Where hospitable canines congregate upon the worn timber of the floor
While their humans grow relaxed with goodly libation.





Should not our days be always thus, my companion?

Exegesis and Commentary This is obviously Frida's take on the recent and unusual events of Christmas break, which were a welcome break from the usual routine for both of us. Since the MHS now closes from Xmas to New Year's, I was able to stay home much of the time, and have many more dog walks before the sun went down at the absurdly early hour of about 4pm.

Since neither of my brothers was able to make it to Massachusetts for Xmas day, my parents and I opted for a traditional Jewish Xmas with Marcia in Brookline, tho' we never made it to the movie portion of the day once the Chinese food indulgence was over (actually, I watched the DVD of the new biopic about Edith Piaf and regretted it--what is this French fascination with and glamorizing of women who are damaged and wildly self-destructive?).

At the very end of Xmas day Edmond arrived with Sibel and her son Eren, and Frida was very happy with their company. One evening at the Brendan Behan, where they allow dogs b/c they don't serve any food, was especially good. Oh, for a world where the faithful and well-behaved hound could follow one everywhere.