Farley: Browse The Strips

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I did these strips after agreeing to look after a friend's two-year-old. Both my kids were in school, and my home was no longer baby-proof. I had forgotten how to feed, carry, talk to, and otherwise live with a toddler and was right out of my element. To add to this, my charge was the spawn of "New Age" parents who felt that discipline curbed a child's natural curiosity. In other words, the kid was a terror. His mother arrived before I called and begged for mercy. Thankfully, she never asked again!

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, March 23, 2014

Lynn's Comments: The real story behind this strip was quite different from what you see here. It began with a dream. I was on a dock on Bowen Island waiting for the ferry to arrive. It came in with a rush of water and a hiss from the engines, and when it pulled in, the hull hit the wooden pilings and the waves pushed it up and down against them, making an awful, rhythmic scraping sound. This became so loud, it woke me up. There I was in bed, with my arm around my husband, and he was snoring --with the same rhythmic, grating sound!

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I think moms should go away once in awhile, just so the family left at home can discover for themselves what we REALLY do all day!

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?

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I did this Sunday page after I was squeezed in half by a sadistically designed lawn chair. I brought the chair into my studio and drew the exact position it was in when it maimed me. I felt relieved and vindicated even before the art was published. This job came with unlimited and curative benefits. I was jubilant when I took the chair to the dump.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Lynn's Comments: The Barnstorf family lived across the street from us in Lynn Lake. Aaron and their youngest son, Roy, were great pals--always on the go, always getting into something. One would spur the other on, and although they could be troublesome, they never really got into trouble. The Barnstorfs' dog, Lady, was a wide, placid, and friendly English Springer Spaniel. She would put up with just about anything. One day, I went out to look for the boys and I heard the "Rmmmm-rummmm, neeeerooowwwww" sounds kids make when they're pretending to ride a motor bike. Around the side of the house, Aaron watched, waiting his turn--while Roy, standing astride Lady, loosely twisted her ears as if they were handles. Leaning forward like a racer, he drove Lady down an imaginary speedway, changing gears, changing lanes; you could almost see the wind whipping up their hair. Lady was expressionless, moving side to side, as if she were a hot machine and part of an improv comedy skit. I admonished both boys for teasing the dog, but inside, I laughed and looked forward to someday putting this scene into the strip.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Lynn's Comments: One of my husband's favourite sayings--when he was facing a seemingly impossible task was, "Details! details!"--meaning that anything can be done. This was a family inside joke, which the kids really enjoyed.

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, January 4, 2015

Lynn's Comments: I have always had fun with sound effects and radio broadcasts, labels and names. Jim Borecki is the name of a good friend, with whom I have lost touch. I tried to contact him by putting his name in this strip, but so far I have not been able to find him.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Lynn's Comments: One of the things I love to do is sound effects. Trying to come up with the phonetic spelling for the sound a head makes as it hits a pillow, for example, is so much fun. ("FWUMPP" would do it). I think the sound effect I am most proud of is the sound of a toilet plunger. It goes: "Ka_FLOOMP-a-GUSH." Sometimes you have to decide whether to repeat a letter as in "FWAPPPP!" One "P" just won't do it. A smack with a wet towel, for example has to sting. This requires several P's.

If you are a fan of Mad magazine, you'll remember the wonderful comic art of Don Martin. His sound effects were fabulous. I think he coined "Fwoooommmm!," and "Ka-chingggg!" One of the weirdest letters I ever received was from Don Martin's wife accusing me of stealing her husband's sound effects. I didn't think I had. The sounds I wrote all came from my head. Then again, can you really lay claim to a cartoon sound? WHHHHOOOOO!!! I sure hope not!

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!!!!!

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Lynn's Comments: This isn't so much a scene from my son's adolescence, but my own. My parents both worked at our jewellery store and would be home around 6:00 pm. I was supposed to have the dinner on by the time they arrived--everything was set out for me and easy instructions were left on the counter. Even so, I thought it as the biggest imposition in the world; unfair, because my younger brother didn't have to do ANYTHING! Eventually, I started to have some pride in the fact that I could cook! This gave me some real confidence, since many of my friends couldn't even make a sandwich.

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.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Lynn's Comments: They told us at the kennel club (we were members of The Old English Sheepdog Association) that we needed to be persistent, authoritative, and to take charge. Having no children at the time, we had time to learn how to train a dog and considered this good practice for parenting later on!

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, May 3, 2015

Lynn's Comments: After this strip ran, I received dozens of letters from readers who wanted to know what the heck was Michael doing with a bag of milk! Everyone knows that milk comes in waxed paper cartons or in plastic jugs, so what was this all about anyway?!

All an artist has to draw from is what she sees around her, and in my place of residence, milk comes in cartons, but also in strong plastic bags with a set of three bags of milk inside. Each smaller bag contains a litre of milk and we use special plastic or pottery jugs to keep them upright in the fridge. This way of packaging milk is as familiar in Canada as Coke in a can, so I assumed my readers everywhere would get the gag! Not so. The thing that struck me about the questioning letters was that some of them were as cruel and derisive as the trolls on the internet are today. They spoke with indignant authority, demanding to know what the **** I was talking about! Didn't I KNOW that milk doesn't come in bags?

Fortunately, this was when mean messages came with return addresses and we had a lot of fun sending photos and copies of milk advertisements to those who needed to see it for themselves. The impression I got from this was that not enough people travel, and they should!--Especially to Canada.