Mama told me that she uses this box to find her ants estors, whatever that means. She says it means she’s trying to find out the people from whom she de-sends. I usually don’t much care what others do, so much as it doesn’t affect me. But I just had to give this jeanie alogee thing a try. So here’s my first attempt at tracing my pack.
Mama was told that I am a Pomeranian and Cocker Spaniel mix. Let’s take a look at that.
First let’s take a look at the Pomeranian, since mama says it’s easy to see the Pom in me, with my curly tail and incredibly springy feet. My eyes, too, but definitely not the ears.
Did you know that Marie Antoinette and Mozart once owned Poms? So did Queen Victoria!
Dog Breed Info also says that Pomeranians are smart and would make good circus animals. Hmmph. You never hear humans say “oh he’s a smart guy, he’d be great as a circus performer”.
Now, on to the Cocker Spaniel. Mama says it’s hard for her to see the Cocker in me; sometimes she’s not so sure. But a few times as we were leaving Petsmart (mama loves that store; I hate it, though I do like trying to creep under the racks of dog food for kibble) she’s heard people comment without talking to mama “Look a Cocker Spaniel mix”. Hmmm. Let’s investigate.
This is what an American Cocker Spaniel looks like with me next to her:
thumbnails/american_cocker_spaniel368x_1190665991490.jpg here. Mama can see a little similarity in the fur on the legs. Do you?
Now here is a picture of the English Cocker Spaniel and me:
Now mama can see some similarities when she looks at a picture of the English Cocker. She says the fur on my back grows in a similar pattern. While my head is thinner, the flatness along the nose line and forehead is somewhat similar. Also the lines along the rear upper leg and the hips are similar to the English Cocker, though you can't see it in this picture of me.
The descriptions of both Cockers identify this breed as fun, loving, and great with kids. Well, I’m okay with kids now, but I used to be terrified of them. But I don’t play with them, or anyone else, really. I sometimes play fetch with mama, but not for long and only when *I* want to. Mama says that’s because the Pomeranian in me shows the stubborn streak, and, moreover, she says I wasn’t socialized well when I was a puppy. I was reportedly kept in a crate most of the time and never learned to play or not be afraid of others until I was taken out of that place.
Well, that’s my surmised story, and I’m sticking to it. I know I’ll probably never know who my true ants-estors are, but perhaps I’ve reconciled my packs. What do you think? Do you see Pomeranian and Cocker Spaniel in me? Mama says she could make The Genetic Genealogist proud by mentioning that there are Doggie DNA tests that can determine the breeds of mixed dogs, but mama says it really makes no difference. She loves me just the way I am.
This picture shows the members of the DOYLE and TIGHE clans in front of, I believe, the Leo DOYLE home on Union Street in Pittston, Luzerne County, PA. I think I've also mentioned before that the boy standing up on the 3rd row from the bottom, left side (wearing short sleaved white t-shirt) was the grandson of my great-grandfather John J. DOYLE (1876-1944). The boy shown here was also named John J. DOYLE and he is the one responsible for my getting into genealogy. I'd found a white grave marker engraved with his name, rank/serial number, place and date of death in a group of photographs I was scanning and re-organizing. I started to search Google for the information on the marker to figure out who this person was, since I knew it couldn't have been my great-grandfather. The rest is, well, history.
This is what I will always remember as my true home. This is the house I grew up in on Garlow Road in Niagara Falls NY. When I lived there, there was a huge tree limb that reached across the front window from the tree to the left (top of it is barely visible in this picture from about 1980). Not only was this a great house to live in, the house was in a great neighborhood called Colonial Village. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone's children played in every other family's yard (except for Yarnell's yard; when going from one house to another next to theirs, we had to cut to the street, walk past that house, then cut back up in the yards again). Speaking of yards, this was our back yard, which played host to cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles as well as neighbors and friends. Notice something? NO FENCE. Well, when you see the fence on the next house, the white picket one here doesn't really count.
This house survived numerous pick up football games, a miniature (a REALLY miniature) hockey rink, a sewage leak in the middle of the back yard, a huge crack in the basement caused by the rock quarry down the street, and most of all, it survived .............well......... ME. I haven't lived in this house for over 30 years, and haven't seen it in real life for over 20 years, but the thought of it will always bring back the very best memories of my childhood.
The biggest problem with this house? Well, my brothers would say it was the fact that it only had three bedrooms (which meant they had to share one, since I am the only girl!). But I say it was the fence. Sure, it was functional, and it kept the dogs contained (Mandy here was a great one, but never fear-she was only out front when we were right there to watch her). But it didn't foster much in terms of offering warmth to the neighbors.
