Strongheart Beef Flavor (Dog Food Labels 1 of 5)

I've got a real treat for you -- for five days only, with one a day, some classic dog food labels.

Collecting dog food labels is admittedly a rare hobby. But if you know anyone who does it, they'll tell you it's actually quite rewarding. One, it preserves the history of the labeling of dog food. And two, it's economical. You can still get some real steals, even on eBay.

I wanted to bring out a few of my pieces here, a quick series of five labels only, both to display them and to say a little about each one, what makes it such a nice piece and so forth.

I've always thought the Strongheart labels were among the most beautiful, so this week I'm going to feature four different ones, the Beef flavor you see pictured, then four other varieties. The last in the series will be a beautiful Husky label, which, as you may recall, has a very bold red background and a Husky dog on it with a tongue redder than a strawberry! The Husky label, also being made by Strongheart, complements the others while providing variety.

Anyway, let's look at the Strongheart Beef label today. I've always considered Beef the basic flavor. Liver has its distinctives, and Beef, Liver & Bacon is a specialty flavor, but Beef is very basic. But being basic, Strongheart didn't give it a plain label. On the contrary, it's very nice, showing two things, how basic the flavor is and how valuable it is to Strongheart's lineup. We see the "Blue Ribbon Recipe" ribbon on each flavor. But the Beef is the one with the blue background, matching the ribbon perfectly. To me, that's the same as saying its place in the lineup is first, first among peers.

Of course we see the dog in the center that is part of the Strongheart logo, then that strong, rich blue background, the flavor announced in yellow capital letters, and the other elements necessary for labeling canned dog food. How do we know there's beef in the can? Because we can glance over at the list of ingredients and see it explicitly says "Beef by-products."

It's quite a nice piece!

Just a little collector's inside information. The UPC code number on this flavor was 77200 10106.

Tomorrow: Strongheart Liver flavor.

Elvis Presley -- A Squirrely Looking Guy

On the Elvis Presley album, "Elvis In Person," now part of the "Legacy Edition" CD set fronted with the "On Stage" album, between tracks, Elvis has a few things to say.

It's right at the end of "Hound Dog," just before he goes into "I Can't Stop Loving You," that he's taking a drink of water, and he mimics someone who might be talking about him, "It that him? Thought he was bigger than that. Squirrely looking guy, ain't he?"

Isn't that something? That Elvis would suggest he was a squirrely looking guy? To me that's really something, because I can't think of anyone who looks better. Maybe I'm just jaded from looking at Elvis most of my life -- my first album at 5 was an Elvis record. When I look at Elvis I must be looking with completely different eyes, although I know there's a lot of people who are the same.

But when you are Elvis, which only he could be, he must've had some of the same complexes that a lot of us have, who don't happen to be famous, and who aren't looked at a lot by people. Like in my case, if I keep my head down no one sees me. If I keep my head up, only ticket takers, security guards, and beggars notice me.

I might be something of a "squirrely looking guy," not as squirrely as a lot of people I see on a daily basis, although I tend to see a lot of beauty in the average squirrely looking person. Some of them I have to turn away from, of course, but that should go without saying.

But Elvis squirrely looking? Never!

UPDATE: Maybe I don't know the official definition of squirrely. But I think it has to do with appearance as well as eccentricity.

93% Of Blogs Will Never Mention Status Spam

Will you?

I know I will. I'll mention it.

There's a weird animal out there. Someone's pumping into the Facebook system status spam. It's not selling anything. But it's just as annoying.

I don't like any of the messages, but my favorites among the ones I don't like are the ones that tell the statistics about who will repost the message:

People should understand that children with disabilities do not have a disease; children with disabilities are not looking for a cure but ACCEPTANCE........93% of people won't copy and paste this, WILL YOU be one of the 7% that does and make this your status for at least a hour

You're one of the very special people, in the 7%, if you will make this your status for at least an hour. "Would someone like you ... post this on your status ... for someone like me?"

Here's a new one, written by someone who thinks supporting the troops means we need to ignore bras. I say we can have both, everyone stripped down to their bras while carrying the flag!

ANYBODY IN THIS COUNTRY PATRIOTIC ANYMORE!?! Bra colors made FaceBook news BUT WILL THIS? Lets support our Troops. If you support our Troops then please post this on your status and leave it there for one hour. There should be no excuses from anyone!!!!! This should appear in everyone's status

Several of the status spam entries try to shame you into reposting them. You've got to prove you're with the in crowd, or else! The religious ones don't come right out and tell you you're going to Hell if you don't spam your status, but the threat is real:

For my Friend, Jesus, a new Facebook challenge. I am out to prove that my friends will repost, I hope I am right! Let's lift up His name and make a statement. When Jesus died on the cross He was thinking of YOU and me. If you are not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ, copy and repost! Remember God said if you ......are ashamed of me I will be ashamed of you.

Then there's all the ones that have to do with the relatives we have. Our grandchildren, mothers, brothers, sisters, and fathers are the greatest in the world. And when they start complaining we forgot to write, we can always say, "We remembered you on Facebook."

What's on your mind?It is GRANDCHILDREN week. If you have been blessed with grandchildren that are truly amazing, the pride and joy of your life and make growing old so worth it, copy and paste this on your status. God bless grandchildren!!!!

 IT'S "SON WEEK" : If you have a son or sons who make your life interesting and fun, who has been a blessing in your life and makes life worth living just by being around - copy and paste this to your status. ♥.Your Sons will outgrow your lap, but never your heart...♥

Daughter week : If you have one daughter or more who makes your life interesting and fun, has been a blessing in your life, and generally makes life worth living by being around, copy and paste this to your status. The world would not be the same without daughters....I am truly blessed to have the best!!!!!!

 If your Mom is your hero, whether you are blessed to have your Mom still with you, or if she has gone to be with the Lord, copy and paste this with her name.

Or if she didn't post the thing about the Lord when she had her chance and went to Hell, you can also copy and paste this with her name. But please do so in the middle of the night, so it will scroll off before all the good people get up in the morning.

There are plenty of ones to be had for those who are up in the afterlife somewhere. Those ones we'd go up to Heaven and bring back, if only we could.

Thought of you with love today, but that is nothing new. I thought about you yesterday, and days before that too. I think of you in silence, I often speak your name. All I have are memories and a picture in a frame. Your memory is a keepsake, with which I'll never part. God has you in His keeping, I have you in my hear......t. Repost if you have a loved one in Heaven! ♥ ♥ For my many loved ones waiting for me in Heaven.

And a couple others have to do with the nature of true friendship. I chose you. I made a conscious decision to make you my friend. Also, I'm a fan of McDonald's and a member of I BET I COULD FIND 1,000,000 PEOPLE WHOSE FAVORITE COLOR IS PLAID.

Every single one of you are on my friend list as a result of a conscious decision. I am not only glad to count you as friends but also as family! Let's see who in my Friend's List actually pays attention. Copy and repost this in your own bulletin. You can't choose family but... you can choose friends..

A true friend doesn't care what you're wearing, if your home is tidy or not, if your car is making funny noises, that you only have $5 in the bank this week, or that you and your loved ones aren't perfect... A true friend just loves you for you! Repost this if you have at least one true friend. ♥

Hey, if you are my friend, don't forget, You owe me $5.00! 93% of you will never pay me back!

The End Is Near

I was thinking some very discouraging, depressing things today when I got up. About this blog, that at some point it's got to end.

Even if I wrote it -- let's say till I got sick and came close to dying, or until I suddenly dropped dead, or until I became mentally incapacitated, or until I was in the hospital for a three month stay, at some point I'm not going to be able to.

Then what? There doesn't seem to be a service out there that comes around, gets your password (confidentially, of course, lest you recover and live another five years), then terminates things. Puts a fitting farewell message, or wraps up the whole thing and sends it all to the Smithsonian, then terminates it lovingly, putting behind an animated GIF of an eternal flame with your name and dates, etc.

I don't know what's supposed to happen. There's no rules in the wild west, apparently.

If you're working at a factory, of course they have you out of there long before you become frail and can't keep up the pace. It's conceivable that someone could die on the assembly line. The lineman would step in to keep the line going. They have some of those safety devices in a case on a pole. Someone would break it out, a porta-stretcher. They'd put your body on it and hustle it to the gate. By all means the line would keep going.

I haven't exercised in a month, true statement. My stomach is telling me it's only a matter of time now.

What I'm going to do -- or not do -- when the end comes, I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I guess I have bigger things to worry about. Like survival.

My Miscellaneous Morning

I got up and looked at a poem. "Tiresias," by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Such things are always obscure to me, since I never just know the names and relationships, especially about things that no one ever mentioned in school.

Now that I think back -- it's been well over an hour -- I guess I read the whole thing. Then I looked it up in a "Reader's Encyclopedia" and they didn't mention it. Except just by name in an entry on Tennyson, which also said that Tennyson's poetry is basically insipid and that he reflects the norms of conventional Victorian society or some such.

I'm thinking, This guy's this famous and he's just a hack? It sounded good to me. But what I know! I only hope I fare better when they finally get around to compiling all my blog posts. I don't want some ignorant schmuck reading them 150 years from now just to discover that I was "insipid" all the while. Not that I picture that happening. True genius can't be dismissed by a "Reader's Encyclopedia."

So I did that. Started off with Tennyson -- read "Enoch Arden" again last night -- now spitting it out.

While on the page about about "Tiresias," which the Encyclopedia did have an article on, although not relating to Tennyson, I saw a little article about St. Theresa, so I was looking around for my copy of "The Inner Castle." Which I couldn't find. My own castle isn't arranged neatly enough or systematically to ever find anything when I want it. Other days I'm moving big piles of them around.

Speaking of big piles, next I took the dog out early, since I heard her clomping by my door, meaning she was on the way to the kitchen to pee on the floor. I made a decision a couple days ago that if I heard her go by I'd intercept her and we'd go outside early. She seemed stunned, but my quick thinking prevented a puddle on the floor.

She really went too, a few Number Ones and a couple Number Twos. With Tennyson on my mind, it led me to rhyme, "I wonder how it got in her / Must've been her dinner."

That accomplished, my mind was racing. I had a lot of other inspired thoughts.

Right, now I remember, I was also reading the first few pages of "Faust -- Part 2," that starts off with a reverie on the greatness of the day. So I'm out with Underbrush and her poop bag, looking up to see one big star (other than the sun just under the horizon), and to think about my existence. I heard a bird off in the distance make a noise and thought about him sleeping outside all night and how much better I had it. I reached down and felt some cold snow on my hand. It melted right away, meaning we could get rid of all the snow if everyone would go out for 10 minutes everyday and grab a few handfuls of it.

Now a quick bagel, milk, grape juice, and freshly ground coffee, a cup of it, and typing this report, and it's about time to do something else.

Note: My copy of Benet's "Reader's Encyclopedia" is considerably older than the Fifth Edition, so I don't know if Tennyson's reputation has been rehabilitated in the meantime.

An Idea On The Vine

Any idea, you should let it ripen on the vine.

The seeds of an idea, its first hint, takes root in the soil of thought. The posts and poles, horizontal and vertical, are there as a structure for it. That would be the architecture of your brain, your mind.

Somehow then your idea starts out as a seed in the tender, unpredictable soil of thought. It's pushing and striving to get buried in the best soil. There's lots of other seeds already in the area. The image is easy to see.

Now, you as the owner of the vineyard, the dresser of the thing, are paying attention to your best soil and best seed. You want to get the thing going. You already have other vines producing, of course, but this is for the future, immediate or distant, and it's not good to rely only on what you already have.

So there it is, the one seed, this seed, and all the other seeds, in the soil of thought, and they -- or it -- gets going. You see it growing, it grows rich and lustrous until it's seed days are way behind it.

Your idea has sprouted and is out of the ground, up on the structure, starting to wind around, starting to toughen up and develop further, starting to cling, to take possession of the structure, while down here it's choking and putting other seeds and sprouts out of their misery. This is one killer idea.

A little time passes, while you're carefully tending, carefully watering, pruning and nurturing it. It's big enough and strong enough, really, to stand on its own. You could go back to the house and take a nap. And it'd be good if you did.

Then you can come back and the idea is virtually full grown, pretty enough on the vine that you start bringing in decorative trellises to make it look at home. They've got horizontal and vertical aspects and are made out of the prettiest wood painted white.

As time goes by, quickly, you're doing the last little touches on the idea, pictured here as quite a lively vine, which has flowered up and is giving life to little bits of fruit, that then become bigger, plumper, mature, obviously juicy.

You hate to waste anything, but you simply have to have a bite, so you find one off at the edge somewhere and bite in. Ahh, it's perfection!

Now it's time to stand back and let the natural elements do their thing. Any meddling at this point would be superfluous, and potentially harmful to the thing. You've done your part in giving it life, now it's time to let it live freely. All the while producing fruit for you that will be the richest, best, most welcome fruit.

It's good for the taste, and good for the soul.

Come Together, Men Of The World

Men of the world, let us unite, joining in common cause for the good of all men!

Recent photos taken of the Earth from outer space by NASA have given me a new sense that we really do live on a finite, single planet. I don't know if you've seen any of these -- I believe they were taken 40 years ago -- but they're beautiful, in fact they're stunning in their beauty. The world is suspended in space, a blue ball that seems bigger the closer you get, and conversely smaller the farther you get.

To see the Earth like that really gives me pause and I reflect, All men live on that finite planet.

It's true. All men -- whether they're male or female, boys or girls -- dwell on this one relatively small planet. The thought that we shouldn't come together, that we shouldn't be united in common cause is too absurd to consider. And yet, we know that's exactly the state of things among men.

Men are separated and divided by many aspects of our lives. We could give a long, boring list: socially, economically, politically, linguistically, the haves and have-nots, those who like boiled cabbage and those who don't, blue eyes, brown eyes, blind. We know that one nation holds a knife to the throat of another nation, and in terms of getting along, nobody's winning any prizes. Terrorists ply their evil trade, throwing anvils from planes, sparking fear on all fronts. It's a mess.

Yet they too are men! Whether you're old, young, middle-aged, fat, skinny, or a million different other things, you are among the world of men. You have that in common with other men. There's no good reason we shouldn't be banding together for the good of all men. The world is depending on us to do our best.

As for myself, my resolution is to find common ground and build on it, in the interests and for the well being of all men. That is my vow and my determination.

UPDATE: What does it do to your psyche to know that when Apollo 17 took that picture of the earth that both LBJ and Nixon were still alive? That is one seriously out of date picture. We need to get up there and get some fresh pictures!

Local Man Supports Men

In the perfect world, where every man's voice would have equal weight among men, there would be an honest discussion of the issues that every man raises, as to his opinions and feelings concerning the affairs and well being of men in general.

Man, as is well known in the highest echelons of all of man's disciplines, is a social animal. Because of this, a man's ideas are not meant to wither and die on the vine of thought, but are meant to be shared within his society of men. As every man is a brother, every man has something to contribute to the family of man, that men everywhere might be blessed and prosper.

The prosperity and blessing of men everywhere depends on what happens within this social network or scheme. The one and the many are together. Such is the truth among men, the truth whereby man lives.

In the light of these truths, the fact that I -- one local man -- supports the raising up and affirming of men everywhere -- women, boys, and girls being included as men -- is an important thing. Every other man may be unconscious of his place in the family of man, and may lack the ideas and follow through to act on his ideas were he to have any. Then there are the many levels of functionaries, who are entrusted to be working on man's behalf day in and day out, scratching out ideas on tablets or manning the many levers of machines. They may be drifting off because of the monotony of their work. It takes a few bright men somewhere, men like me, at the local level, to really say, "Hey, what about this idea?"

My idea is to restore the designation of man and men back to their proper place in our language and the affairs of social intercourse. For too long, man has bucked his past, and has allowed the tampering of the old ways, trying, with no good reason, to dilute the language pool, to his hurt. This has not helped anyone. It has only muddied up the water, and mucked up some of our self consciousness as men.

So note it. One man can make a difference, in this case to restore language and our consciousness. One local man who supports all men and the dignity of man. That local man is me.

This is a solemn call to the rest of my species, to exalt yourself as men, letting man prevail in a proud way, with no lingering doubts.

More Nostalgia for MEN

All of us are men, from the smallest girl to the tallest man. We were created men, hatched or wherever we came from, and men we'll ever be. World without end, Amen.

So naturally I have a nostalgia for the terminology of manhood, since it's been missing in recent years, for expressing the brotherhood of all men. Language has become a namby pamby exercise in obscuring our nature. People, folks, exalting the divisions at the expense of the whole.

I myself am a man among men, whether they're women, children, or other men. When I get up in the morning, I shave, but I know all men don't, especially children. Of course women are among the men who shave, but in their case it's their legs and armpits. My mom was one of the men who liked to have smooth legs, since a bunch of hair under panty hose is a bad look.

Our country was founded by great men, and the world system depends on all men to keep it going in a forward looking way. Each of us has a part in the system, like cogs, whether we're at the top grinding downward or at the bottom grinding upward. I see myself personally in the middle grinding both up and down, depending on how the mood strikes me. I might grind sideways. Whichever way you or I grind in this important effort, each of us is a man among men.

I can hear the garbage man outside right now -- what a funny thing that I'm just now writing about him. His truck was made by men, tested and honed to be the garbage crunching behemoth it is. Then it needs other men, like this particular man, to put the tub in its mouth, to push the button, and to stand back. That's done in a flash, and another man looks in the mirror and sees it's all clear and drives the truck up the hill. They're grinding uphill.

I met a really big man the other day. He was seven feet tall and had to duck to get through the door. He had on a huge suit, just like a normal suit but twice as big. You'd think that much fabric would come apart at the seams. The back of his suit, just to mention one enormous section, is such a large field of fabric, with no support from a seam or gathering for miles, that I'd be afraid it'd fall apart. I asked him where he got his shoes and suit -- whether at a normal store or a big and tall men's store -- and he said at a big and tall men's store. But he seemed disinterested in the subject, so I dropped it immediately.

So let's get back to where we used to be, to talking about men -- all races, sizes, genders, ages, whether mothers, fathers, aunts, rich or poor effeminate or macho, Mr. Felix or Charles Atlas. There's no distinction. And in talking about men, if we just let the chips fall where they may, one day we'll look back on it all and know we didn't go too far wrong.

God loves all men.

The Meat Of The Goodie

All roads lead to the meat of the goodie.

Then again, it's a narrow, one way street that gets there. You have to zero in. It's the treasure at the center, and there's some narrowing, focusing, and honing of your sights, before you eventually arrive.

I'm eating the meat of the goodie in a peanut butter cup right now. At that's right at the heart of the thing, surrounded as it is by chocolate, then a paper cup, then a sealed paper wrapper, then a cardboard tray, then an outer wrapping of plastic that must be pierced. But before being in your hands and ready to pierce, you have to go get one at the store, requiring your desire, attention, and all the rest. And requiring before that a job (or government disability, in my case -- game toe) in order to have the money to procure a pack of them.

Grandpa Slump taught me about the meat of the goodie, in all his years of cracking and removing the meat from hickory nuts. I used to watch him do it. That's the only time he ever wore glasses, because I guess he really wanted to focus on doing it right. Some of the details escape me now after all these years. He'd be at the dining room table with his glasses on, a knife in hand, maybe a cracker of some sort, working endlessly at piling up a bowl full of the meat of the goodie.

That was his phrase actually -- the meat of the goodie. Maybe he heard it said by his Grandpa down in the southern part of Missouri. If so, it could've gone back many generations to the very first Grandpa, who simply made it up as an apt description of what we're all after. We're all zeroing in on that center. That meat. Of the goodie.

Think of your honeymoon. Or having to wash up during a shower.

Think of the Temple in Jerusalem. They had the meat of the goodie there. All the outside business, the courts, the chambers, the other courts, the other chambers, and we're getting closer. Then -- you and I can't see it -- there it is, in there somewhere, right at the heart of the thing.

It's good to remind myself about the meat of the goodie. May all your thoughts, say in the next three minutes, focus in on the meat of the goodie.

Men

The world is made up of a lot of men. We know God loves the whole world, all men.

From the time I was a youngster, I was taught that we should love all men too, our fellow man. That's still the basic philosophy that I abide by today, showing care and compassion as well to all men.

Red, yellow, black, yellow, or white, it doesn't make any difference. All men are made of one blood, the same blood.

In the values I have, there's no separation, no difference. I believe in equal rights for all men, opportunity for all men, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. To me, if one man suffers all men suffer.

On the other hand, there is great evil among men. The drive toward evil seems to be intrinsic to men. It's man against man, as well as man against God. So men need a certain transformation to be all they were meant to be.

I want to be a part of that, taking care of myself first -- this man, then reaching out in love and grace to all men.

I Feel Like Having Something Fattening

I feel like having something fattening, but I know I shouldn't, because I'm fat enough. Or at least I feel fat enough.

What sounds good is a big, fat, juicy, mouth watering, taste tempting banana split from Dairy Queen. I had one of these a couple weeks ago, and it was, [insert many mouth noises], very good.

I substituted caramel for the pineapple sauce, which makes it better. Other than that, whatever the standard model was, I went with it. There was a difference from what I used to have years ago, the last time I had one of these. The difference, they didn't put the banana at the bottom of the whole works then build around it anymore. Instead they put the ice cream (ice milk) in place, then the banana on top of that, maybe pushed down slightly. That was the difference.

Still, it didn't affect the taste one bit, of course, just the appearance. It still looked good, but more modular or modern, a banana more in your face or hovering above its normal station.

It could be that I will actually go ... but I'm telling myself it shouldn't be done.

I really showed my steely resolve today on at least one front. I quit drinking soda pop a couple years ago, except for the family's traditional red pop at Christmas, and I've stuck to that scrupulously. The only variance from the red pop only rule was the fact that someone did put 7 Up in the Christmas punchbowl. But I figured it was Christmas and just lumped it in, since with the Hawaiian Punch, it was still red.

Anyway, someone also gave me a decorative bottle of Coke at Christmas, a bottle that was squat and round, the same way I'd be if I drank it. So it's been setting around the house since Christmas, not really presenting a temptation to me, since I knew I wouldn't drink it. But still I didn't like having it around, so today I poured it down the drain. So I can at least be proud of that.

Cancer Cured In 1911

This ad is from 1911. Meaning we've gone almost 100 years and the good news hasn't sunk in yet, that cancer is cured.

This guy, Samuel Franklin De Vore, M.D., was able to do it with "no knife, no operation, no chloroform, little or no pain." I don't know what that would leave exactly, maybe magnets and garlic necklaces. But whatever it was, His method succeeds in all cases not too far advanced.

Maybe that last phrase was his out. If his method didn't succeed, that would've been a case too far advanced. But no one had to wait forever to find out, because, "I tell you at once whether you can be cured..." Once he accepted your case you knew you'd be OK, because, "I positively will not accept a hopeless case under any circumstance."

And no need for an expensive hospital stay, since you would be right there in Dr. De Vore's own home! Just his reasonable terms, with satisfaction guaranteed. Can't beat that.

Kick Yourself For Being A Chump

I've got a huge stack of newspapers setting here by my chair. I'm a bit backed up. I'm trying to catch up on my reading. Either that or I need to cancel my subscription. Some of the issues are getting fairly old and stale, but still, money's money. I've got them, I need to read them, even if it takes me forever!

Anyway, a copy of The Nashua Reporter, Nashua, Iowa, from Feb. 13, 1908, has worked itself to the top of the stack. Of course I'm thinking, 1908? I've got to read faster! But still when my eye caught an article on the vaudeville show coming up at Lampson's Opera House, I took my time and read it over carefully.

This is definitely a show I need to catch -- or, more accurately, a show I would've liked to have caught had I been born in time and it was happening when I had free time. It's a good thing it's not this week or next week because I'm really busy and might've had to miss it. The best thing I can say at this point is, It's been over with for over 100 years, so there's no reason worrying about it. Still ... I am sorry I missed it.

And I should be sorry, since, according to this little article, I missed a treat, and "those who fail to avail themselves of the opportunity to see and hear" this show will "kick themselves for being a chump after the company has gone." OK, the opportunity and the company is now entirely gone -- dead and gone -- leaving me to kick myself for being a chump. Except, obviously I didn't have the opportunity in the first place, so there was no way I could've availed myself of it. Still, a swift donkey kick backwards, hitting my tush, lets me know that not being born in time is no excuse.

The rest of the article (not pictured) tells us that Mrs. I. Delight Dillenbeck (seriously, that's the name given) was among the advance guard of road attractions, and she was the newspaper's authority in saying that Fitzgerald's fashionable Vaudeville Company "is the best, cleanest and most refined attraction of its kind before the public today."

Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald are in charge of the company, and they are artists, as is every member of the company. Then you can see from the excerpt that "Fitz" has some character and dance specialties: 1) "Huntress," the female impersonator in his spherical work; 2) "Zaneta," the contortionist; and, 3) The human frog. That's the way I read it. But it could be that "Fitz" does other characters and dance specialties, then there's other members of the company who are the Huntress, Zaneta, and human frog characters. And it's also possible that Zaneta the contortionist is also the human frog, whether being played by "Fitz" or another person.

Whatever way you want to sort that out, it sounds like a heck of a show, and -- swift kick, I'm such a chump -- I'm sorry I missed it. (If I see any other clues as to "Fitz" and the other performers' identities, I will post them.)

The last paragraph tells us that Mrs. Dillenbeck, while part of the advance guard of road attractions, doesn't actually represent the Fitzgerald team, so that's quite a testimony on her part, "Giving unto Caesar what is Caesar's."

So there it is, they were coming up at the opera house on Monday night -- the week of Feb. 17. And any one number of their bill being worth the entire price of admission, that means the human frog, just to name one item, would've been as good as free.

UPDATE: I've studied this issue now for a while and I believe I can conclusively say that "Fitz" was not Huntress the female impersonator. There's enough references to Huntress out there, not connected with the Fitzgerald name, that he was clearly a separate performer. I suppose I should've immediately known that because Fitz wouldn't likely also be the contortionist, etc. So it's "Fitz" in his characters and dances, then Huntress, then Zaneta, who would be the contortionist and the human frog.