|some human and canine "nannies" with The Pups at WSC|
I can now claim to have been surrounded by a pack of ravenously hungry wolves and walked away from the encounter unscathed. Last night the Better Half [BH] accompanied me (or vice versa, but I drove) to the Wildlife Science Center [WSC] to listen to Mike Link and Kate Crowley read from their book Meandering, Notes of a Mississippi Riverlorian. We, actually the BH (I have to reimburse her), bought a copy of the book and made a small donation to WSC to help finance their move to a new home for the pack. Our hearts were thoroughly softened by the time we spent prior to the reading, when we visited with this year's fifteen wolf pups who were nannied by several human staff and even more dog nannies.
|Blue Vervain blooming|
Closer to home, Blue Vervain is in bloom, has been for several days. Maybe it's my eyes, but most of the blue vervain that I see, in real life and in photos, looks to me like it's purple, not blue. Of course, many time the Minnesota Vikings "purple" game jerseys look blue to me in certain lights. I suppose that, since purple is a combination of blue and red, my confusion is to be expected. As written in Prairie Plants of the University of Wisconsin Arboretum, when the blooms have reached the top of their spikes, "according to old timers, the first frost will occur." Locally, at Wild River State Park, we can expect, with a 50% probability, the first freeze sometime in the third week of September.
|pups searching for kibble|
If you haven't visited the WSC, consider adding it to this year's bucket list, and stop by before we get to that first frost, whenever it occurs. See if watching the pups for awhile doesn't loosen your purse strings and encourage you to make a contribution to help Move The Pack.
Dogs so long with us we forgetthat wolves allowed as howthey might be tamed and sprang upall over the globe, with all humans,all at once, like a good idea.So we tamed our own hearts.Leashed them or sent them to camp’s edge.Even the shrinks once agreed, in dreamsour dogs are our deepest selves.Ur Dog, a Siberian, doggedthe heels of nomads,then turned south to Egyptto keep Pharaoh safe.Seemed strange, my mother sighed,when finally we got a hound,. . . a house without a dog.Her world never knewa yard un-dogged and thusunlocked. Sudden intrusionsimpossible where yappers yap.Or maybe she objectedto empty armchairs,rooms too quietwithout the beatof tail thump or paw thud.N’de, Ojibwe say, my pet,which also suggests ode, that spot in the chest,the part you point to when you pray,or say with great feeling—great meaning,meaning dog-love goes that deep.
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.