Friday, February 10, 2012

Street Art


"André the Giant Has A Posse" sticker by Shepherd Fairey

Years ago, young and enrolled at the Rhode Island School of Design, me and a friend ran wild in the quiet dark of Providence, sidewalk chalk in hand. We went on silly, drink-fueled capers, knowing our works disappeared with the next rain. Still, it gave us a thrill. We wrote a dirty rhyme with a ridiculous caricature of then-President Tom Schutte on the brick wall in front of the deans' house. The funniest part is, he must have realized the deed was done by matriculated Illustration students, from the level of accurate detail and the nature of the pun. I hope he had a good laugh at our joke, because it was intended without any real malice.

After all, it was 1992 and street art was on fire. Shep Fairey printed batches of André stickers that went mad viral while he was a student. He gave them away as fast as he printed them off the equipment in the Printing department studios. We passed them around just as quickly. We were geared for global expression in a huge way, and what grander scale is there than the whole wide world? When someone is denied a voice for a long time, it's bound to come out one way or another, legal or not. And I was totally on board.

http://www.nycgovparks.org/about/history/historical-signs/listings?id=11977

New York City was a hotbed for graffiti and street art. When I was a teen, Keith Haring posted drawings in the slip-in slots for subway maps on trains. I once spotted a black piece with white glyphs, easily identifiable as his work, complete with a signature. Woe to me now that that I didn't take it, but it was midday and too many people were around for me to make a quick grab. I pointed it out to a friend in passing, as we left the train. Haring also made drawings on the platform spaces reserved for ads, incorporating the partially removed ad as part of the piece. For years his murals lined our streets, like the one on the West Side Highways' handball court. I still associate Keith Haring with the drive to Queens, for visits with my grandfather. 

When a group is robbed of a voice, it will come out. In the case of our city, the rougher neighborhoods were pressure cookers, popping off here and there explosively. It was the reason for many a family exodus from our beloved town: drugs, crime, prostitution, gangs...it was everywhere. Bombed out cars and burning trash cans lined the streets, serving as fodder for post-Apocalyptic nightmarish movies, like Escape from New York. After visits to town, I could feel the crunch of sharp, broken crack vials under my feet, which covered the sidewalk on the way back to the Port Authority bus station: past the X-rated movie theaters, the 3-card Monty swindlers, and the fake I.D. store fronts that showcased exotic-looking drug paraphernalia for the masses through grimy windows. 

http://publictransitallstars.tumblr.com/
What can street kids do, lost as they are, abandoned by their parents, authority figures, and society? It feels like they are nothing, they don't exist, a band of kids desperate to survive, their spirits challenged to the max. I saw their tags as a way of crying out to the world "See me! I'm here. I exist. I am real.", affirmations of their lives writ on our shared public spaces, for us to take notice. It linked us back to our ancestral artists, who recorded their lives for an eternity on the Caves of Lascaux, using their hand prints as signatures. It shouts out "I was here!", a poignant message sent to us via time portal. Researchers concluded the painters of Lascaux were predominately women, measuring their hands against those of modern man. What powerful expressions of the self, by the empathetic and generous mothers of humanity. It makes me feel less alone.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cave_painting
I always found graffiti artists worthy of a larger audience. As street art gained in popularity, more appropriate venues gradually replaced the illegal ones. Galleries started showing their work, and wall spaces devoted to mural art became available, giving disenfranchised artists a bigger voice with sorely-needed income. It also helps to ensure their safety, as they learn to take less risks with lives. Being an artist is an act of bravery as it is. I'm glad their time has come around again.

Shep Fairey Art in NYC © Marie Doucette 2010

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Prospect Park Zoo


Sea Lion, © Marie Doucette 2012
Here in Park Slope, we have our own version of the zoo from Madagascar: a sweet, homey place filled with good vibes. I've been meaning to visit the Prospect Park Zoo for many years, but just like with Greenwood Cemetery, time got away from me. Yesterday was a beautifully clear and sunny day, perfect for a walk through the park and a visit to my local zoo. It's an incredible place.

Indoor Aquarium, © Marie Doucette 2012
There's several indoor buildings with animals for viewing, clustered in a semi-circle around the outdoor Sea Lion exhibit. For children (and big kids, too), there's a very charming petting zoo, with food pellet dispensers for an interactive experience. Who doesn't like seeing cute critters up close? I know I do. The geese put on a funny show for visitors by trying to fit in a small barrel of water, while the llamas placidly chewed straw and watched, unconcerned with their frenzied feathered antics.

Petting Barn, © Marie Doucette 2012
This little fellow felt asleep in the warmth of the midday sun, drowsing while leaning against a tree stump, a picture of contentment.

Afternoon Nap, © 2012 Marie Doucette
The petting zoo portion of the park has barn buildings, lending an air of authenticity to the atmosphere. The feel of it couldn't be less exploitative, if animal enthusiasts have concerns about supporting a zoo. This is a typical day for domesticated farm animals.

Entrance to the Discovery Trails, © 2012 Marie Doucette
The entrance to the Discovery Trail is magical. Beautiful sculptures decorate a stone walkway. During the outdoor exhibit tour, visitors walk along trails that showcase different animal terrains. I was psyched. Here. We. Go. Oh boy, oh boy. Red pandas!! OK, calm down, I told myself. RED PANDAS!!! Didn't work.

Sleeping Duck, © Marie Doucette
The aviary has several species living within it. Can you find the bird in this picture? As nice as this area is to explore, I had something else on my mind. Hmm, what could that be? O.M.G. There he is!! The rock star of the zoo, the Red Panda. I won't lie to my audience by writing that I played cool, because I did not. I talked to the pair of pandas like a babbling, star struck fan, while the young male swaggered around scenting bushes. Wow. Major attitude. I was totally impressed. You can tell he's a young one by the way he aggressively paces back and forth, actively guarding the perimeter to their zone.

The Red Panda of Prospect Park Zoo, © 2012 Marie Doucette
After a territorial breach on a tree branch almost lead to a throw down, the bears separated again. The older panda defended its' portion by raising its' hackles, hissing and bearing a set of pointed fangs. They have extremely sharp claws for grabbing on to tree limbs, making them experts at climbing. They are stunning creatures bearing impressive markings, active and aware with a lively intelligence. Despite their small size, I would not want to be in there with them. They are brawlers for sure. PANDAS RULE!

Red Panda Feeding, © 2012 Marie Doucette
My visit was everything I hoped for and more. Because of its small size, the Prospect Park Zoo is very manageable as part of a longer trip to the park itself. It is an excellently curated collection of special animals, chosen with obvious care and tended with love. While I was there, an art program was in progress for a small group of children, overseen by a zoo worker, in a section dedicated for just such a purpose. They observe animals in their terrariums, working on craft projects and learning about the wonderful creatures that live there. See for yourself and have a great adventure!


Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Wolves


Tonight's a full moon, so it seems fitting to delve further into wolf country. By now, we know the myths that surround them—a wild beast morphing under moonlight. So saturated has it become in pop culture that no self-respecting vampire movie or t.v. show can call itself such without an appearance by the hairy counterpoint. While the vampire is ethereal, cold-blooded and slender, the werewolf is heat, pain, and sweat: earthy, alive, and hungry. They are like mankind at its worst, or perhaps our fantastical best, without suffering the moral implications of a blood feast, like so many hand-wringing vegans. A wolf hunts and eats, without any moral ambiguity, and why should there be? It's what predators are born to do.

Given the current climate, many a pseudo-scholar has entered into this fevered hothouse of best-selling books and movies. My favorite is a wacky British guy who has styled himself a real-life Wolfman, keeping a separate set of stinky scented clothes, so that he can enter pack territory without incident. Without the hammy acting, it's actually a fairly good representation of their society. I love this clip when he gives a pup howling lessons.


How cute is that wolf puppy? "Omigarsh" cute. Behind the kook factor, Shaun Ellis does ingratiate himself into wolf life, sort of like a grown up version of Julie of the Wolves. He reminds me of bear enthusiast Timothy Treadwell, who took too many risks after repeated warnings, ultimately killing himself and his girlfriend in Alaska. There's an incredible Werner Herzog documentary about this disturbed yet well-intentioned man called Grizzly Man. Because he obsessively filmed and taped, there's a chilling scene when his ex-lover hears his death throes through headphones, which were found at the campsite in a recorder. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timothy_Treadwell.

After all, with nature one must be mature enough to accept that there are real differences between domesticated animals and those of the wild. I respect animals in wildlife by giving them their space, and I feel that this is most fitting. They have their nature, and we have ours. This distance makes me appreciate them all the more. Occasionally, I have seen this gap broached, and I find it to be most distasteful. During art school, a couple of self-righteous hippie types mated their female wolf-dog hybrid with a male wolf, which they treated as pets. When the female gave birth to a litter, she created a den in their kitchen and would not let them enter, forcing the grad students to take their meals elsewhere. "We haven't eaten in the kitchen in about a month!" If I was supposed to be impressed, it was a failure, because I thought to myself "Good. Arrogant idiots." 


As we sat in their chilly apartment, I carefully watched the male pacing around the small living room, eyeing me. Let me assure you readers, a wolf is not anything like a dog up close and personal. When I finally couldn't wait any longer to use the bathroom, the wolf startled a bit when I stood up, scaring me. The hippe dude scolded me (?!) for getting up too quickly. Yeah right, a$*hole, I'm the problem here. He told me he kept the wolf under his control by being the "Alpha" male and playing mind games with it. Watching that guy walk a wolf through a city on a piece of a rope was one of the most ridiculous, cruel, and hateful things I have seen in my life. I sincerely hope the mated animal pair pulled a "Siegfried and Roy"* on their asses. For tonight's full moon, I'll howl from indoors, looking forward to seeing wolves in the wild from a comfortable distance, with a certified guide. 

Stay safe in our urban jungle.


Monday, February 6, 2012

Workin' it at 40+


Early. Really early.

http://blog.jayparkinsonmd.com/
 The proof is in your muscles,
so get out there and get moving!

Friday, February 3, 2012

The Story of Lobo and Blanca


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julie_of_the_Wolves
Wolves are my favorite animals. It isn't surprising, given my preference for snow dogs, which wolves resemble in some ways. One of my favorite reads as a pre-teen was Julie of the Wolves, the story of an abused Native girl who runs away to join a pack. I made a study of my Samoyed as a girl growing up, and I loved her habits. When I began to learn in earnest about wolves, my admiration for their qualities grew. They are one of the most intelligent, sophisticated, and feeling animals on our beautiful gem of a planet, alongside whales, dolphins, and elephants. They have a complex and highly developed society, with a refined, disciplined, almost militaristic hierarchy. They form strong emotional attachments and unique bonds. Combined with their extraordinary natural beauty, you can clearly see why I was hooked.  

Lakota Wolf, © 2010 Marie Doucette 
 http://www.lakotawolf.com
As an adult, my fascination with wolves remains unabated. I went on a small outing to a wolf preserve in New Jersey. We also took a bigger family trip to Yellowstone, on a tour called Wolves, Bears, and Wild Things. We saw many beautiful animals and incredible landscapes, but no wolves. I was not disappointed at all, because I expected such behavior. They are not summer creatures, and the heat of the day is no time for movement, because wolves travel at night. I know some day I will observe a pack in the wild, at a spot that I hiked to deep in the wilderness, glistening with new snow.*

Lobo
Blanca
You can imagine my rapt attention when I discovered the documentary called The Wolf That Changed America. I do not want to write too much about it, so moving is this true tale. It's an epic adventure, with the creation of an environmental activist, and the greatest love story of all time. See it for yourself, and prepare for an emotional experience you will never forget. Be sure to have tissues handy. http://www.pbs.org/wnet/nature/episodes/the-wolf-that-changed-america/introduction/4260/



*http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2010_07_01_archive.html
  http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2010/04/lakota-wolf-preservecolumbia-nj.html


Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Following "The Foot Fist Way"


Like any other subculture, martial artists have a lot to take in: insane training partners with anger issues and psychological problems, head cases with eating disorders and bizarre weight-cutting strategies (plus a personality disorder or two—YAY!), power-mad instructors strutting around and hitting on the attractive students, plus high-pressure sales pitches that offer lengthier, more expensive gym contracts modeled after unethical pyramid schemes, all thrown together into this toxic cocktail. Let's mix it up!

Since it's fighting, it's a dog-eat-dog world: envious partners who want to hurt you (badly) to take you out of the game, shameless ass-kissing for belt promotions, bitchy gossip, nasty rumors, locker room hookups and budding romances, mat funk, dojo stank, suffocating heat, injuries, pain, humiliation, occasional bouts of pride and ecstasy followed by crushing defeats, and did I mention envy? Thick as thieves, indeed.
With a little bit of luck and some real experience, you might actually find a place with the right "budo": a school with heart and spirit that instills a sense of honor and respect among its students, not through words but through its' actions, too. You'll know the real deal when you find it because you'll feel it. Until then, take comfort knowing we waded through the same shark-infested waters together because everyone learns from the pain. Welcome to our world. "Keeeeeyaaahhhh!"

Monday, January 30, 2012

Workin' it at 40+


Early morning at The Y, and it's empty. Perfect!
It's not easy trying to be an middle-aged athlete, but such is the case with me. After knee surgery with complications from DVT (Deep vein thrombosis: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DVT), I had months and months of physical therapy to regain leg extension. Muscles atrophy extremely quickly, and after some months, I could see a noticeable difference between the size of my calves.  My life changed quickly overnight, as the result of an accident walking my dog, which I've written about before. But here I was, and I was glad to be alive. I was at the point of deciding my next endeavor. What to do? Fencing? Hm. I hate gyms, but I need to continue the momentum. 

Cool down time.
I had set a routine for PT: early mornings before work, I went to PT sessions, supervised by a physical therapist, then I would clean up in the locker room, and get dressed for a full 8-10 day at the office, packing my work clothes in a gym bag. One morning my Physical Therapist asked me, "Hey, nice of you to show up ready to work!", because I was yawning and drinking coffee during warm ups. "Oh", I laughed, "that's because I need a boost to get me out the door to go to work." He stopped, paused for a second, and took a good, long look at me. "You...you...go to work." he said slowly, "After doing this." "Yeah!", I laughed, and then I glanced around the room. 

Time to hit the bag!
Many of the people there were disabled from obesity, riding in motorized carts, doing arm exercises and other limited, stationary routines. Oh. I was the healthiest and most active person there. And I wanted to keep it that way. So, when someone from work asked me to go to a martial arts school with them as part of a group (probably to get a discount) I quickly agreed. After all, I had studied Taoist Tai Chi years ago and loved it. Plus, it has deep, strong roots in my family. Two of my brothers and my oldest nephew are also martial artists. Cool! 

View from the elliptical.
But...could I do it given the damage in my knee? I was just getting back into shape, and I did have two pins in my knee. Plus, I was 37 at the time. What would happen? I started out very gently, easing myself into classes, until they became routine. And I enjoyed them, too. This was really the first thing I had ever done solely for myself, to benefit just me and no one else, or so I thought. It felt very selfish, but then I learned that the healthier I became, the better it would be for those around me. It's a lesson I struggle with daily.

Starting over, this time BJJ.
Then, I stepped my routine up another notch, daring to enroll at the same world-renowned BJJ school as my Irish Twin. It was a huge honor for me to be at the same school as him, because he is much more advanced than I am. As he stood over me in the dojo office, where I signed my contract, I felt more doubts. Can I really do this? I looked up at him, and he placed his hand on my shoulder. I made my decision. Well, I can do anything for a year. Right? Wrong! I made it 11 months, with a competition under my belt, realizing that over the course of those months, I had sustained two separate injuries, during different training sessions. My leg started giving way after training for a few hours, and I knew that something was wrong, but I told myself if I just made it to that first tournament, I would get the MRI. And so I did. 

No-gi BJJ tournament.
The news was serious, but I already knew it was: meniscus tear, torn ACL, ligament, bone and tendon bruising in my weaker leg. Strange thing is, my injuries really don't hurt all that much, except during bad weather, which is like arthritis, I'm told. When I did the ACL tear, my training partners were so scared, because they told me they heard a "POP!", that dreaded sound we all fear. The room became very quiet, because they realized it before I did. "Oh?", I questioned the purple belt who was supervising me and my partner, "You heard a pop?" They asked me what I wanted to do, so I took a moment, shook my leg out laughing, and said "Ahh, I'll play it through. I wanna finish the class." 
Early a.m. Just me and the bag.

It really didn't hurt that much, certainly not as serious as it looks on paper. I iced it for awhile, then tried classes, but the instability told me something was weird, and so it was. I knew from my accident (and an epic journey home: http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2011/10/ted-12901-102011.html) that I had a high tolerance for pain, but this was something I couldn't ignore. Now what? Back to PT! And so I embarked on another journey, this time by myself, training at The Y, strengthening my muscles. 

Do what you do.
At first, I wore a DonJoy brace made for ACL injuries, setting the elliptical machine to its lowest resistance settings. Gradually, I gained more muscle, which helps secure the damaged area. I started bag training again, then swimming, and finally some classes, which told me a lot about how far I've come on this path. Now I'm 42, and I'll always have a bad knee, but I won't give up, and neither should you.  Keep fighting!

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Around the Way

 
Winter Blooms on 3rd Street, © Marie Doucette 2011.
Burton Branch, Park Slope, Brooklyn, © Marie Doucette 2012.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Best Musicals



As a genre, musicals are not high on my list of favorites. I start getting into the narrative, and then BOOM! someone abruptly breaks into song, with hand gestures and dance moves. Annoying and quite frankly, kinda terrifying. Homies, ya feel me on this one? Like, if someone did that on the train, you'd switch cars, right? Word. But, if it's in the interest of parody, (see also: Team America, World Police) then I am so down. http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/search/label/Team%20America%20World%20Police
Before the genius of puppet sex, (And you know you wanted to see how that worked. Remember when Barbie dolls came of age in your household? Good times. My Ken, while stylish, was definitely hetero.) Matt Stone and Trey Parker composed the brilliant movie South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. Yes, I own the soundtrack and so should you, but if not, then take a listen to a song or two. Please note: not suitable for the kiddies. Sorry, folks.


I defy you to get "I'm Super!" out of your head today. "Skittles!" Next up, a nod to the French Resistance. When in doubt, shout it out: Blame Canada!


Sure, war is a bummer and all, but what would World Champion and Olympic figure skater Brian Boitano do? I've wondered about that, as have the boys from South Park, Colorado.


Okay, okay Brian Boitano has the answers to thwart world domination, but what if the moms in town go mad with power and bloodlust? Sing, dammit, sing! Sing your little hearts out.


Jazz hands...yeah. Rough times at the playground, where many a battle has taken place. Catchy, isn't it? It's a tough world out there, but at least we can still laugh about it. Stay safe this weekend.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

"I am..."


I've been a Simpsons fan for many years, back when they were a roughly drawn comedy sketch featured on The Tracey Ullman Show. After The Simpsons premiered, I was watching an episode at home, on break from college. My mom came into the room, looked at the t.v. and said, "Oh I hate this show! That 'Bart' is such a brat! He deserves a smack right across the mouth. And the parents are awful. They act terrible. They say such horrible things!" Well, that's the whole point.

It was a truer representation of life than the sitcoms and t.v. shows of the day, which were blatant fakes. Nothing about pop culture reflected our lives. Finally, a depiction of a less-than-perfect family muddling their way through. This seemed more like me and my friends' lives at that point, and it was a cartoon. Perfect! Every artist I know is a huge fan. In between the crude behavior and silly jokes, came some of the most poignant t.v. moments from my early adulthood.



The question of identity can be challenging for anyone, but for children, it is a developmental necessity, enabling them to survive the slings and arrows of adolescence and beyond. I was fortunate to be born with an innately strong nature, though it did create a deep sense of isolation from the children and people around me. It's a recurring theme of Tim Burton's work, too: you are not like the others, and for a child that is extremely disconcerting. 

We are taught to behave, conform, and accept what it being told to us by our elders, even against our better judgement or instincts. For Lisa Simpson, this is keenly felt, because she is brilliant, gifted, talented, diligent and hard-working, while her family is not. Her loneliness is sharp, which she can clearly express, though it falls on deaf ears. So when a substitute teacher with a flair for teaching appears before her, she is entranced. He becomes a symbol for the kindred spirit absent from her life thus far.


When he is transferred to another school, Lisa is devastated. Her oasis of learning and understanding is being ripped away from her, and the acute isolation will close in upon her again. What an awful feeling! And yet, in that recognition lies her strength. She will endure, because she can. Her most excellent teacher gives her a final lesson, reminding Lisa that when there is no one, she still has herself, and that is formidable indeed.


Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The House of Doucette


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doucet
Every day I'm reminded about the rarity of my heritage, because I carry my name with me everywhere I go. And every single day of my life, it's mispronounced or misspelled, either from ignorance or spite. Some of it's prejudice against the French left over from WWII, or news items that depict France as a spoiled Euro child who hates the evil American McDonald's, valid points both. I write this in the hopes that it will bear repeating among my readers, so that I won't have to deliver such a speech again: I AM NOT FRENCH. Let me tell you who I am.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acadians
I am descended from The Huguenots http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugenots who were expelled from France for political reasons, 
to settle in Nova Scotia as Acadians, then after The Expulsion, were dispersed through force. Some became the Cajuns of New Orleans ("Cajun" is a corruption of the term "Acadian"), some went south to the Colonies (hello, me), and some disappeared into the woods, never to be heard from again, becoming a blend of European and Native American called The MĂ©tis. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MĂ©tis_people

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acadians
This is the history of a people so brutalized, oppressed, and terrorized, that for many of us, our name is all we have left, after every trace of our culture and history was burned or destroyed or taken from us. I'm fortunate that my ancestor, Pierre Doucet, was an indentured servant to a wealthy sea captain, granting him the freedom to determine his fate in a somewhat better measure. He died, leaving behind a diary, which my family is blessed to have. http://homepage.ntlworld.com/pitretrail/myline/paternal/pdoucet.htm

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

So the next time you are tempted to try an "exotic" name, ostensibly to show your worldly sophistication, I would ask that if you have any lingering doubts as to the correct pronunciation, ask first. Because you just might be addressing a fighter, who takes questions later.


Saturday, January 21, 2012

Snow Dogs


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

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samoyed_(dog)
In case you missed it the first few hundred times, I am a crazy pet person. My clear preferences veer directly towards cute, fluffy critters, specifically dogs, in particular working dogs, with Snow Dogs as favorites. Sitting regally at the top of the furry food chain, the Malamute reigns supreme. I also carry a sentimental fondness for Samoyeds, because my first puppy was a pretty little princess named "Snowflake". A sweeter pet for a little girl would be hard to imagine, and a Sammy pup can melt the most frozen heart.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siberian_Husky
Today is the first snowy day of the winter season for me, and I always think about my dogs on mornings like these. For them, it was like the best of every major human holiday combined into one event: the wild anticipation of Christmas morning, the bombastic explosiveness of Fourth of July fireworks, and the exciting thrill of an Easter egg hunt; the strongest delights we know, rolled into an unbeatable experience. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alaskan_Malamute
I love watching a snow dogs' joy. They make graceful leaps through the snow, burying their muzzles into the drifts, deeply taking in the different senses of snow, then pulling out their snow-covered noses in exhilaration. This is "Go Time", so ingrained into their nature, it will never be exhausted. I understand their happiness on days like this, the first snow of the year. This is their time to shine. I so greatly admire their tenacity, intelligence, independence, maturity, skill, and the incredible emotional connection they build with their human families. One does not "own" a snow dog, per se. You enter into a pact, a common agreement to share time together for awhile, to help each other out. It's majestic—an actual, real bond based on mutual respect.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sled_dog
They empathize, endlessly adapting. They possess the brain functions to understand about 200-300 spoken words. In their environment, a slavish devotion to a human just doesn't cut it, because a sled dog must make snap decisions, both independently and within the pack, to keep everything running smoothly. In conjunction with our species, it remains a feat unsurpassed in the animal kingdom.
I love their strength as much as I value their spectacular beauty; resilience coupled with an innate good nature. A snow dog will thrive in the harshest conditions to come out the clear winner, and have the best time doing it. That's excellence.

Well I stand up next to a mountain
And I chop it down with the edge of my hand...yeah
Well I stand up next to a mountain
I chop it down with the edge of my hand
Well I pick up all the pieces and make an island
might even raise a little sand...yeah
'Cause I'm a Voodoo Child
Lord knows I'm a Voodoo Child baby
Lemme say one more last thing
I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time,
I'll give it back right back to ya, one of these days, hahaha
I said I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time
I'll give it right back one of these days...yeah
And if I don't meet you no more in this world
Then I'll meet you on the next one
But don't be late,
Don't be late!
'Cause I'm a Voodoo Child, Voodoo Child
Lord knows I'm a Voodoo Child 
Hey, hey, hey!
Voodoo child, baby
I wouldn't take no more without askin'
Especially another one.
Hey!
 Jimi Hendrix, Voodoo Child