Remembering Farley: Browse The Strips

Friday, January 10, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Looking for a wayward mutt on a night like this is one of the downsides of dog ownership. When our small spaniel, Willy, wandered off, it was usually "Mom" who put on the boots and jacket and went out into the gale to find him. I was convinced he could hear me quite well and was just ignoring me. This was something the kids did too. It infuriated me. At least kids understand a mother's wrath. When a dog comes home to a fuming human, he just pants and wags.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I am guilty of letting my dog run about without a leash. We live in the country and our little black spaniel, Willy, was free to go where he pleased--which was usually next door to my in-laws' for toast and coffee. The neighbours didn't say anything--for the most part they let their pets out as well. It wasn't until the school bus nearly ran over Willy that I paid more attention. He died of cancer years later, but I never forgot his close call.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Gary Larson (The Far Side) once sent me a Christmas card, which showed a house with a brightly lit window through which you could see a group of wildly partying dogs. In front of the house, on a white lawn, was a snow sculpture of a fat cat. A path of paw prints lead from the door to the snow cat--the side of the cat was yellow! I guess cartoon minds think alike.

Monday, January 20, 2014

Lynn's Comments: One of the reasons FBorFW wasn't translated into many other languages was my constant use of colloquial expressions. When the imagined dialogue included something like "end of his rope," I had to use it!

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Sheep dogs have big, wide feet, and their toes are webbed to some extent. This means that a snowy walk will result in wads of frozen snow plugging the dog's foot pads. I'd have to spread his toes and pull each chunk of snow out of the crevices--and with it, remove hair and dirt as well. It's a messy process, and the only rewarding thing about it is the look of relief on the dog's face when it's done!

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Lynn's Comments: We got Farley as a puppy in the fall. The first snow was so much fun. Like any baby, he was thrilled to play in it and would bounce into a snowdrift--right up to his ears. The ravine behind our house was quite steep, and in winter, we had no choice but to slide down if we wanted to walk along the creek at the bottom. Farley watched my husband and me slide down the hill on our toboggan, and with a little coaxing, he stepped forward, sat down, and slid all the way down, too. It was so funny, we laughed till we cried. All that winter, he would slide down the hill. We photographed him and made our friends watch. Summer came, and the following winter, we thought Farley would carry on sliding. He didn't. He had no interest at all in getting his seat wet and clogged with snow. I can't say that I blame him. We, at least, had protection! I guess it goes to show you that even dogs grow up and become sensible.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Behind closed doors, I had a dopey, mommy-to-doggie vocabulary, which I shared with Farley alone. I even had a song I sang to him, and later, I made up a song for Willy, our small black spaniel. While openly criticizing other pooch-parents for talking baby talk to their canine family members, I was doing the very same thing. My dogs appreciated it. This was a language we shared in the privacy of my home. This Sunday page allowed readers into our secret world. I believed that the sheer stupidity of what Elly was saying would be taken as "made-up cartoon dialogue," but not so. I received several letters from readers telling me they used the exact same words of endearment!

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Lynn's Comments: My mother had a day of the week for laundry. Rain or shine, she washed on Wednesday, and there was an order to the way she hung the clothes on the line. Sheets, towels, and good clothing was hung first--so it could be seen and appreciated by the neighbours. Underwear and things not meant for public scrutiny were hung closer to the house. These things were easily reached by standing on the rungs of our porch railing, and often fell prey to my brother--whose pranks with Mom's unmentionables were legendary.

After our neighbour's big dog, Teddy, died, their daughter, Tootie (our babysitter), bought a small fuzzy pup, which she called "Noby"--short for "Nobody." Noby was a sweet, easygoing little pooch who put up with just about anything the local kids would do to her. One day, Alan decided to dress her up in Mom's underwear. Noby dutifully stood still while bra and panties were administered. Al expected a wild struggle for freedom, but Noby stood still. Frustrated by the lack of action, Al lifted Noby up and placed her inside a sheet, which had been doubled so it could hang on the lower line. Noby went crazy. She squirmed and howled, and we worried that she'd tear the sheet open. Tootie soon came to her rescue. She pulled Noby out of the sheet, cuffed my brother on the side of his head, threw the bra and panties on the lawn, and went home.

I picked up the underwear and put it back on the line. The sheet was left to dry. Later, when Mom pulled in the laundry, I watched as she folded it. When she got to the underwear, she frowned, wondered why it looked unwashed, but kept on folding. Then she reached for the sheet. There in the middle was a mess of dirt and dog hair. Mom looked at me and said, "Where's your brother?" Alan, of course, was gone. I was close at hand and received the brunt of her wrath. After a thorough tongue-lashing, I was sent to my room--Al had to wait. Nothing was said when he came home, and I was furious. I thought I had taken the blame for everything! Later that evening it was clear that justice prevailed. When Al pulled the blankets back on his bed, there was the dirty sheet. Grossed out and grumbling, he slept on it for a week!

Friday, July 4, 2014

Lynn's Comments: One of the most effective advertising gimmicks ever was the "jingle." My chums and I memorized all of them, and today, I can still sing the bluesy torch song that extolled the goodness of Du Maurier cigarettes. I'm trying to think of a modern equivalent--anyone heard a really good jingle lately?

Monday, October 6, 2014

Lynn's Comments: My kids didn't feel the need to talk endlessly on the phone the way I did. Even with the advent of cordless handsets, they preferred to just go over to a friend's house and hang out. One thing about in living in a small rural community; your friends are all a short bike ride away.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I have a friend whose worst accidents at home have been because of her dog. She has tripped over him, fallen over him on the stairs and she even broke her foot when he pulled her down an icy sidewalk one winter. Her favourite quote was "When I saw him at the shelter, I just fell for him!"

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Farley was couch height; his face was perfectly aligned with yours if you were in repose. Should you then feel the smog of dog breath, hear the sound of heavy breathing, and smell kibble, it was not advisable to stir. Once you let Farley know you were conscious, he'd smother you with affection--and drool!

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Lynn's Comments: My friend and graphic guru, Kevin Strang, has a dog named Oden. Oden is a large, lovable yellow lab with a sweet disposition. Oden likes squeaky toys--especially rubber chickens, of which he has several. He doesn't bite through them, he squeezes them carefully, enjoying the sound they make with obvious pleasure. He squeezes them in a way that kind of communicates his thoughts. Rapid squeaks suggest playfulness, longer sighing squeaks, thoughtfulness--loud defined squeaks mean boredom has set in or a snack is required. It's funny. I often go to see Kevin and we'll sit in his studio working out a colour scheme for a calendar or an illustration. Oden will sit beside my chair and squeak his rubber chickens to his heart's delight. Kevin will likely not be reading this so I can tell you that as much as I love his dog and as funny as I think the chickens are--I often wish that the *#@**&%$* squeaking would STOPPPPP!!!!!

Monday, April 13, 2015

Lynn's Comments: Although I never saw my children trying to eat from a bowl like a dog, it was something I tried to do myself. The weird thing about this confession is that I was in my twenties when I did it!

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Lynn's Comments: Everyone likes to brag about the intellectual prowess of their family pooch. Sadly, the real dog, Farley, was something of a lost cause! We took him to special dog training classes and worked hard to implement everything we were taught to do. Daily, we applied the routines, the commands and behaviours. We rewarded and we praised. Farley refused to catch on. Whatever he did learn was minimal. It was discouraging. We had imagined him walking at heel, sitting on command, and coming when called. Other dogs could master these simple skills, but Farley was consistent. He did what he felt like doing, when he felt like doing it, and he trained US to behave according to his whims.

Friday, April 17, 2015

Lynn's Comments: This was one of the exercises we were given to teach Farley to come when called. My husband and I did this endlessly, but to no avail. The trainers blamed us for Farley's lack of success. They said we were not being consistent and should try harder. We did. We believed that with enough repetition, with enough rewards, Farley would learn. He didn't.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Lynn's Comments: Sadly, we never did celebrate success with the real Farley. In the comic strip, however, the outcome to every scenario was up to me, so cartoon Farley was an obedient, and even rather smart, companion.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Lynn's Comments: This didn't happen, but here's a story that did: I was about 12 years old. For weeks, a cat had been coming to sit under my bedroom window and howl. It sounded like a demonic baby's cry, and I hated the sound. Nothing would deter the cat so one night, I decided to get even. I opened the window wide, placed a pitcher of cold water on the windowsill, and waited for the cat. Like clockwork, it arrived in full voice, and as soon as the howling reached a crescendo, I dumped the water. The cries I expected to hear, however, didn't come from a cat. They came from my brother who had a room in the basement. He had been sneaking out of his bedroom window and howling under mine!

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Lynn's Comments: Aaron and Katie both encouraged our dog, Willy, to clean up after them. He was a handy mop sometimes and would eat almost anything. With this in mind, I once saw Aaron offering the dog his homework.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Lynn's Comments: When I worked with advertising agencies, one of the things I liked to do was to come up with slogans and catchy commentary. I never took the products as seriously as I took the marketing of them. I doubt that I could do a good job of this today--I'm far too cynical!

Friday, October 2, 2015

Lynn's Comments: I still believe this theory to be true. My mom-in-law's secret for serving the best hostess meals ever was: offer lots to drink and no nibbles. Then, when your guests are ready to eat the coasters, whatever you serve will be the best they ever tasted.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Lynn's Comments: Our dog, Willy had a permanent roost under Katie's chair. As soon as she was seated, he'd race into position and wait. It didn't take long for her to become an accomplice in the game of "don't feed the dog." This charade went on relentlessly, and the only player who lost was me.