Under Construction

As a stroke of genius, we decided to remodel our only full bathroom while we were away on vacation. It was going to spare us a lot of inconvenience, and we have a long track record with our contractor. What could go wrong?

Umm, maybe the special order sink could be defective? Or the tile could be on backorder? Needless to say, we arrived home and our only bathing facilities are out of commission. Pappy is immensely relieved, since he has the stench of the clam flats about him and is overdue for a good scrubbing.

But how do people who want to get clean, you know, get clean? My wife took Pappy's mortar tub in the basement for a little private sponge bath. I followed a less demure route. I took my soap and shampoo to the back yard, booted Pappy out of his wading pool, and had a luxurious bath on the patio. Lovely view, but Pappy kept dropping his ball in my bath water. Yes, I did wear my trunks.

In Transit

Well, we made it home from our holiday. It was such a pretty day we left late yesterday and only made it as far as Portland, Maine. Motel 6 is no great shakes, but they allow pets and they have beds in the rooms which were my main criteria.

It was Pappy's first stay at a hotel, and he was very excited. As we turned out the lights to go to bed, he lay there and woofed once each time he heard a door close. There were hundreds of doors in the hotel. I had a fun little game going listening for closing doors that he didn't bark at. This kept up every fifteen minutes until we gave up trying to sleep at 3AM and hit the road. The upside was that we made great time.

Paradise Lost

Well, our vacation is coming to a close. Tomorrow we are headed home, with the Labor Day traffic helping to repressurize us for life in DC. We have had fantastic weather, with just enough rain to make us appreciate the sunshine. The last few mornings we've awakened to thick fog, but the sun and wind have burned it off by mid-morning. We've had lobster on the beach, sailing, hiking, kayaking, and all the best activities.

Pappy has had the time of his life, but hasn't had many opportunities to play with other dogs. Back home he may have a tough time getting used to us not being around all the time, but I think he'll enjoy being back at the dog park.

Dinged Up

Pappy has found there is a price to be paid for being an adventure dog here in Maine. There have been a few mornings where he was looking a bit stiff after a strenuous day of dashing about. I have been keeping an eye on wear spots on his pads from scrambling around on the rocks, and one day he was limping a bit on his right foreleg. He's constantly got gunk in his fur, and recently I combed out a big clod of pine sap. Yesterday I put disinfectant on a sizable scrape over his eye from dashing face-first into the spruce thickets after his ball.

But there is an upside too. When I let him out this morning, he had the freedom to saunter down to the beach in the early morning haze to lick spilled butter from the rocks following last night's lobster party.

Breaking Rocks

After fishing and tourism, Deer Isle's other great historic industry has been the quarrying of local granite. We've taken Pappy out to the hiking trails at the old Settlement Quarry a couple of times this visit. The waterfront of the island's big town, Stonington, is made out of gargantuan blocks of granite from similar quarries, and it has been used in Manhattan bridges, the Smithsonian, and other sites. If you've ever visited Arlington Cemetary near Washington, D.C., John F. Kennedy's tomb was built using granite from this very quarry.

Kayak Krazy

There's one activity up in Deer Isle in which Pappy cannot partake... kayaking. Well, that's not quite true. My wife and I were in a small boat race the other day, and there was a participant with a preserver clad Yorkie aboard her wide-cockpit kayak. Of course while she was trying to avoid accidentally bopping her precious, I was focused on beating the stuffing out all the grannies in rowboats and paddle-wielding preteens on my way to a glorious victory. My wife came in second, further teaching all those youngsters and oldsters an important lesson in losing.

Yesterday my wife and I left a yelping Pappy in the house as we headed out on a kayaking adventure. We are situated between two tidal coves; coves that empty of water at low tide. For someone used to bigger boats, kayaks are simply amazing for their ability to clear the shallowest water and these coves are ideal areas to explore. They tend to be well protected from wind and chop, and you can just float around and watching the doings in the shallow water. If they drain through a narrow channel, you also get some interesting currents as the tides race in or empty out. It turns out the endless piping shrill we heard the entire time we were floating around Pressey Cove was a nest of ospreys (sea eagles) on Little Crow Island. Boy nature can be annoying.

Aerial Invasion

Today Pappy and I spotted a portentious event. Dozens of butteflies had congregated around a batch of wildflowers growing on the leech field for our septic system. This would probably be a much more interesting posting if I knew the first thing about butterflies or plants. Or if it hadn't been atop a field of poo.

Maine Photo Extravaganza

For those of you who have expressed interest in seeing more photos of our Maine adventure, I've posted a few photos in a set on our Flickr page. Again, sorry not to be responding to comments, but while I am sitting here typing away in Suzy Q's, Pappy's waiting out in the car.

Miracle Cure

Pappy has undergone a transformation. My wife arrived the other day in the company of guests, a couple and their two children. Two children who loved the beach and stumbling around in the surf. And throwing the ball. Yes, throwing the ball. Since their arrival, Pappy has stopped picking around his food and gobbles it right down. And he clings less to me, and is enjoying everyone's company.

And one more thing-- we tried a little experiment. Pappy doesn't like the uncarpeted steps, so I carried his highness upstairs at bedtime and let him do something he's never done before. We let him sleep in our bed. My wife and I spent the night with no covers perched on the edges of the bed, so there wasn't a whole lot of sleeping going on. Pappy didn't take up that much space, but it's only a double bed and he's as hot as a blast furnace. The curious thing is that, this morning, Pappy was suddenly no longer afraid of the stairs. When I left him upstairs luxuriating on the comforter, he followed me downstairs after a few minutes. Then he headed back upstairs to idle away the early morn on his new bed. Seems I just had to have the right motivation to get him to test the stairs. But bad news Pappy, tonight it's back to the dog bed. Yep, we're putting the genie right back in that bottle.

Later update: When we went up to bed the next night, Pappy turned towards our bed and made ready to get right in. I directed him to his dog bed, and he sulkily went over to it. When we got back from brushing our teeth, he was happily wagging his tail from up on our bed. Unh unh, think again buster.

P.P.Dog

It's not widely known that the great Maine insititution, L.L.Bean, home of the famed 'Rubber Ugly' boot, is named for Leon Leonwood Bean. We've taken to calling our dog Pappy Pappywood in his honor.

Hot Rod Grafitti

About fifteen years ago I remember first seeing the evidence; long black streaks of burnt rubber on the back roads in Deer Isle. At first I thought it was cars coming screeching to a halt, but I quickly came to understand that it was cars peeling out. These antics are to be expected. It's beautiful up here, but I speak from experience when I say that it's a pretty slow pace for whippersnappers.

In recent years increasingly extravagant tire tracks have become ubiquitous on all the island roads. As I was recently tut-tutting it to a cousin, she told me that in fact it is a cultural phenomenon. One of the local Hardy kin is a recognized practitioner of the art form, and I've seen the evidence of his skills-- there are serpentine curves hundreds of yards long on some roads. Among the cousins there have been some heated debates whether this is environmental art or simple vandalism. If I heard right, there is even a documentary on the subject of peeling out. Final proof of the decline of western civilization.

Vacation Vocation

I arrived in Deer Isle this year to the mystery of why the derelict rowboat on the front lawn had been filleted. This boat was a big player in my childhood, with beautiful lines, great stability, and supreme rowability. Then, one year we carefully scraped, caulked, repainted, and launched it, but it kept taking on water even after the boards had swelled. It had finally gone punky. We hoisted it to the porch rafters, where it stayed until we retired it to the lawn a couple of years ago. There's a local children's book by Robert McCloskey called "Burt Dow, Deep-Water Man", in which Burt's leaky old dory sits on the lawn planted full of geraniums and Indian peas. We never did get around to planting in ours.

So when I got here this year I was suprised to find that the floorboards had been pulled off the rowboat and carefully arranged on the lawn. It was sort of fascinating looking for about five minutes, whereupon it started to look like a truck on blocks. There are little nails sticking out of all of the ribs, and with Pappy constantly poking his ball underneath it's a bit of a menace. I briefly considered whether my cousins, who had been staying at the place before I arrived, would have done this. I quickly decided no, it had been my insane brother's handiwork.

My brother is a sprint hobbyist. Over the course of a vacation he'll take up guitar, or watercolors, or carving, or whatever for a couple of weeks. I haven't talked to him yet, but the word I am getting over the family grapevine is that last month he decided he was a boatwright and plans to restore the rowboat next time he comes up. Uh hunh, this sounds promising.

Sea Dog

Stuff for Pappy to Chase

Among the fauna for Pappy to chase here in Deer Isle, the most appealing is probably the red squirrel. These guys are smaller than their grey brethren to the south, built more on a chipmunk scale. And, where the squirrels I know are silent as Pappy chases them up the trees in the back yard, these guys are incredibly noisy. They chatter away constantly, sounding more like the birds from a jungle cartoon than rodents. These guys aren't as good sport as grey squirrels since they seldom leave the safety of tree branches.

Pappy's also taken some notice of the crows, but we haven't had as many seagulls hanging around the beach as in past years. A pretty regular occurance is for a dog to tear off into the bushes and come back looking a little sad after getting shot by a skunk. My aunt's dachshund got sprayed earlier in the summer, so she keeps a ready supply of deskunking shampoo. Sea birds are pretty safe from Pappy's attention, but we have deer, foxes, and tons of mice. Yesterday I saw a reddish long bodied rodent wandering across the seaweed carrying a crab, but Pappy was oblivious. I'd never seen its like before in my billions of summers. Too bushy-tailed for an otter. Maybe a stoat?

Pappy: Wild & Free, Crazed & Neurotic

Pappy has been having a fantastic time as an adventure dog here in the outdoors of coastal Maine. He's taken to the ocean like a seal, and taken to the woods like a fox. Or maybe the other way around. No, I had it right. And he has been fantastic when off-leash, staying nearby and never erring towards the road. If he wanders out of sight, I just have to whistle and clap my hands and he comes tearing back. His fur has gotten a little disgusting with accumulated salt and twigs, but other than that he was made for this outdoor life.

Not so for indoors. His neurosis about uncarpeted stairs persists here, and early on he was about to drive me nuts with his crying when I was on the opposite end of the staircase. Before coming on vacation I special ordered some paw wax that was supposed to prevent slipping, but it didn't seem to do much to help with the loose screws in his bean. Now he's finally settled down-- he still won't climb the stairs, but seems satisfied to stay downstairs. Loon.

Bleh!

While roaming the streets of Stonington, Deer Isle's cosmopolitan center, I came across these signs in the window of the vacant building that was once Atlantic Hardware. It's an advertisement for Sea Jerky featuring the rather disturbing image of a werewolf threatening to bite off the head of the Coppertone girl while she looks at a lovely Maine sunset. Sea Jerky (using a "Sea Cucumber formula with Sea Chondroitin"), seems to be a pet health product of Coastside Bio Resources which probably no longer exists. I was once in Baja and saw a group of fishermen boiling down sea cukes on a deserted beach. They were for use in supplements and the Asian market. If you thought green tripe was nasty, I still have nightmares about the fishermen spooning the slimy lumps, like giant okra, from the rusty oil drum. I'm not very fond of okra.

Update: I've been better informed in the comments that the werewolf was dear old Paugus, the building is not vacant, Sea Jerky is a dog favorite, and that Coastside Bio Resources is alive and well. But I still wouldn't want a sea cuke sitting across from me when I was trying to eat dinner.

The Nice Thing About An Island...

The nice thing about an island is that you can be on the East Coast and still have a western view.

Barred Island Almost Adventure

(Well, I'm parked in front of Susie Q's in Stonington filching internet access. I really would buy lunch there, except they are only open Thursday through Monday. Sorry not to be responding to comments, but my ancient laptop's battery is going down like the Lusitania.)

At the tail end of yesterday Pappy and I headed to my favorite trail to Barred Island. The last few times I have been in Maine the Barred Island, connected to the big island by a sandbar at low tide, has been closed because of nesting bald eagles. But since they are off the endangered species list it's open season, and I'm not going to miss my shot to bag one. Kidding. The eagles have moved on to a new nesting location.

On arrival I was sad to see clear postings that no dogs were allowed on the trail in consideration of wildlife. The Island Heritage Trust, who runs a number of trails on the island, thoughtfully listed several nearby trails that do allow pets. With heavy heart, I rolled down the windows and left Pappy in the car as I jogged down the loamy path through the pines. I did pass one couple who were giving me furtive glances as they hustled their dog back towards the car park, but I wouldn't want to play that game. Next time we'll focus on the dog-friendly trails.

Find the Pappy

Live from Maine

Well, I'm in my third day in Maine and the weather is beautiful as I post this. The island grapevine was saying that you could park in front of the hardware store or Pilgrim's Inn and poach broadband access, but no such luck for me. I'm trapped using my aunties dial-up access-- how does Frasier do it?

Here's my journal of the first days of Pappy and my vacation, the "War and Peace" of postings:

Day One
After leaving for Maine at 2AM, I left flaming tire tracks all the way up the coast and arrived before 3PM including a few stops and a nap on the road. I stopped at my aunt's house on the way to our place. Pappy was tearing in circles with delight to be free of the car, dive bombing his dog-cousin Polly. I ran into huge packs of cousins roaming about, but many were finishing up their visits. I was so tired I could barely maintain an intelligible conversation.

Day Two
There are two flavors of weather in Deer Isle-- glorious or dismal. Brilliant sunshine or chilling rain. Fresh breezes or pea-soup fog of the kind that drives people to murder. If the barometer needle is stationary throughout your first visit, you either had the best time or will never come back. Today was an exception-- I woke to gloomy overcast but we weren't socked in. There have since been periods of sun and a few passing heavy showers, but we get so little rain during summers in DC that it seems like a treat.

Pappy and I were playing down on the beach, and he's getting his first experience of sea water... and he loves, loves, loves it despite its being temperature challenged. He was dropping his ball in the water and bobbing for it over and over. I tossed the ball a little way out, and for the first time I saw him really swimming. He is a water dog. I'm a little nervous that he doesn't have the sense to come out before hypothermia sets in.

Day Three
A quick background on our history in Deer Isle: my grandfather's widowed sister, whose first husband was killed in a WWI-era naval gun accident, remarried to a man whose family had been visiting Deer Isle since the nineteenth century. After visiting for a number of years, around WWII my grandfather jointly purchased a 40 acre lot with three summer houses with his sister's two daughters by her first marriage. Four generations and many cross-family marriages later, we now have cousins spread across a mile and a half of coast and can all recognize each other by our family's distinctive sixth toe on each foot.

About 37 of the 40 acres are woods and wetlands, but the rest is lovely coastline. Our shared beach, to my mind the best in the vicinity, is called Brook Cove. This is a euphemism for "place where the swamp drains", but after a heavy rain the water running down the beach from the woods looks much less like over steeped tea. Our wonderful, open cottage was the Pressey Village schoolhouse relocated to the current site by barge a million years ago. They raised the roof to add a second story over the huge living room, and my grandmother later added a huge steel eye-beam from a navy yard to keep the second story from collapsing into the first. In the tradition of the islands where no brick went unrecycled, additions to the house were scavenged from elsewhere-- there are windows that were originally on boats, and untrimmed logs used as supports. From year to year, our main tasks are to keep the house from falling in on itself and keep it from falling into the ocean.

T-Minus-24

Tomorrow morning at this time I'll be on my way to Deer Isle. We'll see about posting; I don't know what internet access I'll be able to cobble together during my visit. Otherwise, have a great August.

Ode to Rocky Beaches

Though Pappy does not seem to have a strong opinion on the matter, I grew up with rocky beaches and am very fond of them. To tell you the truth, I find sand beaches a little blah. Of course they photograph well and were part of my childhood visions of fantasy locales. But, in reality, a heavily trafficked sand beach now looks to me like a construction site. Footprints accumulate above the tideline like a stampede passed by. Every piece of debris or litter sticks out like an angry zit. And though it is pleasant to walk for mile after mile along a sandy shore, it's a bit much of a muchness.

With rocky beaches there is incredible variety. Where we go in Maine, you have dramatic rock faces and stones of every color and type. They generally form a gradient, with the big rocks driven above the tideline by storms giving way to smaller rounder stones as you move down towards the water. In a protected cove, you can get nice patches of sand or fine gravel which are great for lying around. On storm-driven coast you have boulders and big rocks with tidal life and interesting debris secreted around. Some beaches specialize in flat skipping stones. Others have enormous stores of sea glass, increasingly rare in the age of recycling. Passing feet leave little trace, so you can easily imagine yourself on an undiscovered shore. Plus a rocky beach provides an infinite supply of ammo for chucking into the water.

Now, if I can just explain how freezing cold water is vastly superior to a balmy warm ocean, it should be clear to everyone that Maine is the perfect vacation destination.

Schooling Pappy, Down East Style

Here I am, anticipating Pappy's first trip to Maine. I've missed a year here and there, but I have gone to the same island for most of my 47 summers. In fact, I could lay claim to an extra summer visit-- there are pictures of my mother, hugely pregnant with me, sitting on a lawn chair next to the cottage. Smoking a cigarette and drinking a tumblerful of vodka. (Not really.)

Over the years I have garnered much knowledge of the island and its environs, and now I must pass this legacy on to Pappy. He will learn where to look for crabs, how long to steam a lobster on the beach, what are the master techniques in skipping stones, and how to walk the rocks from Brook Cove to Sylvester's Cove staying below the tide line. And he will meet all the generations of relatives, and learn the definition of second-cousin-once-removed.

Truth is I'll probably spend most of my time trying to keep him from gobbling down sea urchin shells and rotting seaweed, but that's fun too.

On the Road Again

Five days and counting until Pappy and I head out on our road trip to Maine. My wife has used a lot of leave already this summer, so she's waiting a week before flying up to join us. Pappy and I are going solo, and he's not much help with the driving.

I have it all planned out in my head. A couple of years ago we left at 3AM on the Saturday of July 4th weekend for Maine. That may sound ridiculous, but we hit New York at 7AM with barely a car in sight. We were flying past Boston by noon. Of course then we got gridlocked by all of the Bostonians squeezing through the lousy New Hampshire toll booths on their way to Maine for the holiday, but the execution was almost perfect. Take out the holiday weekend, start on a Sunday morning, add an EZPass to speed through the toll booths, and we're there in a day. (I may make a dog-friendly hotel reservation around Portland just in case I am utterly deluded.)

All this assumes that I survive the week. Somehow the last days at work preparing for a vacation always make me need a vacation. But there are wonders that await Pappy and me at the other end of that highway.

Decline and Fall

Well, our back yard and garden is at a low ebb. Drought and Pappy have done their worst. The grass on the route that Pappy uses for fetch looks like the football field after a mudbowl game. The garden which Pappy runs around after catching the ball looks like the end zone. After the fans have stormed onto the field and torn down the goalpost. Set fire to it. And then stamped it out using clogs.

The photos above show one of the hosta plants, illustrating the stages of destruction. The shot on the left is from early in the summer-- showing a few torn leaves and broken stems from Pappy's victory dances, but still looking hopeful. Yesterday's shot on the right would just make a visitor wonder why we planted the homely thing. That settles it, no more visitors.

Slam-Dunking Pappy

One of the favorite activities of the denizens of the dog park is to sucker pop Pappy. While everyone else is resting in the shade, Pappy endlessly chasing the ball is often the only action. And Pappy is so relentlessly fixated on the ball and the thrower, it's awfully easy for other dogs to move in for a free shot.

In this photo from today, Pappy is captivated by the ball while Flash is sidling into position. As soon as the ball was in flight, while unsuspecting Pappy was turning to run, Flash would lunge toward him at ramming speed. Being of lightening reflexes, Pappy would occasionally vault his attacker, but more often would get knocked stumbling before he raced on his way. Then Flash would halfheartedly chase and bark at Pappy for a few feet before returning to get into position for the next round. Repeat.

If it wasn't Flash, it would be Kaiser or Molly or Cassie or somebody else. It's a wee bit embarassing being the owner of the dog park's biggest chump.

Now, doesn't that look comfortable...

Admirable Restraints

While driving Pappy and neighbor-dog Molly home from the dog park last weekend, a pinhead idly pulled out of a driveway into traffic, panicked on seeing approaching cars from the other direction, and solved the problem by angling into my lane and coming to a dead stop. I came to a tire-incinerating halt with two dogs loose in the back seat, and thankfully they seemed to be unaffected. After the incident I happened to be heading into the same shopping center as her, and noted that she proceeded to drive diagonally across the rows of parked cars rather than use the access road. I've long since learned the futility of lecturing knotheads, so I took some deep breaths and let it pass.

My real point is that Pappy and I are getting ready to take a long drive to Maine in about a week, and this situation kind of brings home that I am a dope for not getting him some kind of safety restraint. Preferably a comfortable one that gives him the freedom to move around during a long trip. If there are any geniuses with wonderful solutions, I'd love to hear about it. And if it is something that is likely to be available at my local pet shop, even better-- special ordering will be a problem with this little time to go.

My Deer

Pappy and I went out for our morning walk, and two young deer wandered from a neighbor's back yard and sauntered down the street and around the corner. This was a pretty singular event-- we live not too far from a park, but we are less than two miles from the DC line. I'm not talking the sticks here.

Pappy was highly intrigued as we followed behind them. He walked for half a block on two legs as he strained against his leash, silent but for his gasps of excited strangulation. I pointed them out to a slowly passing car, and the deer trotted across the street and took up stations on another neighbor's lawn. Just shy of passing out, Pappy distracted himself with a discarded tissue on the street and settled down. The deer just stood on the lawn and stared at us two predators passing below them, the brazen ungulates.

Meet Garland

Here's a big shout out to Garland, a lurker who asked us to "throw me a bone" in the blog. Garland, you don't have a dog. If you want bones, get a dog. However you have gotten a mention by name in the blog, so you're doing better than my wife or me. Nice tool belt.

Apologies to my doggy readers. Now we'll return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Oscar

Our long-time blogging friend, Oscar the Airedale from Swindon, UK, passed away unexpectedly this weekend. Judging from his exploits, he had a great life. We'll miss you buddy.

Seeking Help

Island of Terror in a Slippery Sea

Since we were gone for a second ten day stretch, Pappy once again bought his one way ticket to the funny farm. As with last time, he has cultivated a phobia about crossing our slippery kitchen floor, and isn't willing to approach his food bowl lest he skid. Great, anorexia to boot. My last strategy of putting down a throw rug has hit the obstacle of my wife's vetoing the dusty old thing. She's been trying to use these adorable little dot rugs, but they always seem to be in the wrong place to alleviate his anxiety attacks.

In studying up on how to mend Pappy's fractured psyche, I googled "dog therapy". Of course all I got was all the wonderful articles about how fantastic pets are in assisting with human therapy. Bah! My dog is crying for help here. I tried "dog psychologist", but everything was about Cesar Millan. Not that I don't find him interesting, but is there anyone who seriously believes he isn't just making all that stuff up? "Blah, blah, you must walk your dog at least three hours before allowing him to enter a new home to acquaint him with the territory blah blah." What if I walk him for two and a half hours or let him in the house first? Will he never adjust? Can I see his data on that? He has his points, but the endless stream of authoritative pronouncements and pseudo-science keeps my eyes rolling.

If you dig around you can find a couple of niche pet therapists, but some of their sites are just plain creepy. With some of the more credible articles, it turns out that there notion of pet therapy is just training to get dogs to stop barking and peeing. I need a shrink to get into Pappy's head and peel away the layers of the onion. He needs some serious couch-work.

Welcome Home

Well, we arrived home today, stopping to pick up Pappy before heading to the house. He had a pretty posh setup with our friends, what with kids drooling all over him and sleeping with him every night, but he at least feigned some enthusiasm about my appearance.

When our neighbor later dropped off our mail, there was a special package in it for Pappy from Jackson. It was his prize for winning the World Moustache and Beard Championship for Dogs. There was an amazing Tuffy's octopus-- Pappy will eventually see the inside of this beast, but it should take a long time. In addition there were some delightful cookies-- they are just beautiful, but they do have a faint aftertaste of liver. Oh, they were for him? Seriously, I gave one to Pappy and he's been crying over it for a half-hour.

Thanks enormously to Jackson for his generous prize.

Workin' My Way Back To You

Well, our time is Texas is at an end and we are heading home to Pappy tomorrow. Time for a road trip-- 1,400 miles from Dallas to DC. We should be reunited with our pooch by late Thursday. The friends we left him with say he's been wonderful, but, as predicted, he's gotten a little freaky about the uncarpeted steps and has to be carried down to their lower level. I've already budgeted for another couple of years of therapy.

Parting

Today we went to lunch at the home of my late mother in law's friend in Dallas, who is going to be taking in Fred, my mother in law's dog. We brought along his stuff and moved him in a few days before we are leaving so that he had a chance to settle in and to make sure there were no unexpected issues.

As we left Fred and were saying our goodbyes to our host, I was worried that my wife would crack since Fred was such a part of our visits to her mother in Dallas and a channel to a lot of memories. Nope, it was me.

Transition

I received word this weekend that my wife's mother, for whom my wife has been caring, had taken a turn for the worst. I changed a reservation, dropped Pappy with some friends, and came down to Dallas yesterday. By the time I arrived she had passed away. She was a smart, enthusiastic, classy person, and that's about as much probing as I want to do in the blog.

Since I got here one of the notable presences has been Fred, her poodly mutt. More than any other single reason, Fred is why we have Pappy. He has always been my sidekick on visits to Texas, and he is why I gave serious consideration to overcoming obstacles and reservations in getting a pet. He is not just a good dog, he is a great dog. Even my mother in law had trouble pinning down how old he is, but the best guess is about 14 years-- as long as I've been married. He's still pretty spritely for an old guy, but he is slowing down.

A dear friend of my mother in law is looking forward to taking Fred in. She lives alone, and I think both of them would benefit from the attention and activity of each other's company. We took him this morning to get him groomed, and he was fluffy and sparkling white this afternoon when she came by for a visit.

The weird thing for me is, when this trip is over when will I be back to Dallas? Am I ever going to see Fred again? My wife and I have talked about taking Fred, and I am still torn. He's always been an only dog, Pappy and he have never met, and we are gone much of the work day. I've always told myself that in a few years I will retire and Pappy will get more time and attention, but Fred doesn't have a few years. He has done a good job caring for my mother in law, and a full-time companion looking after him would be a wonderful retirement.

Skeedaddling

Pappy has this particluar weird thing he does (among the many). Sligo Creek has mysterious patches of sand scattered next to the path. On walks, Pappy gets absorbed sniffing around the sand. Then, like clockwork, he'll suddenly get startled, race off taking my arm with him, and stop and glance back at the sand. This isn't occasional, I'm talking every time.

For a while I was thinking that I must be inadvertently kicking sand on the back of his legs causing a freaky sensation, but recently I've noticed I am standing on clean pavement when he does this. It makes me think of the time I was hiking in the desert north of Tucson and noticed an interesting pattern next to the path, and then did a record long jump when my brain realized it was a rattlesnake. There must be something creepy lurking under those patches of sand. Giant trapdoor spiders perhaps.

Far in the Future

We were tagged by Oscar to think of five things to put into Pappy's time capsule for the benefit of the denizens of the distant future. I spent some time with Pappy considering the question. After extensive consultation, this is what we came up with:

1. A complete set of destuffed toys. Pappy is done with them.
2. There was a pile of something smelly on this morning's walk, and it was very interesting. The capsule should have some of that, whatever it was.
3. Pappy is very fond of our back yard-- just how big is this capsule?
4. Certainly there should be plenty of balls. We must preserve the paraphernalia of fetching for posterity.
5. The remaining space should be filled with squirrels, which Pappy finds captivating. What a wonderful surprise for the folks opening the capsule.
   

As for passing along the tag to new people, I pick Stanley, the Fleas Gang, and 3DogCache. Apologies if I am giving anyone tag fatigue-- this time of year it's tough to find peeps that aren't just coming off a tag.

Baching It, Continued

"So", you might ask, "how has Pappy's behavior changed since your wife has been away?" When she was home he showed a tendency to sleep in the narrow gap next to my side of the bed, making my midnight bathroom breaks an adventure in stumbling. Since she left he often lies on the carpet on her side of the bed. When she was home, he would enthusiastically come into the kitchen to get his morning carrot before we headed out the door to work. Now that she's away, he eyes me suspiciously as I am getting ready to go, and pays little attention to his carrot. Change messes with a dog's head, and it's mighty sad.

Meanwhile I am now revising my calendar of unlucky days to include Thursday the 12th. After being unable to get back to sleep at 3:30AM this morning, I stepped into the shower and the hot water wasn't working. After racing into the basement, I was relieved to see that there wasn't a river of water running from the hot water heater (this happened to my wife while I was traveling when we first got the house). After a bracing shower, I went to iron a shirt and the iron started throwing off sparks. As a result, I'm a bit rumpled today.

Great Arnold's Ghost

Those of you who frequent my blog have every reason to suspect I doctored this photograph of a whippet. Hey, I've done it before. But in fact this is a real live whippet-- yes, the wirey little guys.

On my word of honor, Wendy is the real deal according to the Times Colonist. It seems that the protein myostatin limits muscular development in humans and a variety of animals, and Wendy basically has none. Zippo. A less severe form of her genetic mutation, where the dogs produce very limited amounts of myostatin, is relatively common among the top-performing racing whippets.

It's a relief that Pappy has plenty of myostatin. I don't need him kicking sand in my face and demanding treats.

Rebachelorhood

Since my wife headed down to Texas for an extended stay, I've been faced with relearning a number of things that people who live alone don't even think about. The one I find most troubling is remembering stuff-- remembering to lock the door, remembering to switch off the iron, remembering to turn off the coffee maker, remembering to turn off the oven and burners on the stove. My wife always catches me, and I've come to depend on that safety net. The worst thing is that I'm too forgetful to develop the neurosis that would have me triple checking this stuff. Seriously, this is going to send me home from work in the middle of the day in a panic.

Linkin' bLogs

After an exchange with Johann and Abby on the Bone Zone, it occurs to me that this is a good time to get my blog roll in order. And I'm too poorly organized to figure out whether I have reciprocal links to all you folks out there in blogland.

Please leave a comment if you are missing from my link list, and let me know the correct address. I'll turn on anonymous comments to enable all you Wordpress and Typepad folk to leave a message, and will fend off comment spammers by hand until I get fed up with them again.

Wait for the tone...beep!

Entering the Star-Maker Machinery

This is one of those defining moments. Friday Pappy joined Minou among elite dog thespians, and hopefully will earn a TV credit.

A while back my wife heard about a casting call for the National Geographic Channel. They were looking for dogs and owners to participate in a local shoot for a program called "Dog Genius". I emailed a photo, and the producer started drooling over Pappy's untapped marketing potential. As it turns out, they weren't casting Pappy in the title role-- the show is about the intelligence of all dogs in problem solving and reading human expression, not a specific dog's genius. They scheduled us for an appointment at a studio in DC's Chinatown.

We went in through the loading dock, and joined a number of dogs in a waiting area. True to form, Pappy pounced on a Husky and started wrasslin'. So much for dignity. Eventually we were led back into a big all-white studio. To be frank, Pappy probably did way better than me. He was rock solid on his sit-stay so that they could get all their shots in. They also took a lot of shots of his spectacular tail wagging. That's my favorite feature.

Then they asked me to sit in front of the camera and make a variety of expressions-- I'm pretty sure that's all going to end on the cutting room floor, as I kept cracking up. For our action shot, I took a high risk path of having Pappy play with his ball. That was probably impossible to film, but it could be pretty snappy if it came out.

In the end we were compensated with a National Geographic TV baseball hat and paid parking. It was well worth the effort for our 15 minutes of fame. I think they said that the show would air sometime in December, so if you see a skinny balding guy and a dog with messy hair that's us. Trust me, I'll remind you.

Pappy's Blog Interview

Like many of the pet bloggers out there, I received an invitation to submit an interview at the Bloginterviewer.com site. If you have a vote left in you, go out and rank all your favorite dog blogging sites.

Baching It

Well, starting this weekend Pappy and I will be two wild and crazy bachelors. My wife is headed south for a while to help out her mother, leaving us boys with a freezer full of casseroles. I had a sampling of what it's like to run the entire household operation solo a couple of weeks ago, and that was really the first time I've had to do it since we got a dog. Whew, the morning drill is a handful (shower, dress, make coffee, pack lunch, fill Kongs, eat breakfast, feed and walk dog, watch and read news...)

She may have a fairly lengthy stay, so Pappy and I are going to have to come up with some activities and getaways to pry us out of the house while our social director is away. I'm thinking I may line up a weekly walk on a new trail, maybe look around for some dog related activities. If I'm not careful, I may be reduced to growls and barks by the time wifey returns.

By the way, Jackson's World Beard and Moustache Championship for Dogs is over, and Pappy eked out a win by a nose against a strong field. Thanks to everyone who voted. Joe definitely needs to get himself that cookieduster.

Ba-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Dum

Happy July 4th, all youse folks in the US of A. You'd think, living as we do on the cusp of our nation's capitol, that we'd be headed into DC to take advantage of the Folk Life Festival, concerts, and fireworks on the Mall. Nosiree, I'm not headed into that mad house. We live in the wee town of Takoma Park where we have our own slate of activities.

We took Pappy this morning to his first parade. Living in an alt-dot-odd city, the parade had it's peculiarities, to wit:

• To give you a better idea of the magnitude of floats in our parade, we aren't talking Mardi Gras by a longshot.
• A women's tackle football team came by handing out football cards-- I got a 4 foot 11 inch 145 pound inside linebacker's card.
• We had not one, but two steel drum bands-- we're a pretty diverse community.
• The belly dancer float was followed by the Afro-Asian Kung Fu club.
• The Morris dancers were replaced by a Revelers choral group, but it looks like the same bunch of people.
• The nearby college's gymnastics club came flying by.
• For some reason this dump truck full of kids went driving past-- I'm not sure I entirely understand that message.
• These guys in great costumes come by each year.
• We had a local dog training group in the parade.
• And, being a progressive community, we had Low Wattage Bulb Man, assorted peaceniks, the School for Gifted Fish, and folks on stilts dressed for the rising waters of global warming.
• Pappy was fascinated by most of it, but he did not like the marching drums.

Next, we have the block party where they block off our street, have a kid's parade, and everybody sets up grills. Finally the evening ends with fireworks at the local middle school. That's better than some stinking National Symphony Orchestra and firework display over the Potomac River, innit?

Our Hero

After being tagged by Lee of This Other Eden to come up with seven things about Pappy, I wanted to devise a way to avoid repeating myself... too much. So here is Pappy through my rose-colored lenses.

Since this tag has been making the rounds, I am going to take a novel approach to passing it along. A lot of bloggers have been hit already, but if you would like to be tagged just let me know in the comments-- then I'll getcha.

Moustache-master

In honor of the World Beard and Moustache Championships, Jackson is currently running a contest allowing dogs to face off over facial hair. Go out to Jackson's blog and vote for the dog with the most wonderful whiskers. We broke out the wax, and Pappy is in the running.

Just to remind you, you know how Pappy hates to lose.

It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...

We hit 14,000 all-time visitors on Pappy's Blog this week. However this suffers by comparison to Pappy's movies on Youtube, which simultaneously hit 100,000 views. For this inexplicable feat I must owe a debt of gratitude to the bazillions of cutesy-bashing preteens watching the "Teletubbies Meet Pappy" video over and over, accounting for three-quarters of that total.

I deserve no sympathy, but I can't help but feel a little maudlin. The movies are fun and all, but the blog is where I put my heart and soul. Maybe I need to copy the Technorati top searches into my blog labels each day. That's right all of you Noelia and iPhone fans, this is da real shizzizzle!

Somebody Ate This Tomato

I found this partially eaten garden tomato (Quayle spelling: tomatoe) in the back yard this morning. I'm not making any accusations here, but the usual culprits, crows, normally leave punctures rather than neatly chomped edges. And the bites look bigger than a racoon's mouth, so it must have been a biggish animal... hmm.

Romney's Dog

There are some rumblings around the Internet concerning an article about Republican candidate Mitt Romney in the Boston Globe. In a 1983 trip to Lake Huron, because the car was crowded he decided to put the family dog in a crate on the roof rack. While underway, the kids announced when the dog had an attack of diarrhea. Romney just stopped at a gas station, hosed off the dog and car, brushed his hands together, and got back underway. Problem solved.

Various blogs and editorials have latched onto this as a hot button political issue and an indictment of Romney's management style and Mormon faith. I doubt I share many views with Romney, but come on.

It gives me the willies that he put the dog on the roof, and then put him right back after the assplosion. And, though the physical risks and exposure probably aren't that different from putting a dog in a pickup bed, it's particularly troubling because of all the thought he put into placing the crate on the roof and setting up a little windscreen-- he had plenty of opportunities to consider what ifs. I keep having flashbacks to when I was a puzzled kid looking out the rear window at our luggage scattered all over the highway after the roof rack had fallen off our car.

But in 1983 how many doggy safety belts were available? How many dogs ran loose around busy suburban neighborhoods? It was a different time and a more complacent attitude about pets. And even today, Romney's vision of the pet as a glorified piece of furniture is pretty pervasive-- most of us pet bloggers happen to be at the other end of that bell curve. Rather than beat up Romney as a candidate, I'd rather people consider this in the context of their own lesser lapses and move a little towards my end of the curve.

Pappy's Origin Story

After working on yesterday's posting about fostering dogs, I looked back through my mail folder and found these. They are the emails we exchanged with our volunteer rescue group, WeCare4Paws, about "Fritz"-- who went on to become our Pappy. This is probably pretty boring for anybody else, but I still get a little thrill thinking back on this exchange.

---

From: Me
Sent: Thursday, February 23, 2006 3:10 PM
To: V
Subject: Adoption of Fritz

We are interested in the terrier named Fritz in Petfinder. We would love to know how to get more information about him and whether it is possible to visit.

How should we proceed?

Thanks,

Me


---

From: V
Sent: Friday, February 24, 2006 11:23 AM
To: Me
Subject: FW: Adoption of Fritz

Hi Me,

Thanks for expressing an interest in adopting one of our rescue dogs. My name is V, President, We CARE-4-Paws. We are partnered with Last Chance Animal Rescue (LCAR) who rescues most of our furry friends and is responsible for their health and welfare, to include ensuring our cats are safely delivery to PETsMART Charities Adoption Centers from Maryland to Northern Virginia as well as our dogs that are cared for in one of our awesome foster homes.

We encourage you to visit our websites www.lastchanceanimalrescue.org and www.wecare4paws.org which provides information about our two awesome groups who have partnered to form a powerhouse to help our furry friends. Together we are making a real difference!

As for Fritz, he is a long legged Benji. He is sweet as can be, energetic, not a mean bone in his body. He is about a year old, crate trained.

Fritz is in one of our foster homes, but an appointment can be scheduled for viewing and adoption at:

PETsMART Charities Adoption Center
24 Mountain Rd
Glen Burnie, Maryland 21061

Please let us know if you have any other question or would like to schedule an appointment.

Thanks for considering to adopt a rescued dog.

V


---

From: Me
Sent: Friday, February 24, 2006 1:26 PM
To: V
Subject: Re: FW: Adoption of Fritz

If there is any possibility of meeting Fritz this weekend, we'd be delighted to make the trip. Is the foster family available for something on that short notice?

Thanks,

Me


---

From: V
Sent: Friday, February 24, 2006 2:25 PM
To: Me
Subject: Re: FW: Adoption of Fritz

How's Saturday look for you?



---

From: Me
Sent: Friday, February 24, 2006 3:09 PM
To: V
Subject: RE: FW: Adoption of Fritz

Anytime Saturday would be great. We're up early, and could be out there by 10AM if that suits the fosters.

Thanks,

Me


---

From: V
Sent: Friday, February 24, 2006 6:57 PM
To: Me
Subject: RE: FW: Adoption of Fritz

We will meet you at (10:00 a.m.) PETsMART Mountain Rd just inside the entrance on the left side by the groomers.

Fritz is anxious to meet you both...he even asked us to give him a bath! We think you will like him as much as we do...he loves to play and we have not even heard him bark, not even once!

V


---

Funny how he never asks us to give him a bath. The rest, as they say, is history.

Rescuer

My Foster Dog is an awfully sweet story from the Best of Craigslist. It makes me think of the many volunteers who efforts went into rescuing Pappy; those we met and those we didn't. For fellow dog loons it is well worth the read.

Twiggy

After Pappy hops out of his wading pool, I can't help but break into a chorus of Skinny Legs by Lyle Lovett.

Gra-ju-ay-shun Day

Pappy and I ran into Louise's owner at the dog park this morning, and she said her intermediate class at Petsmart was graduating today. Argh. I had forgotten that my intermediate class was supposed to be graduating tomorrow, and I made plans to go to my father's for brunch. I decided I needed to have a proactive makeup class by attending Louise's graduation instead.

Kat, the instructor for both dog training classes (irony noted), is pretty relaxed about hopping between classes and I had done a makeup class before. Strangely, Louise never showed up. I don't even think I'm being particularly biased when I say that Pappy breezed past the other dogs in all the tests. He is brilliant of course, and calmer than average, but mostly he just likes food. Perhaps you guessed from the penetrating gaze in his graduation photo that a treat was involved.

Kat was encouraging all of us to continue training towards the Canine Good Citizenship Test, which is offered by our dog park. Pappy could blow through the tests, except that you can't use treats. What the heck are they thinking? Pappy's first commandment is "will work for food".