Lambiedog

Mr. Samulon's bench

Who was Henry Adam Samulon? 

From the plaque, we know that he was a beloved family man, who lived 82 years, from 1915 to 1997.  

He was also an accomplished electrical accoustical engineer who worked at TRW, and a Swiss-Jewish refugee who emigrated to the United States in 1947.  More about Mr. Samulon can be found in this biography of his wife, Fay Samulon. 

I never had the pleasure of knowing Henry Samulon in life, but I have enjoyed many inspiring moments in the shadow of his memorial bench.  

Behind the benches

    I think I will use the calm provided by the squirrels' mysterious summer absence to work on another of my interests:  history. My research will focus on the six benches scattered along the bluffs, each of them dedicated to the memory of a different person or persons.

    Who what when where why -- that's the classic reporter's brief, and it will be mine too.  I've already answered the 'where' -- it's the bluff.  But the rest remains to be discovered.

In the shadow of a crackdown

With summer here, attendance at the bluffs has declined a bit, or perhaps I should say it has become more diffuse, as dogs less constrained by school-year schedules show up at more widely varying times.

This situation provides opportunities for more intimate encounters, such as the one I had the other morning with Scooby and a dog whose name I unfortunately did not get.  

Interestingly, I was the only one of us not on a leash.  Perhaps these other dogs' owners were influenced by the recent front-page story in the local paper about an early-morning raid on other local dog parks, resulting in citations for owners of unleashed dogs.

Call me a daredevil for not wearing my leash, but in my own modest way I like to defy authority. Someone's got to stand up to The Man.

Bluffs post-squirrel

The bluff is not completely devoid of squirrels, it turns out.  I did see two of them this morning.  They were not excessively fast on their paws.  I surmise that they might be elderly members of the clan who were unable to make the trek to wherever the rest of the squirrels go for the summer.  I hope I am wrong in this interpretation, as it is most distressing to imagine that squirrel culture is one in which the elders are abandoned by selfish younger squirrels who just want to go have fun in new climes.  

Be that as it may, the squirrel exodus is doing good things for my social life.  I was perhaps neglecting my social obligations in my zest for the job.  Now I have been able to re-immerse myself in the hubbub of the bluffs, and have found it quite restorative.

Tonight most of the regulars were out, partaking of the exercise and the fellowship.

I surprised even myself with how how seamlessly I fit back in.

Where have all the squirrels gone?

 

After being temporarily felled by another seizure a couple of days ago, I'm back in business.  But when I went out to the bluffs to investigate the squirrel situation, the landscape had subtly changed.

The squirrels are gone.

Where did they go?  Have they migrated for the summer?

I feel forlorn.  So much for my grand passion.  I guess it's going to have to be a seasonal passion.  And that's assuming that the squirrels eventually return.

Some of my wealthier friends have gone away for the summer, to better squirrel climes like Colorado. Summering elsewhere is not an option for me.

I think I'll take up birding, or possible rabbit-watching.  Or I guess I could just work on perfecting the latest draft of that novella I've been working on.

But I do miss the squirrels.  We had a good time together.  At least, I did.

Neither rain nor sleet

In the course of my squirrel labors I am sometimes asked to take considerable risks.  Even when the assignment is difficult, I do not shirk my duty.  

It's a dangerous job, but the work must go on.

Big time operators

So, it turns out that there are some other guys who like to watch squirrels, and these guys have a sophisticated operation -- big artillery and lots of ammunition.

It's the sanitation truck drivers, who seem to spend a good part of their Tuesday mornings sitting at the bluffs throwing food to attract squirrels to come to them.

It's hard to compete with a set-up like that.

It's lonely at the top

Every once in a while it hits me what a heavy load I carry on my shoulders.  

Because I operate via quiet diplomacy, my role in world affairs is not common knowledge.  But world leaders know they can turn to me, and in fact there is a steady stream of them coming to the bluffs to seek my counsel on matters related to national security, global warming, and various international matters that I am not at liberty to mention here.  

I try to do something lighthearted, perhaps play with my bagel, to shake off the stress when I get home.  But my grave responsibilities are never out of my mind for long.

The rewards of patience

An unexpected squirrel development

Sometimes when you get what you want it doesn't turn out how you expected.

Tonight I found a decomposed squirrel at the bluff.  I followed my genetic predisposition and mouthed it just like I do my new toy squirrel.  I was having a great time until my owner noticed and was very upset with me. 

Drama drama drama.  She yanked me away, ran me home and gave me a bath, and called the vet.  Now we're waiting around to see if I exhibit any symptoms of poisoning. 

At least she didn't take away my toy squirrel.