Thanksgiving

Anyone who knows my family knows we are dog people. It’s a love—or perhaps an obsession—that began two decades ago with Bear, an abused sheltie, and Annie, a mix of multiple breeds, all of which we presumed were actually dog. Annie and Bear were up in years when we moved to Garrett Park, and they didn’t live here for long. Annie succumbed to an enlarged heart, and Bear had a stroke.

When Bear died, we swore he was our last dog, and we kept that promise for four days. We welcomed a sheltie puppy named Belle, followed several months later by her littermate Lily. These two sisters had a little Thelma and Louise in them. One afternoon, a woman pulled up in a station wagon, with two black dogs in the back. She’d found them on opposite sides of the tracks, attempting to catch a freight train. Underneath the coating of grime lurked our dogs. Another day, these mostly white dogs rolled their way through a freshly mown lawn and came out day-glo green.

Two years ago, on President’s Day, Lily died from a rare liver disease. Belle is still with us, but she is in decline. She shares her existence (mostly willingly) with Tess, a former stray from West Virginia believed to be an American Eskimo dog, and Piper, a cross between a sheltie and a collie rescued from a dog hoarder in Georgia.

Somehow, though, three just didn’t turn out to be enough. This summer—as if to prove, first, that you should never let your spouse volunteer in an animal shelter and, second, that a spouse’s heart is generally bigger than her sense of what the neighbors will think—we brought home Cora. A nine-pound Pomeranian, she was a breeding mother from a horrific puppy mill in Tennessee. She had likely never been out of a chicken-wire cage, having been bred during every cycle of her 5 years. Her first days in our family, Cora spent most of her time on the deck, trotting in a small, counterclockwise circle, presumably the only pattern of movement she knew. She didn’t understand affection, because she had never been held or petted. For her entire life, she’d been a breeding machine.

After a day or two, I tried to get Cora to take a walk. Within a few uncertain blocks, something clicked. She began to prance at the end of the leash. She was fearful of people (and the ice cream truck) but not of the world. After that, we would walk in the evening for an hour, and then she would sleep in our bed, safe in the crook of my left arm. More than once, the thought occurred to me that if her life were to end tomorrow, we’d given her a better today than she’d ever known.

Columbus Day weekend, Cora’s tomorrows with us came to an end. She slipped out of the yard and, according to the few people who caught a glimpse of her, ran as if her life depended on it. Just what happened to that life, whether she was picked up or perished, we do not know.

It was, however, in the hours and days after Cora disappeared that we came to truly understand what it means to live in this town. It had nothing to do with houses or yards or gardens. It had nothing to do with historic preservation. It had nothing to do with trees. It had nothing to do with living in an enclave protected from the encroaching traffic of Rockville Pike and Connecticut Avenue. And it most certainly had nothing to do with a silly lawsuit about setbacks. It had everything to do with people who cared.

The weekend Cora went missing, a brigade of flashlight-toting neighbors came out and searched late into the evenings. I saw kids with missing-dog flyers on their bikes and scooters. I saw a woman and her husband walking through the woods gently calling her name. As we searched, not a single neighbor complained about the flyers we slid in their doors and under their windshield wipers. With just one exception, no one whined about the recorded phone message about her. Neighbors volunteered to help search on Saturday and Sunday and Monday. Garrett Parkers allowed us to peer into their yards and sheds, often more than once. People we didn’t know called to ask if she’d been found or simply to express their sympathies.

Yes, Cora was a dog, and not all of us see pets in the same light. Yet, she was precious to us. To all of you who shared that sentiment or who simply wanted to help a family in distress, please accept our deepest thanks.

This story has an epilogue. His name is Griff, a feisty, 15-week-old ball of Pomeranian fluff (pictured above) from an Amish puppy mill in Ohio, where he would have been consigned to a life not much better than Cora’s. Griff has made us smile again. He will never replace Cora, nor will we ever repair the hole she left in our hearts. That’s probably not a surprise. Anyone who knows my family knows we are dog people.

Believing in Small Gestures

There was a minor agenda item at Monday night’s council meeting that got me thinking.

Garrett Park Administrator Ted Pratt sought (and received) authorization from the council to move the town’s checking account and the Betsy White Emergency Loan Fund account from Wachovia Bank to Sandy Spring Bank. The proposed move was, in part, practical: The new accounts will yield higher interest. But Ted also made an impassioned case for moving the town’s money from a bank mired in financial crisis caused, at least in part, by bad mortgage debt and other troubled investments to one that is local and accountable to its community.

Given the dollar amounts in question, it’s pretty clear that switching banks isn’t going to make a dent in Wachovia’s balance sheet. And that’s what led me to wonder whether symbolic gestures like Ted’s are worth the trouble.

Like Councilmember Hans Wegner’s belief that town property should be powered solely by wind-generated electricity, even if it costs more and public appreciation is short lived.

Like Warren Kornberg’s belief in an impeachment petition that would likely have had no impact on national debate.

Like Garrett Park’s declaration, more than a quarter century ago, of its nuclear freedom.

Why do some of our fellow citizens take the time and go to the considerable effort of standing up for symbols? Maybe it’s because passion, commitment, and personal code sometimes trump what is practical. And sometimes sparks catch fire.

Does that mean we should vote in favor of anything anyone believes is right? Of course not. Should we discuss and debate what our community stands for? You bet. But perhaps this quirky little town should pause once in a while and say thanks to our neighbors, even the ones we disagree with, who believe in the power of small gestures.

November Town Council Meeting

What a difference a month makes. At its November meeting last night, the Town Council didn’t debate a zoning ordinance. There were no arguments or accusations about the lawsuit against the town and who’s right or wrong. In fact, the meeting was relatively brief and, frankly, not particularly exciting. It was wonderful.

First up was a presentation about the Garrett Park Elementary School’s stage. As all GPES alumni know well, this school has a long tradition of support for the arts. Yes, it’s elementary school, and performances of pre-teens often fall into the category that Randy Jackson on American Idol would call “a little pitchy, dog.” But that misses the point. These are little kids, who just might, if they are very, very lucky, move through life with a lasting appreciation for music and the stage. The problem right now is the stage itself. GPES is slated, beginning in late 2010, to be transformed into a modern, three-story building. Unfortunately, the County’s plans for a small, trapezoidal stage with no wings or back curtain would put quite a crimp on performance possibilities. So, the Garrett Park Elementary School Education Foundation is raising money to fund a stage at least the size of the existing one and maybe, if the bucks are right, bigger. The foundation wants the town to contribute $5,000 to the effort this fiscal year and $10,000 next year. (The whole stage project will cost $150,000 to $200,000.)

The obvious question is whether the town should play. Well, there is a history. Sixty years ago, the town kicked in to help build the stage GPES has now. In the current case, Mayor Keller suggested that, in return for the town’s possible financial backing (budget planning starts in a couple months), the town might be able to negotiate first dibs on rentals of the new space for events too large for town hall.

During this discussion, I couldn’t escape a feeling of foreboding--that if America’s fiscal nightmare is protracted, the town, in years to come, will have fewer and fewer opportunities to devote precious funds to more than basic services.

It may be lucky, then, that there is a possible resolution about the future of the Garrett Park Nursery School that likely wouldn’t consume buckets of cash. Mayor Keller and Councilmember Hans Wegner reported on a recent meeting with Montgomery County park and planning officials, who seem amenable to transferring to the town ownership of the nursery school building and the lot it sits on. But the County wants something in return: the half of the basketball court near Penn Place that the County park system doesn’t currently own. There would need to be clear conditions on this land swap, said the mayor, including a perpetual easement to the town, ensuring that a basketball court remains a basketball court and that access to Porcupine Woods remains unchanged. One potential enticement: the County folks have suggested that they might be able to build us a gazebo. Next steps: a written proposal from park and planning, followed by careful consideration.

In the more immediate fiscal situation, the town budget is taking a big hit in one area: the lawsuit Martin v. Garrett Park. “We are burning through cash in legal fees at the rate of $50,000 a month,” said Town Administrator Ted Pratt. At the moment, there’s a budget shortfall of about $54,000 in the “professional fees” category, so the council voted to transfer $20,000 from the operating contingency fund and $35,000 from the capital contingency fund, to cover the gap. There will almost certainly be more transfers needed, down the line. [Insert the comment of your choosing here about who’s to blame.]

Why a Blog?

I am now writing in this online forum because of a disagreement with the Bugle about editing--not whether the Bugle had an absolute right to edit my copy, but whether, as a volunteer writer, I had should have been granted the privilege to review, before publication, how my words had been edited.

For the year and a half that I covered the council for the Bugle, I never pretended to be providing reportage. I wrote a column--a reported column--in which I was not shy about saying what I thought. Along the way, I have been accused of bias by partisans on both sides of the same issue. More than one councilmember has complained about my coverage. I have tried to be fair, yes, but have never pretended to be impartial. I called them as I saw them. After 25 years in journalism, I believe I understand the concept of fairness.

In the November issue of the Bugle, Loretta Bonner wrote, in a letter to the editor, that my coverage of town setback issues was "an editorial" and that I had "lost sight" of my duty to "report the news fairly and impartially."

So, here's an offer to the plaintiffs in the lawsuit against the town, to show you just how fair and impartial I can be: Sit down with me for an interview. I will ask you some questions about the suit and what principles led you down this path. I'll also have some questions you may not like, about the timing of your suit and whether there have been any settlement offers along the way. Let's sit down for a conversation. I will record the whole thing, and will publish a complete transcript. Try me, and see just how fair I can be. If you're interested, just shoot me an E-mail to rafolkers@verizon.net.