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Tag: Max

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Oh, possum!

Possum, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US.

On Wednesday, I mentioned our late Jack Russell Terrier (or Terror, depending on the day). Above all, Max was a fearless hunter, a skill that often got him in trouble. He was capable of snatching a songbird in midflight, and squirrels and chipmunks stayed away when he was outdoors.

Sadly, he seldom got an opportunity to exercise that skill in a positive way. However, he’d periodically grow restive, whining and pointing at some blank section of wall. I learned to recognize that as a sign we had invaders in the house. Most commonly they were mice, which are easily dispatched. Memorably there was once a rat behind the dishwasher.

It was an old house with nearly a century’s worth of paint on the moulding. One day I noticed that a cold air return was shining silver. It had been licked and chewed clean. “Oh, dear, it’s lead paint,” I thought. “Max is going to lose whatever little sense he started with.” I watched him carefully and realized he spent his whole day hanging around that duct.

When Mr. Opossum realized he’d been captured, he was not a happy camper.

Then I opened the basement door. Max flew down ahead of me. There was an opossum on the top of a shelving unit where we stored extra glassware, appliances and other things that no longer brought us joy. Max went berserk trying to climb the shelf. The opossum retaliated by throwing things down on Max. Together they made a terrible mess. The good news was, I had lots less to get rid of when it came time to KonMari my life.

At the time, we had a young lady named Abi living with us. Abi really, really wanted to keep the opossum. “They make good pets,” she insisted. I might have tried had Max and Mr. Opossum not been sworn enemies. Plus, he had very sharp-looking teeth, and opossums have opposable thumbs on their hind legs. That could only lead to trouble.

Abi with her consolation opossum.

For a while, it was a stalemate. We put delicacies in a trap; he ignored them, or worse, fished them out. It was nearly Thanksgiving and I kept my pie plates in the basement. That’s how I finally won. Mr. Possum found my piecrust irresistible. (The recipe is here.)

Our good friend did not go gently back to nature. We drove him to a county park on the other side of the Genesee River, which is wide, deep and fast as it enters Rochester. He didn’t like the idea and hissed all the way. With one final scowl in my direction, he ambled off into the shrubberies. I’m not sure Abi has ever forgiven me.

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Painting with dogs

Shela Fero Geiss and Matthew Fero with their parents’ two labs, private collection, oil on linen.

Dogs make lovely painting companions. Before I could bring my daughter along on painting trips, I camped and painted with my Jack Russell Terrier for company. He was a pleasant traveling companion (most dogs are), and he acted as an Early Warning System. As artists’ head are often in the clouds, painting with dogs is helpful.

I’ve never been approached by a bear or a threatening person while painting. At the hoary old age of 65, however, my left hook ain’t what it used to be. I appreciate the security painting with dogs provides.

Ever-loyal Guillo running circles around me.

My current dog, Guillo, is a mutt with a very calm disposition. He’s happiest when he’s with his people and he’s uncritical of even my worst daubs.

Of course, you must provide your painting pup with the basics: water, shade, and, if appropriate, food. In my state, a dog can be unleashed if under voice control, but that’s not true everywhere. Even here I have a tie-out in my truck. I wouldn’t let him roam free next to a busy road or near farm animals.

Painting with dogs isn’t always trouble-free. I periodically run across daft dog owners. This week it was the owner of a senescent Basset Hound whom I met while hiking. The human kicked and stomped at Guillo as we passed. That’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, as my friend Catharine would say. Guillo made a wide circle around her, but another dog might have answered her aggression in kind.

Dr. Martha Vail-Barker and her poppet, Poppy, oil on linen, private collection.

It’s your problem to keep your dog (and yourself) under control. “He just wants to be friends,” is no excuse when your dog has jumped up far enough to have given a thorough pelvic exam.

Earlier this year, Catharine was knocked down by a German shepherd, resulting in injuries that took weeks to heal. “What if that had happened to an elderly person?” she asked. (She’s 76.)

How do you know if your dog is a good boy? (Here’s a satirical answer to that question.) If you hear yourself say, “I’m sorry, he never does that!” it’s time for training. If you hear yourself say it twice, you’re the problem.

In a lifetime of dogs, I’ve broken up more than my share of fights. Twice, I’ve been bitten hard enough to break the skin. Both times were preventable.

The Beggar of St. Paul (detail) featuring dear old Max, oil on linen.

Dogs are simple empaths; they’re sensitive to the emotional states of people, and they only have two responses to threats: fight or flight. These are deeply ingrained in the evolutionary history of all animals, including us (although we can occasionally talk our way out of trouble).

Since 80% of Americans live in urban or suburban areas, our dogs spend much of their lives leashed. That cuts off the flight option, meaning that stressed dogs learn to react to threats with aggression.

A smart person learns to identify hyper-alertness, muscle tension (raised hackles), growling and barking as signs of a stressed dog. The trouble is, these can also be signs of an excited or playful dog. It sometimes takes some nous to know the difference.

If you have a highly-excitable dog who reacts badly to strangers, he might not be the best candidate for painting with dogs. But if you have a laid-back mutt, he’ll make great company.

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