RIP with Wol, Weep, and the Dog that Wouldn't Be

Farley Mowat is dead. I don't know whether to be sad, or impressed that death finally caught up with him.

Three anecdotes about Farley Mowat I vaguely recall having seen/heard:

About seven or ten years ago, I saw an interview with a man who loved Mowat's writing so much he'd had a detailed portrait of the artist's face tattooed on his leg. They also spoke to Mowat, who did not seem surprised.

There is a short independent film called "Farley Mowat Ate My Brother." After it premiered, Mowat wrote to the filmakers praising the piece. When they expressed relief that he wasn't angry, he added that as a "grudge-hugging Scot," he might just be biding his time and lulling them into complacency while he plotted revenge.

A Canadian couple visiting Yorkshire got into conversation with an older man who upon learning they were from Canada, asked (adding that he knew Canada was a big country and everyone there didn't actually know each other personally) if they'd heard of a writer named Farley Mowat, as he'd enjoyed his work. As it happened they had not only heard of Mowat, they were from Port Hope where he lived for the last decades of his life. then they figured out that the gentleman asking was Alf Wight, AKA James Herriot.

"Hymn to the Internet"

Originally posted by browngirl at "Hymn to the Internet"

I probably shouldn't post more than a poem a day, but when Tigerliliy sent me this one she titled the email as I have titled this post, and she wasn't wrong. ( Read more... )