Me mum...

After posting the pictures of the five generations of Gillett men, old pal Will Finn urged me to post one of my mother, Gloria Payne Gillett as well.

This photograph of Ma is of her at fifty... the same age I am now! Both a very, very surreal and sobering concept.

Ma passed away when she was just fifty-five (ditto on the surreal and sobering thing)... over twenty-two years ago now. As far as I know, this is the first time a picture of her has been put on the ultra-futuristic internet! She died long before such science-fiction became common everyday fact. Ma was addicted to the telephone and the C.B. radio. I would well imagine that if she were alive today, she'd have a couple of email addresses, her own weblog or two, be on MySpace and Facebook both, and would IM constantly... and a BlackBerry to boot. She'd be a near eighty year old techno-nerd!

I don't remember growing older, when did they?

...Wasn't it yesterday,

When they were small?

My adult daughters. The two things in my life that I am most proud of. The two things in my life that both confronts me with my own mortality and comforts me with my own immortality.

This '70s Show

Okay. I admit it. I've seen "That '70s Show". But I've not liked it. It isn't believable. It isn't realistic or authentic - in the least bit. And the hair... except for the guy with the 'fro, Hyde, I think it is... is all wrong. This guy should have been cast. He looks like he could be from the seventies. And this hot girl... now, she looks like she could be from the seventies. And I could believe they met and fell in love. Not like what's-their-names, Donna and Eric?

The Lincoln-Douglass Debates

OK, so the debates weren't between Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln. But the headline is too good to have passed up with the posting of this "image" of the two together. I can't resist such things.

This photograph wasn't taken of Lincoln and Douglass at either of their meetings at the White House during the Civil War. I took it in the summer of 2005 at Historic Fort Wayne in Detroit, Michigan. Fred Priebe here portrays President Lincoln. No, I take that back. Fred is Abraham Lincoln. In the extended Civil War Reenacting community there are some who chose to present historical figures in the first person. Some might be easier to portray lesser familiar men of the time such as, I don't know, Thaddeus Stevens. Lincoln is a challenge. And one that Fred successfully meets.

We have a set-in-stone preconceived image of Lincoln. From photographs and statues and a plethora of books to movies and television.... and President's Day Sale fliers. And even pennies and five dollar bills have given us an idea in our collective minds of what to expect from (a) Lincoln. Fred Priebe doesn't disappoint. It takes more than being "lanky" with a mustache-less beard and a stove-pipe hat. It takes more than memorizing and regurgitating the "Gettysburg Address". In any good portrayal... of any figure... you need to become the character. Fred (I need to be honest here. I never, ever, have called him "Fred" to his face... even when it is just the two of us, away from the public, it is always "Mr. President"... and will always be)... is a student of Lincoln as much as he is a teacher of Lincoln. He probably knows more about the President than he or his contemporaries did. I wrote last month the 21st Michigan's newsletter that would I be able to travel back to the time of the Civil War, I'd likely pass on meeting Lincoln. Because of Fred Priebe, I know I would be disappointed in the real President! He would be a pale imitation of Fred! The beard is his own, so he never has the luxury of ever being totally out of character. I imagine in Home Depot in blue jeans and a t-shirt, he is asked, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Abraham Lincoln?"

I'd like to share a quick story about Fred and a testimony to the realness of his Lincoln. Rosalia, a little girl - then five or six - in our reenacting unit, knew Fred only as Abraham Lincoln from her family's involvement in reenacting and friendship with Fred. One day, Rosalia and her father were watching a program on PBS or the History Channel about Booth's assassination of Lincoln. Suddenly, it hit her all at once, and she looked up at her father and, with tears in her eyes, said, "They killed Mr. Lincoln!?" To her, Abraham Lincoln is Fred Priebe. And she thought he had been shot.

Check out his website at http://alincolnstyle.com/ Fred does much more that attend Civil War Reenactments. His calendar is full and impressive. And I would be remiss to not mention his bride, Bonnie, does a terrific job at his side as Mary Todd Lincoln!

I regret to say that I don't know the man who portrays the great Frederick Douglass, though I have seen him many, many times. I will find out and make amends and correct this post as soon as I can. But too, like Fred, standing and talking with this gentleman, I feel as if I have actually met Frederick Douglass.

Here is the same picture without the tweaking and antiquing of Print Shop.

A Dip in the Gene Pool...

Five Generations of Gillett Men

I've done this for no-one's enjoyment but my own.

From top to bottom:

My great great grandfather
Orvill C. Gillett
(1838-1912), here in his early 60s

My great grandfather
Homer Gillett
(1865-1924), here in his mid 30s

My grandfather
Orville C. Gillett
(1891-1983), here in his early 50s

My father
LaVerne O. Gillett
(1924-2002), here in his mid 50s

And, finally, me
Michael D. Gillett
here in my mid 30s

More Memories...

While a student at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, I didn't stay at the dorms at Duquesne University. I suppose about half the students did. There was a dorm too, for guys only, in Oakland-Shadyside, I think. There were some students who lived at home and commuted. I remember a few had pretty long commutes... distances like from Washington to the south and Butler to the north. Some had apartments.

I lived in Swissvale and, later, in Squirrel Hill. Both were on the east side. Some eight and five miles away from school, respectively. I would take the bus and if memory serves, the 61b was my route. You'd have to buy a monthly PAT Bus pass and if the distance traveled was so much or if you had to transfer or if you took an express, you would have to throw in a dime as well. There were times I didn't have the dime and so started off early walking towards "dahntahn" where the school was (and is, but now at a different location). I'd look along the sidewalk, as I walked, and the gutter for an errant dime or if it wasn't my lucky day, I would have to walk far enough that I could finally ride the bus by just flashing my pass.

Most of us didn't have much money. I was no different. I think my budget for the week was five bucks. That included the twice-daily dimes, lunches and art supplies. I went of to Pittsburgh in early September that first year weighing 220 pounds and by the time I went home for Thanksgiving, I was down to something like 165. My folks thought I had cancer. It took me a while to convince them - especially my mom - that it was just the "poor art student" diet.

I didn't have breakfasts. Dinner was usually a hot dog. And lunch was a can of Coke and a small bag of fries from "Hardee's". I picked "Hardee's" because they had catchup bottles right on the tables so you could use as much as you wanted (hey, I needed whatever vegetables I could get). Or, if I was flush, and didn't need any art supplies for a project, I feasted. A toasted bagel from "George Aikens", slathered generously with butter so that it sloughed off and filled the bottom of the wax bag (hey, I needed whatever dairy I could get)... or for a real treat, the kid's meal at "Roy Rogers" - a chicken leg, small fries (in a very cool cardboard holster that would fit nicely on your belt), small drink and a prize (as if the sweet holster wasn't enough!).

Some times I'd have hot dogs for lunch too. "Wiener World" was just down the street from the art supply store. If I had money left over from buying supplies (or had convinced myself that I could mooch some press-type off from a buddy), I go on to "Wiener World" for a dog. Great hog dogs, little bit money and it was a lot of fun watching the Wagnerian gal behind the counter pick up the hot dogs off the grill with her bare hands. I figured that the heat would have killed any errant bacteria on her calloused mitts.

Most of us were forced to be frugal when it came to buying art supplies. An expensive brush was the one luxury. After that, we'd reuse our cover-stock again and again, cutting it down until it was too small to be of any further use. We'd buy illustration board in quarters (though ultimately it was more economic to buy a full or half sheet and cut it ourselves, but few had that much money at one time). A quarter sheet was 10x15, a half was 15x20 and a full sheet was 20x30. Cold press for pencil and watercolors and the like, and then hot press for paste-up and pen and ink stuff. Cold was a rough, "toothed" surface and hot was a smooth surface.

We'd buy color markers and tubes of paint one or two at a time, project by project. We'd share with others in the same rocking economic boat. By graduation, we might have a pretty full set. Of course, by that time, the first ones were running dry.

We'd have to take some of our stuff to a nearby stat-house either for reduced or enlarged photostatic copies. This was before computers and all of it's inexpensive modern miracles and conveniences. I forget how much it cost, but I imagine I had fries for lunch those weeks.

Borgman, Priggee, Kirk & Co.

Briefly, I'd like to highlight a few more personally influential editorial cartoonists... from the top, Jim Borgman (Cincinnati Enquirer), Milt Priggee (then, Spokane Spokesman-Review) and Kirk Walter (Toledo Blade). Some of the best cartoonists in the biz and some of the nicest guys. There's still a boatload to follow... so check back.

The top doodle of Bill Clinton is enlarged from the front of Jim's book "Disturbing the Peace"; a collection of his editorial stuff (Jim also does a little comic strip called "Zits"). He drew this along side his autograph ("To Mike - with admiration and warm wishes to a fellow inker in the Ohio cartoon trenches, Jim Borgman"). Like Will, Jim's doodles and sketches are to be envied and coveted.

The middle panel is an enlarged and cropped signed original from Milt. The neat thing with originals, is that you can get a great close-up look at the pen and brush work, that the printed cartoon doesn't allow. The look on this Soviet general's face is priceless, and I love the touch of the hat and it's placement!

Finally, the final panel is of another signed original, this one Kirk gave me, also enlarged and cropped. I will never, ever, attempt to draw Karl Marx - because I can't even come close to Kirk's Marx. So why bother!? This is so darned beautiful and I stare at it longingly like some guys look at a centerfold. Okay, I'll just go ahead and say it; I lust after Kirk's Marx, okay?! Those eyes... that brow... that beard... oh, baby!

Anyway, besides there stuff, these cartoonists are nice folk. Once, I sat next to Jim Borgman at aNCS chapter dinner. As we ate, Jim and I were speaking and Jim made reference to "we" cartoonists as he motioned indicating he and me. That is one of the best gifts anyone has ever given me!

On a few occasions, I spoke with Milt on the phone... picking his brain and trying to absorb his talent through the long distance telephone lines... never once did Milt act like I was bothering him or that he had a thousand other things to do. And I am sure I did and he did.

And I went up to Toledo (back when Toledo was "up" and not "down") to see Kirk in his studio at the Blade. I figured I'd grab an hour and show him my stuff, and pick his brain (and see if maybe I would have better luck absorbing his talent by being in the same room) and then hit the road. "Nah," he said on the phone, "you've got a long drive. Come up early and spend the day! Make it worth your while!" So I spent the day sitting at his elbow and watching him draw his weekly "Maumee Dearest". Later, when it hit the wire services that my editorial cartoons for the Marion Star and the Delaware Gazette won me a first place in both Division I and Division II, in the Ohio Associated Press Awards (the first year I was "professional"), Kirk faxed me a nice note of congratulations early that day! Again, another great gift!

Real-time Friendships

Lest you think I spend all my time "Living in the Past", and that the only friends I have are from the 1860s and the 1970s, and are either reenactors or cartoonists, here are a couple of pictures of some of my best, modern day, friends. On the top is Ron Windmiller and the bottom picture is of Jeff Moore (here doing his best Popeye).

Jeff is one of the pastors and Ron one of the deacons at church (http://www.ridgewoodchurch.org/), here in suburban Detroit. When we came to Michigan from Ohio, I had a handful of battle scars and a couple of open sores (admittedly more than a few were from me picking at the scabs). Jeff and Ron were quick to befriend me and, while they were accepting of me where I was at, they were also eager (and helpful) in having me heal and to grow and move on. When Karen was diagnosed with breast cancer two and a half years ago, Ron and Jeff were even quicker to minister to us all.

And both are very tolerant of my obsession with the music of Jethro Tull...

More Pittsburgh Pics...

Here are the last couple of pictures from my days at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh... yet another graduation pic with the aforementioned AiP president, John A. Johns. The aforementioned Bob Sallows stands at the podium in the foreground with the not-before-mentioned John Winberg sitting to his left.

Then following are three more pictures of Will Finn, Ray McAnallen and myself... cutting up in the school hallway. The poor, sweet, young lady, Ray and Will are harassing, is Debbie (I won't give her last name... I don't want to embarrass her any more than I have already by posting her picture). She had an unfinished roll of film in her camera and was looking to waste it. And we were more than happy to help her!

Jeff Stahler, et al.

I will dedicate other posts to other cartoonists that have left impressions upon me and influence my style. There are a bunch. But briefly, I'd like to give a heartfelt nod to Jeff Stahler. And to tell you of a decades long game of musical drawing boards - in a world of infinite cartoonists and finite full-time positions.

Jeff, besides being a great guy, is a terrific cartoonist. I've known Jeff and his work probably since the early 80's in Columbus, Ohio. Jeff is another graduate of the Columbus College of Art and Design. Jeff's stuff appeared regularly in Columbus Monthly Magazine in those days. Which you could say that was because he was also the art director. But I wouldn't... his work deserved to be there regardless. That was the only reason I ever bought the magazine. Later I was so eager, after Jeff left, to have my stuff in Columbus Monthly, I gave it away.

Later, Jeff became the editorial cartoonist at the old Columbus Citizen-Journal. Some years later, when the C-J closed its doors and Columbus became yet another single-daily city, Jeff ended up in Cincinnati at the old Cincinnati Post. Jim Borgman was, and is, at the Cincinnati Enquirer. What a lucky city. Well, except for having Marge Schott and Jerry Springer too...

After many years, the Post too folded and Cincinnati too joined the now long list of single-daily cities. The Columbus Dispatch, eager to grab Jeff (Jeff is editorial stuff is widely syndicated and his panel "Moderately Confused" appears in like a zillion papers as well), but not wanting to rudely push Jim Larrick, who had been there for quite a few years, into the unemployment office, quickly and conveniently found a place for him, as editorial cartoonist, at their large chain of Columbus suburban weeklies.

Where I just happened to be at, and had been for maybe ten years, working as freelancer. So, the music stopped and I was out of the game. And I couldn't be happier for Jeff. If I was to be bumped - and it is all part of the business, albeit here somewhat indirectly, I am glad it was to someone I know, admire and respect. Jeff and his family get to stay in Ohio... and I get to see Jeff's work all the time...

S'more stuff...

Some of my stuff...

Jerry Dowling's stuff

No, I didn't go to art school with Jerry Dowling. But he is a pretty terrific cartoonist and caricaturist nonetheless. Here is a caricature he did of me a few years ago at a meeting we were at where he was probably supposed to be paying attention and not drawing. Typical cartoonist. I am sure everyone of us cartoonists were doodling. A pen and a blank sheet of paper is not to be resisted. He's nailed my Cro-Magnon/Klingon brow. Ouch.

Jerry is a crusty old fart par excellence from Cincinnati. Alright. Not really that old. But very, very crusty. Jerry and I were in the (then) Ohio-Michigan chapter of the National Cartoonist Society, back when I was a "joiner".

Amazing (and true) story about Jerry and his wife (Gerri - yep, that's her real name), along with fellow cartoonist, chapter member and pal, Don Lee (editorial cartoonist in Sandusky, OH) at a Cincinnati Red's game. Some years back, my wife, kids and I took a weekend trip down to Cincinnati (we lived a hour north of Columbus). My eldest daughter wanted to go see the Red's play. And I found cheap nose-bleed seats by phone before we left. I would pick them up at the stadium.

I had mentioned to Don that we were going down that way... and he said that he was going to be taking some time off then too, and, too, would be heading down to Cincinnati, and would be visiting with Jerry and Gerri... and that the three of them were going to the Reds game. I told Don that we also were going... and that we'd see him there! The stadium seated tens of thousands - so of course we laughed at the absurdity of such a statement... and the likelihood.

We got there early, found our seats and before too long saw Don heading up towards us. I was pretty surprised he found us. How long had he searched?! He sat with us and visited and as it grew closer to the start of the game, I pointed out to him that he should probably find his own seat soon. Don pulls out his ticket stub and would you believe his seat was right next to ours?! A few minutes later, Jerry and Gerri joined us as well. Jerry had got their three tickets at a completely different time and place than my daughter and I had gotten ours!

And here is my own take on my own smug mug. I am still trying to find one that Will Finn did of me back at AiP.

"Send me a quarter and I'll comitt suicide"

Growing up as a kid, Johnny Hart was my idol. Ah, who am I kidding? He still is! And I never finished growing up.

The late cartoonist of "B.C." was from my hometown (what we called then "The Triple Cities"... but the Chamber of Commerce is now referring to as "Greater Binghamton") in Upstate New York. When I was fourteen, I wrote him a fan letter. I forget what I wrote exactly, but I did tell him that I wanted to become the "world's greatest cartoonist".

He wrote back, "Send me a quarter and I'll commit suicide".

Will Finn's stuff

Here is a sketch done by Will Finn whilst we were students at AiP. Will's quick sketches were better than something I spent hours on. And it probably is true today as well. If not truer.

Will might need to clarify/correct, but these were characters in a wonderful concept of his about a "pan-galactic cabby". If memory serves (and it doesn't always)... from left to right; the cabby, an alien (I remember something about his planet being too warm to walk in bare feet?), Toulouse Lautrec (or it looks like him anyway) and a "hoor" who happened to be in the cab when it was propelled into space.

A terribly creative booger, Will is a damn fine cartoonist. I'd give my right arm to draw like him. But then, that wouldn't really work out so well now would it?

John Manders' stuff

As I was digging through the closet, trying to find some of Ray McAnallen's stuff, I came across these caricatures of me done by John Manders. Like Ray, John was a fellow student and fellow caricaturist at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. John still lives in the Pittsburgh area and is a wonderful humorous illustrator. But don't take my word for it, check out his website at http://johnmanders.com/

Other caricaturists from those days at AiP, were Mike Malle (who is an instructor at AiP; lucky students), Dave Roe, and... arrgh, now my memory fails me...

Ray and Will... can you help me out here?

Another cartoonist/illustrator that I both know and am much impressed with (and envious of) is Tim Bowers. I got to know Tim when I was in Central Ohio. Tim is a graduate of (no, not AiP) the Columbus College of Art and Design. Like Manders, Bowers is a children's book illustrator, but I expect you've seen his stuff on greeting cards as well. Again, check out his website, http://www.timbowers.com/

John Johns from the AiP Course Catalog...

... "for the academic years 1974-1976"

It was from this catalog I chose the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. I had been giving serious thought to applying to the Columbus College of Art and Design in Ohio. I gave my high school art teacher the CCAD catalog and asked him to take a look at it and give me his thoughts. He said he would, if I would take a look at this catalog - and he handed me this one. I saw that AiP had cartooning as a required course... with advanced cartooning as an elective. So it didn't take me long to choose!

Flipping through the catalog: tuition was a whopping $510.00 per quarter! "Room and board" (at Duquesne University's dorms) was just over $490.00 per quarter. The school day was 8:30am to 3:15pm with a forty-five minute lunch, five days a week. Most classes were held once a week, half-day - three hours. Some were six - the entire day. It was a neat, condensed and intense, no-nonsense approach to education. Although, admittedly I had a pretty nonsensical approach most of the time.

As I recall, we started out the first quarter, divided and grouped alphabetically. I was in with those with the last names that began with "G" and with "H". I went through the summers, to graduate early, and so that quarter we lost of few who took the summer off and were lumped in with the "E's" and the "F's". And, thus, I met Will Finn. By the beginning of the fall quarter, they shuffled us around and we acquired some "B's". And, thus, I met my wife (well, she wasn't my wife at the time... you know what I mean).

"Everybody Loves Raymond"

Not long after the post where I reminisced about two "old" friends - and fellow cartoonists - from art school, Will Finn and Ray McAnallen, and had mentioned that I've lost track of Ray over the years... I got an email from (guess who?), Ray! It seems about the same time I was heading down Memory Lane, he felt compelled to go for a stroll up from the other end. He had Googled me and "Earth Pig"... found us both at "Blank Fields" and was, I am sure, much surprised to see his face of some thirty-years ago staring back at him! God bless the Internet! Ray is indeed a big creative director, out St. Louis way, for a big ad agency.


A few more pictures I just unearthed after tonight's dinner. The top is of Ray (left) and myself. The next is of Ray, Will and me... along with cartooning instructor, Bob Sallows. Bob was also the director of education of the Visual Communication's department. With a cartoonist as president of the Art Institute of Pittsburgh (the aforementioned John Johns) and here with another cartoonist as director of education, guys like Will, Ray and I were in seventh heaven in the latter half of the 70's. Ray was quick to explain in his recent email that it was Bob Sallows that he hit in the face with a pie, not John Johns. And here I've gone all these years remembering wrongly! Anyway, if I can trust my memory, we also had Fran Ford and a gentleman named Reynolds as cartooning instructors.

The bottom picture is of me and Will. In it I have on a t-shirt that I had made up... that read, "Will Fan Finn Club". I didn't want Will to feel slighted. After Ray had hit John Johns... er, I mean, Bob Sallows in the face with that pie, Ray was on everyone's sh*t list. Maybe fellow students wished that they had thought of it first themselves or the teachers were afraid they were next, I don't know. But Ray was uncharacteristically somber. So to make him feel better - and to let everyone know I had Ray's back - I had a t-shirt done that read, "Ray McAnallen Fan Club".

It might have cheered Ray up some, but it caused quite a few of the instructors to avoid me for a while.

But it was worth it.

Anyways, I've come across an old course catalog, from AiP... with a great picture of John Johns. I gotta hit the proverbial hay, but will be sure to post that soon...

Some of John Johns' caricatures...

These samples of John Johns' caricatures are lifted from an old National Cartoonists Society (NCS) membership album... from 1972, I think. I had him autograph my copy the first week or so I was at the Art Institute.

Johns did them for the covers of the weekly TV program guide, when he worked for the the Pittsburgh Press, before he was the president at AiP. He told us that this sort of thing was pretty low on the paper's priorities. After all his "regular" work was done that week... spot illustrations, maps, retouching and the like... in whatever time was remaining, he was allowed to do these amazing covers. Some weeks he had the luxury of a few hours. Others it was just thirty or forty-five minutes. So his medium changed from week to week... color or black and white... depending on what time he could put into it.

The great thing was, you couldn't tell by looking at them which got the less time and attention. The were all terrific caricatures to envy and emulate.

My dog is dead and I don't feel so good myself...

My sweet, dumb, dear old dog died recently. More accurately, we had to put her to sleep. Cancer. Ruby was twelve.

Either way, the end (no pun intended) result is quite the same. I am more than sans-dog. I am without of my best friend. The house seems quite empty. I am quite lonely. Oh, I have many friends. Quite a few "best" ones. And I don't mean to insult or slight them or minimize any of our friendships. But a dog, ol' Ruby here specifically, is a unique breed (pun intended) of a friend. And for those who have had dogs (or cats or gerbils or cockatoos or plecostomuses) who've transcended from "pet" to "companion" or "friend" and right on into "family", you'll know what I mean. And again, I don't mean to insult or slight my wife or kids or minimize our relationships either. But she was kin. She never left my side, except when she had to. She never disappointed me. And if I ever disappointed her, she kind enough never to bring it up. She never criticized, never complained. Never laughed at me. Always seemed to be quick with a smile for me, with that busted front tooth and her long, moist tongue lolling out of her mouth. If I was at home, she was always with me. Wherever I went, she followed. We did everything together. Even going gray in the muzzles.

She was the last face I saw at night when I went to bed (she slept on the floor along side the bed)... I'd pet her before turning of the light. She was the first face I saw upon awakening. As if she waited patiently for me to wake up. She was the last face I'd see when I'd leave for work in the morning (she'd walk me to the door... after I gave her the expected - and deserved - handful of Milk Bone dog biscuits). And it would seem that she would have sit at the window the whole day waiting for my return. When I would go away for the weekend, my wife would say the dog would "pine" for me to come home, walking from room to room in hopes of finding me. When we had to board her, Ruby wouldn't eat until we picked her up from the kennel.

She seemed to prefer my company over anything else. When we moved into another home one time, I was busy hanging curtain rods and putting beds together and unpacking books onto the bookshelves. All those things that need done before the house becomes your home. Ruby never left my side. It didn't occur to us that she hadn't been eating or drinking. My projects weren't in the kitchen and that was where her food and water bowls were. But she stuck by me, until we noticed that she was lethargic and could barely lift her head. We were ready to call the vet, there in the middle of the night, when one of us noticed that her water dish was full and none of us could remember having had to fill it for days.

Ruby wasn't the brightest pooch on the planet. Not a Lassie or a Rin Tin Tin or the dogs on "Frasier" or "Mad About You" - she was more like Warner Bros.' animated "Charlie Dog." But I blame myself. We took obedience lessons together. She did well. I failed to do our homework assignments. Even when she reminded me.

But she had one trick. And she did it well. She could potty on command. Both number one and number two. She'd go out and quickly attempt to come back inside. Standing at the door I would ask her, "Did you poo?" She would stop and cock her head if trying to remember doing such a thing. "Ruby," I instructed her, "go poo." And she would reluctantly and sheepishly turn on her heels (all four) and go back and complete her constitutional. This happened all the time, too. Each time actually.

Lest you think I jest , I explained this to the neighbor who was going to let her out for us. He too thought I was making this up, but after he let her out, she piddled and wanted to come back in. Our neighbor, remembering, told her, "go poo." Ruby obeyed but did so behind the tree and away from his prying eyes. He was dutifully impressed.

She wasn't much of a watch dog. Although she fancied herself to be one. She protected our house from every small child in a stroller, two blocks down, on the other side of the street. She would bark her fool head off and wouldn't quiet until they rounded the corner. I am not sure what she thought the threat from them was, but that was her one focus to protect us from. And she did it well. No toddler ever attacked our home.

One time I picked her up from the vet's after an exam and some tests (and a bath)... they told me that they weren't able to do the urine test. They said they had waited outside in the cold for quite a while for her to go but she never did. "Well," I asked the vet, "did you tell her to go?" No, they said, that never occurred to them. "Okay, let's go outside. Grab what you need." So they got a cup and a soup ladle and followed Ruby and I out the door. "Ruby, " I said in a normal voice, "go pee-pee potty!" Ruby never was much for baby-talk. Neither was I. But we had an audience. And right on cue, she squatted and squirted. The vet-tech was so impressed she just stood there, mouth opened. "I suggest you gather what you need before she finishes!" I said. And she collected a ladle-full of the stuff. "Anything else?" I asked. Ruby sat waiting patiently to perform. Well, they said, we would love have a stool sample. I doubt they would actually "love" a stool sample, but understood what they meant. "Ruby...poop!" And of course, she was happy to comply. And perhaps a little proud. I know I was.

She broke her front right leg a few years ago. And quite badly at that. Much like Washington Redskins' quarterback, Joe Theismann's break back in 1985, she seemed to have an newly added and flapping joint midway between knee and paw. She came to me, I swear, looking for help. I called a friend and she rode on my lap to the vet's. They say that you shouldn't handle an injured animal without first muzzling them... that, even though usually gentle, they might bite in fear or in pain. Ruby did neither; just nuzzled my hand, looking for comfort on the ride. She ended up with some plates, rods, pins and screws. And a bolt or two. And a pretty terrific scar. We were supposed to have her wear the obligatory plastic "Elizabethan Collar" so she wouldn't mess with the cast, but the ridicule from our two cats was just too much for her. We told her to leave the cast alone and she obliged. She hated for the cats to laugh at her.

We have rabbits and squirrels in the backyard. And the occasional strange cat. Ruby seldom, if ever, chased them: we just had to remind her, "that isn't your rabbit (or squirrel or cat)." And obediently she would politely ignore the interloper. The rabbits and squirrels would return the favor and politely ignore her back. Even only scant feet apart. The cats were a little less trusting. They are a suspicious lot.

When we had her "put her down", I stayed with her. Like I said, she hated to be without me and I didn't want her to think she was bad or that I was upset with her. I'm not going to go into the whole theological church-dividing debate over whether dogs have souls and do they go to heaven. But I didn't want her to be alone with some stranger there at the last. I didn't want her to be alone, to be frightened. I wanted her to see my face as she went. And feel me petting her one more time. And hear my voice. Telling her what a good, good dog she was just one more time. And that I loved her. That was all she ever wanted. To see my face, to feel my touch and to hear my voice.

"Ruby, you were a good dog. And I miss you. And I love you. You were a great friend. I'll never forget you, 'old dog'."