Confirmed Crispëh: Huckleberry the Dog

Huckleberry, our family's bluetick coonhound, is Crispëh Zero. That is, the concept of Crispëhness originated with him.

Why? Well, because we voice our animals and give them personalities, and because we sometimes make words up out of thin air to describe our pets, among other things. In particular, we had identified two nebulous states of being that existed pre-Crispëh. These states were Scraunchy, the older of the two, and Scrunkly, a more recent addition. What they mean is really up to the person who bestows the label. For instance, we've established that our vizsla, Tater Tot, is Scraunchy. So, as coincidence would have it, is our daughter, Dabbing Devil. The Scraunchitude of both creatures was determined by my wife, Mrs. Egg. I had no say in the matter. I simply trust that she knows a Scraunch when she sees one. 

Scrunkliness is a little harder to pin down. Dabbing Devil has provisionally identified things that might be Scrunkly: her fictional axolotl character, Gills; our chubby yellow Lab, Cheesecake; and cheeseburgers in general. But we're not 100 percent sure yet on those.

The young Miss DD, a.k.a. Dabber, was also the first to identify the existence of Crispëhness. It happened one day when she was voicing Huckleberry. In an excitable hillbilly drawl, Huck, by way of Dabber, bellowed to the family: 

"Maw, I'm crispy!" 

And thus was Crispëhness born.

Huck calls us all "Maw" when we channel him. We're not entirely sure why. Nor was I or Mrs. Egg immediately able to discern exactly what it meant to be Crispy. But since the title was first associated with ol' Huck, and since he indirectly communicates with a notable twang, "Crispy" became "Crispeh," and he from thenceforward became the template for All Things Crispeh. Yours Truly added the umlaut, as I thought it added a touch of Old World dignity and mystery. Plus, it reminded me of Spın̈al Tap, those legendary English purveyors of fine metallic rock 'n' roll who make me laugh almost as much as Huckleberry does.

So what is it that makes our boy Crispëh? It's hard to put a finger on, as is the case with All Things Crispëh. It could be his droopy ears, or his ever-swinging tail that knocks down everything in its path. It could be his goofy markings, or his big, loud, deep bay that can literally be heard halfway across town. It could be his weird camel-like saunter, or the way he dutifully patrols our yard and alerts us -- and the neighbors -- when so much as a leaf falls from a tree. It could be the way he tosses a freshly received dog treat in the air in celebration, or the way he Marine-crawls across the floor when he's apparently too lazy to get up and walk. It could even be his ever-present vacant stare. (No one said hounds were among the most intelligent of dogs.) Or perhaps it's a combination of those qualities, plus a little je ne sais quoi that ties all these fine (and not-so-fine) qualities together in some mystical, mysterious way.

The essence of Crispëhness will forever remain inexpressible. In some respects, the Crispëh that can be spoken of is not the true Crispëh. But Huckleberry gives us at least some sense of what it might be. 

Come, and we'll ponder together the mysteries of what it truly means to be Crispëh.