I met James White when I stayed for a month in an apartment in Loja, Ecuador, where he lives. We shared a courtyard and many conversations about politics, food, wine, and Ecuador. He also shared with me his washing machine, for which I was grateful. A native Texan with a big heart, he describes himself as a “witty and sarcastic left wing socialist,” and that’s a pretty accurate portrait! He spent 35 years in the wine business and knows his wine stuff. Because James is a true dog lover, I thought it would be great for him to read this poem.
This is James' dog Tanuki, having suffered a bath after rolling in cow pies.
Ginger and me when she was a puppy, in Maryland. Later, when we moved to Wisconsin, she acquired a habit of roaming, the call of her mixed breed beagle genes, I suppose. I sometimes say I spent much of my childhood wandering the roads near our house yelling, "Ginger!" People would call from miles away to say they'd found her.
Ginger in her later years. She lived to be 18 years old.
(Want to read along? You can order a copy of Local Extinctions here or here or here or from your local independent bookstore, such as Mac's Backs in Cleveland.)
