February 27, 2011
The shelter identified Ondine as a border collie, but she's much longer and leaner than most borders. That's not unusual - border collies were never bred for conformity. But there's a new breed of dog called the "silken windhound," which apparently started in Austin as a cross between a whippet and a borzoi (and which surely takes the cake for pretentious-sounding made-up breed names). The pictures I've seen lead me to believe Ondine could be one of those, or at least have one in her background - she has the same long legs, skinny waist and deep chest, and she has that cool Borzoi explosion of curly hair on her hips. I dunno. It doesn't really matter, but it's an interesting theory.
February 26, 2011
February 24, 2011
February 22, 2011
Is life, then, so sweet? Are we so softly cushioned on the stony bed of earth? Is bitterness and sorrow in its sum so small and scant a thing? Do we here breathe so divine an air that we should fear to face the passage of our breath? What have we here but hope and memory? What see we here but shadows? Shall we then fear to pass pure-handed where Fulfillment is and memory is lost in its own source, and shadows die in the light which cast them?
- Cleopatra, Henry Rider Haggard
February 20, 2011
Late in the afternoon she stirred and said, "Should we gather up our things and head inside?"
He was slow to answer. "I suppose," he said, but neither of them moved. Another long, silent minute passed before he said, "How long have we been out here?"
"Don't know," she said. "A long time."
February 19, 2011
Anybody who wanders around the world saying, "Hell yes, I'm from Texas," deserves whatever happens to him.
One of the key genetic rules in breeding dogs, horses or any other kind of thoroughbred is that close inbreeding tends to magnify the weak points in a bloodline as well as the strong points. In horse breeding, for instance, there is a definite risk in breeding two fast horses who are both a little crazy. The offspring will likely be very fast and also very crazy.
- The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, Hunter S. Thompson
February 18, 2011
February 15, 2011
No man, proclaimed Donne, is an Island, and he was wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature, and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived, and then, by some means or another, died. There. You may fill in the details from your own experience. As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes - forming patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There's not a chance you'd mistake one for another, after a minute's close inspection), but still unique.
- American Gods, Neil Gaiman
February 13, 2011
February 11, 2011
Aries is blue and Ondine is jet black, yet it is Aries who disappears outside at night. His coat has exactly the right depth of color to blend inconspicuously into his surroundings. You get the feeling he knows it, too, because he stands perfectly still and watches as you try to find him. It's unnerving. Ondine is as easy to locate as Aries is hard; she is never still, and the eye is quick to spot inky black shadows flying by.
Although when you see it it's too late for you anyway.