Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Today was a good snow, a well-behaving snow; light and fluffy and easy to brush off the car. It is quite pretty when it is not turning into ice. If all snows were as eager to please as this one, I should not mind winter quite so much.

This Robert Frost poem was one of the first I ever had to memorize for school. Do children still have to memorize and recite poetry? In spite of my crippling shyness, reciting poetry was always enjoyable for me- not a reflection on who I was or where my talents lie. Just the poetry- “language is fossil poetry“, Emerson said- flowing through me.

Looking back, I suppose I was the only one who felt that way. The other kids were just hearing me recite a poem, like every other kid in the class, but I always felt like I was channeling something ancient and lovely. Something deep and powerful.

How do you feel about poetry? Will it too pass away in this new, non-romantic age?

I was doing some research for the post I wrote today for Eco Child’s Play (about the benefits of pet ownership for children) and I came across this story:

Holy mackerel, I thought. Just last week they were giving dogs away at the local animal shelter (ahem. They were waiving the adoption fee for the first 100 people).

So I jump over to the website of the Humane Society of the United States, where I learn that up to 8 million pets reside in animal shelters each year, a number I suspect we will see increase in the days ahead.

Lo and behold, the HSUS has an official statement on the cloning of pets:

Cloning is an imperfect science and potentially dangerous for the animals involved, including the clone. Many animals cloned thus far have had a wide range of medical complications. Whether a cloned companion animal can lead a healthy and full life remains unknown. In addition, surrogate mothers who bear the cloned embryos until delivery may have to endure surgical procedures due to complications from pregnancy.

For those looking to replace a lost pet, cloning will not create an animal identical to the one who is gone; cloning cannot replicate an animal’s uniqueness. Cloning can only replicate the pet’s genetics, which influence but do not determine his physical attributes or personality. In fact, a pet’s personality, the specific trait that most owners would like to preserve and the attribute that most endears a companion animal to his family, is the trait least likely to be replicated by cloning. In addition, there is no guarantee the cloned companion animal will even physically resemble the original pet.

The cloned dog in question was a yellow Lab named Lancelot (the clone is named Lancelot Encore). Now, I’m not saying that each dog doesn’t have a distinct personality or anything, but I bet there are tons of yellow labs in animal shelters. And every Lab I’ve ever met has been pretty darn nice.

This just seems so ridiculous, so irresponsible… They already own nine other dogs.

Look, it’s been seven months- eight, maybe- since poor old Zooey died, and we’ve gone back and forth about a “new to us” dog. And yes, part of the reason is because no dog will be the wise old man that Zoo was. But if someone offered to clone him for us? Even if it was free of charge, that would be a no-go.

It’s just not right.

P.S. That should read “couple spends $155,000″, shouldn’t it? Don’t they have editors over there at msnbc?

Squirrels are happy fellows, forest favorites,
types of tireless life.

Of all Nature’s wild beasts, they seem to me the wildest.
May we come to know each other better.

-John Muir

I have a new little friend.

I call him Squirrelly.

This birdfeeder is mounted outside my kitchen window, on the second floor. I believe that Squirrelly is climbing the drainpipe to get to it. When he has eaten his fill, he launches himself out into space, sheer drop to the ground below.

How did he even know there was food in there?

He eats all the peanuts out of the feeder, but I cannot help but admire his tenacity. And since I know there was a curious lack of acorns this year, I let it go.

Maybe I can train him to sit and beg. Maybe I can entice him to don a little top hat.

Can’t you just picture it?

If you look closely at this picture, you can see me with the camera reflected in his eyes!
What great pals we shall be.