Inconvenient Truths

I remember the history class devoted to The Holocaust, during a lesson about World War II. As students, we attended high school in a New York City suburb, where the predominant religions remain either Catholicism or Judaism. As a result, many of us are quite familiar with history already, given the long duration of our faiths, which we learn about in supplemental classes held through churches or temples. In addition to our regular schooling, my brothers and I went to religious instruction once a week, from childhood to early teens, in preparation for the rites of passage towards adulthood.

So, as bored teens are wont to do, I started tuning out this public school overview about a time period I knew all too well. It's sickening, and I did not care to hear it again, certainly not in the context of a brief, basic summation: "Millions of people died horribly in concentration camps. The End.", accompanied by a slide show of Auschwitz victims. Some story. No, thanks, I'll pass. I had already read The Diary of Anne Frank in grade school or junior high, which had a profound impact on me. I got it. But then, something else happened which captured my interest.

A teenager who did not typically involve herself in class raised her hand, which was a divergence from the norm. She started speaking with a passion that was uncommon for her. She said, "I want to talk about the murder of millions of Armenian people. How come this is never in any history book?! I'm Armenian, and I've never heard about it about outside of my family." Or something to that effect. A powerful and sophisticated concept was introduced into the classroom. The teacher thought this was an excellent point, and so did I. The class went on to talk about the Armenian genocide, at the hands of the Ottoman Empire. 

Armenian civilians are marched to a nearby prison in Mezireh by armed Ottoman soldiers. Kharpert, Ottoman Empire, April 1915.

There are many holocausts for many people around the world, throughout time. Any ethnic group at some time in our collective memories has been the target of war and aggression, which is a rather sad commentary about the desperation conditions our ancestors lived under. Fight or flight, indeed.  Early human life was a brutal scenario of tribal affiliations combined with survival of the fittest. And yet, in modern times, harsh as they can sometimes be, industrialized European nations should have no such driving need to burn, pillage, destroy, or rape to attain precious resources.

It brought to mind a bigger question: why do greed, selfishness, and avarice still exist? Granted, I was coming from a rather privileged American point of view (given our standard of living), and yet even then I knew if richer nations combined resources, it would end most of the worlds' suffering. It was sort of an epiphany along the lines of that old parental standard, "There are starving kids in Africa who would love to eat your broccoli!!", to which I would quickly reply, "Good. Let's send it to them!", summing up my thoughts about charity at a young age, as well as those about sodden, overcooked frozen vegetables leached of color and flavor.

This train of thought led to further questions: what good are advances in society and culture if they cannot be doled out equally amongst us? Why does this need to dominate at the expense of others still linger? Have we not had sufficient evolutionary time to adjust to the fact that we have had our basic needs met, and then some?! Are we so daft that all of our education goes out the window when we look at some shiny, new car with covetous lust? How strange it must be to want to harm others in pursuit of things; this is an ancient and ugly truth about mankind that springs to the surface over and over again—knowingly wronging a neighbor to satisfy baser urges.

St. John River Campaign: Raid on Grimrose (present day Gagetown, New Brunswick). This is the only contemporaneous image of the Expulsion of the Acadians

It was with a heavy heart that I found an article with irrefutable proof about the sentiments regarding my paternal line's history, while web-surfing the other day. I have written to you, dear readers, somewhat about my mixed and varied ancestry, but never about the scar it has left upon my family's psyche. We hear about the Jewish horrors from World War II, and in graphic detail about slavery and prejudice towards African-Americans, both great evils to be sure. Are there not other stories to be told? I seek to address this imbalance by finally sharing with you some commonly held perceptions about French-Canadians. 

The link to the article below, about the nasty French-Canadian influence upon delicate New England sensibilities, appeared in The New York Times from 1892, a scant 118 years ago, long after many societal injustices in this country had already been addressed and corrected. These prejudices still ring true today (I have had the unfortunate experience to hear them expressed to me, directly to my face), if you are lucky enough to encounter someone with these roots, given the extermination efforts directed against us.

My mother has a recollection from a trip we took to Nova Scotia from Maine, across the Bay of Fundy via ferry. It is a Canadian Maritime Province and an island with Acadian roots, for those of us with Huguenot ancestry. We attended Sunday service in Woodland, ME, before leaving for Canada. She said the priest delivered an entreating homily to the parishioners about how "we should treat these poor French-Canadians with 'Christian Charity', since they are people, too". No wonder my father never learned French, and staunchly characterizes himself in a jingoistic fashion as "American!" first and foremost in his loudest, firmest tone, like someone in fear of a McCarthy backlash. I asked him how we could have been separated out from other Canadian people. He replied: "Because we were darker", a slur about the common inter-marriages that existed between French descendants and Native Americans. The year of our family trip to Halifax was 1980.*

When I transferred colleges to attend the Rhode Island School of Design, I made quick friends with another student not fitting into the Ivory Tower school system, who is of Armenian heritage. As I recounted my unique history to him, it triggered the memory of high school history. What a detour that class took, because one brave girl had the courage to speak out to share her family's emigration story! My classmate grew serious, as he then told me his truth: "You are the first 'white' person I've ever met who knows about the Armenian massacre", thereby creating his own divisional line between he and I. The year was 1990.**

We, as humankind, have these histories in common, hard as that may be to accept. The next time you talk with someone, thinking that you know who they are, think again. And for G-ds' sake, ask questions. Please, please keep reading and learning. 

Knowledge and information build more bridges than fear can burn.

*http://members.tripod.com/scott_michaud/Franco-editorial.html

**http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armenian_Genocide

Brooklyn Soul

Brought to you on this glorious Sunday courtesy of Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings. Can I get an "Amen"?!

http://www.daptonerecords.com/

Subway Series

Subway Stained Glass, © 2011 Marie Doucette

Construction on the F Line, © 2011 Marie Doucette

Subway Platform, © 2011 Marie Doucette

The Last Days of Shishmaref

Like so many people this time of year, I've been dragging around town half-heartedly doing errands, in an effort to get my chores done before a full-blown cold settles in. I'm really tired, necessitating lots of tea, napping, and the elimination of dairy products from my diet, at the suggestion of a local barista and my doctor alike. While I rest up with that run-down feeling, I've been catching up on t.v. with a few DVDs from the library.

"The Last Days of Shishmaref", a documentary about a region of Alaska and the native Eskimo people who live a traditional lifestyle there, is a visually arresting movie. It's wild America at its most beautiful.

The climate is quickly changing in a warming trend that's been dramatically effecting the seasons for a long time now, with the polar ice caps melting to catastrophic effect. Bearing the brunt of this global impact are the Inupiaq people, who have relied upon seasonality to provide for their families for over 4,000 years.

Worsening storms from enormous ice melts and longer warm seasons have caused so much damage to their small island, that the tribe has already moved their homes back from the shoreline once. Sadly, that's not enough to save it. Shishmaref will soon be totally under water. 

The good news is that part of the mainland has been reclaimed for their tribe. They will still have their ancestral hunting grounds and fishing territories, though serious adjustments will be made by their moving. They have been an island people for a very long time.

While the wheels of government adjust slowly to our everday realities, the fact is this: relocation is extremely costly to people and the environment. The move for Shishmaref costs about $186 million, money that could have been spent on sustainable, eco-friendly tenchonlogies a long time ago. What say we make the wheels of change move a little quicker? The indigenous people of the Americas were here first. It's only fair: http://www.thelastdaysofshishmaref.com/shishmaref3/cms/cms_module/index.php

In this global world we live in, we are all neighbors.

Greatest Hits

I submit to you, dear readers, that the best orchestral accompaniment to any movie is that of Star Wars. It builds emotional tension, animates battle sequences, and becomes the backdrop to every major storyline, including the romance between Princess Leia and Hans Solo. 

Who could forget the opening credits, with the scrolling storyline as the main theme plays?

Listen to the menace behind Darth Vader's theme, "The Imperial March" by George Lucas, John Williams, and the London Symphony Orchestra:

This sad tribute plays after Luke discovers that his family has been murdered by Imperial troops while he was away from the compound. He realizes that he is now alone, and so his journey begins. It's called "Binary Sunset":

How much fun is the Catina scene? Ever walked into a strange place in a strange land, and never felt more like a stranger that you had in your entire life?  Luke's quest begins with this introduction to the universe at large. The adventure starts:

I got chills at the end of the movie when Luke and Hans receive medals for their service to The Federation. It's kind of reminiscent of a graduation ceremony. Go Chewie! At the end of the scene, the music seamlessly rolls with the final credits. Masterful.

One ends, another begins...

Brooklyn Bird Bath, 2011 © Marie Doucette

It seemed fitting to mark All Saint's Day* with a selection of photos taken from my day-to-day life during October. A picture speaks a thousand words, and there is so much to to say. It was such a full month!

 

Gourd Guard Duty, © 2011 Marie Doucette

"Boo!" Bush © 2011 Marie Doucette

Park Slope Halloween Parade II © 2011 Marie Doucette

Park Slope Halloween Parade © 2011 Marie Doucette

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Saints

Halloween, Chez Doucette

Let the celebrations begin.

 

A glowing pumpkin head is quite necessary...

...as is Burton decor, like Jack Skellington.

 The bathroom came down with a case of the creepy crawlies,

 

and a battle broke out on the opposite wall, pitting good vs. evil. The angel won, vanquishing the horrible Witchy Poo. Only her hat and shoes remain.

 A ghoulish tree made it's home above the toilet, which is rather inconvenient.

  In the meantime, a dark forest grew in the kitchen,

while a haunted skull sprung forth killer tarantulas in the living room! If you try to use the television, only horror films are shown. I've been feeding candy to them, piece by piece. Now they do my bidding. 

Heh heheh.

Enchanted pumpkins slowed the hands of time,

 

for a magical patch to grow by the mantle,

as a Gargoyle stands sentry.

A ghostly Elvis album decided it did not want its' picture taken. How shy!

And spirited clothes flew from my closet into the hallway, busily arranging an outfit to mark the occasion. Sadly, they hung themselves. R.I.P.

Have a great Halloween.

Creature Features

http://en.wikipedia.org

Yesterday we got our first blast of winter, here in the Northeast. Rain, ice, snow, and thunder! It was a mighty show of force by Mother Nature, creating the perfect day to stay indoors and watch horror flicks. As luck would have it, this weekend is rife with Halloween specials on t.v. 

http://en.wikipedia.org

In truth, I was kind of overwhelmed by the amount of selections to choose from. I channel-hopped madly trying to keep up with my train of thought and level of interest. It felt heavenly, cozied up under a thick blanket, riding out the storm while indulging my Monster Mania. Shades of childhood, enjoyed with candy corn as the season dictates, like the shelf life time window for Mallowmars.

I kicked off my marathon Karloff-style, with the original 1930s version of "The Mummy", which is fitting given that he is the undisputed master of the genre. Incredible, dramatic lighting sets the emotional tone. This famous, iconic movie still from the film captures the mummy's hypnotic gaze and its' magnetic power.

http://en.wikipedia.org

"The Bride of Frankenstein" also aired. I've seen it before, yet I would periodically go back to it, as I watched other channels. Like Tim Burton in his MOMA interview, I found myself rooting for "The Monster". The town villagers hunt Frakenstein down, during it's lonely search for a companion. It is a heart-breaking scene. What existential angst, to be the only one of your kind, a uniquely horrible threat to society!  The monster had no hand in it's creation. Karloff made the character into a child-like victim of circumstance, an innocent.

http://drnorth.wordpress.com/category/horror/page/2/

As the day wore on, my tummy grew fuller. The afternoon "sleepies" set in, just as "Godzilla, King of the Monsters" began. It was time for a nap. Before my eyes closed, the opening credits reminded me that it was a major release in 1956. Raymond Burr played the lead! I can read lips fairly well, so I noticed quickly that he spoke his lines in English, while the nurse from the hospital scene delivered her lines in Japanese. It was a cross-over hit between the two countries, at a time when Hiroshima loomed fresh in the collective memory. The catalyst for the monster's rise from the ocean's depths was an atomic blast by naval ships asea on test maneuver duty.

http://en.wikipedia.org

It was a full day. I saw a darkly Gothic version of "Wuthering Heights" on Masterpiece Theater, a strange little movie about a gypsy curse called "Drag Me to Hell", "From Dusk to Dawn"'s beginning, which I had missed on previous cable airings, "30 Days of Night" again—a fantastic, modern take on the vampire myth—and some of the "Halloween Wars" series on the Food Channel, which I hope to catch in finale. On a side note, I picked the winner on "Project Runway" and she won. More on that show in a future article.

Have a safe and peaceful Sunday. Happy t.v. watching :)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creature_Features

Monsters, Inc.

In addition to Fangoria, as kids we also flipped over Monsters magazine. And why wouldn't we? There were articles about the special effects creators, rubber masks for sale, and toy models of our favorite (or most horrifying) monsters. The biggest actors from the genre were in there, too: Lon Chaney, Jr., Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee. Goldmine!

We concocted recipes for fake blood, and ordered King Kong models from clip out coupons out of the back of the mag, to make Super8 movies of our own. We wrote scripts, and solicited the help of adults to paint backdrops for our mini movie sets. It was so much fun. To this day, horror and fantasy remain prized genres for me to watch on a rainy night. I pored over the works of Edgar Allen Poe, and the creepier aspects to Shakespeare's Macbeth, particularly the graveyard soliloquy to his dead courtier, Yorick. 

To say that we had a taste for the macabre would be an understatement, because children recognize high camp and ghoulish fun when they encounter it. The thrill from a good scare is unbeatable. We want to be surprised, and also amused, with a dose of fear for all the unknowns that go bump in the night. After all, the world is a very scary place for children, isn't it? We were so vulnerable and dependent upon others for our care, and if those needs were not met, we would not survive—life vs. death.

Enter into this environment a family trip to California. My oldest brother must have been the driving force behind this gem of an idea, because our parents lined up a visit to the home of the editor to Famous Monsters of Filmland, Forrest J Ackerman. We suffered through banal tours to the desert, The Chinese Theater, the San Diego Zoo, and the Gene Autry museum, to see several stuffed versions of Trigger and Rin Tin Tin. Kinda creepy in it's own way, though all were dulled by the harsh glare of the SoCal sun. I remember constantly squinting and in dire need of sunglasses, which came in the form of these embarrassing animal kiddie frames, bought in haste from the zoo's gift shop.

Finally, we got to see the real stop on our tour, the Ackermansion! We drove through the Hollywood Hills, looking for a street sign for "Karloffornia", and we got so excited to find it! Mr. Ackerman was a wonderful man, a true fan with a giving and generous nature. He gave tours through his home, which is a museum to the artifacts and models from the films we loved so much. I was delighted to find video clips from other visitors, who shared this once-in-a-lifetime Ackerman experience. He's exactly as I recalled: passionate, enthusiastic, full of facts, trivia and information. We adored him. What a kind, sweet man. Thanks to the fellow fan for posting this video clip. It brought back lots of wonderful memories :)

 http://famousmonsterforrestjackerman.blogspot.com/

At the end of our tour, he gave us laminated pins of a black and white photo of him. It was a treasured childhood keepsake for many years.

Spread the love, by sharing your passion with others today.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_J_Ackerman

Oddities

Another bout with insomnia some months prior left me channel surfing late at night, once again. From the opener to the end of this show, I was hooked. It was dark, creepy, and kooky. Cool! Even better, the shop is located in New York. Local color, indeed.

"Obscura" deals with a certain clientele who represent a rather interesting subset of the tri-state area's population. For me, the characters who frequent the shop are the type of people who are into a retro Coney Island, freak show, tattooed look. Oddly enough, they aren't all that uncommon in these parts, familiar to those of us who work within creative businesses. The raven-haired, heavily-tatted, red-lipsticked gal with an odd assortment of vintage items in her office is a standard in most art and design departments around town.

After all, those of us who are art school refugees are used to these types of encounters. How many times have you been in a "crit" (a critique session held in a studio class, when new work is posted for review, commentary, slashing, personal attacks, what have you), when invariably one student tries to define themselves with shock tactics? Raises hand!

Beyond that, I find fascination in a trade that deals in dead items. Unlike someone looking to be "edgy", I like the frank discussion of human remains within the real world. Death is so hidden and taboo among Americans, it's almost like this natural part of our existence, doesn't, well, exist. But it so clearly does. Every life form on this planet is born, lives for a time, then dies. To deny this basic tenet of all life on earth seems just as strange to me, a sanitization of something everyone encounters. Why not put it out there and deal with it in a healthier, more open way? 

There is also a heavily scientific interest to the show, with their business done in skeletons, animal pelts, mummies, etc; something that also resonates with most artists, because we typically study anatomy and biology in detail. You'd be surprised at some of the experts they have on the show: private collectors, museum curators, lawyers, taxidermists, the list goes on and on. And if you're in New York already, or planning a trip, go check out the shop with your own eyes. http://www.obscuraantiques.com/

Cover design by Marie Doucette

Happy Halloween shopping.

The Nightmare Before Christmas

Many of my readers know I that am a huge Tim Burton fan, and that my favorite movie is The Nightmare Before Christmas. Years ago, after graduating from RISD*, me and two of my friends from college bunked at my aunts' apartment, in the Kensington section of Brooklyn. We would not have been able to launch our artistic careers without having that place, splitting the low monthly maintenance fee on our starter salaries. One of my dear college friends is a talented, professional animator. He went to see the movie first, with my other roommate. 

They came home excited to tell me all about it. I'll never forget what my friend said to me: "Marie, you have got to see this movie. It's you! It's everything that you and your work stand for!" Wow. Pretty powerful stuff. How could I say no? My animator roomie readily agreed to take me to see it again, because he enjoyed it so much. We went to a theater so crowded, I had to sit in the first row and off to the side, craning my neck the entire time. I saw it tilted and crooked, at a showing featuring a worn copy of the film that kept skipping or stopping, and it didn't make a difference at all.

Those of you into 80s music trivia might remember the band Oingo Boingo, and their hit "It's a Dead Man's Party", a Halloween party staple back in the day. Lead singer Danny Elfman went on to become an extraordinarily successful composer for film and t.v. He did the score to Nightmare, and many other Burton films. You might remember him from such t.v. theme songs like "The Simpsons". This cool intro goes into a whole overseas sweatshop riff. Awesome!

Elfman's score to Nightmare sets the tone for this Halloween world, which is basically the backdrop to what is essentially a coming-of-age tale and a love story, both universal themes. It's a story about being true to yourself and authenticity; how to keep your sense of self intact, as you move about the world. Jack Skellington, the main character, mistakenly believes he was made for something other than the Pumpkin King. 

In a misguided attempt to change his destiny, he tries on the Santa Claus persona, with disastrous results. In the end, he realizes he has strayed too far from his roots, and he learns to embrace his role as the King of Halloween. Along the way, he falls in love. A classic hero-on-a-quest arc, though in this case, he's sort of a dark, Gothic "anti-hero", but not really. He has a heart of gold, or at least he used to before dying! 

I also love that Jack has a ghost dog sidekick named "Zero" that he plays fetch with in the graveyard, using one of his ribs. There's so much lavish detail, and humor, too. It's a labor of love, with work-intensive, hand-made characters filmed using the stop-motion animation technique. It would be impossible to achieve the movies' look using other technologies.

I adore the interview Mr. Burton did for his MOMA show, as he explains what his work means to him:

Brilliant, isn't he? There's nothing quite like hearing a master explain their work, in their own words. At the core of all Tim's different works, there's a recurring message that I draw from and respond to, which boils down to this: Don't let the bastards grind you down. 

Shine on, you crazy diamond, for this Halloween and the next. 

And so on, and so on, and so on....

* Rhode Island School of Design.

"Everybody was Kung-Fu Fighting"

Me and my Irish twin bro were obsessed with wacky martial arts movies as kids, the weirder the better. They were so much fun to watch: the bad dubbing, the over-acting, the sound effects, plus some real martial arts and weapon skills. Back in the day, Channel 9 WOR-TV in New York aired long afternoons filled with foreign flicks. 

We relished this t.v. time to indulge our interest. Bruce Lee was a huge film star in the 70s, bringing the first serious wave of martial arts to the States. In the 80s, things took a turn for the "douche" when "The Karate Kid" came out. I remember cliques of wanna-be's posing around junior high in white headbands with the Japanese sun in the middle, throwing fake kicks and using nunchucks poorly.

Fight culture has long been a part of my family. My dad was in the Navy, and he had done some boxing at Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn. He grew up in a rough section called Bed-Stuy, a time that he still doesn't talk about openly or often, and I can't blame him for that. He had friends in gangs and in jail, doing serious time. I suspect he may have dabbled in greaser culture, too, though the military put him on the path to self-discipline, lessons he installed in all his children.

In my family, there are five of us who have studied (or currently study) martial arts: me and my twin, my youngest bro, my oldest nephew, and even my mom, who took Tai Chi classes for people with Multiple Sclerosis. It must be genetic, as is our bent towards weaponry. Another nephew expressed interest in fencing, something I have always wanted to try. There never seems to be enough time to accomodate all of my various hobbies, interests, and activities, a problem that I am happy to have. Boredom is not a trait we understand well, because, like the saying goes, there is the strong suggestion that one may be boring, another character trait I do not have.

We loved the costumes, the fantasy, and also the beautiful skills from the imports we watched so avidly. Those early movies exposed us to a different world, one which filled us with a fascination that will last a lifetime. Consider this a introduction to more articles on martial arts culture. That's a promise!

"Keeeeee-yaaaahhhhh!!!!"

"GASP! Diba dinu puppa cam!"

The title of this article is an embarrassing approximation of the drooling baby talk I use in the presence of puppies. After all, what's a pet person to do with the absence of a dog in the household? You indulge your "Petophilia" via the internet, along with the rest of the pervs with less wholesome interests.

I submit to you, for your approval, that no site captures the zeitgeist of puppy joy better than The Shiba Inu Puppy Cam. I would spend lunchtimes at my desk, eating while watching the video cam footage posted by their breeders. It's wildly funny to see a furry scramble of pups play-fight, poignant when one of the puppies gets adopted, and soothing to watch a basketful of beautiful puppies sleep, snuggled up against each other.

Between litters, the cam is still a blast. The owners post videos of the mom and dad. Check it out, and feed your jones!

http://www.ustream.tv/sfshiba

Love 'em While You Can

The end of last week was a rough one. We lost our beloved TeddyBear, the coolest Mal ever. It was a reminder for me and my pet-lovin' crew to live it up with our animals while we have them. 

In honor of this credo, I submit to you that no one does this better than Joel from The Soup. First off, he dresses his Chihuahua, Lou, in costumes and puts him in skits. Awesome! And hilarious. 

Second, he realizes the cruelty and ridiculousness of taunting a dog with food. This crazy couple has a gentle Australian Shepherd who can be tamed by such actions. If a snow dog was involved, you'd be pulling your arm forcefully out of their giant mouth while the trainer tries to administer shock treatments. 

Uh, folks, there's some cursing involved:

Never fear for Stains, dear readers, because Joel and his crew correct this injustice done to him, in a big way:

Have a blast with your animal friend today.

Crescent Moon

© Marie Doucette

In the early morning light.

Ted, 1.29.01-10.20.11

The first Saint I knew as a child was St. Francis of Assisi. I received First Communion and Confirmation at a parish in his honor, and I currently practice at the cathedral St. Francis Xavier, a missionary also named after the famous saint. His was a great story for a child to read: the eccentric son of a wealthy merchant who openly disparaged greed and profit for selfish motives. The more vocal he became, the more his message fell on deaf ears, until finally, in an epiphany, he went into the woods and preached to the animals, if men would not listen. It's an important spiritual concept. When you feel abandoned by those around you, do not reject your principles, but rather turn inward so that you may recognize a deeper truth.

All my life I have felt a special affinity for the creatures of this beautiful planet. There was the year that I took all my birthday money and sent it to the organization "Friends for Animals", a gesture that earned me some serious and baffled inquiry from my mother. I still have the poster somewhere that I got as a gift for supporting their charity. Most children naturally love animals, too. It is the #1 best-selling subject for children's books—farms, and puppies. And what's not to love? We are genetically programmed as humans to respond to furry, cute critters. We evolved with dogs through time. If not for them as our helpers, we would not have survived in some of the harshest climates on Earth. Many of my readers know that my first dog was a gorgeous Samoyed we named Snowflake, a doggie who deserves an article of her very own, to come during wintertime, as is fitting for my girl :) We, as a family, responded to her beauty in a profound way. 

I have wrote some in the past about my surname "Doucette", and its French-Canadian origins. Snow Dogs were necessary to the survival of my ancestors when they pioneered in the most harsh climates of Canada. After The Expulsion, a time of ethnic cleansing and extermination directed towards Acadians*, we split in order to survive. Some, like my ancestors, went deep into the woods, to join with Indians in their fight against the British. Others, after their rejection down the eastern seaboard, were driven to the swamps of Louisiana, to found the colony of New Orleans. "Cajun" is a corruption of "Acadian", a fact I learned from my father during a cruise we took with other relatives who celebrate our Nova Scotian roots. He also revealed to me, for the first time, that his grandfather spoke with a heavy French accent.

It is encoded within my DNA to respond to snow dogs in a way that is hard for me to describe. More than simply their outward appearances, which are stunning to behold, I understand their temperament, and the high level of communication they attain with human members of their tribe. I sense them, and I feel their pain. With the passing of our family dog many years ago, came some of the sharpest and most keenly felt longing I have ever experienced. We, as a group, have never forgotten our beloved pet. So much so, my mother swore never to have another animal live in her house, a vow she has kept.

So, you can imagine my reluctance when an ex-boyfriend bought me a Malamute puppy as a surprise. He and I were not made to have long-term legs in our relationship, and this dog served as a bind to keep me with him. I knew that, and dear readers, I tried to resist. But ultimately, I couldn't and he knew that, knowing my history. I fell for the most spectacular animal I have ever seen, and we named him TeddyBear. I knew Ted was too big for me to take care of alone, and that he would grow to outweigh me, but my ex was a large man, and together we could right this imbalance. When we split, my family implored me to adopt him out, in order to protect me, but I couldn't. It went that deep with me. The inevitable happened, and Teddy pulled me over one very early morning, during a walk.

A few years prior, Teddy had been hit by a car crossing a street, running to a playground filled with children from the neighborhood, who called his name. My instincts, when I had told my ex to put him on a leash, were overridden when he said it was just a quick trip to take out the trash. True to snow dog nature, Ted made a mad dash for the kids, as is their ingrained way, and was struck by a speeding car. That night was a blur, as I drove to an ER, with Ted bleeding from the mouth in the backseat of my car. We had gone to our local vet to get an injection to keep him breathing and his heart pumping. 

The vet said if he made it through the night, it would be a miracle. I stripped the blankets from the bed, laid on the living room floor, crying and calling the vet every few hours, as they checked on him in a breathing tent. They told me afterwards it was a miracle that he survived. In my heart, I made a promise to Teddy that I would always take care of him, protect him, and care for him, so that nothing like that ever happened to him again. Fast forward years later, on  that morning walk, when I could not let go of his leash as he made a dash for some food in the street. Ted had been put on a diet, which made him hungry, and I had downstairs neighbors who were riding me hard about his morning vocalizations for "walkies". All this led to the perfect storm for my accident, a brief moment in time that would have a huge impact on my life, forever. Because I would not risk another car accident for him, Ted spun me around as he made a lunge for a bagel on the ground, instantly breaking my leg. He then pulled me down, my head cracking on the pavement, then dragged me along the sidewalk. I would not relinquish my grip on him, to protect him.

It was so early in the morning, I had no phone, no money, only the keys in my hand. A passerby had to call for an ambulance (Dear lady, whoever you are, thank you for your kindness towards me). After getting the results of my X-Rays, I knew my life was completely altered. Because Teddy was home alone (the ambulance drivers had to take him up to my 4th floor walk-up, as I could not. We laughed as we put him in the back with us, a first for them), and I was left in a fast-filling ER, cab voucher in hand, I made the decision to walk home on crutches. After a brief lesson from the Doctor, I made the journey home to him. Along the way, a bus stopped to ask me if I needed a ride, and a neighbor asked me to sit, but I would not. As I turned the key to the building door, those stairs loomed before me like Mount Everest. I turned around, sat down on the first stair, and I pulled myself up using my arms, dragging the crutches with me, all the way to the 4th floor. I heard the woman who had directed the noise complaints towards me, through her door making comments to someone as she looked at me through the peephole, as I crawled past their apartment upstairs. Not once did she offer to help me up. The next day, I was in such pain, because I pulled almost every muscle in my body.

I made arrangements with my dog walker to provide for Teddy's walks, but something further had to be done. My father came to my aid, as he always does, and placed Teddy in a kennel, while we came up with a plan. I had two tibia fractures, torn cartilage, tendon and ligament damage, and I was in need of surgery. I was also at a new job, where the art director, a supposed bleeding-heart dog rescue volunteer, was pushing for my termination. My health insurance had just kicked in two weeks prior. Because I could not climb stairs, I had to sleep on my mother's pull-out couch during the weeks that followed. Ted's handlers at the kennel sent me heart-wrenching photos of him, sad, alone, and dejected in his kennel. Never have I hurt so much in all my life. In the weeks that followed, I had knee surgery, and the recovery. I went back to work and made plans to regain my life. Then, I noticed a tightening in my calf muscle at night. I stayed alone in a hotel room near my job, taking a car service mornings and evenings to and from the office. I was told to go to the ER immediately, where I was diagnosed with DVT, Deep Vein Thrombosis.

I had to go back to my mother's apartment, and receive injections into my stomach with blood thinner. I was diagnosed 3 times with 3 separate DVT's. After that, I would need months of Physical Therapy to walk properly again. My oldest brother had to phone me with the bad news that I would not be able to keep Ted, my dog, just when I needed comfort the most. I sobbed with the realization, as he told me how selfish I was. We came up with a plan for adoption, and we sorted through the options. I told my mom firmly that I would not part with my dog unless the perfect person came into my life. My mom looked at me lying on the sofa and said, "Okay, I'll pray for it." and I knew it would happen. The next day, a couple called us looking to adopt, and Angel came into my life. I had not seen Teddy since the accident. As we sat at my mother's kitchen table, I signed over his breed papers to them, ceding all future rights to him as my dog. I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do, but it hurt like hell.

Yesterday, Angel called to let me know that Teddy was gravely ill, and went to sleep. Through the years, she and I became good friends, consulting over his challenging health care issues. Malamutes are not for the beginner dog owner! I knew he had the same effect on her that all of his fans felt, and we shared many great moments together. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking such excellent care of my Teddy.

I have never publicly shared the M'Loot Mahlemut name I would say joyfully, in the early mornings, as I called for him, "T'Doo! Teddoo! Ted-Doo!" http://omalmalamutes.com/omal/kotzebuevsmaloot.htm

Goodbye, Bear Cub. Mama loves you.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Acadian_Expulsion