Farley: Browse The Strips

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Part of the fun of drawing Farley is the dirt, the sound effects and the facial expressions. Humans have to be kept believably human, to some extent- especially in a strip that is supposedly realistic...but I could always push the limits when it came to pets. I doubt that a dog would see a pumpkin as a threat unless it was on fire...but in this instance, a cartoon dog has a cartoon experience - and I had a laugh drawing it.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Lynn's Comments: When Aaron was born, Farley the dog was well established as part of the family. Certainly my first introduction to "training" another living thing was the DOG, and from time to time, I clapped my hands and shouted "NO!" to both kid and canine. (I stopped at spraying the kid with water or using a choke chain). Aaron was crawling around the same time he was teething, so kibble and other Farley fare was readily available. When I discovered Aaron teething on a Milkbone and enjoying the grit on his gums, I happily allowed him to indulge. Milkbones, after all, didn't disintegrate into mush like other teething biscuits and it was cheap. The smell of it on the breath of both my charges didn't bother me in the least. Compared to some of the other odors emitted, this was "kissing sweet".

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Farley the dog - in real life - had come from champion stock and had a list of names a yard long (aside from the names I called him). For a while, my first spouse and I belonged to the Old English Sheepdog Owner's Association. We attended shows, meetings and picnics and I did the heading for the monthly newsletter. We thought about breeding Farley and happily chatted to members about all the caveats involved. He was a beauty. Unfortunately it was discovered that he had mild hip dysplasia and we had to make other plans. I often wonder how life would have changed had we become more involved with the serious business side of dog ownership!

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Lynn's Comments: I let my frustration overflow sometimes, sending a tsunami towards my kids. What I discovered was - kids can accept an apology. This wasn't something my folks did too often. An apology was considered a sign of weakness, I guess. For me, it was just plain honesty. When I was at the end of my rope, all I could do was to let the kids know I was human, was in error and was sorry. I think a sincere apology comes from strength, not weakness. Sometimes it's the hardest thing to do but the results, in the end, are wonderful!

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Lynn's Comments: They say that "normal" means different things to different people. For us, normal morphed from one reality into another as the kids grew and changed and became individuals. When they were little, reality was toys - everywhere. Later, it was friends - everywhere - and the sounds of sports, music and video games. Normal didn't become tidy and organized and quiet until they both moved out. Then, normal meant projects and travel and missing them. I went to visit friends of my daughter's recently. Brooke and Matthew have twin daughters, six months old. The girls are just starting to toddle and their small living room is strewn with blankets and toys. Brooke apologized for the mess. I said, "Don't worry, relax - I understand. You have two little kids! ...This is normal!!!"

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When my dad went to the dump, we always wondered if he'd bring home more than he left there. The North Vancouver dump was about 6 miles from home, then a circuitous drive down a long dirt road. Going there was as exciting as anything we ever did on a weekend and my brother and I would fight for the front seat when we saw the folks pitching stuff into the back end of the car. A great chain link fence ran around the "nuisance grounds" and the "dump man" would meet us at the gate. He'd roll his cigarette into the side of his mouth and ask what we were bringing in. Then he'd direct us to the appropriate space in the compound and Dad would steer the old green Volvo into position for the drop. After we'd made our deposit, we were free to check out the scattered offerings hoping to find some treasure. The smell of wet paper, burning fabric and decay was not too bad - considering the fact that stuff here was FREE, so we happily climbed over the rubble on our quest for the perfect thing to rescue and take home. Our shoes took a beating, but all for a good cause. The dump man was cool. He didn't have a uniform, but he had a sort of military air. He enjoyed his place of authority and the fact that dad brought him a beer now and then improved our chances of getting out with something big! The score I remember most was the goose-neck lamp that dad found. It was a sort of greeny-grey....brass, I think, and not too badly scarred from the fire. The cord and plug looked good and Pop figured this was just the thing to go on his workbench downstairs. Mom, of course, was unimpressed and quietly told me later that she expected it would be gone in a fortnight - if she had anything to do with it. Advance to the year they sold their house and moved to Hope. The lamp went too. When our parents passed away, there in the basement on Dad's workbench was the goose-neck lamp. It had followed them for 40 years and was now an heirloom. The trouble with heirlooms is...the heirs have to decide what to do with them. Alan and I thought about taking it to the dump, but we couldn't. Alan is retired from teaching, now and has a workshop in his basement. He makes one-of-a-kind kayaks. He has a nice workbench where he cuts the wood and copper, which he carefully sets into the sides of his kayaks... and, illuminating the workbench, is the goose-neck lamp. Going to the dump has lost its luster for us now, but our memory of Dad's "hunt for treasure" and the goose-neck lamp still remains!

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This year, I will be the same age as Charles Schulz was when I first met him. Cathy Guisewite ("Cathy") and I met "Sparky" Schulz in Washington. We teased him, singing "Will you still need me, will you still feed me--when I'm sixty four?" It was 1986. In 2011, it's my turn to be sixty four...and I'm looking at life through entirely different lenses! Sparky and I both enjoyed drawing the dogs in our strips. Snoopy was a magical fantasy character who could do almost anything, while Farley was just a regular mutt. These cartoon drawings were alive to us and eventually both Farley and Snoopy became frontrunners in our work. If they did not appear regularly, our readers would ask "why?" so it was important for us to invent ways to showcase them as often as possible. Farley allowed me to explore the goofy visual humor that a family pet provides. He was a pleasure to draw and when we had the opportunity to animate him, he was hilarious. Watching other artists "become" Farley as they made him scratch and roll, shake off dust, bark and run wildly in circles is something that makes me laugh every time I think about it. I am so grateful for my friendship with Sparky and for having known Bill Melendez, who animated Snoopy and all the Peanuts characters. I keep in touch with Judy Sladky, who is the magic behind Snoopy On Ice, and as a friend of Jeannie Schulz, Sparky's widow, I will soon be speaking at the Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa with Jan Eliot, who does "Stone Soup". This will connect me again to friends in the industry and remind me once more...that I'm a very "lucky dog!"

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My mother used to nag me constantly! Seems there was always something better to do than play or draw or watch television. The way I saw it, my room was my room and if I had to climb over a Vesuvius of moldering junk to find the bed I slept in, then that was my problem. Clean and ironed clothing was not a priority, nor was washing behind bodily protuberances. I longed for the day when I could do what I wanted to do, eat what and when I wanted to, have my own space, my own money and my own rules. That didn't happen until I was 20 and married for the first time. Then, I amazed even myself. I became a stickler for cleanliness. My apartment was spotless. Clothes were immaculate, ironed and sorted into their exact compartments. The bed was made, the carpets lint free and the kitchen was a neat, organized workspace. It wasn't until I had children that I realized what a degenerate slob I had once been. Hovering over my son as he miserably shoveled the crud out of his bedroom, I could hear myself nagging...with the same tone of voice, using the same language my mother used. Time and time again I promised myself I would not turn into my mother and here I was saying the same darned things - with the same predictable response. Years have flown by. Both of my children have homes of their own and it amazes me to see that they live in clean and tidy environments. I guess, in the end, nagging pays off. My mother, had she lived to see this day, would have been both proud and vindicated!

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When a neighbor's dog barks incessantly, I can't stand it. I lie awake or pace about the house, getting more and more verklempt. I imagine myself doing unmentionable things to both neighbor and dog and so, when we acquired a pooch ourselves, he was not permitted to bark outside at the wind or whatever it is they bark at. The only thing Willy could not resist protecting us from was the snow plow. After a fierce attack of nonverbal abuse, it would recede from the driveway cowering as our small black spaniel ran after it as fast as he could. It was funny and the noise didn't last long. I have never been able to understand how folks can put up with their own dog's incessant barking - much less inflict the misery on others. I also find it hard to understand how a dog can bark for so long without going hoarse or passing out from lack of breath! I suspect the first query can be explained by suggesting that some pet owners are completely unfazed by the noise and don't give a frog's fart about anyone else in the neighborhood. But, what about the dog? I think I can understand why, but if anyone knows HOW they can bark for so long - please tell me. I'd like to understand...'cause, when it comes to pets and their owners, I sometimes have much more respect for the pet!

Monday, March 14, 2011

Lynn's Comments: There really were times when I felt like the family drudge. I guess the problem with housework is...it's never done. Or, to put it another way... it's UNdone as soon as it's finished! I actually enjoy cleaning and organizing stuff... but the thrill is lost as soon as the door opens and some clod walks in with a wad of crud on his boots. Nobody wants to hear Mom complain- about anything. Forget the old "kids should be seen and not heard" quote... mothers are seen, heard but ignored - which is worse! I whined, complained, begged and pleaded and envied my more relaxed friends who could sit and read a book while the dishes formed a crust and the baby ate dog hair. Looking back, I wondered why I even TRIED to keep a tidy house. Who really cared? What my kids remember most about me is...my cooking!

Friday, April 8, 2011

Lynn's Comments: There's no such thing as the whole family "coming down with" something - because one of us is always "UP"! As chief bottle washer, I remember cooking and carrying, flushing, wiping and running up and down the stairs, even though I belonged in the sack too. Funny thing, though; even if I'd had the luxury of live-in help I'd still have wanted to take care of everyone. I'd still have made soup, taken temperatures, wiped foreheads and watched them 'til they slept. Perhaps this is why I like hospitals. I actually like the smell and the bustle and the constant state of "need". I enjoy being with nurses and doctors and learning as much as I can about what makes us "tick". I have never minded being a patient and, some day if I'm ever too feeble to live on my own I won't resent being "put away!!" Maybe I'm practical or perhaps I'm just looking forward to being taken care of - guilt free!

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Aaron was too young to know what was happening and I had already given away poor Farley the dog (Farley was jealous of the baby and was beginning to get rough with him). My brother was coming to stay and I had to find space. My house was a tiny two bedroom bungalow with no basement, so the plan was for Alan to live in the garage. It wasn't a great space, but it was winterized and the doors could be boarded over. I moved my car outside, cleaned and organized and made the garage as habitable as possible. It was going to be an experiment and we both hoped it would work out well.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Colouring eggs was one of the best things about Easter. Mom would boil up eggs, soak them briefly in vinegar to erode the shells and then set out dishes of dye for us to dip them in. The dye kit came with a small metal wand, looped at one end to hold an egg. If you were careful, you could dip one end of the egg in dye, turn it over and dip the other end in a different colour. Not one to do things without a flourish, Mom helped us draw on the eggs with white wax crayon which resisted the dye and left our doodles and designs the colour of the shell. We applied stickers and feathers and plastic eyeballs to our coloured eggs and when we were done, they were put in the fridge until Easter night, when the Easter bunny would hide them, along with chocolate and candy eggs as well. In the morning, after the hunt, we'd put them in the "bunny box". Already in the bunny box was a chocolate bunny for each of us, which we'd eat before breakfast - ears first. Alan and I found out where the eggs had come from (as demonstrated by Tootie's chickens) but this was no longer an issue. The magic and the fantasy always returned with flying colours!

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Like most dogs tall enough to reach the porcelain receptacle, Farley enjoyed a "fresh" cool swig from the commode. The sound of his lapping was intensified by the shape of the bowl, so the "slorping, galooping" effects were as entertaining as he was. What I did object to was the trail of water that poured from his hairy mug when he left the bathroom. I was more concerned about cleaning up after him than I was about his choice of water sources. I kept the biff pretty clean and besides - dogs chew on every disgusting thing they can find anyway. I tried to keep the toilet seat down, but living with men rather thwarts any success there. The trail of post-refreshment liquid really got me down, but I lived with it for the love of Farley. The head-bashing incident belongs to a friend who told me that her three year old son decided to take matters into his own hands after hearing his mom complain about this same problem. She was shocked to find him smacking the family pooch on the noggin as he drank from the toilet. She gave her son a lecture about abusing animals and sent him to his room for a time out. Later she confessed that despite her son's unkind behaviour...the dog had been cured of a bad habit. In other words, he had "put a lid on it"!

Friday, June 17, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Our childhood home on Fifth and Lonsdale in North Vancouver was where all the neighborhood kids seemed to congregate. When our sprinkler was on, it meant food, fun and a bathroom if you remembered to use it! My folks were tolerant and welcoming and everyone took their generosity for granted. They rarely complained, however - they wanted to be able to look out the window and know where we were!

Monday, June 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Aaron was a baby when Farley roamed the house. Because he was my dog and I was used to him, I didn't panic when he'd sidle to the jolly jumper and remove Aaron's lunch from his face with his big, wet tongue. When I see a dog licking a baby's face today, I cringe. Perhaps that's because I no longer have either one!

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Here it is; the truth about Farley and the family car. When I did travel with canine, I put a metal barrier between the hatch back compartment and the rest of the vehicle. This meant that baby and I could inhabit the space safely and without dander. The one time I left Farley in the car sans restrictions, he not only covered the windows with spittle, he jumped on the doorframe and locked himself inside.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Washing a large hairy animal is a challenge - even out of doors. I had tiled the bathroom floor, the bathtub was one of those old, deep ones and we had plenty of towels. I would wait until I had the time and the patience to tackle him and then the fun began. Farley tolerated bath time. He even seemed to enjoy it. The trouble was... what smelled clean to me smelled awful to him and as soon as he was dry, he couldn't wait to go outside so he could roll in disgusting, unmentionable things!

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We tried tying him up, but he howled pitifully and we didn't want to annoy the neighbours. We took him to obedience school, but he was really hard to train. Farley never seemed to get the concept of being lead by a leash and in the end... I was at the end of my rope.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Lynn's Comments: It was fun to connect a pet, which was not allowed to go free, to my husband at the time, who complained about the same thing! I was called a "keeper" and my lack of understanding for "pub night" (which was pretty well every night) made me both judge and jailer . Husband and dog even looked alike! Not long after the man left (for a larger bosom and fewer responsibilities) the dog went too!

Friday, July 15, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This was a series I had so much fun with. Not only did I get to pretend I was a small boy with a wild imagination, I got to draw some funny images and include the dog as well. Strips like these were a pleasure to do and then seeing it on the comics page, knowing others were reading it too, was an absolute thrill.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I never did leave my brother alone in the house with Farley, but if I had, he would likely have talked to him like this. As kids, we'd never had a dog. We had budgie birds, turtles and a chameleon, but nothing big and fun and responsive. It took us awhile before either of us was comfortable with a dog. Where do they like to be scratched? How do you handle one? We tended to talk to them as if they were other adults - and come to think of it, other dog owners talk to their dogs like this, too!

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Lynn's Comments: It amazes me how resilient and stoic some dogs are with young children. They put up with being sat on, pulled at and strangled. Their patience and good humour is remarkable. They seem to instinctively know that babies don't know any better and just have to learn. On the other hand, some dogs can't tolerate young children at all. Some bark and snarl, some just ignore kids and walk away. Amazing, isn't it... to see how often dogs behave like people!

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Lynn's Comments: It doesn't bother me now. In fact, a mosquito in the room when I was married meant a 50% chance of being bitten and I could sleep quite comfortably. When I was a kid, however, the high-pitched whine of a hungry insect drove me nuts. I'd turn on the light and take whatever time it required to hunt it down and do it in. I considered myself to be an excellent sniper. I'd wait for however long it took for the prey to appear and SMACKKK!!! I won. I fairly ruled the summer night until my brother showed me an article that said, statistically, we eat at least 3 spiders in our lifetime - they crawl into our open mouths while sleeping. AAAAAUGH!!!!!!

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Lynn's Comments: It's strange how we slip from being careless and sloppy to fanatically clean. For years, I maintained a house so tidy you could enter any room and find every last thing in place. My lingerie was rolled, folded and colour coordinated, my linens were in perfect piles, my bathroom cabinets immaculate. Even if it was out of sight, my stuff was in order. Now that I live on my own, however, I have reentered the "who gives a ****" phase of life and I view my habitation much as I did as a kid of 10. I haven't made my bed since last week. My work has spilled into the dining room where I can easily get to it and if the dishes sit on the counter overnight...ehhh! I don't do laundry until I run out. I don't pick stuff up until I have to - and I can only describe this lack of decorum as liberating. The other day as I was leaving my bedroom comfortably littered, I distinctly heard my mother say "For heaven's sake stop living like a hermit and take care of this mess!" I thought about all the times I railed at my own kids for living in squalor and I sympathized with them. No matter how well you pick up after yourself, a place is going to deteriorate. I figure "what's the point?" So, like a kid, I only clean up if I have to. My incentive is company. Every time the mess gets to the point of no return, I invite friends for dinner. It's time again to shovel out, so...yesterday, I bought steak.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I remember the face-licking, body-slamming, seat-wagging welcome that Farley used to give us after he'd been left on his own for a while. It was a greeting so filled with joy and expectation, that you couldn't fault him for almost knocking you down!

Monday, October 10, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The MaGoon family did live on McVeigh Avenue in Lynn Lake. The funny part of this strip was that their dog was the size of a chipmunk and sounded like a squeaky toy, no matter how furious he was!

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Lynn's Comments: One of my childhood neighbours had a dog that was specifically trained to defend his owners. The result was that their young daughter would march down the road, dog in tow, and insult us all - knowing that we'd be unable to touch her. She was particularly mean and so was the dog. Eventually this family moved, but even with them gone, we kids were very nervous around large dogs for a long time to come.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: As a new single mother, with nobody around to give me advice, I often turned to the one instruction manual I was familiar with: "How to Train Your Puppy". This booklet got us through much of Aaron's toddlerhood and I don't think it warped his psyche too much. He grew up to be a fairly normal adult... he still does, however, stop and point when he sees ducks.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Aaron seemed to roll in dirt. I would send him out clean and tidy and in seconds, he would return with sand in his hair, stains on his shirt and knees the colour of swamp crud. We didn't have a dog at the time, but with a son who brought in as much dust as Aaron did, we didn't NEED one!

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Having lived in northern communities for most of my adult life, I have been exposed to the fur trade from the trappers' point of view. It isn't unusual to see samples of pelts made into rugs and some are pretty vicious looking. In fact, we owned one ourselves in Lynn Lake. It was a "cross fox" pelt which lay in front of our fireplace. When this Sunday page appeared, I had quite a number of complaints from animal rights activists. They were understandably concerned. It's just that this is the way it was for us and still is. Katie did ask how and why the rug had come to be. I had purchased the pelt to support a family living in the bush - and I felt no guilt in doing so. This is not the best cartoon I ever did - it's probably one of the more forgettable ones... but when you have a relentless deadline, you go with whatever you can think up and run with it. Then... you wait for the flack to come later!