Feisty--or getting in touch with your inner dog

How many of us who have had canine family members have not at one time or another blamed ill-timed Silent-But-Deadlies on the poor dog?  Currently, I am reading How Dogs Love Us, which led me to the linguistic justification for such blame.  The author, neuroscientist Gregory Berns, a professor at Emory University, enlists the help of his dog Callie, whom his family rescued from a local humane society.  In researching Callie’s mixed pedigree, Berns discovered that she has some “feist” in her.  I was familiar with the word “feisty” meaning “full of spirit or determination; plucky or spunky,” as The American Heritage Dictionary defines it, but not familiar with the meaning which Chambers Slang Dictionary supplies of “a small dog; thus having the characteristics of such a yappy, snappy, energetic creature.”

Never having heard of feist as a breed of dog, I immediately looked it up. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “feist” as “Chiefly Southern US A small mongrel dog” from the Middle English word “fist”meaning “a blowing, breaking wind.”  This definition does not capture the idea of farting associated with the Middle English word.

Chambers Slang Dictionary actually defines the noun “feist” as “a truculent, short-tempered person or animal,” with “feisty” as the adjectival form.  In defining “feisty,” Chambers goes into more of the vulgar (24 March 2013) associations going back to the 15^th century form, “fist”:  “a foul smell, the breaking of wind.”  Chambers qualifies its definition with the possibility that “the dog was so named because one’s own smells could be blamed upon it,” admitting this interpretation is doubtful.  However, until neuroscientists discover a way to interpret dog thoughts into human words, dogs will continue to take the blame for stinky human indiscretions, especially after meals of beans.

 Until now, I thought that “feisty” was a formal, somewhat complimentary adjective.  I had no clue that “feist” and “feisty” are words of Southern regional slang with strong associations with farting.  The next time someone accuses me of being feisty, I will search the immediate area for a dog to blame.

LAGNIAPPE:  Supposedly in human grammar, dogs are referred to with the neutral pronoun, “it” as opposed to by human gender.  In this entry, I have chosen to write in doggie grammar, referring to dogs with human pronouns, as in my world, pets are family members.

LAGNIAPPE:  The AHD entry for “feist” refers the reader to pezd- in the appendix of Indo-European roots.  The entry reads, “To fart . . . from Old English fisting, a breaking of wind.”  The appendix goes on to list root words meaning to fart from Middle English (fisten) and from Germanic (*fistiz), ending with ”petard” from the Latin pedere, to fart. The familiar phrase of being “hoisted by one’s own petard,” blown up by one’s own bomb, takes on new meaning.  Now one “hoisted by one’s own petard” can mean being incapacitated by one’s own farts.

LAGNIAPPE: On regional variations in languages, please see the “Our Living Language” note at “andiron” in the AHD.

Tie the knot

The sweet chime of impending wedding bells inspired us to board our car—that is, embark upon a journey--in November and head for Lexington, Virginia, to witness the daughter of some friends “tie the knot”- that is get married.  We were familiar with the metaphorical slang phrase “tie the knot,” but imagine our surprise to find the bride and groom literally tied together as part of the wedding ceremony!

Before your imagination runs too far into visions of kinky rituals, let me assure you that the ceremony was very much G-rated.  As the groom is of Scottish descent, not only was the bag piper, who supplied the music for the ceremony, a nod to that heritage, but the knot-tying ceremony which preceded their formal vows, as well.

The officiant at the wedding explained to those gathered that the knot-tying ceremony developed out of necessity.  Centuries ago, many rural communities did not have a full-time minister, so one minister would have to serve many far-flung communities.  In today’s world, automobile travel makes this circumstance viable so that rural communities have ministers conveniently available.  However, in the days of travel by foot or by horse, rural communities would go for significant periods of time without having access to a minister.  Therefore, communities developed a ritual which allowed couples ready and willing to marry to bind their relationship publicly--literally and metaphorically--so that they could enjoy all aspects of married life until the minister returned to bless their marriage formally.

This ceremony involved a gathering of the townspeople and several ropes.  (Only in the 19^th century would those ropes become equated sarcastically with nooses, as in “tie the noose,” according to my Chambers Slang Dictionary.)  The couple would join hands and an officiant from the community would ask the couple questions about their commitment to each other.  As the couple answered each question, the officiant bound their hands together with a rope which was then knotted.  By the end of the questioning, the couple’s hands were firmly linked together.  The knot had been tied!

The officiant at the wedding we witnessed asked questions such as “Will you cause your spouse pain?” The gathered company chuckled when the groom answered, “I will,” but quickly amended his response to “I may.” He was experienced enough in love to know that he would not intentionally cause his wife grief. Because we are human, we do upon occasion cause pain to those we love.

After we returned home, I did some research into the knot tying ceremony.  The history of knot tying to celebrate weddings reaches much farther back in history and world culture than the explanation we heard.  Knot tying can also involve twining vines and even clothing to signify the bond of marriage.  As it turns out, this type of ceremony is currently so popular that many wedding sites are dedicated to it.

In addition, I pulled out my trusty Oxford English Dictionary.  Reading deep into the entry on “tie,” I finally found a meaning listed as figurative: “to join closely or firmly; to connect, attach, unite, knit, bind by material other than ties; esp. to unite in marriage,” with the first example from literature going back to the 11^th century.

As I tie up this blog, I wish that those of you who are “tied up,” that is married, are happily bound, not only in the ties of matrimony but bound (or headed) in a sweet direction.

LAGNIAPPE:  By the way, once the literal bonds were tied and the marital promises made and witnessed, the ropes were loosened.

Challenge

On 25 October 2013 in the blog entry "(Re)Reading," I discussed my impressions upon re-reading books I had read in my younger years.  At the end, I issued a challenge to my readers to re-read.  I want to re-issue this challenge and encourage you to share your experiences in comments to this blog posting whenever in the future you find time to re-read.

I will start off with a "re-reading" of sorts.  I listen to a lot of books on CD, a habit I developed when I was commuting to Duanesburg.  On long trips, I listen to audio books.  Primarily, I pick books that I would like to read but will probably not read in print format, so I listen to them.  A few years ago, I listened to John Steinbeck's East of Eden and enjoyed the listening.  However, an issue with listening, especially while driving, is it is difficult to pay close attention sometimes.

Recently, a few different people commented that East of Eden was a very good book to read physically, that the act of physically reading was pleasurable, so I read the book on my Nook.  As I read, I knew much of what was coming and found this foreknowledge, for once, to be emotionally difficult.  In enjoyed the act of physically reading the book, but it is not a book I will read again. Steinbeck's prose, indeed, is artful, but it was too painful to reach certain points knowing the dire outcome.  Usually, I am a BIG advocate of re-reading, so I find it ironic to find a book that I enjoyed but would not re-read.  The level of emotions that Steinbeck captures indicates the prowess of his prose.

Travelin'

Greetings, as we embark upon another year in the journey of our lives. Life as a journey is a trite metaphor—except for the Grateful Dead’s “long, strange trip” of “Truckin’”--but when I last blogged, I had been traveling and have traveled since, both literally and metaphorically; therefore, words describing travel have been on my mind for a while.

Modes of travel have evolved over the millennia. When new technologies come into existence, words to describe them have to come from somewhere.  These words can be borrowed from existing technology or simply made up.  Sea travel evolved as the first great innovation in long distance travel. When train travel and air travel followed, many of the terms associated with sea travel transferred to train and air travel.

For example, boats in early years were known as “barks.” The American Heritage Dictionary defines “bark” as a sailing ship or “a small vessel propelled by oars or sails.”  The origin of this word goes back to the Greek referring to a flat-bottomed boat. When we put the prefix “em-,” as in “put into” or “surround with” in front of “bark,” we get the word meaning “to go aboard a vessel or aircraft, as at the start of a journey.” (I will also put forward a meaning of “embark” as what happens when our neighbor’s dogs bark—we are “embarked,” or surrounded by barking.)

In today’s world when we set out upon an odyssey, why do we not “emplane,” “embus,” or “emcar” ourselves, as in Richard and I “emcarred” in November and headed South? (In a recent reading of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, I did notice a usage when Adam as a soldier “entrains” to go somewhere for the military.) Instead, we board a boat, a plane, a train, and a bus, but not a car.  We simply get in a car and go. Why do we not board a car, as well?

Once we reach our destination, we deplane when we get off of a plane and detrain when we get off of a train. (Also, we “detrain” in more ways than one when we fail to keep New Year’s resolutions regarding diet and exercise.) However, we do not debus, deboat, or decar. We get off of the bus and the boat and out of the car. (I cannot help but allude to Tattoo on “Fantasy Island,” exclaiming, “De plane! De plane!”)

As you of friendkind embark on the journey of 2014, may your flight avoid turbulence, may you not miss your bus or your boat, may you have smooth sailing, may your train not derail, and may your trip move smoothly through any construction zones you encounter. Finally, for those of you who are inclined to embrace the metaphor, I wish you that “long, strange trip” about which the Grateful Dead sing in “Truckin’.”

LAGNIAPPE:  Going back to the Greek flat-bottomed boats, think of Homer and his archetype of the literal and metaphorical journey with The Odyssey. The war hero Odysseus’s ten-year delay in getting home after the Trojan War makes recent travel delays and cancellations due to inclement weather seem like a walk in the park.