Dogs, Robots, and Forcing Blooms

Our local Humane Society can always use donations of towels and other flat linens.  So, when I find abandoned towels out in the wilds—which happens more often than you might think—I wash them and drop them off at our truly stellar organization.  Not only is the Humane Society of Huron Valley a no-kill shelter, it regularly sends its Love Train truck to struggling shelters and brings animals back here for adoption.

     I took some donations to the HSHV this week and treated myself to a walk through the kennels to see the dogs.  We’re not in the market for another pet.  I just enjoy visiting the dogs.  There weren’t many around, and only one in the small-dog section.  She was a gorgeous hound puppy who looked like she was wearing eye makeup.  There will be more to choose from soon, as the Love Train comes twice a month.

     Sue’s recent adoptee, Vesta, is making progress in matters domestic, particularly walking on a leash.  The Shetland sheepdog has grown to love her long walks, and has put on impressive muscle in her new home.  Sue and I were out walking with Vesta last week, when the sheltie found a treasure.  We couldn’t immediately tell what had so beguiled her, but she picked it up and carried it proudly for quite some time.  It turned out to be an elderly banana peel.  We thought this was hilarious.

     Eventually, something else caught Vesta’s attention, and she abandoned her treasure.  On the way home, though, she found and appropriated an even older banana peel.  This one was so ancient that, as she bore it along, the sections fell away at the seams until only the one in her mouth was left.  And very quickly, she ate it.  This was not hilarious.  Banana peels don’t digest easily.  Sue was pretty sure she’d be seeing that peel again in one form or another.  Animals, like people, are full of surprises.  And, in this case, banana peel. 

     Rascal surprised me on our walk yesterday.   Male cardinals have been singing their hearts out for the last month or so, and one of them was concertizing quite near us.  I was looking for him, without success, when I noticed the dog staring up at something.  I followed Rascal’s line of sight and found he was fixated on the cardinal.  Good dog.

     Cory, Tanya, my husband, and I had repeated contact with a couple of good kitties yesterday evening.  They’re robots in the employ of the Palm Palace, the restaurant where we had dinner.  A server welcomes diners and takes orders, and robots deliver the food.  The robots are charming and have cat faces and voices. 

     The robots reminded Tanya of a robot from her childhood visits to the Pizza Peddler in Sioux City, Iowa.  The robot, a coyote, rode a tricycle and brought pizza to the table.  It even talked.  The talking was really done by the person minding the robot:  this was clear even to children.  But there was a microphone in Wilbur’s mouth, so the robot appeared to be talking, and that was the important part.  A trip to the Pizza Peddler was a big deal.  I can understand that.  The kitty robots at the Palm Palace meow when you pet them, and they don’t have minders.

     Anne and Todd lost a new section of their serviceberry with every winter storm we’ve had lately.  The broken pieces are piled by the curb in front of Anne and Todd’s house, waiting for pickup by the city.  The buds on the downed branches make them look like a bonfire’s worth of pussy willows.  Each time I pass the pile, I mourn the serviceberry that was and wonder if the buds could be forced.  At least, I did until about ten days ago, when Anne was outside as I walked by and gave me a bouquet of cuttings.

     They’ve been in a vase in our living room since then, and we check their progress every morning.  For the first few days, it wasn’t clear that anything was happening, but it’s clear now.  At first, there was just a loosening of the end of the buds.  Then they opened right up, and you could see tiny bits of green.  The green turned into clusters of tight little flower buds, each on its own stalk.  There’s a dot of red in the center of each bud, even though serviceberry blooms white.  We can hardly wait to see what comes next.  Even these fragments of Anne’s tree are glorious.  And, wonder of wonders, Monday is the first day of spring.

17 March 2023