Author Mom with Dogs

It’s been about a month since I planted my garden.

Here’s how it started.

Here’s what it looks like one month later. What a little sun and rain will do, when you start with good dirt…

Without a wide-angle lens, I can’t get the whole thing in. But you get the idea.

So far, we’ve enjoyed Swiss Chard, Bok Choy, the usual lettuces, peas, snow peas, beets, all kinds of herbs (most of which I dry for use throughout the year), and all kinds of berries.

Forget the birds and rabbits. With dogs who like raspberries and blueberries as much as the humans do, it’s hard to collect enough to bring in the house. We usually just stand out in the berry patches and chow down. The only reason these are left is because they’re not fully ripe yet.

So far, the rabbits have enjoyed most of my edamame and some of my bean plants. But they’ve left everything else alone.

Zucchinis and green beans are almost ready. Hot weather crops (tomatoes, peppers, eggplants) have quite a way to go. But the vines are starting to take off like crazy. I love my pumpkins and squashes. Can’t tell you why, but they always put a smile on my face.

I wanted to test a couple of new seeds this year. I selected two different snow peas: Oregon Giant and Melting Sugar Snow Peas. The Oregon Giant is truly gigantic and surprisingly sweet for the size (pods are up to 5″ long), but not very prolific. The Melting Sugar is an heirloom and more of a traditional snow pea. And much more bountiful. Because space is at a premium in my garden, I’ll be sticking with the heirloom.

And because I’m always looking for ways to trick my family to eat more of a variety of vegetables (some of which they’re inclined to turn up their noses), I like to share the recipes that are hits around here. The winner, by a landslide, for chard is from Cooks.com

Happy 4th everyone.

And please don’t forget to give your noise-sensitive dogs benadryl a few hours before the fireworks begin.

The dosage for Benadryl is as follows: Dosage every 8 hours
Dogs under 30 lbs and Cats : 10 mg
Dogs 30-50 lbs: 25 mg
Dogs over 50 lbs: 50 mg

From the mailbag: Hannah writes: I’ve been writing a novel and have been stuck for weeks. That’s my pattern: I write a little, get stuck, have a breakthrough, write again, etc. It often feels like torture. I’m wondering if you also have this problem and if you’ve found a way to overcome it. I’ve read that it’s a good idea to start with an outline, but doesn’t that work better for non-fiction? For fiction, it seems like it would clash with letting my story tell itself.

Dear Hannah, there are writers out there who feel they work best without an outline so as not to “inhibit the flow of their muse.” But they’re in the teeny tiny minority. Almost all writers would tell you that sitting down to write a book without an outline is a little like trying to build a three-story house without a blueprint. You can do it, but the the cost in mistakes and time wasted is going to be substantial.

Most writers work from a chapter list and outline to help keep themselves on track. Writers who don’t, have a tendency to wander and ramble, and leave gaping holes or jarring contradictions in the plot and character development. It’s usually not a pretty sight. Working from an outline also helps solve two of the major challenges that face beginning writers: 1.) the ability to overcome writer’s block. If you have a general idea of where you’re supposed to be taking the story next, it’s harder to get stuck. And 2.) the ability to not only start but to finish a complete work. Lots of writers get excited by the initial idea but then lose their way, don’t know how to get back on track (because they don’t have an outline), and give up.

It seems that you may be viewing an outline as something other than it’s intended purpose. The point of an outline is not to cement anything in stone. Rather, it’s to help you get all the pieces of the story organized on paper, so you have an idea of where you’re going and how you’re going to get there. That doesn’t mean you can’t take detours or even set a new route. It just means that you’re starting with a rough idea of the complete story (which still leaves plenty of room for the muse to whisper in your ear). It’s a flexible tool that can be changed as much as needed until you’re happy with it. The point is that nobody has a finished book flow from their pen on the first go.

As long as we’re on the subject, not only outlines, but rewrites are all just part of the writing process. As for rewrites, I find it helps to think about that process as akin to making mudpies. No kid worth their salt goes out, makes one mudpie, and says they’re done — no room to improve on that perfection. All kids like to see how many different mudpies they can make. And to see how dirty they can get.

First, get the right ingredients in order. And then loosen up, get free — and get dirty.

Here’s some recommended reading that you might find helpful.

Plot & Structure: (Techniques And Exercises For Crafting A Plot That Grips Readers From Start To Finish) (Write Great Fiction) by James Scott Bell

Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, Second Edition: How to Edit Yourself Into Print by Rennie Browne

The summer solstice is the day of maximum sunlight hours, bringing the longest day and shortest night of the year.

I’d like to think we put it to maximum use.

As usual, Graidy greeted me at 4:50 a.m.by jumping up on the bed and licking my face until I woke up. Next to me on the floor, was Kiera on her dog bed. Finn was perched on the open window sill, twitching at every birdsong. The furry contingent and I made our way downstairs and outside for the first morning’s call. Then it was back inside for a quick breakfast.

With coffee and computer, I got to work at my little makeshift office outside on the deck.

There’s nothing I love better than watching the sun rise, the birds sing, and the day come to life. The early morning hours are my time to write.

I’d made good progress, but couldn’t figure out where a couple of my pages had gone. Once the sun had come up, I could see that they’d been scattered around the yard by two common forces of nature around here — wind and Graidy.

Then it was on to more deck duty. Our deck is decades old and badly splintered. It’s been in need of a face-lift.

While the day was still cool, I got to work ripping up old deck boards.

Then it was time to haul the new boards around to the back. By this time, Andrew had returned from golfing, and we made quick work of it. (Along the fence are my grapes, sunflowers, and some pumpkins. Looks like it’s going to be another good year for all three.)

Kiera doesn’t like banging, so she hightailed it far away over to her favorite shade spot. From there, she can survey the whole property. She’s got the grounds covered.

Graidy spent the morning gazing at the pond.

–Hey Graidy boy! Whatcha doin’?

I’m on aerial duty. Gotta keep the winged ones away.

–Of course. Carry on.

By 10:30 it was time to take a break. The sun was baking our deck area.

But it was still the perfect temperature to get some gardening chores done. With the help of my two mice/rabbit/vole/mole patrollers.

I hear one. Graidy, do you hear one?

YES! Found it! I think it’s heading over to you.

Yep. Yep, I’m on it. As soon as I finish munching some of this yummy green stuff.

Oh, I’ll take care of it myself! Ma, why do you even let him out here?! He just makes more work for me.

–Yes, I know my sweet girl. But you have to admit he’s always good for a laugh.

After lunch Cait wanted a chance to close the gap on my winning streak at badminton.

A string between two trees measures just the right distance for a regulation length span. Important when you live with opponents who are sticklers for such things… The back tree marks perfectly the back line.

I’d had enough after a few hours. By then it had cooled down enough to get more done on the deck.

After dinner, it was time for Kiera’s and Graidy’s walk. Everywhere we looked were these billowy clouds streaming with beautiful light.

And finally, what would the summer solstice be without catching fireflies?

A long day? Yes. But a day spent just the way I like it — mostly outside with my loved ones.

Hope your solstice was just as wonderful.

Nancy Freedman-Smith a CPDT trainer at GoodDogz tagged me. (If you live in Maine and need help with your dog, look her up. She’s wonderful.) I’m supposed to share eight little known or unusual things about me. But since I’ve pretty much spilled the beans on myself several times over, I went looking for more interesting subjects. I didn’t have to look far. This morning, this little scenario with my 3 dogs (Finn really is a dog in a cat’s body) gave me the fodder.

(1.) Graidy was annoying Kiera, as he often does — he’s a playful goofball and she’s always on the job. So she took matters into her own hands. (2.) She opened the sliding glass door, and Graidy dashed out to see if there was anything fun outside to bark at (he’s also easily amused). Okay, maybe that’s not so unusual, since I’ve already told you that Kiera can open nearly every door in this house. (3.) But then she closed the door behind him. I kid you not.

Kiera stood by the door and turned to me with a smile on her face and a wiggle in her butt, happy to be relieved of her pest. (4.) But Finn… Finn without Graidy is like the sky without the sun — sad, sad, sad. (5.) He cacked and cacked (he doesn’t meow) his consternation and despair. (6.) And then… And then… He clawed open the door to let Graidy back in. I kid you not.

So my happy boy came waltzing back in, and took a couple of laps out of the water bowl (7.) while Finn furiously rubbed himself all over Graidy, relieved to be reunited. But then Graidy looked up to see the Great Blue Heron swoop in at the pond. He went apoplectic with excitement, racing back and forth by the door. And then… And then… (8.) He pawed open the door. And all three animals bolted off after the Heron. I kid you not.

By this time, what else could I say but, “What? Do you guys think you live in a barn? Close the door after yourselves!”

On a recent, rather hot evening, Cait and I were waiting in the air-conditioned car while Andrew volunteered to get everyone ice cream cones. We’d all just finished hitting a bucket of golf balls at the driving range.

Andrew, interested in getting Cait good enough at golf to become a golfing buddy, had been trying to get her to the driving range to practice her swing. Lately, all she’s been interested in is challenging either me or Andrew to badminton matches in the back yard. To save myself from yet another badminton game, I volunteered to go to the driving range. Lesser of the two evils, I thought.

Andrew just rolled his eyes, because while I’m actually quite good at badminton, I stink at golf. Cait thought the idea sounded like great fun. She could simultaneously laugh at her mother’s ridiculous swing while showing off her own pretty decent one. But I surprised everyone, including myself, by connecting with more than one golf ball to send it flying.

While we were sitting in the car waiting for Andrew to return, Cait offered, “Mom, you were really great tonight.”

“Yeah, not bad,” I said. “You were pretty good, yourself.”

“Pretty good?” Cait mugged. “Don’t you mean perfect?”

“Nope. I think your shirt says it.” I pointed to the printing on her tee shirt, which she’d just gotten from a school trip to see Mary Poppins on Broadway. It said “Practically Perfect.”

Cait zinged back, “That’s just a warning label, Mom.”

With the cost of food skyrocketing, and the prices of organic produce off the charts, my garden experiment this year is to work toward growing enough food to feed my family for the year. Matron of Husbandry over at Throwback at Trapper Creek was the one who inspired me.

This year, I’ve more than doubled the size of my gardening space, as well as added several more fruit trees and bushes. Even with all that, I’ll need to increase my garden that much again next year. My current garden only takes us through early winter. With the new garden, we’ll make it to early spring. But that will still leave a 3-4 month gap before the summer garden kicks in again.

With all the writing and teaching commitments I have right now, I’m trying to be realistic about what I can actually accomplish. I figure by working up to the size garden I’ll ultimately need over the next two years, that will give me time to get more comfortable with canning, preserving, freezing, and storing larger quantities.

Before I could start the new site, I had to take down Cait’s swing set that her brother and I built for her several years ago.

Going.

…Going…

I was wishing we hadn’t built it so well. It was a bear to take apart.

…Gone!

Here’s the new garden and where all the old stuff is.

I’m thinkin’… this ought to be enough to keep me busy for a bit. :)

I haven’t needed an alarm clock for years now, because I have two furry ones. Today, it’s 4:10 AM, a little early even for me. Graidy usually has the decency to wait until about 5:00 AM before rousing me out of bed. (Another quality people should be aware of when getting high energy/herding dogs is that they’re ready to go at the crack of dawn–literally. ) Fortunately, I like to get up early to write, in the quiet, when everyone else remains peacefully sleeping. Imagination expands easily in the darkness of these predawn hours.

The dogs and I head downstairs and outside. I look up at the stars as they go about their business. Some mornings we’ll catch the movement of deer or other wildlife out in the field, while the cicadas serenade us. Then we all shuffle back up to my study where we’ll all congregate on the guest bed to snuggle before I fire up the computer again. Once the little “nanu nanu” welcome sound comes on, Kiera and Graidy (and on most mornings now, Finnegan, too) curl up around me and let me get to work. The next few hours are wholly mine. Life is good. I am lucky.

All puppies and most grown dogs have a need to chew. While both Kiera and Graidy were chewers as puppies, Kiera could take or leave a bone or chewie now. Graidy still lives for them; he needs to chew. Perhaps your dog falls somewhere in the middle. Regardless, no doubt, at some point we’ve all bought our dogs a treat or chew toy. Who doesn’t like to treat their dogs occassionally? But did you know that the very treat you’re giving your dog may be the cause of its death?

Rawhide Can Kill And So Can Greenies

It’s true. Numerous dogs have suffered serious injury or death resulting from chewies and toys.

So what’s a conscientious dog person to do? It’s pretty simple. Consider giving Kongs and Nylabones, and stay away from rawhide, pig’s ears, cow hooves, and Greenies. Even though all of these products say they are made of digestible material, there are very real risks associated with these treats.

Cow hooves are so hard that they may cause a dog to break a tooth. When chewed, they can turn into sharp fragments which can cause a partial intestinal obstruction or perforation. These can be difficult to diagnose until it’s too late.

Pigs’ ears, when overeaten, can cause GI upset. Although obstructions are less common because the ears are not usually shaped into solid chunks, they carry a less widely known danger. A recent FDA advisory published by the U.S. Dept. of Health and Human services announced a nationwide public health warning alerting consumers about a number of recent cases of human illnesses apparently related to contact with dog chew products made from pork or beef-derived materials (e.g., pigs ears, beef jerky treats, smoked hooves, pigs skins, etc.).

Rawhide chews can get stuck in the throat and cause choking. If a large piece is swallowed, it may scrape and irritate the esophagus. The cured hide is supposed to be digestible, but it breaks down very slowly in the intestines, and swallowing too many pieces too quickly can easily lead to gastric irritation from the abundance of undigested materials. This will usually be accompanied by vomiting or diarrhea. Once in the stomach or intestinal tract, a large piece of rawhide can also create a physical obstruction. In the case of the obstruction, surgery will most likely be necessary.

One of the main dangers with Rawhides is the lack of regulation. Some countries use an arsenic-based preservative or mercury vapor, chromium salts, lead solutions, arsenic compounds and formaldehyde in the processing of rawhide toys.

Right now, Greenies are a very popular chewie. They’re touted as aiding in reducing tartar growth without leaving “crumbs.” This may be partially true as these chews have a tendency to break apart in large chunks. The packaging also states that “gulpers” should be strictly monitored. Put together large chunks and gulping, and you’re looking at the possibility of a resulting esophageal or intestinal blockage. And even though Greenies are promoted as natural, digestible and good for dogs’ teeth, they are cellulose based, which dogs cannot digest.

Whole Dog Journal ran an experiment, and discovered that after 24 hours in an acidic solution, there was absolutely no change in the appearance, consistency or texture of a Greenie. In one case of a German Shepherd with an ongoing digestive problem for eight months, the autopsy revealed a large green mass in the dog’s upper GI. This dog had not received any Greenies the whole time he was having problems. That’s eight months in an active digestive system.

The likelihood of injury depends on your dog’s size and personality. Current data shows that the rate of injury rises dramatically for dogs over 55 pounds. Larger more powerful dogs are more likely to tear chunks and ingest chew toys not meant for consumption. And a more aggressive chewer will be more likely to break teeth on hard chews, and will be more likely to gulp down large (and potentially fatal) pieces that are torn from the toy.

You can provide a safe outlet for your dog’s chewing needs by picking toys and chews that are appropriate for your dog’s size and jaw strength, and by supervising the use of chew toys. By being aware of the common dangers and avoiding them, you can prevent a possible tragedy for your dog. My rule is that if I can’t break a treat with my fingers, I don’t give it to my dogs. Especially in a multi-dog household where one dog may try to swallow something quickly before another dog gets it. The risks aren’t worth it. Stuffed kongs (and, every once in a while, supervised beef marrow bones) are all I need to keep my guys happy.

Having grown up with animal-filled farms abutting our property, and adding to that our own four-legged menagerie, I learned early to keep a weather eye for all animals. And I learned to step in and do whatever needed doing, because the consequences of not doing could mean death for an animal (and injury or death for the unsuspecting motorist zipping around a corner to find an animal in the middle of the road).

For instance, take the time I saw two legs sticking out the back end of a cow. At ten years of age and too afraid to pull the stuck calf from the cow’s rear, I at least had the presence of mind to run and get the farmer. It was a breach birth; the cow and her calf could have died without help.

And I can’t count how many times somebody’s horse, cow, dog, etc., decided to break through a fence to go on a walkabout. It didn’t matter whose animal it was, or how many times you might have fetched it and put it safely back — if it was out and you were the one who discovered it, you were expected to get that animal back to where it belonged. In return, when one of your animals got out, you could count on the same help.

Going on animal roundups was just part of my youth. Sometimes they were fun. Often they were tedious. Always they were living lessons on what it meant to be “your brother’s keeper” in regard to both humans and animals. It was about learning how to step up and do the right thing. It was about not turning away, and excusing yourself by saying someone else would take care of it. It was a way of thinking and being that has deeply affected how I live and act in the world.

I though nothing about any of this until Cait got old enough to notice, which happened when she was about five. We were traveling to visit family where I grew up. A sheep had managed to find itself on the wrong side of a fence on a busy road. I stopped the car and tried to negotiate it to a safer place without luck. So I drove up to the farmhouse next to the field.

As I parked to get out, Cait suddenly dove down in the back seat. “Mom! What are you doing?” she whispered. “We shouldn’t be here. We don’t know these people. We should go!”

As it was a well-worn reflex to help or get help, it hadn’t occurred to me to explain what I was doing.

“Cait, I have to let these people know their sheep is out.” I said. “As soon as I find someone to get it, we’ll be on our way.”

“Mom!” Cait whispered from her hiding place. “You always tell me to stay away from strangers. We don’t know these people.” She peeked her head up from the back seat floor. “Please, let’s get out of here!”

As I looked at her face, I realized that she wasn’t scared. She was embarrassed. Embarrassed that her mother was perhaps transgressing some cultural norm. (I should confess that I’ve been known to transgress a cultural norm or two, so her response wasn’t totally out of left field.)

Once I saw that she was really all right, I got out of the car, knocked on the door and told the woman that her sheep was out. Her thanks was heartfelt.

Continuing on our way, I explained to Cait about the difference between strangers out of context and in context. And then I explained to her what my father had often repeated to me: “If not you, then who?” In other words, if each one of us doesn’t step up to help, who will? Why should we expect someone else to take care of what we decide to pass by?

The next time another situation like this happened, Cait (then eight) and I were once again on our way to visit family where I grew up. This time a foal was on the wrong side of the fence on a busy road, and her mother was obviously distressed at the separation. Once again I stopped, and tried to get the foal back inside the fence without luck. So I drove down the long drive. Cait once again dove down behind the back seat. I knocked on the door but no one was home. I was about to walk down to the barns when a truck drove up. I waited for the person to exit the truck.

“What are the odds!” I said laughing.

“I figured it had to be you when I saw the car,” Mike said.

It wasn’t the owner of the house, but a friend I’d grown up with. (We were both many miles from our respective homes.) In his youth, he’d shared in more than one roundup of our wayward horses. Together, we got the foal and mare reunited.

When Cait heard that it was Mike, she reappeared from her hiding place. When she realized that he was doing the same thing — stopping to help– I could see her reassessing that maybe this wasn’t such a strange thing to do after all.

Last week, on a trip to see family, we passed a horse that was lying down in the field. All the way down, with head on the ground. While it’s normal for horses to lie down with head up, it’s not quite as common for them to lie totally flat. It can be indicative of a problem. I slowed as I went by and looked out the rear-view mirror with concern.

Cait looked at me and said, “If not you, Mom, who?”

“You read my mind.” I smiled, patted her leg, did a quick u-turn and went back. The horse was still lying flat out.

“What do you think the matter is, Mom?”

“Probably nothing, sweetie,” I answered. “I just want to make sure she doesn’t have colic.”

I quickly noted that her breathing was neither labored nor rapid and shallow, and that her eyes were clear. She wasn’t in any observable pain or distress. She just felt like lying down flat.

Seeing that I wasn’t “doing” anything, Cait asked, “Shouldn’t we go up to the house and get somebody?”

As I pulled out of the driveway back onto the road, the horse got up, shook herself off, and walked while she grazed. “Nope, she’s fine,” I said. And I smiled at my twelve year old daughter. She’d finally internalized for herself that helping was the right thing to do. The normal thing to do.

It’s that time of year. The weather’s warming. The birds are nesting. The garden’s calling.

Cold weather crops are well underway.

Seedlings are put outside for a few hours a day to start hardening.

When they all come back inside, there’s hardly a flat surface free. Time to seriously think about the benefits of a small greenhouse.

Also time to double the garden size.

I’m seeing lots of hot showers for sore back muscles in my future.

Still swamped with writing but just wanted to share this. I think it’s a wonderful idea. But check out the link and decide for yourself.

Hello,

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GoodSearch.com is a new search engine that donates 50% of revenue to charities and schools of the user’s choice. You use GoodSearch the exact same way you would any search engine the only difference being that you can designate your favorite non-profit or school to receive a donation every time you search the web! Because it’s powered by Yahoo!, you get proven search results.

GoodShop is an online shopping mall that features stores like Amazon, Apple, Best Buy, J Crew and hundreds of others and donates a percentage of each sale to the nonprofit or school of the users’ choice.

As I’m sure you get a lot of these requests, I just want to assure you that we’re legitimate and we work with more than 55,000 charities and have been featured by the NY Times, Oprah magazine and other press outlets.

https://www.goodsearch.com/Press.aspx

Supporters of the ASPCA have already helped raise over $13,000 through GoodSearch and GoodShop to help animals in need! Please let readers of your blog know about this easy way to raise money for humane organizations as it can make a big difference in the lives of needy animals! Thanks so much for your consideration.

Best,

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That’s me these days. The faster I try to catch up, the hurried-er I fall behind. Too many projects and not enough clocks running two days slow. So, it’s getting to be that time again… Time for another intermission.

In the meantime, what was it that sign said on the doorknob? Ah, yes…

“Doorknob: Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction.”

Okay, off I go.

See ya back here when I’m all caught up. :)

Cait has finally reached the age where she’s been made aware by friends of clothes labels. I always knew that I was on borrowed shopping time, because this kid came out of the womb with her own sharp sense of fashion style. I’m happy to have gotten away with outlets and discount stores with her for as long as I have, you see, because unlike my daughter I could care less about fashion. I lean more toward ‘if you’re covered, you’re good to go.’

Don’t get me wrong. Just because I could be happy wearing a uniform day in and day out, doesn’t mean that I don’t get people who care about clothes. Or that I don’t have a sense of what looks good. It’s just that with a life full of animals, building projects, and gardening dirt, it’s not worth it to spend a lot of money on expensive clothes that are quickly going to look old before their time.

So when Cait asked if we could go clothes shopping, and then specified that she’d like to go to the popular shops du jour, I sighed a big sigh, clutched my wallet to my breast, blessed myself for mercy’s sake, and said okay.

First, we went to Aeropostale, which Cait pronounced Airo Pastel. I corrected her pronunciation.

“I knew that,” Cait said.

We found a few cute things that were more than I was accustomed to paying for Cait’s stuff, but not outrageous. I said okay.

Next, we went to Abercrombie and Fitch, which I pronounced Finch. Cait corrected me, “Mom, there are no birds flying around here. It’s Fitch.”

“I knew that,” I said.

She tried on a pair of low riders. Only looking at herself from the front, I suggested she turn around and bend her knees, as if she were going to sit. She saw her crack, ah, I mean my point.

“I knew that,” she said, and quickly put the pants back.

Then she found a shirt that she really liked. In an effort to educate Cait on the finer points of comparison shopping, I pointed out to her that this one item totaled as much as the five items she’d just purchased at AeroPostale. She gripped tightly to the shirt, not quite able to put it back.

“Here’s the thing with shopping,” I said. “That shirt is ridiculously over-priced. But sometimes when you really love something that much, it’s okay to splurge because you’re going to feel great every time you put it on.” I looked at Cait, “The question is: Do you love it that much?”

“I’m not sure…,” Cait said.

“Okay, then what we do is look at a couple of other stores to see if we can find this or something similar at a better price. If we can’t, and you decide you really love this shirt, we’ll come back and buy it.”

Relieved that I understood her dilemma and wasn’t just going to be reflexively cheap, Cait’s face broke into a wide smile. She grabbed my hand as we walked out of the store and said, “This is fun, Mom. I’m glad you’re here.”

Next on her list was American Eagle. We quickly found a shirt close enough in looks for a third of the price, and a valuable shopping lesson was learned.

On the way out, she asked, “What do you think of this tankini?”

I went to the next table and said, “I like this tank-tini better.”

“Mom, it’s tankini, not tank-tini.”

“I knew that,” I said a bit wearily.

Cait asked, “You had enough, Mom?”

“Yeah, I think I’m at my shopping limit for the day…”

“I knew that,” Cait smiled. “How about we head home?”

“Sounds like a wrap to me.”

We elbowed each other as we ran for the door.

Alex, the gray parrot, and Washoe, the chimpanzee, (both recently deceased) are back in the news in this month’s National Geographic Magazine, in an article about understanding the animal’s mind. In it, the newest kid on the “smarts” block is featured. Are you ready? Yep, a Border Collie named Betsy, who knows more than 300 words. Look to being hearing lots more about her.

In the meantime, I thought you might enjoy this New York Times tribute to Alex and Washoe by Charles Seibert. Certainly gives pause for thought.

The Communicators

THERE IS, IN THE END, no telling what tales they had to tell, the two greatest nonhuman linguists of our day: Washoe, the sign-language-wielding chimpanzee with an intense footwear fetish; and Alex, the wildly outspoken parrot, an African gray known to regularly order about his human researchers and to purposely give them the wrong answers to their questions just to alleviate his boredom. After all, we only ever gave them our own words to work with.

Often dismissed as mere mimics, they were remarkable even by that standard. Washoe, originally taken as an infant from the wilds of West Africa in 1965 and sold to the Air Force for research, was the first to break the so-called language barrier between ourselves and the creaturely non-us. Under the tutelage of Allen and Beatrix Gardner a husband-and-wife team of cognitive researchers who adopted the young chimp at the age of 10 months and raised her as if she were their own child.

Washoe would learn 135 distinct American Sign Language signs within five years. By the time of her death from natural causes in October 2007 at age 42, she managed to pass along much of what she had learned to her adoptive chimp son, Loulis. It was the first recorded instance of an animal-to-animal transference of a human language.

Alex, for his part, was picked up in a Chicago pet store in 1977 by a newly minted Harvard chemistry Ph.D. named Irene Pepperberg. She had become fascinated with the stories of Washoe, along with other studies being done at that time on highly communicative species like dolphins, humpback whales and songbirds. Alex (an acronym for Avian Learning EXperiment) would learn more than 100 words in the course of his 30-year partnership with Pepperberg. He also learned to identify 50 different objects; to recognize their different colors, shapes and makeup; and to distinguish and pronounce phonemes (the root sounds of words). By the time of his sudden death from a heart condition in September 2007 at the age of 31, he had also mastered many compound words.

Still, it wasn’t the size of their respective vocabularies so much as the frequent winsomeness of their word usage that captivated us: the way that even the simplest impromptu phrasings from them could give us sudden glimpses into the minds of other beings, into the motive and mindfulness behind language in creatures that don’t happen to speak our own. The moment with Washoe that still resonates most is one that occurred outside the laboratory, when she happened to notice a swan adrift on a nearby lake. She turned to her caretakers and signed water,then bird: perhaps the first documented incident of another creature freely assigning our words to an observed phenomenon. It was, the Harvard psychologist Roger Brown noted at the time, like getting an S O S from outer space.

Skeptics insisted that Washoe and subsequent primate research subjects were not using language in the thoughtful, abstract, spontaneous way humans do, that their utterances were all merely rote, reward-based responses. The evidence, however, repeatedly suggested otherwise. When Washoe’s caretakers arrived in the morning, she’d sign crude sentences like Come hug, feed me, gimme clothes, please out, open door. Once, upon seeing a small doll inside a cup, she signed, Baby in my drink, as near to an original, unscripted sentence as any language-learning child might utter. And then there was that shoe fixation of hers. She was always checking people’s feet to see what shoes they were wearing. Whenever anyone came in with a new pair, she’d immediately request to see them and then sign her assessment.

Of course, with chimps it’s not so big a leap to imagine them having cognitive and linguistic powers at least kindred to our own. It would, somehow, take a parrot long the very icon of mindless mimicry, with a brain no bigger than a walnut to give full voice to Washoe’s silent signaling and force us to rethink our narrow, anthropocentric conceptions of language and thought. Alex’s cognitive abilities tested as high as those of a 4-to-5-year-old child. He understood concepts like presence and absence, making him very adept at the shell game. He frequently cajoled and coached the other parrots in Pepperberg’s lab. And he never hesitated to express his frustrations and affections. When Pepperberg returned to the lab after a three-week absence, Alex turned his back on her and commanded, Come here! As she put Alex back in his cage the night he died, he signed off with: You be good, see you tomorrow. I love you.

They were not unusually gifted members of their respective species, Washoe and Alex. But armed with our words, they opened our minds, making us aware of the pervasive and protean nature of the linguistic impulse across species. Of the many tales they told us, the most universal tells of an early ancestor of our own, standing hundreds of thousands of years ago on a lake shore somewhere, seeing a large winged creature drift by and signing or saying outright, in whatever language it might have been: water,then bird.