It's My Party by Liam

Santa, Carol and Liam

Event: Holiday Party at Best in Show Pet Resort
Date: Friday, December 10, 2010
Hours of celebration: 4PM-8PM
Location: http://www.bestinshowpetresort.com/

Did not want to go at first
resting comfortably on the love seat
Houndstooth shawl
tree sparkling
watching Mike Francesa with Daddy Paul

I am not a party animal

Mommy Carol ready to go
I switch to Leo party animal self, like Mom

out the door to the party

Off we go

We arrive around 4:50PM.
Coffee, donuts, cookies, doggie biscuits, prizes, gifts, Santa

Reception held in the playroom
no reserved tables
off leash
freedom

dog party, I am far right

is it time to go yet?

Hey, let me in

takes two to Tango

Running, hugging, jumping, licking, kissing, wrestling, dancing
What a party!

get up, play with me

Barking constantly.
In a very loud voice

Trying to keep the others away from Santa

Mistaken for a puppy
by some of the other parents.
nice to look young

Asking Santa for a toy and treats

Waiting on the yellow stairs
to ask Santa for toys
My turn
"A new Kong toy, please
fully loaded with treats"

My new pillow- for happy thoughts-a surprise from good friends

The party is over 

after party dreams-that little puggle was cute

                                    

 Woof, woof

Storm door opens a new view

Liam checking his messages, while waiting for the mail

The mail must go through

motto of the Pony Express-1860

Our storm door blew off a few weeks ago on a windy Wednesday, November 17 to be exact..   Actually it was still hanging when I returned home that day. We ripped it off the following Saturday, put it out for the garbage collection.  Someone collected it from the street -guess for a few bucks for scrap metal.  I was happy it was gone as it had been less than fully functional for quite a number of years.  Did not close all the way, flew open on a windy day, and had a lot of duct tape at various points. We found the store as advertised on TV- Unified  and bought two new ones, figuring the side one ready to blow also.   It had to be a custom order-old house- the doors would not arrive til January.  This meant we were exposed.  Nothing between us and the outside but one old wooden door.  I did not understand the extent of the problem until we failed to get a mail delivery the next day.   Our wooden door has a mail slot.   We do not have an outside mailbox.  The slot has worked well except for the 5 month period when puppy Liam ate everything that came through the slot. When this phase passed  all was well and mail got through in true Pony Express tradition.
Our door slot was carved and installed at a time when mail was smaller.   Just letters and postcards. Now the mail is longer, thicker, wider and slicker.
A magazine must be folded to fit through,  A big envelope rolled.  The mail carriers usually rubber band the mail and leave it between the storm door and the wooden door.  With no storm door. the slot was the only possibility.  At this time of year we a have a rotating group of mail carriers.  Our regular carrier must be on leave.

Liam waiting for the mail

I thought I should be present when the mail arrived and tell the mail carrier about the temporary situation.   Another problem.  The schedule for our mail delivery can span an entire afternoon.  It may arrive anywhere from 12:30-5:30.   I could become a prisoner to this task.  I spoke to one carrier who said to put a note on the door over the slot. I did.   Twice the mail was left on the porch.  Thank goodness both days were clear.  Once no mail, followed by a double delivery the next day.  I have now met 5 different letter carriers.  One young woman explained that the loud barking dog intimidated her and she feared putting the mail through the slot.  I brought out Liam, the beast.

The mail beast

Barking and waiting

He kissed and licked her. She said she would now be okay to approach the slot, having seen that the big voice was coming out of a little sweet dog.   I have been present 3 out of the 5 days this week and received the mail in my hands.   Liam does bark furiously whenever the carrier approaches.  With just one door between the mail carrier and such ferocious barking I guess the perceived danger might be great to those approaching. 
The mail is voluminous during this time of year- a large rolled rubber banded delivery. To place each piece through our antediluvian slot would add time to the job. A lot of time.  Add the fear of the great barking dog beast pulling on each missive and possibly snaring a finger or two might preclude attempted slot tries.
Another issue is the escaping Liam.  He loves greeting people.  When I am alerted to the mail carrier's arrival, he is at the ready by my side to greet the visitor.  I open the door and he leaps out,  Our front yard is not fenced and he is  free to run if he wants. 

Liam escapes

So far he is only focused on the mail carrier but I worry if another dog appears or a squirrel how quickly he might dart after it.  Danger.

Liam lured back by greenies

Solution-have the leash at hand.   Be home all day.  Make sure the sign is pasted on the door..  As I am writing this story I am looking at a poster I purchased in Dublin in 1999. Title-Doors of Dublin,  directly in front of me. I just hung it up here this week as its length covers a long vertical crack in the wall.   I notice something I have never seen in this poster.  No storm doors here. The doors have mail slots  And I see that the photographer is Liam, last name hidden by the frame.  An old tourism collage poster of collected door photos. Did the folks behind those doors get their mail?
.http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/ALandmks/DoorsofDublin.html

Our Dublin Door with sign above slot

The mail must go through.
Pony Express motto.
Through slots also? only sometimes.

Liam spots the mail carrier

Woof, woof.

Farewell Target Young

Liam Looking for Target

The Way We Were

Memories, may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it's the laughter we will remember
Whenever we remember
The way we were

as sung by Barbra Streisand

It is Liam writing again this week.  I want to express my sadness over the death of Target, the heroine dog who saved 50 soldiers in Afghanistan earlier this year.  She and her two buddies alerted the compound to the presence of a suicide bomber and attacked him before he could get into the soldiers' quarters.   This brave pack suffered severe injuries in their defense of the camp. Sasha died as a result of her injuries but Target and Rufus survived.   Target was nursed back to health by the camp's medic, Terry Young.  Target came home to the US to live with the Young family in Arizona in July, 2010.

Target appeared on Oprah's Hero show in September, 2010.

And she has a Facebook page. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1619570149&ref=profile#!/profile.php?id=100001441372696&v=wall     Check it out.

Yes, we are friends on FB.

If you have not heard of Target, please read about her, click on the following link
  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/19/us/19dog.html?_r=1&scp=2&sq=target&st=cse

Rufus and Target

The story of Target does not have a happy ending.   Target left the Young home solo on an excursion, was picked up by animal control on the call of a neighbor, brought to a shelter, and mistakenly killed on Monday, November 15, 2010.  Mr. Young had spotted Target online and had paid the fee for her release. But attention was not being paid and Target was dead by the time Terry Young came to pick her up.
The shelter is a kill shelter.
The story  has been all over the news for a couple of weeks. So I am not barking about something you do not know.
What I want to howl about in this week's Licks is the importance of supporting no kill shelters.   There seem to have been a series of mistakes in procedure and unfortunate assumptions in the days leading to Target's demise, but in the end if Target had been brought to a place like the one where I was brought 3 years ago this could not have occurred.  I am a rescue from Tennessee.  My brother and I were saved and brought to North Shore Animal League on Long Island, the largest no kill facility in the country.  I was adopted from there on New Year's day 2008, as was my brother.  Please look at their website.
http://www.animalleague.org/

Many folks from all over the world are expressing their thoughts on Targets's FB page and lots of good ideas are being posted along with the condolences.  Perhaps this sad end to a brave innocent loving dog's life will have a positive effect on how we treat my canine buddies.  Thank you Target. RIP.

Woof, Woof

Liam in his spiritual place

Love and Licks, Liam McNiff-Nikol

Thanks from Liam

Liam Feeling Seriously Thankful

This is Liam barking. I have many blessings to be thankful for and since Thursday is the regular LiamLicks release day it seems pawfect that I use this issue to bark my thanks out loud.

Thank You-

my favorite Kong boney

For my toys. I now have five Kong toys that so far I have been unable to destroy. I know that Kong is King

latte licking Holiday cup

For my licks of latte from Starbucks. These keep me going each day

For a new snow where I can leap and run

leap for joy

For my food, especially my greenies which I enjoy each day

For my vacations at Best In Show Pet Hotel

For the caring staff at the Garden City Vet who make sure I am well cared for all year long

For my yard where I run until I drop and roll

running

a roll in the grass

For the grass I roll in








For the leaves with hidden acorn treasures

For the butterfly and dragonfly-they light up at night

Liam looks forward to solar lights at dusk

For the hot sun in the afternoon

here comes the sun

For my comfy places all over my home

watching Mommy Carol on PC

my favorite blanket

my own fireplace that keeps me warm

stormy weather

For the safety of my home in a storm

For my pack, Mommy Carol and Daddy Paul, who both seem to be crazy about me

For all my human and animal  friends and family

For all the loyal LiamLicks readers who are my Internet pack

Woof, Woof

Fire Alarm at Starbucks

Liam enjoys last licks of my grande non-fat latte-even trumps his Kong bone

 STORIES 

ARE GIFTS

~~~*~~~ 

   SHARE 

www.starbucks.com/share 

from Starbucks Holiday cup sleeve

 

Yes, another story from Starbucks.  

Holiday cup

Since I am a frequent guest (a Starbucks term for customer) and observer, recorder and latte drinker, the odds of chance would be in my favor for being present at a happening.  I have previously told of the hard time getting a seat, the sharing (unsolicited) of a table and unexpected joy of securing a solo table at peak times.
For this visit I had hope for a table.  From my place as third in line I judged from the rustling and slurping of drinks that some of the guests seem to be near the end of their visit.  By the time I would have my NY Times and latte, I might be looking at a few available seats.

And then it happened.  The fire alarm went off.   I knew it was the real thing as I recognized its shrill incessant unforgiving tone.  And it would  keep repeating until satisfied that someone was listening. 
I have a great deal of experience in fire drills.  In my work life at Social Security, I held almost every fire drill related position one could.   I had been a restroom searcher, a stairway monitor, a floor warden, a deputy floor warden, an elevator monitor and a disabled person elevator monitor.  One commonality was present over the years.  Not many ever really believed the fire alarm was actually signaling that smoke had been detected.  We had so many drills that all knew what to do:  listen to instructions, go to the predetermined place and wait for more instructions.  We sometimes actually evacuated the building to make sure we would all do it in a safe, orderly fashion.   We had a trained population, no prodding needed, everyone on board.

Here at Starbucks most guests had not been part of any Starbucks drills, so no trained group.  I know Starbucks must have staff drills but with the transient quality of its customer base, few of those present had probably ever been in a drill.  No one moved.  I understood.  For those in possession of a hard won seat, even fire might not be enough to propel them out of the store.  A few of my fellow guests looked up and I used the opportunity to comment, " You know we really should pay attention.  There really might be a fire in here."
To my great delight, people listened.  And one by one folks gathered their laptops and lattes and filed out.  The very responsible and proactive Starbucks manager had already done her "officer-in-charge" checks within the store and followed the group out to find the source of the alarm.  I stood by the door-sort of half in, half out-wanting to follow the evacuation rules and yet cognizant of the now empty store with no bodies in the seats. The pull to return to the store to claim a choice spot was huge, but I had sort of personally initiated the evacuation by my comments, so I felt compelled to appear to be concerned and show camaraderie with my fellow evacuees by standing.

All at once it seemed the fire trucks arrived and the ladders were mounted on top of the drugstore two doors away. The store in-between is wide and set back from Starbucks, so the distance is big. Next shot shows the drugstore with its internal  fire to far right. So no danger to Starbucks.  By now no one was inside except the staff.  Hedging no more, I doubled back. I commanded the biggest table and was rewarded with the best view of the happenings.  I made myself comfortable.  I now noticed that my Ford Focus, Sawyer, was blocked in by the firetrucks.   The Starbucks manager returned from her information gathering and said the fire was in Duane Reade, and we were fine.  I mentioned that my car was blocked and I was their guest for a while. She said  "Might as well hang out with us." My dream, being part of the Starbucks staff without any of the duties.

None of the original Starbucks group returned. I felt no guilt, Had there been a fire I would have been commended in Newsday for "lighting a fire" under them; as it was I was rewarded for my good deed with an empty store and a prime seat.
As new customers arrived I got to tell the story of why the lot was packed with fire trucks, why Starbucks was empty and why I was the only guest.

Starbucks sleeve

When told of this story Liam was relieved to have been home napping. 

Liam napping

He is anxious when hearing the pop up of the toaster, the roar of the vacuum (not by me) and the blowers and mowers of our weekly lawn service team.   A fire alarm would be in that group of unpleasant sounds.

If you have not noticed.   Good news.  The Red Holiday cups are out. In Starbucks culture this is a big event.  They made their 2010 debut on Election day.  Liam gets his licks, and no suffering through fire alarms.

WoofWoof

Chef Carol Cooks

Liam looking at dinner by Chef Carol

"The best way to execute French cooking is to get good and loaded

wine for chicken whacking

and whack the hell out of a chicken.

Whacked chicken

Bon Appétit."
(attributed to Julia Child)

We saw the Neelys at the Food Network Festival. I wrote about it a few blogs back. I was with Peridot Pal. I stated that day that I felt inspired to enter the kitchen and try to cook a meal with the verve of the Neelys.These two were having such fun. It is possible I was high from the peanut oil vapors in the arena as well as the electricity shooting from their personalities. I remember dreaming that maybe I could even have a show someday. The curse of a Leo, always looking for fame.

Then to add to my fantasy, I saw a segment on "The View" with Sherri Shepherd and Food Network "Chopped" judge, Marc Murphy. They were preparing and roasting a chicken . That was the one for me. If Sherri could chop, stuff and cook a chicken with  Chef Marc MurphyI could do it, after all I had Chef Paul.

http://theview.abc.go.com/blog/marc-murphys-roast-chicken

Paul is a cook and a chef. He cooks during the week and is a chef on Saturday. Rachael Ray has often described herself as a cook, not a chef.

from Merriam Webster Online

cook-a person who prepares food for eating

chef- a skilled cook who manages the kitchen

I had illusions/delusions of proceeding directly to the Chef position. It was Saturday night, October 30.

To prepare this roast chicken, my first job was to find and print out Marc/Sherri's recipe.
I googled it and there it was. Googling is a beautiful thing.
Since I had seen it done on "The View" I knew what I was getting into.

Then we had to make a list. Chef Paul did that. Hey, he offered. He also did the shopping.
I was watching the "House Hunters" on HGTV, and doing the laundry, so not yet ready to enter "The Next Iron Chef" mode.

Paul returned with the ingredients and I set them up, sort of.

The next step is chopping. Paul offered to chop. This fit in with my plan of sipping wine and reading the NY Times Real Estate section with a new "Property Virgins" episode.

I really think Chef Paul was hoping I would never appear in "his" kitchen. All the prep work done, I got the call to fix the bird. For the first time I would join Chef Paul, we would be the Neelys, or Marc and Sherri.

I did not want to go. I suddenly realized watching others cook, chop, baste, stuff, taste, plate -is really the way I want it. However, I am trapped. I had announced I was interested. I had printed out the recipe. I had made the commitment.

It was at this point that Liam began pacing. Moving from room to room. At one point he curled into a ball

Liam hiding

Liam behind Chef Paul

Who is that in the kitchen?

at another hid behind Daddy Paul.    He stared into the kitchen. He had never seen Mommy Carol in the kitchen in such an involved way. All of us were a little out of whack.

But there I was with this uncooked bird. I knew that the trick was first pulling out a little plastic package inside the cavity-an extra gift of chicken parts that I did not need. In its place,  I was ready to put in a lemon, garlic and an onion and under its skin, some butter. I held the bird by its legs, pushed the lemon in.  Good.  Then the onion.  The lemon popped out.   Put the garlic in. They all took turns popping out. Each was wet and slimy. They were not staying put. I remember that there was an option of trussing the chicken-that would be tying the legs together. Too gruesome. Let everything pop out if it must.

Next step was to carefully place the slippery bird on top of the cut veggies in the roasting pan; then slide it in the oven.   As bird cooked , we were to eat our salads.  Next follows a pic of the salad.

blackberry, wine, salad

I think I helped with its prep. The photo has my blackberry charging and my wine so I must have been involved. Paul remembers my only contribution to be that of sprinkling bleu cheese on the salad.

the chicken had the look of a cooked chicken.

cooked bird

It was never really done. Every time we looked there was still some redness somewhere. Back in the oven. Again and again.

bloody chicken back in the oven

Paul assured me that poultry is contrary like that. And so are ovens.
"Who wants to eat bloody chicken?"  I countered- in my best British accent

I did not wait to be "Chopped" as they do on The Food Network.
Oh no.
I declared my chef days over and ripped off the non bloody parts, stuck them in the mircowave. Microwaves are blood suckers.

I am not a cook, not a chef. Chef Carol is done with the competing with the Neelys/Sherri Shepherd .
I have my role in the household and it is not chef/cook/chopper.

This past Saturday Paul made one of Rachael's recipes.
Liam and I watched "House Hunters International"  I had my wine, NY Times, Blackberry.
We heard comforting familiar sounds of chopping, sizzling, and then some sweet aromatic savory smells. Liam's nose twitched in anticipation-the hound in him.

Paul announced "dinner is ready"

Liam enjoyed his only "people" snack, Paul Newman's natural popcorn, sprinkled on the floor.

Yummy popcorn, better than bloody chicken

Woof

Woof