A few weeks ago, Julie moved south to go to school, taking E-M-M-A with her. As a practical matter, this simplifies things greatly. Emma was a loving linebacker of a dog, and I don't have to worry as much about her snapping one of Oz's legs or biting her bloody. (Lest these seem overprotective, both have happened. When Oz's leg was marginal, Emma hit her so hard Oz couldn't walk on it, and at least three different dogs have been left with bloody snouts from Emma, one that got infected, producing a trip to the vet.) This means we can W up that road without fear. That should be good, right?
On the down side, Emma is Oz's favorite. Or make that Oz's Favorite Dog In The WORLD!
This means that that every time we walk near there, Oz smells the grass. She stares at the empty kennel out back; she stares at the garage she used to visit E in. When the garage door's open, she's sure that means Emma is back. But no.
This requires coaxing, but at that, it's still better than Sammy. Sammy (or Sammy!) is Oz's cat friend. Or rather, Sammy was Oz's cat friend. We haven't seen Sammy for a month, and I fear the worst. Sammy was a strange and wonderful cat. He come running across three yards to rub against Oz. I'm great with cats, but he'd go to Oz first, me second. He was fearless, loving, and fond of Oz.
And he was also old and creaky. And the cul-de-sac where he lives. Lived. Lives. Anyway. His house is right next to a huge tract of woods, where coyotes still run. He had full run to come and go—his humans left the garage door open about six inches for him—and I'm afraid he's just left.
But Oz doesn't know. Oz just knows that this is Sammy's house. Oz leads me to the garage door. To the truck Sammy used to sleep on. To the bush he liked. To the turned over garbage can Sammy had once used as a sunbed. And repeat the cycle. Oz stares at me, waiting for me to meow Sammy forth. When I do meow, she stares at the garage, waiting.
Jesus.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Who's in charge here?
I was always a cat person. In fact, when my sister learned that Oz, who had been Kathy's dog, had essentially adopted me, she turned to Kathy and said, "What have you done to my brother!"
I had a couple of dogs growing up, but we lived on the outskirts of the country, and they could be let run in the fields by the house. In other words, I had never walked a dog, except for some clumsy attempts to help my dad when I was home.
They were clumsy because I'm not very good at being in charge of things. I cooperate well, and I've got initiative up the wazoo, but I had giving orders. That includes to animals. The result has been an interesting walking style. I guide Oz by getting her to associate me with all things good: W's, swimming, visiting other dogs, cats, etc.
This has resulted in a division of labor. I'm in charge of security, which means handling cars and aggressive dogs. She's in charge of friendly greetings. We split the route selection. When we're on the road, we have standard routes, and whatever looks best that day, that's where we go. When we're in the woods, we alternate. She sometimes guides us by smell. I sometimes guide us by eye.
This sounds very haphazard, but it works. I usually keep one finger on the leash. I don't care if we weave or stop, so long as we don't get hit by cars or accidentally threaten other walkers. She's happy to go about anywhere so long as we're outside, and since we both like visiting her dog friends, we got along fine.
Greg
I had a couple of dogs growing up, but we lived on the outskirts of the country, and they could be let run in the fields by the house. In other words, I had never walked a dog, except for some clumsy attempts to help my dad when I was home.
They were clumsy because I'm not very good at being in charge of things. I cooperate well, and I've got initiative up the wazoo, but I had giving orders. That includes to animals. The result has been an interesting walking style. I guide Oz by getting her to associate me with all things good: W's, swimming, visiting other dogs, cats, etc.
This has resulted in a division of labor. I'm in charge of security, which means handling cars and aggressive dogs. She's in charge of friendly greetings. We split the route selection. When we're on the road, we have standard routes, and whatever looks best that day, that's where we go. When we're in the woods, we alternate. She sometimes guides us by smell. I sometimes guide us by eye.
This sounds very haphazard, but it works. I usually keep one finger on the leash. I don't care if we weave or stop, so long as we don't get hit by cars or accidentally threaten other walkers. She's happy to go about anywhere so long as we're outside, and since we both like visiting her dog friends, we got along fine.
Greg
Friday, May 23, 2008
Dances With Squirrels
Dances With Squirrels
Remember that Kevin Costner movie Dances With Wolves?
Well, the last two mornings, our W's have been defined by Dances With Squirrels.
The first morning, we were walking along a fence when we realized there was a squirrel on the other side. It was one of those fences with two rows of slats, so you can peek through and see glimpses of light. The squirrel was on one side; we were on the other. Oz started following it, and it moved directly sideways from board to board…which made it look like it was doing jazz hands in the air. This got Oz more and more excited, until the squirrel leapt directly backwards, turning in midair to grab a tree trunk. Yeah!
This morning, we were walking and we passed under the power cable that crosses one of the roads near the house. There was a squirrel on it, and he reached the midpoint just as we went underneath. Oz saw him, and for once, one of the sky squirrels saw Oz. He froze, then turned around, apparently deciding he was safer if he went back.
So we followed, slicing diagonally across the road.
He saw we were following, and turned around.
We followed.
He saw us, and turned around.
We…you get the idea. This was repeated 12-14 times, until Oz was leaping in the air and the squirrel was frenzied beyond belief. He finally made a break for it, ran to the end of the cable, and leapt onto a branch. He then sat there cussing at us and slashing the air with his little claws for…well, let's just say he was still cussing when we got too far away to hear him.
Dances With Squirrels
Remember that Kevin Costner movie Dances With Wolves?
Well, the last two mornings, our W's have been defined by Dances With Squirrels.
The first morning, we were walking along a fence when we realized there was a squirrel on the other side. It was one of those fences with two rows of slats, so you can peek through and see glimpses of light. The squirrel was on one side; we were on the other. Oz started following it, and it moved directly sideways from board to board…which made it look like it was doing jazz hands in the air. This got Oz more and more excited, until the squirrel leapt directly backwards, turning in midair to grab a tree trunk. Yeah!
This morning, we were walking and we passed under the power cable that crosses one of the roads near the house. There was a squirrel on it, and he reached the midpoint just as we went underneath. Oz saw him, and for once, one of the sky squirrels saw Oz. He froze, then turned around, apparently deciding he was safer if he went back.
So we followed, slicing diagonally across the road.
He saw we were following, and turned around.
We followed.
He saw us, and turned around.
We…you get the idea. This was repeated 12-14 times, until Oz was leaping in the air and the squirrel was frenzied beyond belief. He finally made a break for it, ran to the end of the cable, and leapt onto a branch. He then sat there cussing at us and slashing the air with his little claws for…well, let's just say he was still cussing when we got too far away to hear him.
Dances With Squirrels
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
I'm With the Ministry
As a teen, I loved Monty Python. (Of course, now that I’m an adult, I love Monty Python.) One of their classic skits was John Cleese in the Ministry of Silly Walks, in which the British government gave grants to people who, well, walked in distinctive and markedly silly ways.
Sometimes Oz and I qualify.
The other day, it was really nice—sunny, and much warmer than it had been—so we went to Oz's favorite park. We chased squirrels (both of us), sniffed butts (just her), and had a good time.
At one point, we were walking by the duck pond. Oz decided she wanted to go in, but there is a strong current (over a dam) and some ducks she might chase too close, so I kept her on leash. The result? She went in the pond anyway, and I walked her from the bank. Judging from the looks on people's faces, it is surprising to see a leash vanishing into a bunch of cattails, or, when we weren't in the weeds, for a man to be walking a swimming dog.
Sometimes, I'm with the ministry.
Greg
Sometimes Oz and I qualify.
The other day, it was really nice—sunny, and much warmer than it had been—so we went to Oz's favorite park. We chased squirrels (both of us), sniffed butts (just her), and had a good time.
At one point, we were walking by the duck pond. Oz decided she wanted to go in, but there is a strong current (over a dam) and some ducks she might chase too close, so I kept her on leash. The result? She went in the pond anyway, and I walked her from the bank. Judging from the looks on people's faces, it is surprising to see a leash vanishing into a bunch of cattails, or, when we weren't in the weeds, for a man to be walking a swimming dog.
Sometimes, I'm with the ministry.
Greg
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Who stole the lake?
We'd been having a cool and moist spring even for Bellingham. Nights were in the 40s, days in the, well, upper 40s to 50s, and mud everywhere. That meant that when the news predicted a heat wave, everyone got ready.
They got it right; the heat rolled in right on time. It moved from 40s early in the week to 80s by the weekend…and this had some fun implications for our W.
We went to the lake we usually go to, via the normal route. We went down the street, crossed the one busy arterial, and then went along the park till we got there. The air was heavy, but invisible.
Which is what made the lake so surprising. When we got there, it was gone. To be specific, a heavy fog had completely whited the lake out. We could see an arc along the beach—some bushes, and the first dock on each side beyond the park—but beyond that, nothing. We can usually see the houses across the lake, and all the water birds and water fun happening on the lake.
Today, white. Oz stared at the white, jerking her head at the bird cries. She looked at me. What's going on? She put a paw in, but didn't dive in with her usual abandon. For her, it was clearly a bit off. For me, it was simply beautiful, and doubly so because unexpected. I looked behind. Clear air, and a completely visible woods. I looked forward. A white curtain closing off the world, and an invisible lake.
Ah.
They got it right; the heat rolled in right on time. It moved from 40s early in the week to 80s by the weekend…and this had some fun implications for our W.
We went to the lake we usually go to, via the normal route. We went down the street, crossed the one busy arterial, and then went along the park till we got there. The air was heavy, but invisible.
Which is what made the lake so surprising. When we got there, it was gone. To be specific, a heavy fog had completely whited the lake out. We could see an arc along the beach—some bushes, and the first dock on each side beyond the park—but beyond that, nothing. We can usually see the houses across the lake, and all the water birds and water fun happening on the lake.
Today, white. Oz stared at the white, jerking her head at the bird cries. She looked at me. What's going on? She put a paw in, but didn't dive in with her usual abandon. For her, it was clearly a bit off. For me, it was simply beautiful, and doubly so because unexpected. I looked behind. Clear air, and a completely visible woods. I looked forward. A white curtain closing off the world, and an invisible lake.
Ah.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Walking a Question Mark
Most of the times, when I'm walking Oz, I'm walking a dash— a straight line. Sometimes she's an exclamation point. Other times, though, I'm walking a question mark.
That is to say, Oz walks forward, but arcs her head and forward bits off to something that really interests her. This happens fairly often when we pass something that she likes that I won't, for whatever reason, let her actually explore. A baby in arms, for example, held by someone who looks scared of dogs, or a cat that doesn't like dogs.
The other day, though, I got to walk a question mark that left me, well, questioning. We were walking along a familiar street, and no one (no favorite people, no dogs, no cats) was in sight. I checked again. No squirrels, no birds, etc. What was it?It wasn't anyone. It was missing someone. Julie, E-M-M-A's owner, moved away to go to school. Oz was bending towards where Emma was supposed to be, and bending again towards every bit of evidence that Emma used to be there. A hole under a bush? Question mark. A ratty tennis ball? Question mark. A forgotten Frisbee left on the rocks in a storm run off culvert, marked by teeth? Question mark.
Every bend toward where Emma is supposed to be, a question: where is my friend? Why isn't she here? And a period: I miss her.
We W'd on in silence.
That is to say, Oz walks forward, but arcs her head and forward bits off to something that really interests her. This happens fairly often when we pass something that she likes that I won't, for whatever reason, let her actually explore. A baby in arms, for example, held by someone who looks scared of dogs, or a cat that doesn't like dogs.
The other day, though, I got to walk a question mark that left me, well, questioning. We were walking along a familiar street, and no one (no favorite people, no dogs, no cats) was in sight. I checked again. No squirrels, no birds, etc. What was it?It wasn't anyone. It was missing someone. Julie, E-M-M-A's owner, moved away to go to school. Oz was bending towards where Emma was supposed to be, and bending again towards every bit of evidence that Emma used to be there. A hole under a bush? Question mark. A ratty tennis ball? Question mark. A forgotten Frisbee left on the rocks in a storm run off culvert, marked by teeth? Question mark.
Every bend toward where Emma is supposed to be, a question: where is my friend? Why isn't she here? And a period: I miss her.
We W'd on in silence.
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