Save It Forward

     I started writing this blog entry just before the great winter of our discontent landed on Boston and its environs.  In order to keep up with snowstorm after snowstorm, I delayed finishing this entry until now.  It takes place in a city that is special to me for many reasons.

      The above photo I took late December from the Top of the Hub, the wonderful restaurant at the top of the Prudential Center on Boylston Street.   My daughter Marleny had just been declared free of Hepatitis C  thanks to a recently FDA approved drug.  At the time of writing this, Marleny is one of one hundred in the US to be cured of this dreadful virus that affects over one hundred and fifty million worldwide.  She likely contracted Hep C either from her birth mother in Colombia while in utero or in early childhood.  Finally, her heroic struggle, coupled with yet another wonder of modern medicine has paid off.  That miserable virus is now gone, banished from her system!  My husband Jim, son Alec, his girlfriend Kez, myself, and, of course, Marleny were there to celebrate.

   As you can see, the view from the Top of the Hub of this glorious city is amazing.  At the bottom of the image is the Public Garden, the first public garden in the U.S.  At the bottom of the image, partially obscured by a hotel, is the pond, referred to as the "Lagoon," where in lovely weather the swan boats give leisurely rides to tourists and people like me.  

      Almost all public gardens have flocks of pigeons, and so it is in Boston.  This brings us to another part of our celebration:  Meet "Midgeon," short for Midge the Pidge, the Garden's newest resident pigeon.  How do I know she's the newest? I know because because we brought her there.

            Midgeon                                                                                                               

      Now why would I do that?  Aren't there enough pigeons flying around Boston defacing its buildings.  Yes.  Aren't there enough pigeons in Boston cadging handouts from visitors and citizens sitting on the city's benches.  Yes.  Don't they so dominate the public parks that we are bored by their beautiful iridescent gray plumage? Yes.

       Answer:  I find it next to impossible to walk away from any creature that appears injured or failing.  And when I first saw Midge in mid-December in Alewife, a subway and bus station in Cambridge, she was definitely failing.  Squatting on the floor, apparently too weak or sick to take notice, much less get out of the way of the many people rushing to catch their subways.   When I scooped her up and placed her under my coat she offered no resistance and expressed no fear, though she certainly must have felt it. 

       As soon as I got home I placed her in a pet carrier.  Then, following the advice Dr. Jay Merriam, my wonderful equine vet of over thirty years, I first warmed her with a heat lamp, then gently pried open her beak, and gave her some Gatorade.  After an hour she still wasn't moving, but her eyes were alert and open.

       By morning she busied herself eating crumbled crackers and scrambled egg that I'd placed in a dish.  She now had enough strength and awareness to view me with caution and move to the back of the carrier when I came near.

       A few days later I placed her on a perch in a large pen in our basement that I used to keep our young chickens until they were old enough, and the weather was warm enough, for them to go outside.  Over the next several days she regained her health, strengthened her wings, and started flying about.

       Now what?  Well, I certainly couldn't keep her.  She needed a flock, preferably her flock at Alewife.  However, and perhaps one of the reasons she got into to trouble in the first place, was the construction of the station.  Largely made of glass and with places of open access, it was easy for birds to find their way in but not so easy for them to find their way out.  Midge was not the only pigeon in trouble that day.  Walking up the stairs to the elevator, I saw another pigeon--dead. Pigeons mate for life, and I wondered if this poor fellow had been Midge's partner.  

       Here let me add a few words about pigeons.  They really should be called rock doves, that is their proper name.  As is usual with critters that we find in excess, they are not native to the United States, they were brought here by us.  Like the invasive starling, they weren't meant to be here.
Rock doves generally roost on cliffs and other flat stone formations.  What are cities but inviting, albeit man-made, stone formations?  

       So, owing to the construction of the station and, perhaps, the loss of a mate, I decided to keep Midge until we went into Boston to celebrate Marleny's recovery.  Almost every child in this country knows the book Make Way For Ducklings, which takes place in Boston.  And, actually, Boston still does this.  Nearly every year there is a local news story of a potential duckling catastrophe or two averted by intervening Bostonians.   

       Of course, real ducks live on the Boston Garden's Lagoon and there are flocks of pigeons who roost under the foot bridge at night.  We also have two swans, Romeo and Juliet, who winter at the Franklin Park Zoo but at the end of April the pair head up a parade celebrating their return, which is followed by their actual release onto the lagoon.  In addition to being gorgeous, they are testament to Boston's celebration of diversity. Romeo and Juliet are both female!  They are amorous, one or both lay eggs, infertile of course. 

       Here's a photo of one of the Boston swans' predecessors I took over twenty years ago:

      Boston Swan                                                                                            Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015
     
      The Boston swan boats, an icon of the city, have been operated by the Paget family since 1877.  Originally Inspired by the gallant rescue of a heroine on the back of a swan in the opera Lohengrin, and the growing popularity of the bicycle, these dual-pontooned boats, ferry tourists about the Lagoon in leisurely fashion.

       Here is a  picture of my son Alec at age nine (he is now thirty) at the Garden with the arched neck of a swan belonging to one of dual pontooned swan boats in the background.   

      With its ducks, pigeons, and swans, the Public Garden in Boston seemed the perfect place to release Midge.  Here we are, just a few feet from the Lagoon.  From left to right: Kezia, opening the pet carrier, Jim, Marleny, and Alec:

She didn't fly off as we expected but felt secure enough to grab a little piece of bread:

She walked about a little before thinking of taking flight:

      

       She soared high and low. . . 

. .  . and then she returned and landed almost at our feet:

   Midgeon                                                          Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015


       We stayed for a few more take-offs and landings but then were on our way, Alec and Kez to have a night on the town while Jim, Marleny, and I returned to Acton.

                                                                                                     

                                                                                                         Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015

                                                                                                  Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015

       Boston Garden pigeons seem to have good company and I hope Midge is able to overcome her natural homing instincts and elects to remain there for the rest of her days.

       Here are some interesting facts about rock doves that might cause some pause among those who refer to these birds as flying rats:

       Pigeons are considered one of the most intelligent birds on the planet.  For example, they can recognize their own reflection in a mirror. Only six other animals can do that, all primates.

       They can recognize all twenty-six letters of the alphabet.

         They contributed greatly to the Allied cause in both world wars.  They have terrific vision and were carried on airborne search and rescue missions over the oceans.  When they spotted an orange lifejacket, they would alert the crew with a series of pecks.  Thousands were saved.

       Troops who parachuted behind or near enemy lines often carried pigeons with them in order to return valuable information about troop location and strength.  The brave patriots jumped out of a variety of air transports carrying their birds in slings designed by an American brassiere company.

        Rock dove 'GI Joe' was awarded the Dickin Medal For Gallantry by the Lord Mayor of London.  It is Britain highest medal of honor for a service animal.  What did little Joe do to merit this?  It seems the Americans were about to bombard a bit of Italian land occupied by the Germans.  Suddenly, however, the Germans retreated and British 5th Infantry moved in filling the void.  Radio transmissions to halt the bombing failed to get through.  GI Joe was dispatched with a message and flew twenty miles in twenty minutes.  Had he arrived five minutes later it is likely that the entire British unit would have been wiped out.

       French rock dove 'Cher Ami' transported critical information to the French, dodging artillery fire and poison gas.  Despite his efforts, one of his legs was shot off and he suffered a terrible chest wound. Happily, his surgery was a success, and he was able to attend the ceremony in which he awarded France's highest medal, "Le Croix de Guerre."

      In 1944, carrier pigeon Lucia di Lammermoor was apprehended by the Germans returning several days late with the following message:

       "To the American troops, Herewith we return a pigeon to you.  We have enough to eat. -- The German Troops." 

       No medal for Lucia, but I still think she deserves an 'A' for effort.

      Because of Midgeon, the common Rock Dove, I was able to have the joy and satisfaction of having helped a creature in need, as well as learning about the great impact these often despised birds have had on history.  Some of us would not have been born had it not been for these courageous creatures.

       My next entry will be about my encounter with the homing instincts of a totally different type of bird.  

       See you soon, and thank you for reading "The Windflower Weekly"  --
                                                 Ainslie


Sources:

http://www.americainwwii.com/articles/pigeons-of-war/
http://www.homeofheroes.com/wings/part1/3b_cherami.html


Links you might enjoy:

LINKS YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN:

http://www.cafepress.com

http://www.amazon.com/Trophies-An-Equestrian-Romance-ebook/dp/B00998J2B2

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kaleidoscope-pony-ainslie-sheridan/1114272809?ean=2940015948592

http://windflowerfarmgiftsforani.smugmug.com

https://www.pinterest.com/Dollydressage

http://www.facebook.com/YonkersShelter

       

      
       

      

AMELIA, THE GREAT HORNED OWL WHO CRASH LANDED INTO OUR HEARTS

A SNOW RIDE LIKE NO OTHER

                                                           Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015

       Why a snow ride like no other?  To start off, it turned out to be short, very short.  The day before we had also gone out, but that ride lasted over an hour.  Zoe, our Windflower student, had scanned the pond seeing nothing but a blank canvas of snow.  This day however,  Zoe glanced back in the direction from where we had just come.  She spotted a dark shape on the pond surrounded by a series of impressions left in the snow.  The silhouette had two points that looked like they could be tufts,  maybe an owl but it wasn't moving.  Fallen sticks and branches with leaves can often assume a variety of shapes making them appear to be something other than what they are.  We needed a closer look.

       Zoe, myself, and Aubrey, the other student on our ride, retraced our tracks to stop on the trail nearest the shape.  Closer still, we were certain it was an owl and that it was holding up an injured wing.  Whether it was alive we still didn't know.  I handed Elementa's reins to Aubrey and, in the direction of the bird, waded through hip-deep snowdrifts.  It was an owl, a Great Horned Owl! As I approached, its head swiveled towards me like a gun turret. Ten yards away now, I stopped.  I didn't want to get any closer until we had something to catch and transport it. 

       I'd forgotten my phone, so I had Aubrey call my house to tell my husband to call Dave, who is the most go-to neighbor anybody could wish for.  I'd asked if he could bring a blanket.  In about thirty minutes Dave arrived, beach towel in hand.  Oops, I had asked for blanket but something got lost in translation.  Remember what happened when you played "Telephone" as a kid?  

       Those talons would make short shrift of the towel, despite images of sunbathing alligators on it.  So Aubrey rode off to get a horse blanket.  (Zoe had already left to get hot water in case the owl had become locked in the ice.)  Meanwhile, Dave and I decided to approach the owl from opposite directions.  Once more,  I stepped out onto the ice and came up from behind the owl, hoping to discourage it from going further out on the pond. 

       The owl fluffed itself up and clacked its beak at me.  This YouTube of three Great Horned Owls depicts how she behaved and sounded:  







       We immediately saw the cause of its distress: the left wing was wrapped up in one end of monofilament fishing line, the other end still caught up in a tree.  I bit the line in half with my teeth while Dave held on to it below so we could still have control of the owl. The poor thing tried to fly away but to no avail.  

       Female raptors are larger than males, and since I had now seen this owl up close, from this point on I'll refer to her with a feminine pronoun.  This poor owl was now not only in pain from the fishing line and, perhaps, an impaled hook, but also terrified because of our presence.  She needed to be covered.  Aubrey had yet to return with a blanket, so Dave and I managed to get her talons caught up in the towel.  I quickly tossed my jacket over her, knelt down on all fours, and tried to contain her.  She struggled to escape but I kept shifting my jacket to keep whatever part of her body began to appear.  Head and feet were what I had to corral the most frequently, but it was like plugging up a badly leaking dike.  No sooner did I take care of one leak than another appeared.  It wasn't constant, however.  There were periods of time when she was completely still.  I worried that I might suffocate her in the snow, so I held her down as lightly as I could.  I could see by the slight rise and fall of my jacket that she was breathing.

                                   

      
       From the time I first straddled her to the time Aubrey arrived with a blanket and Dave with a box, I had been with her for at least an hour.  Aubrey and I managed to roll her into the horse blanket without getting slashed or bitten.  We were then able to slide her into the box.  We waded through the snow and walked back to my farm.  It was not quite a half a mile, but because of the deep snow I felt like I was hiking to the Yukon.

       By the time we'd gotten back to my house the entire evolution had taken over two hours and we were all exhausted.  I would have preferred to put her under a heat lamp in my chicken coop for the night and take her to the Wildlife Clinic at Tufts University School of Veterinary Medicine the next day, but heavy snow was in the forecast.   Besides, what if she did have a fishhook caught in her? It would have been cruel, and possibly harmful to her recovery, to make her spend the night at my farm.  We managed to roll her out of the box and into a pet carrier.  I quickly changed out of my wet clothes, loaded her in the car, draped a towel over the carrier for security, and off Zoe and I went.

         

       When I called Tufts, I learned that because it was Sunday the Wildlife Clinic was closed, and that I should hand her in at the small animal hospital.  After forty-five minutes we were there.  The first flakes of yet another vicious Massachusetts snowstorm were beginning to fall.

        The woman at the emergency desk immediately called a vet tech.  I lifted the towel off so they could see the owl.  By then a small crowd had gathered to catch a glimpse of this beautiful creature with incredible eyes.  I relayed our rescue tale.  The tech said they would page the on-call wildlife vet tech who would place her in an incubator to bring her body temperature up, and most likely one of the wildlife vets would be called in.  I could phone the Wildlife Clinic the next day to see how she had fared.

       However, that didn't happen.  We got nearly fifteen inches of snow, and all of Tufts was operating on a skeleton crew so no one picked up the phone that day.  I couldn't find out how the owl we now called Amelia, after the other unfortunate aviatrix, was doing. I had to wait until the following day, but it was worth the wait. Jessica, a Wildlife Program Assistant, told me that Amelia had been sedated and operated on the day after we brought her in.  She indeed had a fishhook lodged in the juncture of her wing and scapular bones in her chest, and the hook was surgically removed. In her struggle to free herself she had sustained a large laceration making me feel so badly that we had no doubt made it worse by hanging onto the fishing line until we could get the towel and jacket over her. Nonetheless, they were optimistic:  the damage appeared to be limited to the laceration site.  She was alert, on antibiotics, and appreciative of the many mice she was being offered.

       They planned to operate on her again that afternoon to remove the dead tissue from the wound site.  They then cleaned it with manuka honey, a honey from the manuka bush that grows in New Zealand and Australia.   Most kinds of honey have some antibiotic properties, but this kind of honey is especially strong in that category.  Jessica told me that if Amelia continued to improve we could pick her up and release her back by the pond. They expected she would be at the Wildlife Clinic at least a couple of weeks.u Eventually, she would be put in a flight cage to test her flight skills and prepare her for release.

       All of us, Dave, Aubrey, Zoe, my husband, and I, as well as our friends who knew about Amelia, were happily hopeful.  Zoe and her mother baked cupcakes in honor of the rescue:

        I started reading about Great Horned Owls.  When I was growing up on Long Island we called them Hoot Owls.  They are North American's largest owl and an Apex predator, which means that if they make it into adulthood they have no natural enemies. Ninety-six percent of their fatalities are caused by man--hunters, traps, eating rodents that have ingested rat poison, vehicles, barbed wire, and, of course, fishing line and hooks.  This is a tragedy not only for the owl but for its ecosystem.  Mesopredators (mid-level predators), examples of which are skunks, raccoons, and foxes, while not the usual diet of the Great Horned Owl, do get killed by them.  The talons of the owl can exert five hundred pounds per square inch, so they can dispatch animals five times their size. (Glad I didn't know that while holding Amelia under my jacket.) With an apex threat absent, mesopredators spend more time eating than hiding, their numbers flourish, and they diminish the strength of the next link down in the food chain, and the debilitating effects continue on down the links.

       We very much wanted Amelia back, not only because she was a gorgeous and majestic creature who deserved to live, but also our ecosystem needed her.  A week later I called Jessica at the Wildlife Center to find out when Amelia might be ready to return home.  I learned she never would.  Though the veterinarians had been cleaning the site and wrapping her in a fresh manuka bandage each day Amelia was not healing as hoped.  The many hours she'd spent with her wing held up and out by the fishing line had allowed the cold air to freeze her flesh by way of the fish hook.   Muscles, tendons, and nerves at the wound site had been rendered useless by frost bite.  She would never fly again.  Amelia, Jessica said, had been euthanized the previous day.

       We were all devastated.  The initial news had been cautiously optimistic, and we were so looking forward to the prospect of releasing the imperious and magnificent Amelia back to her home. I know we tried, that's what we told each other, and that's what friends told us, but it was little consolation.  It was a needless, thoughtless, and cruel loss--to us, our little ecosystem, and, of course, to poor Amelia.  Whenever I see boys with their rods on Nagog Pond, I will tell them what fishing line and hooks, improperly cast and disposed of, cost a glorious and environmentally necessary creature.

        My next blog entry will tell about another bird, far less charismatic than Amelia, and regarded by many as a pest.  

       Thank you for reading The Windflower Weekly.  See you soon.

                       -- Ainslie




The Wildlife Clinic at Tufts School of Veterinary Medicine depends heavily on volunteers and donations.  The work many selfless hours to save the animals brought to them.  Because of the terrible winter we had they are currently overloaded with patients.  If you can give them some time and/or money, please do.
Here is their address and phone number:

Tufts Wildlife Center
The Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine
Tufts University
200 Westboro Road
Grafton, MA 01536

Phone: 1 (508) 839-7918


LINKS YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN:

http://www.cafepress.com

http://www.amazon.com/Trophies-An-Equestrian-Romance-ebook/dp/B00998J2B2

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kaleidoscope-pony-ainslie-sheridan/1114272809?ean=2940015948592

http://windflowerfarmgiftsforani.smugmug.com

https://www.pinterest.com/Dollydressage

http://www.facebook.com/YonkersShelter

http://www.saveyourassrescue.org/foradoption.html

SOURCES:

http://www.internattionalowlcenter.org

http://wwwlivescience.com/9716-loss-top-predators-causing-ecosystems-collapse.html

Shovel, Shovel, Shovel, Snow Brings Nothing But Toil And Trouble!

       It all began with an innocuous January six-incher (15.24 cm), which we all were actually glad to see.  It was certainly better than the cold rain we'd been having through December.  Trail rides would be a nice diversion from trying to do dressage on an alternately frozen or deeply puddled sand arena.  Here are a few photos I took of the horses the day following that January snow. This is Firefly.  You can actually see three of her hooves:

           Here Dolly is just fetlock deep:

       But then this is where we started to get more than we bargained for.  Enter storm number two sweetly named Iola, Greek for dawn.  We got nine inches with that one.  Here are a few more pictures after that storm, starting once again with Firefly: 

                              Firefly  Iola                                            Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

       Now Dolly:

       Deeper, yes, and since the snow was light and fluffy it was pretty easy for the horses to move. We had some terrific trail rides.  For those of you who live where there is little or no snow, riding through powder is like riding a cloud.  And if you're lucky enough to have an Andalusian like Tica--pictured below--you're riding a cloud in Heaven: 

   Tica                                                                                       Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

       The next snowstorm, Juno, made her entrance January 28th, and settled in northeastern Massachusetts for two and half days.  It was brutal.  Juno is the Roman goddess who looks after women.  Well, Juno, I have all mares.  What were you thinking?!

       Elementa, Dolly, and Ice ventured out of their run-in shed when I tossed them morning hay shortly after 7 am:

       A gust of wind blew diamond-dust snow back into my camera's flash resulting in an image of Dolly and Elementa in what appeared as a glittering twilight:

      Then came Firefly and Ice.  It looks as if it's hours later, but was literally just seconds after the above.

                                                        Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

A few minutes later it began to get a bit less windy.  Dolly eagerly made her way back to the run-in shed after breakfast:

Then Elementa:

      Elementa /Juno                                                                     Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

       I have a most remarkable, talented working student named Zoe.  She works and rides at Windflower and would rather have a hand cut off than miss a ride on Firefly, whom she half-leases. I would have been stunned if any of my students had showed up on day two of Juno, that is, except Zoe.  She is one of the most can-do people I've ever met, child or adult.  Here she is with Dolly:

   Zoe and Dolly                                                                          Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

       Zoe had come for her lesson mid-storm! Okay, I need to be at least as intrepid as my students, so out I went:

   Zoe and Firefly during Juno                                                Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

       Bareback dressage:

      Zoe and Firefly                                                                    Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

       The day after that we saw the sun:

Zoe and Firefly                                                                Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015 

       If any of you farm owners are lucky enough to have a student as dedicated, hard-working and talented as Zoe, guard her with your life!  She'd be willing to summit Mt. Everest if it meant she could ride a Tibetan Wind Horse to get there!

       Later in the next day, things got slightly warmer and sunnier.  By afternoon the sun came out.  Here are Elementa and Dolly playing:

                                                            Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015

                                                                                          Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015

Elementa and Dolly                                Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015    

               

       That same afternoon Dolly took a sunbath:

       Missing from this section on winter storm Juno are my Andalusian mare Tica and our Shetland pony Kip.  This is because they spent the night and day in the barn.  At seventeen and twenty-one respectively, they are the grandes dames of Windflower and entitled to the maximum comfort we have to offer.

  

        Age is not the only consideration with Kip.  She is but ten hands tall (1.02 m), and while the horses have never had any encounters with coyotes, save a sub-adult who was playing with a yearling--play bow and all!--I worried.  Getting their normal rodents and the occasional weakened deer in over three-and-a-half feet of snow must be very difficult for the coyotes.  Also, because of the plow and the trails that the horses have made on and off the farm, I worry that we have supplied easy access roads to our wild animals.  It would be difficult for little Kip to fend off one coyote much less a pack. So, just in case, Kip is put in at night. 

        Juno dumped thirty-three inches (83.82cm) on top of what we already had but Old Man Winter wasn't done with us yet.  Next storm a week later was Linus, and by this time many of us did want to suck our thumbs and take our favorite blankets to bed.  The forecast was for six (15.24 cm) to eight inches (20.32 cm).  We got fifteen (38.1 cm)!

       Dark humor abounded.  The storms seemed to arrive on weekends and shut us down at the beginning of the Sunday.  You know those green highway signs with reflective silver lettering that you see when changing states?  Well, someone Photoshopped one of our state.  This is how it appeared:  "Entering Massachusetts" and just below, in slightly smaller letters:  "Closed Mondays." 

       Piled-up snow in Boston comes in a variety of monochromatic whites and grays.  Someone posted a picture of a huge pile of snow with "Boston's Version of Shades of Gray."  (The movie Shades of Gray, with all its bondage, gadgets, and gizmos, was just about to open in theaters.)

Just One More Storm to Go--Neptune!

       Neptune, the Roman god of the Sea, arrived the day before yesterday with howling winds that delivered another nine inches (22.86 cm) of snow. While the plow made it relatively easy for me to walk to the barn, getting the hose out to the horses's water troughs was a different matter.  We used to have both hot and cold water in the barn during winter, but I got tired of dealing with leaking, broken pipes, so I had it shut off.  We now depend on a large hose running from the basement.  It really isn't a difficult arrangement except when you must haul the hose through snow that's four feet deep.  I tug the hose along with one hand keeping myself balanced with a ski pole in the other.  Hose trail pictured below:

       And here's our  house:

       This morning while I was getting their breakfast ready, Dolly and Elementa cavorted in the front paddock:

    Dolly and Elementa                                                  Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015

While Tica waited patiently:

                  Tica                                                 

       

   

       

       Is Nothing Sacred?

       Some of you may be familiar with The Vermont Teddy Bear Company.  It was started in 1982 by a Vermont gentleman who sold his bears in an open-air market in the city of Burlington. Tourists began to ask him to mail their purchases to their homes.  That is how the largest internet business for selling stuffed bears began. Valentine's Day is the biggest holiday for orders. When my son Alec was ten, I took him on a tour of this company, one of the few, it seems, that has not outsourced any of its work to China.  We visited, looking at shelf after shelf of charming, sweet, albeit pricey bears for every occasion and of every profession.  We had a lovely time.

     So, I was disappointed to learn that this Valentine's Day,  The Vermont Teddy Bear Company was offering a "limited edition Fifty Shades of Gray Bear."  Their ad shows a man bear in a suave suit holding the front door to house half-open with a pair of dangling hand-cuffs in one hand hidden behind his back.  He also sports a blindfold in his kit of kinky tricks.  

       The first stuffed toy of many American children is a teddy bear.  He is tucked into bed with them providing friendship and security through the night.  Many children keep their bears into their adult years.  My twenty-nine-year-old son's Walter Bear still sits on his bed here at home wearing a t-shirt that Alec himself wore as a toddler.  Walter has a loose eye, and his nose and ears are worn, but he remains an important member of this household.

       It is sad that the Vermont Teddy Bear Company, in a quest of money, has perverted and prostituted itself so.  If it had to create such a bear--and it didn't--why on Valentine's Day, which celebrates sweet romantic love?  I would think Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) with all its gay and often vulgar abandon would have been a more appropriate choice.

Vermont Teddy Bear Company, Winnie the Pooh and Paddington are crying!

                 

Coming Up In My Next Blog


 What is this?

                                                    Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2015

  

       We weren't sure at first because we spotted it from a distance farther  away.  (Actually, it was eagle-eyed Zoe who saw it first.)  It's a great horned owl.  Initially, we thought a wing was broken, but when we got closer, we saw that it was hopelessly tangled in monofilament fishing line.

       Stay warm and thank you for reading The Windflower Weekly.

See you soon.

                                       Ainslie 

Links You Might Like:

 http://www.cafepress.com

http://www.amazon.com/Trophies-An-Equestrian-Romance-ebook/dp/B00998J2B2

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kaleidoscope-pony-ainslie-sheridan/1114272809?ean=2940015948592

http://www.facebook.com/YonkersShelter

http://www.saveyourassrescue.org/foradoption.html