Tag: Dogs

Of Porcupine and Friends

November 3, 2024

Friends.

I have journaled much about the role of friends, especially as it involves those “old old” friends that disappoint to the core. I am learning that the sting of disappointment is like being stuck with porcupine quills.

The barbed tip hurts, and removing by yanking on the quill is painful. However, like everything else in life, you begin to evaluate how to ease the pain of extrication. If I had only known when Milly got these quills what I do now, she would not have suffered so much. Tip: you first have to cut them in half so that they go limp, the fish-hook tip relaxes, and you can pull them out softly and with reduced pain because the quills become flaccid and pliable!

I am spending much time with good friends. Some I have known for a few months. Others, for a couple of decades. And some, for a few weeks. I value their support, compassion, and their reaching out when you least expect it. Most of all, I cherish the laughter we share together. A hearty good laugh is a balm for the soul.

Recently, I heard from friends from my youth. They brought back a torrent of emotions, for they helped me remember some of the “good old days” of yore, when we were studying and working and carefree. How lucky can one be?

I am blessed.

The Arrow And The Song

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Day of the Dead Moon.

September 22, 2024

PIP

My sister Cynthia Dillon just discovered this beautiful painting of her ubiquitous dog, Pip, made by Lady Bird Strickland!

Pip was a great dog… He made it into the New York Times, the East Hampton Star, Channel 5, the Tiffany catalog, the Long Island Railroad, etc. I once almost gave the poor thing mouth-to-mouth CPR because he choked on a lamb’s rib (that he had stolen…). My second son, at 9 months, bit his ear. Pip, as gentlemanly as he could be, hit back…the forehead…, but it was a tender bite, just reminding the toddler that he had gone too far. Pip died a romantic poet’s death in what I thought were the north of Spain’s ocean cliffs, but, in truth, was Biarritz, France.

What I soon would discover is that there was a previous Pip, who shared my sister’s Pip’s indomitable courage and incredible personality:

January 22nd, 1879 was the “day of the dead moon”, an eclipse of the sun, on which Zulus were not meant to fight; that was why they had crouched in the ravine and waited. And when the young warriors disemboweled every British body, this was not gratuitous mutilation: they were helping the spirit to escape.

The Battle of Isandlwana at South Africa’s Rorke’s Drift celebrated its 145 years. David Rattray, storyteller par excellence, used to narrate the poignant events of the famous battle mesmerizing foreign tourists and South Africans alike.

I was one of those foreign tourists who was captivated by David’s enthralling description of a far-away-long-ago tale of war.

David made us all walk the trail of impending sorrow and harrowing horror on a sunny and hot and beautiful day. It was at his lodge, Fugitive’s Drift, that I learnt to add a shot of sherry to all sorts of soups that transformed them from tasty to exquisite. It was at his lodge that we found out our eldest son had been accepted by 2 of his colleges of choice, and David took out a silver goblet that British royalty (including Prince Charles) had used to drink lovely South African wine, and made my son drink from it in celebration of such good news.

It was listening to David’s description of the battle that I learnt about a little Jack Russell Terrier, Pip, that walked back and forth on the wall alerting the few trapped British soldiers of the Zulus hiding in the night.

We were so taken by the experience, that we listened to The Day of the Dead Moon narration on cassettes all the way back to Pretoria.

A few years later, after we had left South Africa, we found out David Rattray had battled a throat condition that threatened his story telling. But nothing could silence him…except the shot from a member of his most beloved people, the Zulus. I will forever be grateful to my South African friend for having introduced me to an incredible legend.

(Updated. Originally published in 2014.)