Today I’ve got a three-dot entry, a newspaper term for unrelated subjects held together by … (an ellipsis).
I happened to see a bulldog in an ad, so—ever susceptible to canine appeal—I Googled bulldogs, got a puppy breeder who recommends checking out the rescue groups before buying a puppy. So I did. Mind you, I’m not in the market for a dog at present. Our own sweet girl is eight, however, and there's no way I’m going through the two dogless years again that we endured post Max.
Anyway, here are the rescue sites:
And the puppy breeders (about whom I know nothing, so am not recommending in any way):
But there is a whole lot of adorable-ness on their site.
English bulldogs are actually a rather sad lot in many ways. They’ve been so inbred for the short nose that they can’t breathe properly; and their little legs have been distorted for the same reason. My son had the cutest, dearest little bulldog—Dewars—who died very young from a heart/breathing disorder. He warns me in stern terms against falling for one. Who knows? I’ve been a Lab person for decades.
A lovely book for the winter-repressed, snow-bound friend or relative is Summer, by (Texan) Alice Gordon and Vincent Virga. I keep it around for dipping into in every season. Beautiful, evocative pictures and text by well known authors like John Updike and Calvin Trillin. The hardback seems hard to locate, but it’s worth the effort.
I rely on Maureen Dowd’s column in the New York Times to rev my engine in the mornings when she appears. And today, once more, she delivered. But, for a change, my ire derived not from a dose of her customary vitriol. No, today it was the subject matter that did the trick. Seems this fellow in Pasadena, California has decided to let people in India write his online newspaper that focuses on local news—that is, the news occurring in, around and to, Pasadena. And he found them by posting a notice on Craigslist. (!) Oh, go read the piece. Dean Singleton, a newspaper publisher cited in the article as favoring outsourcing of newspaper writing, once owned the Houston Post. No wonder it died.
To calm down after that, I baked a pan of biscuits. I enjoyed one with a small pat of butter. Real butter. And I’ll freeze the rest. Or so I say….