In Praise of My Deerhounds

On a rainy morning I wake up, start the water for tea, and go get the paper. For once, Fingal stays in bed. His bladder must be getting bigger. The rest of him certainly is, and rapidly. His coat is getting thicker, and  the markings on his face-high curved eyebrows- give him a continually surprised expression. Taz was the only other deerhound pup I've had, and she was seven months old when I got her, fingaal at this age is a new experience, and a delightful one. I don't know what he'll be like as a teenager, but he's great right now.

He came in to the computer room for his morning massage: five minutes or so of being rubbed as he squirms with pleasure and licks my leg, then back to bed. One of the many things I've learned to love about deerhounds in the past 20 plus years, is their ability to enjoy time just lying around. This means I can write to my hearrt's content. They've all had their quirks.
We always said Duncan was an old soul. He had a real sense of humor, but sometimes when he stared at me, it was as if he was trying to tell me something I should know. He still holds a special place for me.
Ceo Liath came next. She was a ditz, and we called her Bubbles. We told people in her past life she was a cheerleader.
Then came Abby, the queen. She was sure she was second in the pecking order, between my husband and me, and did not take kindly to sharing him.
When Banquo came, I named him after the ghost in Macbeth, because of the way he would quietly drift around and surprise me by appearing in front of me without a sound. He drove Abby nuts staring at her.
Rella came next, the sweet soul who loved everybody.
Then Oona, another old soul, who died too young, but has a place in my heart for the gifts she gave me.
She also trained Taz, who was named Topaz, but earned her other name: three pairs of shoes, six library books,  one large sofa cushion, etc. Now she's still uh, high energy, always pushing her limits.
But now she's taking part in training Fingal, who at his young age, is so mellow, he doesn't need too much training....so far.

UNBROKEN

UNBROKEN by Laura Hillenbrand (Seabiscuit) is a hard book to read-not because of her excellent writing but because of the horrors it reveals. The book is subtitled A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. The true story of Louis Zamperini begins with his birth and his outrageous younger years, his time as an Olympic runner and ends when he is in his 90's, having survived being cast adrift in a raft during World War II and several years in a POW camp in Japan. I wrote once before about WWI and the fact that there was no acceptance of PTSD. World War II survivors faced the same situation, and Zamperini's fall after surviving his suffering during the war is tragic to read about.
I recommend it highly.

Pat Barker

When I first read Pat Barker's Regeneration Trilogy, her novels of World War One, and the damaged souls who survived, I knew I had read the works of a master craftsman. Many of the characters were real, stirred in with strong fictional protagonists. A few years ago I read another of her novels, Life Class. One theme in this book dealt with a man who worked on reconstructing the horrible facial wounds incurred in that war.

I just finished reading her contemporary novel, many-layered Another World, a sometime ghost story, sometime family drama, sometime history lesson.  The main protagonist, Nick, has a 101-year old grandfather,Geordie, a survivor of the Battle of the Somme. In the days after WWI, when PTSD was unheard of, what did survivors do? They were supposed to carry on, but of course it didn't work for many. As Geordie is dying, his dreams are haunted by a memories of the war. And the house that Nick and his family move into, is haunted-perhaps.