This Dog Won't Hunt

Bedlam Manor.  That's what a friend of ours calls our house.  Sometimes I think she's right.  We have two hunting dogs (English Setters) and a Dutch Rabbit.  Not so unusual, right? Dogs inside. Rabbit outside in a hutch. Not exactly. You see, my wife, Mary, is a pushover when it comes to animals.  We got the dogs first--not one but two (that's another story).  Then came the rabbit. It was abandoned at Maymont Park's petting zoo. An adult, black and white, female Dutch rabbit. Someone had obviously dropped off their unwanted bunny for some reason. We'd been thinking about getting our daughter a rabbit ever since the demise of her hamster. Of course, as soon as our daughter laid eyes on the small black and white bundle of fur, there was no turning back.


A few days later and few hundred dollars poorer our free rabbit was outside in a new hutch the size of Buckingham Palace. Then the weather turned cold as it does in January.  Mary couldn't stand the thought of our poor little Oreo out in the cold. So one evening I was compelled to help wrestle the hundred-fifty pound hutch onto the porch. Then within a few days Mary had decided that Buckingham Palace was too small for our little cotton tail princess.  Our whole screen porch became the rabbit's home--I had no idea that rabbits could be trained to a litter box just like cats. I also discovered that, with the right "encouragement" English Setters could be easily trained not to eat the pet rabbit.


The final slide into bedlam came one evening during dinner.  We were enjoying a nice meal when Mary looked out of the French doors that enter onto the porch.  There peering throught the glass was a forlorn face with a pink twitching nose and perky ears. "Oh, look at her," Mary cried. "Shall we let her in? She looks so cold and lonely." Before I had chance to reply, Oreo happily hopped into the house.  In time, she and I became the best of friends.  She would sit under my chair when I practiced cello and would always hop over to great me in the morning when I came downstairs. Sadly Oreo only lived about a year.


We now have a new rabbit, Rozie, who is even more fun than Oreo. We also have a new dog, Beau, after one of our two died of cancer. So now we have the peaceable kingdom with a house rabbit and two hunting dogs that won't hunt.  Well not the rabbit anyway.

Ignorance is Bliss

The Reality of American Football

Okay so I’ll admit it. Even after living in the States for 11 years, I still don’t understand American Football. It’s not that I can’t appreciate it’s appeal. In fact, I went to a Washington Redskins game once and got to sit in an executive skybox, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Of course, being up that high you needed breathing apparatus to survive and the Hubble telescope to see what was going on down on the field but what struck me about the game is how fragmented it is. The plays (see, I know some technical terms) lurched from one down (okay don't over do it) to the next like an adolescent learning to drive a stick shift. The ironic point of the day was, I seemed to be the only one interested in the game. My fellow skybox-dwellers, all Americans, were more interested in filling up on the free beer and hot dogs. Don't get me wrong.  It was a great spectacle and a great day out but the game was too slow with too many interruptions. What with plays lasting a few seconds and TV time outs. Can you believe that? They stop for commercial breaks.

Okay.  So you've figured out that I don't understand American Football. Having grown up on a diet of real football where the players actually use their feet (imagine that?), I prefer a game that flows and is played for the amount of time it should be played (90 minutes, in two halves).

Americans are being duped into thinking that when they watch football on television, they're actually watching football.  Not so.  According to a recent Wall Street Journal article, what viewers actually get is 11 minutes. Yup! That's not a typo. In a three hour broadcast all you get to see is 10 minutes 43 seconds of play.

The Wall Street Journal analyzed four National Football League (NFL) games and the results are quite surprising.  A staggeringly low 9.4% of the the broadcast is playing time--almost 60 percent more time is devoted to replays than actual coverage. For those who love to watch football for the scantily clad cheerleaders, I am sorry to disappoint. In a three hour broadcast you are only going to see those lovely legs for about seven seconds, if you watch CBS.  Fox and ESPN showed no cheerleaders at all.

What do these highly paid football stars do for their money? Basically, stand around.

Do I care?  Not really.  I enjoy it for the whole spectacle and the true American experience. So grab me a beer and a hot dog because the game's about to start. Ignorance is bliss.

Tales from the Teapot

I thought my first entry into the Blogosphere should be accompanied by a nice cup of tea. I make no excuses, and like most of my countrymen, I love tea...and some McVities chocolate biscuits wouldn’t go amiss either. The objective of my blog is twofold. First, it is an outlet for my own thoughts and creative writing, and I make no apologies for Tales from the Teapot being self serving. Second, I hope any followers will enjoy my unique, English-tinged view of the world.

Anyway, in the view of the British anything can be cured by a nice cup of tea: a mild cold, a hangover, wars, pestilence, famine; you name it. Sadly, Hitler didn’t care for Mr.Chamberlain’s tea. All Neville got in return was a rather worthless piece of paper and the rest is history.

While Americans may complain about our food, misguided criticism in my opinion (that will be the topic of a future blog), we (Brits) have every right to criticize their tea. It is a well-known fact that Americans are not big tea drinkers and the quality of tea reflects that fact. Their dislike for our sublime brew can be traced back to December 1773 when a group of rebels disguised as Indians dumped a consignment of British tea into Boston Harbor, which, according to the character George Banks (remember the father in Mary Poppins?), "made the tea undrinkable. Even for Americans."

So what's my favorite tea? For everyday, I love the English Breakfast tea from a supplier on the island of Jersey (just off the coast of France) called Coopers. Not only is their tea superlative, their customer service is excellent. We usually order the catering pack of 1100 tea bags. And they will ship to the States. When you call just ask for Kathy. In terms of specific variety, I love Darjeeling. It is often called the champagne of teas. It is a very mild tea, so I will often mix it with a stronger blend.

Thanks for "tuning in" to Tales from the Teapot. Check back regularly for updates and be sure to warm the pot.