Even among the closest of sisters, there must be rules. Which of these two lovelies do you suppose is the Alpha Dog?
She's the one who rules the roost. She's the one who takes the food first. It is she who must be petted first, and if she feels that's not happening, she positions herself firmly between the petter and her sister.
She would be Lexi, she of the white nose.
Samantha, of the black nose, is the submissive one.
I always thought that Lexi was the boss because she was  the one who did the humping while Samantha endured this public humiliation. But then we were not sure due to a recent incident.
Monica believed that the poor girls needed some new toys. Pet Smart has an aisle set aside for Monica. Her name is on it. It is there that she gets the "indestructable" ropes and rubber balls and stuffed animals that Lexi and Samantha proceed to destroy within minutes of the toys' arrival in the house..
I put my foot down. No more unwise spending at Pet Smart. I'll just get some good, strong beef bones from the butcher and give each of the girls their own.
We did that, taking the girls outside and handing over the bones.
Within minutes, Samantha had gone berserk, growling at Lexi with her bared teeth at her sister's throat.
We took away the bones and went to that fount of dog psychology -- the Internet.
What we learned is that when the non-Alpha Dog feels threatened, they will strike out. Also, when the "parents" are trying to dispense things in a democratic fashion -- be they bones or affection or toys -- that's not good dog psychology.
Dogs don't like democracy. They want to know who is boss. It keeps everything simple.
So now we've been letting Lexi out of her crate first, giving her her food first, petting her first, and domestic harmony seems to be prevailing.
We just won't be handing out any more bones, no matter who is the Alpha Dog.

The vote was 22 - 0 in favor of creating the non-profit. The Red Dragon lives on!

Tonight, a critical vote will be cast at the Red Dragon Canoe Club, our little local boat club. The survival of the club at its current location -- a block and a half from our home -- is at stake, if not the survival of the club itself.
I'll take a photo of the club house and attach it later. It is a Second Empire structure built probably in the 1860s. I've mentioned it and its prior owners, the Shipmans, in other blogs.
The problems facing the club are financial and physical. Last year, the club's real estate taxes on the house and its six acres increased by several thousand dollars even as the number of members was in continual decline. There are 35 active memberships now compred with 65 in 1994 when Monica and I joined the club. We simply couldn't afford the higher taxes without raising membership dues prohibitively.
The physical problems are also financial. The building needs a new roof and a thorough painting. At a minimum, those items will cost at least $50,000.
Tonight, the members will be asked to vote to approve the creation of a non-profit corporation to facilitate the repair and restoration of the club house, which is listed on the state and federal Registers of Historic Places.
The non-profit, as a charity, would be able to apply for various grants that are available only to non-profits. While in this economy those grants are ever more difficult to obtain, if you don't have a non-profit corporation on your side, you can't even apply.
But we have some members who think they will lose something -- some as yet undefined thing -- if we were to create and run our own non-profit. They are not interested in facts. Their minds are made up.
We don't know how many share that revulsion to our plans. I hope they are few and their arguments are unpersuasive.
The Red Dragon's property is a wonderful anchor to our very nice neighborhood. It could be a benefit well beyond the borders of that neighborhood. It is the only place along the Delaware River in this town where the public has any chance of coming close to the resource of the river, its ecosystem, its international shipping, its sailing and fishing.
In the right hands, the non-profit could help draw more and more individuals to experience and appreciate the wonder of a big river.

It was a good day for boat work in the boatyard. Very little wind and, in the morning, bright sunshine, made it the perfect day to apply two types of scary chemicals to the mast, one to "etch" the aluminum and the other to bond its surface so that it won't (supposedly) chalk. Now instead of a white mast we have a shiny aluminum one on Robin.
Then I almost finished sanding her bottom smooth. That's tedious work, but when the paint is on and the bottom is smooth, it should improve Robin's sailing performance and her fuel economy when (as is usually the case) the motor is running.
But I didn't mean to talk about boat work. Instead, high above the boatyard, I saw today something I've never before noticed. Two large birds were gliding in circles up there, paying no heed to one another, as far as appearances.
They were certainly aware of each other, and they must have been thinking of avoiding a collision. But that's not what was significant.
One was a turkey vulture, they of the grotesque, featherless heads and the magnificent ability to soar when there is virtually no wind.
The other was an osprey, a killer of fish who is almost the vulture's equal in soaring.
When I first noticed them, the osprey was to the west of the vulture. They circled in approximately the same rythm, lazily, at about the same altitude, circled but also slipped sideways, so that their exact tracks must have been loops along a course.
Then the vulture was to the west, the osprey east. And then  they drifted apart.
And what struck me was not their flight but their purpose. The vulture looks for carion. The osprey, usually, hunts for live fish, although I wouldn't be surprised to see a small housecat in its talons if the bird thought it would make a good meal.
One is designed to kill. The other's job is to keep the place tidy of road-kill.
Pieces of the puzzle that is nature, flying side-by-side on this beautiful day, each fulfilling its role. The universe is in balance, even when we, filthy humans with our smokestacks and urban sprawl and scary chemicals, do our best to wreck it. Even should a crow raid an osprey's nest of its eggs. Even should a semi run down a flock of vultures feeding on the carcas of a deer on the pavement.

Didn't get lost, after all. Greetings from my side of this electronic thing.
Robin's port bottom is ready for paint. Her starboard side needs a final sanding. Then the topsides all have to be sanded before I get the paint buckets out.
But I haven't done any work there in about a week. A virus caused some down time. And the wind has been terrific if you're running with it but not too good for outdoors boat work like sanding (dust blows on everyone else's boat) or painting (others' dust blows on yours.)
Today I bought a 1-inch diameter, nine-inch-long bolt to replace the one that was cut away in the fall to get the mast down. The bolt was there to hold the mast in its place in the aluminum mast step. Corrosion, which now I've learned is called galling, between the aluminum mast and the stainless steel bolt had welded the two together.
I went to a steel yard today after phoning to be sure they had a bolt I could use. They gave me the wrong information, so now I have a regular steel bolt rather than a stainless one.That poses a question for which I'm seeking answers.
Is there a way to prevent a standard steel bolt from rusting when it's used in this capacity? I had planned to put a product called Never-Seez all over the bolt to reduce the chance of galling. Does anyone know if Never-Seez has any rust-inhibiting qualities?
I've already quizzed Dick Mills aboard Tarwathie on the subject, and he is doing some research. Thanks, Dick.

I just stumbled onto a changed blog format. Google has done something that may have ended my blogging career. I'll try to post this observation before I commit any more time to this unanticipated adjustment in the course of the blog. Hope to see you soon.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Gary called and updated me on what he was doing. He'd been to California to visit his boat, a Cape George 31. A friend of his was doing some work on it, including replacing the manual windlass with an electric one.
Now I can understand why Gary might want an electric windlass. He's getting older. But I've found our electric windlass quite a bother and, at times, no great savoir from heavy lifting. There are two foot-switches by which you raise or lower your anchor. When those switches are attacked by corrosion, they stop working.
Then you start working, lifting whatever chain you've sent overboard, along with the 45-pounds of steel that is your anchor -- all by means of your leg and back muscles.
So I said to Gary: "Gee, I'm looking for a way to replace my electric windlass with a manual one."
Just the other day, this arrived by UPS delivery. The UPS man used a hand truck to get it down the driveway and up onto our front step. He left it to me to find a way to get it inside the house. If I shackled it to an anchor chain, it might work that way. It weighs 20 more pounds than our best anchor.

But I won't do that. I'll take off our electric windlass and mount this on Robin's foredeck in its place. This is a beastly machine. You place a lever in that shiny wheel on the left and move it back and forth and the bronze wheel to the right turns, pulling your anchor chain. The longer your lever, the less effort weighing anchor takes.
Thanks, Gary, from the bottom of my previously aching back! I can't wait for the next time we drop the hook.