Thursday, November 28, 2019

Thanksgiving Day National Dog Show. Be there.

Redux. I'm reprinting this post for in honor of dogs today.... Moar on dog loyalty here:
 Click here if you LOVE dogs! Loyalty. I love a country that loves dogs. ....They just said that a bloodhound can smell a human based on one skin cell .  1 Skin cell!!!
 one skin cell...

I am watching it, and I'm looking at the Irish wolfhound. Here's a past post:

Large Irish Wolfhound
Poster Below

Sweetest Irish WolfHounds. I heard a story, maybe you have already heard it.
So Perfect.


"Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.

I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker 's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away.

The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's Death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives.
Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, ''I know why.''

Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation. It has changed the way I try and live.

He said,''People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?''
The Six-year-old continued,''Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.''


Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.

More like that here

Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.

On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.

When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.

When someone is having a bad day,
be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.

Irish Wolfhound
click: from the calendar

Irish wolfhound

"I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?"
(Sir Walter Scott)

Irish Wolfhound Poster
More Dogs HERE and HERE

Sweetest Irish Wolfhounds:

Irish Wolfhound painting for sale HERE
along with Irish wolfhound and westie art:
White Irish Wolfhounds and Puppies

The new calendar: here
look at the cover:!

Loyal dog stories here


Dog rescue here

Poignancy Warning...sadness

Thursday, September 5, 2019

Choose Love. Choose Life. There is evil strong.

I will post many more, but this one....
This one must be pondered for hours, days.

This one explains the miracle of dogs.
Don't look away, rather, look long.

Click to enlarge.

After not being loved, they love. The miracle of dogs.
 They return to hope, faith love, after a life of sorrow and pain.
Oh, that humans could be as good as dogs....

Those faces ....were not choices. 
Those pups cannot choose to put on a face, they are manifestations of what is truly within

The stories are here...

Not for the faint hearted.

Men will have much to explain when standing before before the almighty Creator of Good.

From the site:

Wandering around new York city

After a whole lot of love and care from Second Chance Rescue, Kimmy's smiling again.

Chowda rocks the head-tilt while he poses for the camera in his new, loving home.


Videos here

This is a repost from many years ago. . . .

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

A Morning in May...

Pieces of April... Three Dog Night

Turn it up.

Monday, April 15, 2019

Christ's entry into Jerusalem

I love the art of Brian Jekel. Here is Jesus' entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.
Wonder how that cute donkey was feeling?


more of this cute donkey HERE

more here

Viático de Vagamundo: Entry of Christ into Jerusalem

   Jerusalem HERE

A thousand may fall at your side And ten thousand at your right hand, But it shall not approach you. You will only look on with your eyes And see the recompense of the wicked. For you have made the LORD, (my refuge, Even the Most High,) your dwelling place. No evil will befall you, Nor will any plague come near your tent. 

For He will give His angels charge concerning you, To guard you in all your ways. They will bear you up in their hands, That you do not strike your foot against a stone. You will tread upon the lion and cobra, The young lion and the serpent you will trample down. "Because he has loved Me, therefore I will deliver him; I will set him securely on high, because he has known My name. "He will call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him. "With a long life I will satisfy him And let him see My salvation."   

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty… For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper And from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with His pinions, And under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark. You will not be afraid of the terror by night, Or of the arrow that flies by day; Of the pestilence that stalks in darkness, Or of the destruction that lays waste at noon. 

Friday, April 12, 2019

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Pi Day...have a big slice of beautiful math

The number pi may be hard to calculate but is super effective when you use it to calculate other things. For instance, if you round the number pi to just 9 digits after the decimal and use it to calculate earth’s circumference, the results would be amazingly accurate. For every 25,000 miles, the number pi will only err to 1/4th of an inch. If you love math, you will realize how amazing this actually is.
34. Pi is so amazing and “mysterious” 

Thursday, February 28, 2019

The Death of the Roo

The Death of the Rooster
copyright mary todd
     Boy, that was one beautiful Roo. 
     He had it in all the right places: an enormous bouquet of long, iridescent tail feathers, shimmering deep pine green in sun or shade; powerful reptilian feet, silky like a snake to touch but as agile and hard-hitting as any featherweight boxer; the brightest ruby red eyes, fierce eyes that could see your thoughts, eyes that dared you not to get out of his way. His deep red wattles[1], swinging heavily under his powerful granite beak, matched his erect cockscomb above and must have certainly attracted the attention of the hens.

     I say “the hens”, but should correct myself and say his hens; for they were his—he knew it, they knew it, and I learned it—the hard way. It was, apparently, not my job to manage the hens. Whenever I tried—e.g., attempting to give all the girls an equal chance at tasty tidbits of ham or cheese (or oddly, anything that in hindsight would have been delicious in an omelet)—the Roo would let me know I had overstepped. His head would jerk; his eyes glittered wildly as he rushed me before I even had time to raise up from setting out my seven equally proportioned saucers of treats. Fact is, his Best Girl was to first have all she wanted of the goodies I laid out—and only then were all the others to step up for a taste.
The Mighty Roo mtodd click to view large 
“There is a pecking order here! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out of my foreplay room!” Well, that’s anthropomorphizing. What he actually said was more like, “Bam! Sock! Pow!” His commanding wings would raise him a foot or two into the air as he boxed me with his giant dinosaur feet, faster than any gym partner, more accurate than Ali, if I dare say so. On days when I was wearing my sturdy field boots, I could hold my leg out and let him go for it. His amazing hind legs seemed to move with the speed of a propeller, and the air would ring as if a premium kangaroo leather speed punching bag was being schooled by Manny Pacquiao.
     So I learned to let the Mighty Roo do his job in managing the small lovely flock of egg layers, and keep to my part, which seemed less fun than his and frequently involved paying for things and cleaning up caca.
     And, truth be told, he was amazing at his job. He roused everyone at daybreak. He showed the girls the best spots for free ranging: the sweet green henbit in the spring sun   
 and the soft Kentucky bluegrass in the summer shade. He scared away the crows and rabbits and squirrels from the ground around the birdfeeders, saving those tasties for his Best Girl. He out-crowed a rooster living a mile away, whom he would never get to box, their boasts echoing back and forth across the river on windless days. He sat next to his humans on the bench, permitting himself to be stroked, then insisting that he be stroked, his beak to be tapped, his chest to be ruffled. Each evening the Perfect Roo nudged the sweet hens back into the cozy coop to watch the lengthening orange shadows from the safety of the little barn, away from the bald eagles flying overhead, returning to their river nests.
     There are many similarities between a man who lives on a small farm in the country and a rooster. Being Master of One’s Domain can mean many things—crowing when one feels good, strutting about on a good day (knowing the Top Hen is content), looking so very fine as the early eastern glow steadily turns into the psychedelia of sunrise on a farm.     
The Social Rooster marytodd
  A man and a rooster look for food and share it with their girls. A man and a roo single out among the admiring flock the one with the fluffiest feathers, the roundest rump, the silkiest cluckings, and let her know she is his Best Girl. The simple coming and going of light and dark sets the day’s routine of work and play.  A man who manages a little piece of land has been given, and is giving, a gift. He rotates with the Earth in its slow, diurnal spinning; his feet are planted firmly in the seemingly slower revolution through space; the steady cycles of living and dying bring tears and laughter and are measured in seconds, in seasons, in years, in lifetimes.
A Nice Sky MTODD fine art in the flint hills

     Yet, the movements which gift us with seasons—the gentle rotations and revolutions—are in fact not gentle at all. The spinning speed of the Earth—1000 miles per hour! and the orbital movement through space, at almost 70 X that—are shattering speeds—but they stay exactly the same. The physicists tell us that since we do not feel any acceleration or deceleration, we feel—nothing. One only feels motion if one’s speed changes...

 The Dog loosed from a neighboring farm came into the Roo’s yard stealthily, while the air was warm and all the living creatures were busy not feeling any movement but the gently pulsing solar rays. The Dog did not have a good reputation, as did the Roo; he did not have in his heart loyalty and protection, as did the Roo; he was not motivated by hunger or family or safety or gifting, as was the Roo.
     The Dog was probably surprised to find that his enormous size and (no doubt, oft-rewarded) ferocity did not give him the easy theft in his sights. No, the evidence left behind exposed the repeated attempts and the persistence needed to accomplish his wicked deed; clearly showed the merciless nature of the kidnapping and murder of the widely beloved and most excellent Roo.
dandelions at sundown mtodd
Three scattered piles of feathers. One here, near the house; mostly the smaller, exquisitely striped brown and tan and cream feathers from the generous, proud chest. One there, in the back yard—a dozen long, delicately curved tail feathers, precious like silk, like satin, exquisite beyond words. Two dozen unbearably soft downy feathers, like posies in palest green and white, like colossal snowflakes made of frothy diaphanous featherdust. Gently collecting them from the ground—some covered in saliva—just the memory now triggering hot tears streaming and actual ripping to the human heart muscle. Finally, the porch, the sanctuary. Broken vase. Spilled water bowls. Tattered screen. Stiff dark feathers. What good can come from imagining? A menace appears, shoves into one’s dwelling, clambers onto chairs and tables in lustful, blind pursuit of … Blood? Sport? The Death Moment?
     In the end, the Roo was the same as he always was. He lived as he lived into the final seconds of breath.
     In those final moments, he no longer wore his lush bouquet of iridescent pinegreen tail feathers. He no longer felt the beautiful creamy breast of ruffled softness that gave him warmth and us, love. In the end, he was brazenly, heartlessly stripped of all that made him a thing of nature’s beauty. He stood bitten and beaten and ripped and naked. But, in the end, he was also defiant and brave and cared not—for his girls were safely away. The Rooster would not have been aware of his nakedness, perhaps, or of the blood he wore, nor even of his likely end.  The Beast had been enticed, and tricked. The dishonorable beast—his thick, single-minded sin having left him forever an object of disgrace—was no match for the Roo, doing the job, living the life he was born to. The selfish beast was no match for the perfect Rooster’s strength of character and sacrificial giving. The Roo had won. The Roo never changed. He stayed exactly who he was. A Rooster with Heart.

Man, that was one beautiful Roo. He had it in all the right places.
     And in the end, the man and the rooster differ; for Man is a mystic, and sees beyond time and the present moment. The Rooster is buddhist and has only the now.
     And whereas the Roo may have experienced the events of his mortal wounding and death as nothing but an instant in time--an instant majestic and astonishing in fulfillment of his nature, to be sure, but no different than the marvelous killing of a mouse in the henhouse or raising the sun with a spectacular crowing—to the Man and his Best Girl, the events slowed time and stopped movement. Love—even a drop of love—can stop the movement of the Earth. Pondering the events in time, and weaving them through the past—the earlier love of a wobbly chick and a tiny but earnest first crowing—and into the promised future—a grainy picture of a grand, crotchety bird with low-swinging wattles and grandchicks galore and orange sunsetting shadows finding them on the bench, together—the man and his woman felt the spinning, the acceleration and deceleration of time, the shattering speed of grief.
     The wounds of love, like all grief, are a part of the spiral, the slow spiraling approach to that which seems unapproachable… a whispering into that other, unbearable grief…we pull back, to return later, to risk going further into the deep. The passing seasons are the walls that the wounded bounce against, buttressed, corralled in the mask of sanity, kept alive and standing until the searing part of the pain is gone. Until the heart stitches itself up a bit. Until one might stand again by oneself. Like our bodies need gravity, our souls need seasons: a strange nourishing organic blanket teaching us the Grace of Time.

sunset in the flint hills mary todd

[1]From the delightful, generous Wikipedia:
 “A wattle is a fleshy caruncle hanging from various parts of the head or neck in several groups of birds and mammals. A caruncle is defined as 'A small, fleshy excrescence that is a normal part of an animal's anatomy'.[1] Caruncles in birds include wattles, dewlaps, snoods and earlobes. Wattles are generally paired structures but may occur as a single structure when it is sometimes known as a dewlap. Wattles are frequently organs of sexual dimorphism. In some birds, caruncles are erectile tissue and may or may not have a feather covering.”


beast vs life, killer vs prey; 
grasshopper eats "my" plants;
 chicken eats "the" grasshoppers;  
 (why are not the grasshoppers "mine"? Oh, because i didn't intend them to come?
 So intention changes things--in our minds. And in natures?)   
chicken eats grasshopper; 
eagle eats chicken. 
But vicious dog kills chicken, not eat chicken.
 Sorry, lust for blood killing is not an intention i will ignore. 
guess i'm more christian than buddhist? 






the mighty roo mary todd

Monday, February 25, 2019

Ahhh, Koko. RIP. Koko the Sign-Languaged Gorilla: Kittens and Paintings and Such...(Stop the Slaughter, Congo!)

Koko was sad when told that Robin Williams, an acquaintance of hers, had died....What? was TOLD? Yes, Koko knows sign language.  (video below)...
Apparently, Koko had become despondent over the death of a life-long friend. Robin Williams managed to make her laugh for the first time in 6 months.

When i was young,
 i learned about Koko. It was a fabulous thing. (Thank you, wise teachers...)
This Gorilla painted pictures of things she liked!
This is a picture of a dog who ran and played with her:

She picked out out prospective mating partners from videos, like a dating site...
She ran and played with kittens and dogs, forming interspecies relationships -- other than her relationships with us humans.
Her own pet kitten --tailless--
she named All Ball.


 Here she is playing with her own little kitten pet.
 there is deep emotional moment here.

Robin Williams and Koko

Here is the story and video of Koko adopting two kittens.

many pics here

Now. If you can bear it-- watch this very short video of what gorillas do to us, and what we do to gorillas.

 long version here

Baby Mountain Gorilla

Endangered Silverback Gorillas

One of the most heartbreaking and horrifying acts committed by humans
 is the torture or killing of 
sentient beings. 
Animals such as elephants, horses, all the higher mammals--, who have memories, emotions, families---
that we can treat them so despicably is beyond bearing at times. That we treat even the lower animals poorly reflects on us as well. We all walk about manifesting ourselves. ( The one minute at the end of The Urban Gorilla above--especially in light of the first minute--shows very clearly that the human being, capable of the highest good, is also capable of the most deplorable evil. )

However, to treat such tender and loving animals as, say, elephants, who exhibit deep family ties, who mourn their dead, who are traumatized by loss-- as if we are monsters, and they are nothing--or really, as if they are our hated enemies!
 --surely will be one of our greatest shames we will bear before God the Creator Almighty, when all things are bathed in Light.

This is merely a prelude to ask you to look at the destruction of Gorillas in the Congo. Yes, The Congo is surely in the crosshairs of Satan:

Nonetheless, if you will spend two minutes researching what happens to gorillas there you will drop to your knees and pray for ....something.  Peace?  Destruction?
That all things be made new...

You can start here:

Destruction of the Giants

 If you google:, Congo Gorilla Slaughter  and hit Images, you will weep for a long time.

The situation with elephants HERE:

Here is a large collection of respect for animal life quotes, with some wonderful pictures.

We have enslaved the rest of the animal creation, and have treated our distant cousins in fur and feathers so badly that beyond doubt, if they were able to formulate a religion, they would depict the Devil in human form. ~William Ralph Inge, Outspoken Essays, 1922 

Mahatma Gandhi: "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated"

From beasts we scorn as soulless, In forest, field and den, The cry goes up to witness The soullessness of men. ~M. Frida Hartley

more respect for life

puppy: Here       Whales: HERE


Humans HERE


republished by request...