Buffalo Wings: A Magic Feather Update (4)

How beautiful a day can be
When kindness touches it!
(George Elliston)

It has been an incredible week for feathers, humbling and emotional, bright and full of untethered hope and encouragement.

My friend David, who has been with me since those long-ago-days at Barnes and Noble back in the safe confines of The Shire-like Midwest, who I have known longer than I have known Ken, and who has been as true as steel, sent me an incredible box full of every kind of feather imaginable, from giant, magnificent parrot feathers––metal blue on one side and sunlight gold on the other––to the tiniest, most delicate fluffs of white no bigger than a baby's fingernail. There are no words to express my awe and gratitude at his generosity and faith in me. I love him like I love the Russian Olives, like I love the appearance of the flowers on the Lindens, like I love the first true day of Spring.

Lori, my faithful friend, first blog buddy, and published author, and her wonderful husband Tom, sent me a peacock tail feather that dazzles my eye. It was tucked into a box that contained an incredible afghan that Lori spent weeks crocheting just for me. While it arrived in the hottest day of the year and won't be getting much use for quite awhile, it is sure to bring as much comfort on a cold winter night as her feather will on my flight. Meeting and getting to know Lori and Tom has brought me unspeakable joy and I am forever in their debt.

Jyoti, another amazing person I met through our blogs and a shared love of Golden Retrievers, sent a gorgeous card with a beautiful dog print and a single beautiful feather tucked inside. It is striped and soft, as vibrant and strong as her spirit and will make an excellent traveling companion. Jyoti is the owner of Sedona Body and Soul in Sedona, AZ. If you're in the area and need a massage, or have health issues that you'd like treated holistically, please pay her a visit and let her know Duncan and Curt sent you. She's a remarkable person and I'm lucky to have found her.

Kemia, one of my oldest and dearest friends, sent a feather she found recently while visiting Croatia. I have known Keem since before I could grow a mustache and have been blessed by her place in my life every day since we first spoke. She has seen me through my awkward adolescence, the challenges of college, and the triumphs of becoming the man I am. Few people have had the kind of faith in me that she has and my life has been forever altered and improved for her place in it. On her card she wrote, 

"My sole intention for you since my journey began was to cast you bravely into the world, and every step along the way I have meditated upon you and wished and prayed for your heart to be still so you can easily take flight. So, so many places await you and require your artists eye and writers pen..." 

Thank you, Keem. From the bottom of my heart. You are an inspiration.

I received a wonderful letter from my father who included an ink drawing of a feather. His words of encouragement moved me deeply and knowing his feather came from his own hand, was drawn with love and faith, brought me to tears. Thank you, dad, for your belief in me. It means more than you will ever know.

And finally I received a packet of feathers my mother sent. Several weeks ago on Memorial Day she and Kevin and my uncle Dennis visited my grandparents grave only to discover several feather laid out neatly near Grandpa's headstone. My grandfather was a dedicated fly-fisherman and spent countless nights tying his own flies, many of them from the feathers he found on his long walks. Mom grabbed them, knowing how much they would mean to me, how remarkable they were. I miss you, Grandpa. Thank you for your gift. Skinadinkinaw!

And thank you to all the people who have supported and encouraged me on this next phase in my recovery. These past few weeks have touched me deeply, brought me to tears, overwhelmed me with the goodness and generosity out there in the world. I am the luckiest person alive to have been touched by so many remarkable souls and wonder what I possibly could have done to deserve so much kindness. I cannot express how deeply you have all impacted my life, strengthened my spirit when I need it most, and brought one silly man in Colorado so much joy.

As a reminder, my family and I will be leaving for Buffalo on Wednesday of next week. If you'd like to send me a feather it's not too late. While I will never stop accepting your feathers, the deadline for entering my contest will end on the 15th when one lucky winner's name will be drawn to receive a thank you prize from Duncan and myself. To request my address please send me an email with the words, "Feathers for Flight" in the subject line. The winner will be drawn on the 15th. Please include the name and kind of pet/s you have, if that's the case.

Again, thank you all.

Thank You

As I have said many times in this blog, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, not because of the abundance of food or the overindulgence in it, but for its sincerity. It doesn't demand vast sums of money from us, or hours shopping and hunting for gifts, it doesn't require costumes, exploding rockets or flowers and cards designed and written by others because we lack the imagination or courage to express our own words. It doesn't matter if we have a table full of food or if we are surrounded by a room full of people. Thanksgiving asks only that we pause and acknowledge the bounties and blessings of life. So that is what I'm going to do.

Among many other things, this year I am thankful for

• Mom and Kevin, who traveled from home to be with me this year, braving icy roads and treacherous winds to fly to Denver.
• good health: my own, as well as that of Duncan and the cats, my family and friends and the people I love.
• my new job. After eight and a half years in a job I was ill-suited for, and which made me miserable, I am lucky to have found a job I enjoy surrounded by wonderful people.
• the paths and trails, winding around the park and lake, across the foothills, into the mountains, and all the places Duncan and I have walked together, discovering new things, celebrating old things, and enjoying the silent details of the world around us.
• my sister and her fiance, Chris, who asked me to officiate at their wedding next summer. It touched me deeply when they told me they wanted my words to be the words that united them in marriage and bound their lives together.
• Nutella. 'Nuff said.
• the gentle hum of Pip's purr as he sleeps on my shoulder, the soft weight of Winnie on my hip each night and the voice of Olive when she greets me in the morning and asks me in that cat way of hers how I slept.
• The song "Feelin' Good," as performed by the amazing Nina Simone.
• The return of April to my life. Her appearance last summer was sudden and miraculous, and although she doesn't reply to emails as quickly as I'd like and lives too far away, she is immaculate and untouchable.
• Edgar, my Kindle, and Lori and Tom, who sent him to me for no reason and reminded me of the innate goodness and generosity of people and their willingness to indulge me when I refuse to indulge myself.
• the sound of Dunc snoring.
• The Moth podcast, which makes me laugh and cry, sometimes all at once, and always leaves me breathless with anticipation for more.
• "The Last Dream of the Old Oak," the last story read to my grandmother before she passed away last year, and my father for sharing it with us at her memorial service.
• the silence of butterflies and the music of wind chimes.
• Status updates, which make me laugh, think and remember all the people I have shared a path with in my life.
• Lisa, my sidekick, who is not evil but tries so very hard to be.
• Two little punctuation makes, which, when put together say so much, the colon and the closing parenthesis.
• The "It Gets Better" Project and Dan Savage for his work at encouraging gay youth to hang in there and realize the full potential of their lives.
• Eggnog and Pumpkin Spice lattes.
• the poetry of Mary Oliver, the prose of Tom Spanbauer and the magnificence of the written word.
• the voice of Mrs. Wheeland, who says, "Hello, Curt" every time she answers the telephone.
• my friends, who share their triumphs and tragedies, open their hearts, lean on me when they need to and allow me to lean on them in return.
• the holidays, which mean more to me than the insanity of Black Friday shopping.
• a warm bath, a good book, and three cats who perch on the edge of the tub and watch over me protectively.
• Russian Olive and Linden trees, whose fragrance sustains me through the long, dark winter months.
• Glee
• Chris and Troy Denike, who I don't get to visit with enough, but always manage to run into when I'm crossing Bowles with Duncan. Whether they stop and talk or merely honk, wave and holler as they speed past us, they remind me that somehow I have carved out a life for myself here in Denver, the sort that offers sudden and unexpected visits with people I enjoy being with.
• Jupiter, which has been high in the sky these past several months, giving me something to marvel at on our evening walks.
• the little bird which built a home outside my door and stayed for the summer.
• Tired Old Queen at the Movies, The Sassy Gay Friend, Dropbox, Skype and Bejeweled Blitz, which make the internet worthwhile.
• Ken, who tells me he loves me each and every time we talk on the phone.
• and, as always, A.A. Milne, who wrote, "And by and by Christopher Robin came to the end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn't stop."

Smudged

My friend Lori sent a feather smudge wand for my long drive back to Idaho. Smudge wands have been used by numerous cultures as instruments to cleanse people and the spaces they inhabit. My wand was custom-made by Nelly Moon with various turkey feathers, hand-painted designs and colors, including a remarkable butterfly, all designed to help ward off anxiety. I followed the instructions that accompanied it to the letter--cleansing the wand with incense smoke, then my hands and body, and used it to waft the smoke in gratitude to each of the four directions, the earth and sky, the four winds, the moon and sun and stars, then I walked around my car and smudged each of my tires, waving the feather around them slowly and sincerely, then did the same to my windows and headlamps, the underside, the engine, all of it. It was a wonderful ritual and brought me peace of mind and spirit, and all across the 580 miles Duncan and I traveled yesterday I felt a continual renewal of strength and courage. We departed yesterday morning shortly before seven and hardly any time seemed to pass before we pulled up the street and turned up the long drive to my mother's house, the mountain behind it covered in snow, the low clouds waiting, like outstretched arms, to hug us close. Duncan did a dance of joy, running figure eights in the snow while my bag of magic feathers and the smudge wand sat on the front seat, smiling as only a well-traveled feather knows how.

The wand feathers, as seen in front of the fireplace early this morning.

A Night So Big

This night was so big, the sky so vast and clear, the wind so gentle Duncan and I could've hunkered down on the grass, still warm from an afternoon spent glowing under the sun, and outlined a constellation for every person I know, from my mother, with a speckle of stars dancing like clouds of humming birds around her head, to Lori, with a pack of dogs running wild like comets at her feet. It was a beautiful night and our walk felt like it could last forever, like it should last forever. The light tickled the surface of the lake, rippling across it as it washed up on the bank, which has receded several feet over the past month. Duncan hoped to chase the ducks swimming along the shore, so we walked down in the place where the water used to be, mottled and wave-scarred sand which felt hard when stepped upon but turned soft and gave away each time I lifted my foot. The air was so clear I swear, given enough time I could've smelled what you cooked for dinner and listened as the wind carried your whispers across the miles. Duncan rolled in the grass, picking up the once-leaves, catching them in his long hair, and though The Shepherds passed quite near, nervous at the sight of us, their companions reluctantly leashing and pulling them in the opposite direction, we did not care, did not let their appearance mar the night. There were no spectacular colors, only the warmth of the shadows and the memory of the scent of the Russian Olives as we passed by them on the lake trail, the gentle chink of Duncan's collar and leash bouncing and ringing with each step and discovery.

Many Stars

My friend Lori, who writes the blog Fermented Fur, said farewell to her much-loved Golden Retriever, Sprocket, yesterday. She and her husband Tom were with him as he crossed The Bridge, and we all know in our hearts that their companion Ripley, who crossed two years ago, was with Sprocket, guiding him across.


Last night I'd promised Lori I'd give Duncan extra love, so I took him to the park after the sun had set, just as the sky was in that inbetween place, like when you're half awake and half asleep, when dreams seem more real than reality and reality as magical as dreaming. We stood on the low hill overlooking the willow where Lori and I stood with Duncan just a few weeks ago. I watched the stars blink awake and when I squatted down to Duncan, taking his paw in my hand to whisper a blessing for Sprocket, the southern sky before us flashed for a moment and when I looked up I saw a shooting star burning brightly, flaring once and then fading down low on the horizon, fiery dust trailing after it.

"Your beautiful boy is racing with Ripley," I wrote Lori. "And all the skies of the universe are their playground. Please find peace in that thought and know that you, Tom and the rest of the pack are greatly loved. Many stars shine down on you tonight as many people hold you in their hearts."

If you get a moment, please stop by and offer your words to Lori and Tom. There is no such thing as too much kindness and at a time like this I know they could use it.

Sudden Dark

Yesterday, on our late afternoon walk, Duncan was not ready to come home. We'd already strolled up to the library, around the side of the lake, up the hill above Columbine, down to the gray cinder block parks and rec building where the bunnies hole up on the safe side of the chain link fence, back across the park and through the lower soccer field. The sun was warm despite being low in the western sky, hovering just above the mountains, casting them in heavy shadow even as it favored the rest of the land in gold. It was a marvelous afternoon, with one or two stars already peeking out and the wind blowing the smell of toffee and cinnamon. So I indulged him and let guide me across Pierce to Leawood, where he stopped and sniffed at every spot where we've ever encountered a rabbit. He played with Jinx, a familiar Golden on our route and chased only a handful of bunnies under a large, low-boughed pine tree. And even after the sun had slipped behind the mountains and the sky began to turn, when the air cooled and rustled our hair, chilling, if only a little, our cheeks, he still did not want to come home. With some coaxing and promises of extra treats with his dinner, I was able to convince him, but as I sat on the patio outside, my feet propped up on the railing listening to Miles Davis, I wondered if coming home had been the right choice. We have been unseasonably lucky here in Denver the last few weeks, with clear mornings, nearly hot afternoons and mild nights, the kind which allow for windows left open a crack to cool our dreams and night imaginings. I realized after the sun had set and Duncan had finished his dinner (in addition to some of the duck strips Lori brought him when she visited two weeks ago) that the day's glowing afternoon walk will become a rarity, that the sun will have set by the time I arrive home. Time has suddenly shifted and where there was day there is now dark. I will hold the memory of yesterday's walk with me a long time, watching Duncan sniff under hedges, step gently around fences, the sun dancing as it does so willingly across the curling gold and red of his back. He knew dark was coming and wanted only to walk in the sun as long as possible. My wise, wise friend.

Special Guest

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." (Anaïs Nin)

After months of anticipation and planning it finally happened: Lori from Fermented Fur finally came to Denver and made her debut appearance right here at While Walking Duncan. Although she hasn't actually had a chance to walk with him, she did spend several quality hours playing with and spoiling him. Of course it helped that she came bearing gifts: a beautiful pheasant toy we've dubbed Birdy and some delicious Duck Strip Dog Treats from Plato. I, in turn, made my Famous White Pizza, and Duncan doted on her and somehow convinced her, as he does every visitor, that he's sorely neglected and doesn't get nearly as much attention as he deserves. We had a wonderful evening, especially Dunc, who has made a new Best Friend For Life. Lori and I spent much of the night sitting and talking, playing with Roo, eating and talking, playing with Roo, discussing books and writing, politics and Roo, and getting so caught up in our time together that we didn't realize it was well past Turning-Back-Into-Pumpkins time and finally admitted that it was time to call it a night. As Lori gathered her things and headed to the door, Duncan put on his saddest face and pouted as she scritched behind his ears one last time. Luckily we'll be able to get together again on Saturday and actually walk and enjoy the cool Fall weather which has settled over The Rockies, with crunching leaves underfoot and the laughter of a new friendship ringing across the fields.

Brillante

Duncan and I were recently awarded the Brillante blog award by Kelly at Property of Kelly. She's an old friend, a talented artist and the person who convinced me blogging would be good for me. If you haven't checked out her blog or shop, you should do so immediately! While you're there, buy a cool card and send it to me. It made me quite happy to know that these writings, which were originally intended as a means of sharpening my craft, a kind of warm-up exercise before the marathon that I hope will result in first my novel, have merited this kind of acknowledgment among the kindest, most supportive readers I never dreamed I'd find. You're all very sharp and attentive, which has driven me to write carefully and with great consideration and so this award is dedicated to you as much to me.

The rules of accepting the award are:

1) Put the logo on your blog.
2) Add a link to the person who awarded you.
3) Nominate at least 7 other blogs.
4) Add links to those blogs on yours.
5) Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs.

It may seem easy enough but it's quite challenging to consider the blogs I read every day, the ones I love and cherish. I don't want to leave anyone out!

But here they are, in no particular order:

Greg at The Midnight Garden, whose attention to his little green patch and its glorious details is astounding. He understands the importance of balance, dedication and mindfulness like few people I know. A fine blog and a fine man!

Lori at Fermented Fur, who keeps me laughing all the time, understands the beauty and poetry to be found in sharing your life with dogs and is open to all the lessons the universe has to offer.

Valerie at My Boo Bear, who shares the joy and wonder she discovers daily with her Joey. She is kind-hearted, generous of spirit and seems to look at the world with the fresh eyes of her delightful companion who is still discovering so much.

Lori, at Life is Golden, who has had a challenging few months but has never lost her determination and love of life. Her companions, Dakota and Lilly, her cat and husband, Brian, are quite lucky to have her in their lives.

Sue at Random Ramblings, who has a taste for life that is unmatched. Always on the go, looking for new and exciting places to visit and experiences to have, this woman is unstoppable.

CJ at It's a Ruff, Ruff World, who takes the most exquisite pictures of his companions, Lucy and Sable. CJ is a master photographer and is dedicated to the well-being if his friends.

Murphy's Mom at Red Dog Romping, who despite not having posted for a while (AHEM!) is able to capture the joy and pampered leisure of her Golden, Murphy.

Anne at Charlie!, who understands the innocence and enormity Charlie's heart. She is careful and attentive to him and has celebrated every aspect of his life from the moment she and Charlie were brought together back in 2004.

Chris at Mackenzie Speaks, whose witty observations about dog thoughts keep me laughing. Not only his the writing charming but his pictures capture the utter freedom and celebration of Golden Retrievers.

It is people like these whose care and generosity give me hope for humanity. My grandmother taught me that we need to pay special attention to the needs of children and animals because they can not speak for themselves. It is easy to be a guardian or an owner (a despicable word!), but it takes so much more to be a friend and actually earn the love our companions give us unconditionally each day. If I've left you off the list I apologize. Please don't believe for one moment I think any less of your dedication. You are all wonderful people who care for wonderful dogs. Thank you for enriching my life and my walks with Duncan!

Delaware

In the nine months since I first started writing about my walks with Duncan this blog has been viewed nearly six thousand times by visitors from seventy countries around the world, including Russia, China, Iran, southeast Asia, Cameroon, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, nearly all of Europe and most of South America. It's been a fascinating endeavor to check my Google Analytics and watch the map of the world light up with all sorts of places in which I'd love to walk Duncan (even those places where--and here's the old joke again––the locals would much rather read a blog entitled "While Woking Duncan").

The one hurdle, the one little blip on the map that's been driving me crazy for months has been Delaware, the final hold-out here at home. I've been watching and waiting for almost a year, witnessing the addition of India, the Czech Republic, Serbia and Montenegro while wondering what the hell was going on in Delaware that none of the good people there had the time to enjoy Duncan's walks with the rest of us. Granted, I don't have much experience with Delaware, except for the two days I spent at Rehoboth Beach when I was ten, but it seemed a nice enough place, and is still the only place where the Atlantic Ocean has washed up around my ankles.

So I complained to my friend Lori at Fermented Fur, who'd also somehow been overlooked by the Delawarians. Rather than take the Curt-Approach (i.e. wait-and-see) she whipped up a post that addressed the issue head-on. And typical of Lori's outspoken and humorous style she elicited a response almost immediately.

And so it gives me great pleasure to announce that Delaware has finally come on board. Thanks to Mike Mahaffie, who did the deed, sucking it up for the entire state. Mike has two great blogs, Mike's Musings and Gratitudes, which, even though it hasn't been added to in a while, is a heartfelt celebration of life's details, the things often overlooked that shouldn't be. As I said last October, it's important to keep a list of particulars, which is, in its own way, what While Walking Duncan is all about: being mindful, observant and awake to the goings-on of the world around us. Mike seems a right darn mindful guy and I hope each of you can take a moment to check out his blogs and let him know that I'm most grateful for his contribution to my peace of mind.

Post Script: If you're from North Dakota, Montana or Mississippi, you really need to check out Fermented Fur. Lori's a good egg and will make you laugh! Check back often, too!

Hope and Magic Feathers

Last November, faced with journeying home alone for the holidays for the first time since I was diagnosed with a severe physiological anxiety disorder three years ago, I asked my readers to send me feathers (magic ones, like Dumbo used to convince himself he could fly) as tokens of support and encouragement, as symbols of the strength and magic that were hidden from me, but which were there all along. Far more of you responded than I expected and I received countless feathers––from peacock to pheasant, watercolor to ink drawings––which I kept in a sheer and shimmery bag, propped up on my dashboard as I made the fourteen-hour drive home to my family in southeast Idaho.

Recently I received a package from my friend Lori (who keeps a mighty fine blog herself at Fermented Fur). She was excited to contribute several feathers which she obtained from the Macaws which are occasionally groomed at the holistic animal clinic where she works. I was overjoyed at the arrival of her gift and in awe of the silvery green, the liquid blue and sunshine gold feathers she'd sent. She is a wonderful friend, smart and funny and beautiful through and through, and I'm looking forward to October when I finally get to meet her when she'll be in Denver on business.

Duncan and I were walking at the top of the park tonight, just below my friend Mark, who was flying one of the the magnificent kites which have entranced my spirit. I was looking out over the water and realized it's been nearly a year since that very first post last September. I had no idea that my walks with my best friend would lead me to so many unique and magical experiences, that my eyes and heart would be opened on a daily basis, that I would learn so much about myself, or that I would encounter so many wonderful people along the way who have all been unexpectedly kind and generous. I am very thankful for the love and devotion you've shown Dunc and me. I never could've hoped for as much as I've received. Thank you.

In addition to her feathers, Lori reminded me of a poem I hadn't read in a very long time and had almost forgotten about:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me
(Emily Dickinson)

February

In addition to my personal journal, I have kept a quote journal for the past eighteen years and have often claimed that if you really wanted to know how I felt or gain an insight into The Full Curt," you should cast off the ramblings of my diary and check out my collection of quotes. Several notebooks have been filled with bits and pieces of quotations from books, films and things my friends have said or that I have overheard that have struck me as funny, poetic, interesting, philosophical, intelligent, spiritual and just plain whimsical. My friend Lori over at Fermented Fur made a comment about yesterday's post that reminded me of something Tom Robbins wrote in one his best books, Jitterbug Perfume, which you can order here. If you'll indulge me I'd like to share it with you.

"They say that February is the shortest month, but you know, they could be wrong.

Compared, calendar page against calendar page, it looks to be the shortest all right. Spread between January and March like lard on bread, it fails to reach the crust on either side. In its galoshes–and you'll never catch February in its stocking feet–it's a full head shorter than December, although in leap years, when it has growth spurts, it comes up to April's nose.

However more abbreviated than its cousin it may look, February feel longer than any of them. It is the meanest moon of winter, all the more cruel because it will masquerade as spring, occasionally for hours at a time, only to rip off its mask with a sadistic laugh and spit into every gullible face, behavior that grows quickly old.

February is pitiless and it is boring. That parade of red numerals on its page adds up to zero: birthdays of politicians, a holiday reserved for rodents, what kind of celebrations are those? The only bubble in the flat champagne of February is Valentine's Day. It was no accident that our ancestors pinned Valentine's Day on February's shirt: he or she lucky enough to have a lover in frigid, antsy February has cause for celebration, indeed.

Except to the extent that it 'tints the buds and swells the leaves within,' February is as useless as the extra 'R' in its name. It behaves like an obstacle, a wedge of slush and mud and ennui, holding both progress and contentment at bay.

James Joyce was born in February, as was Charles Dickens and Victor Hugo, which goes to show that writers born in February are poor at beginnings, although worse at knowing when to stop.

If February is the color of lard on rye, its name is that of wet wool trousers. As for sound, it is an abstract melody played on a squeaky violin, the petty whine of a shrew with cabin fever. O February, you may be little but you're not small. Were you twice your tiresome length, few of us would survive to greet the merry month of May."

Lori urged me to join her for a getaway in Vegas where we could talk dogs and dogs and dogs but then thought better of it because I needed Duncan just to make it through the month. As I stayed home today, sleeping most it away on the couch, occasionally walking Duncan down to the edge of the yard for a potty break, I knew exactly what she meant. He's the one thing that's brought me any solace this afternoon. I have watched the weather turn from bright and sunny to gray and dark, then fill with snow flurries and now what looks like rain. Being inside with Duncan, safe from February's bi-polar disorder, has been comforting and safe. Being dogless now would be most unwise.

Perhaps doctors should rethink their treatment of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Rather than urge the use of UV lamps they should prescribe a litter of Golden Retriever pups for, to misquote A.A. Milne, no one could be un-cheered by a Golden."

Award Night

Last night Duncan and I were awarded the I Love You This Much Award from my friend over at the Property of Kelly blog. I can't take all the credit since this blog is, after all, not titled, "While Walking Myself." I'm merely the scribe, the toadie for the star, the guy who keeps his pockets stuffed with Grandma Lucy Treats and doggy poop bags, the guy who does the tossing of toys, as well as their retrieving should they roll under the couch. I'm the guy who readily gives up his spot in bed at night, doesn't mind being pushed off the couch and has a hard time wearing black because of all the fur. I'm a nobody in the process and have made my peace with that. Still, it's nice to get some recognition for my efforts.

Kelly and I have been friends since way back in 1985 when we were young and "Hungry Like the Wolf." While she was a Miami Vice kind of girl, I aspired to be like the people on Dynasty. She's the one responsible for talking me into joining the blog world and is one of the people who joined Team Duncan when we needed support during The Great Yarn Crisis of 2006. She's an amazing person, a terrific artist who is trying to start a freelance business and all 'round great friend. Check out Property of Kelly, find a card you like and send it to me!

She's also the person responsible for my banners and took great pains to remove the man- boobs the current one originally sported. Three cheers to Kelly!

In the tradition of The Award, I'm required to pass it on to someone whose work I enjoy. And so it brings me great joy to give it to Lori over at Fermented Fur. She's a funny woman based out of Minnesota, who writes a heckuva blog and is a regular reader of this one. Thanks for making me laugh, Lori! Duncan and I love you!

And because we've received this highly prestigious honor, Duncan and I are taking the night off and focusing our attention on the couch, the television and the pasta that is just about ready to serve. The noodles are all mine, but Duncan will get a little something extra in his bowl, perhaps some Merrick Harvest Moon duck, pheasant and quail served in sweet potatoes, green beans and Minnesota wild rice. I kid you not, he eats better than Ken and me, but he's a star, after all, and deserves to be pampered.