All Hot and Bothered

We sort of moved into our lovely new home (by moved I mean a few boxes, an Aero Bed, a folding chair and a TV tray) last weekend. The POD with most of our worldly possessions is sitting in a warehouse in Portland, but we're not going to get it until next weekend due to some over-booking on their part and higher-than-should-have-been expectations on my part. Anyway, it's good that I'm here because I have some on-site client work to do this week and that will certainly help pay for the costly move. My husband, who is still living five hours south of here, was kind enough to let me have the dogs for the week. Now we're wondering if that was such a good idea...

The trouble with the situation is...our lovely new home's air conditioning doesn't work, we have a Southern exposure with big windows (which we'll appreciate in the dreary winter) and the part that needs to be reinstalled (the compressor...big part) will take two days. Meanwhile, the National Weather Service has issued a severe heat alert for the area for the next two days, with temps reaching 100 degrees or more. It's damn toasty in here.

So I've been running around the house opening and closing windows and shades strategically to try to keep the heat out and get enough air flow to air out the off-gassing new paint, cupboards and floors (either it's working or I'm getting used to it). Fortunately it's been cool at night, so I've been able to open up the upstairs windows and capture the cool air, then close up during the day. We bought a huge fan that sounds rather like a prop jet preparing for take-off (and that's only on setting one of three) and it, along with the ceiling fan in the stairwell, keeps the air moving, which helps.

Today I have to spend a good portion of the day at a client's site and I'm a little worried about the dogs. The callous people at the Legend Homes office (which I'll rant about another time) had very little sympathy for our plight. The response was "well, I don't have air conditioning and my dogs survive." Ok, thanks. Nevermind that we just spent upwards of $4500.00 extra for the damned air conditioning, which didn't come standard with our house, and IT'S NOT WORKING.

The AC guy (who finally came out yesterday afternoon after I had to call them myself because the "Customer Care" people are all in Corvallis shooting a TV show all week) said the unit was faulty and the ventilation wasn't set properly either. Nice.

Anyway, that's only the latest in a long string of issues we've had with this move. But hey, moving is never a picnic. We've just been lucky in our past few moves. So I'm on to temporary solutions. My husband came up with the best idea, I think: put the dogs in the coolest spot in the house and turn on the giant fan blowing over a bowl of ice from our brand new refrigerator/freezer. Heck, I'm tempted to just open the doors and let the coolness emerge, but I think his idea is a tad more practical.

For now the dogs seem less bothered by it all than I do. I think they think we're camping. It rather feels like it at the moment.

The Box Maze

We're living in a maze of boxes at the moment, as we gather our things together and slowly take them out to the POD that's sitting in our driveway. Over the next couple of weeks we're moving our household back up to the northern part of the state, back to the cool green, back to the drizzly winters and gorgeous summers.

Baxter spent the first three years of his life there, walking with me every morning, rain or shine. But he's now spent most of his life in a hotter place and he's adapted just fine. On the hottest of hot days, Baxter will go out in the yard and lay down in the sun.

Kirby, on the other hand, is not so well adapted to this place he's always called home. He doesn't like the heat. His low-to-the-ground build and mostly black coat just aren't well suited to 100+ degree summer days. When Kirby goes into the back yard, he immediately heads for the shade.

I know Baxter will do just fine back in the land of his youth, and I think Kirby's going to like it a lot better in a more temperate climate. But the stuff that goes on between now and then is proving to be a bit disturbing. All this packing of our things. All this hauling off of the indoor landscape. It's a bit unnerving. Not to mention having to navigate around piles of stuff that doesn't quite fit into the boxes we're attempting to fill at any given time.

So what are the dogs doing? Oh, they are making sure they're never out of our sight. Wherever we are, the dogs are laying between one of us and the door through which we must carry boxes. This way, if they happen to fall asleep, they'll know we're leaving the building...if not from tripping and swearing, then from groaning and stepping to try to avoid them.

I get it, though. Dogs are creatures of habit. And, frankly, so are humans for the most part. And nothing disrupts your life quite like packing up everything you own into boxes and hauling it all off to another locale where the same thing happens in reverse. We just want it to be over.

But at the moment, we're far from it. So Baxter and Kirby are just going to have to deal with it all...at least for another couple of weeks.

Paco Play Date

Last weekend we made a play date for Kirby and Paco at the dog park. Of course, Baxter and Paco's pack-mate Nemo were also there. This time we brought our cameras and got a few non-blurry photos as the little guys wrestled and played.

My Dog Park Flight

In reporting on that lovely day at the dog park when we met Kirby's little black-and-tan likeness, I neglected to mention a most dramatic event for yours truly. I was standing out in the field, trying to keep an eye on the dogs as my husband went to get the shovel (it's a really nice, clean dog park). Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple of big, adolescent dogs in the midst of a game of chase. Typically a game of chase between two large, retriever-type dogs of that 9-12 month age merits considerable attention from the humans at the dog park -- partially because dogs of that age have a full-throttle approach to play that is fun to watch and partially because said dogs are notorious for not watching where they are going.

I saw them coming toward me at high speed and I instinctively bent my knees (locked knees at the dog park can result in trips to the emergency room). I looked for a good escape route. There wasn't one. They were coming fast. Most dogs, when they realize they are headed straight for you, will either fade right or left, so most of the time your best strategy is to stay right where you are and not try to second-guess the dog. Just bend the knees and be ready to get clipped. Being full of youthful exhuberance, the lead dog was paying more attention to the dog chasing him than he was to where he was going and, instead of fading right or left, he smacked straight into me.

What happened next I'm not sure about. Suddenly I was airborne, my feet swept straight out from under me. I landed spread-eagle, flat on my stomach with my arms and legs outstretched. The force of the earth hitting my rib cage knocked just enough wind out of me for the expletive I uttered to be audible to anyone within 50 feet of me. For a moment I just stayed there, assessing if anything felt bruised or broken. I was quite surprised to find that I felt just fine, and other than a couple of grass stains on the elbows of my shirt and one tiny sliver, I emerged relatively unscathed. My knees were fine. Somehow I must have landed so squarely on my front side that the impact was distributed across my entire body.

Of course, the dogs ran on, entirely clueless, and several people came running up to see if I was OK. Apparently it looked a lot more dramatic than it felt. My husband, who was at the opposite end of the park, said he saw me standing there one second, looked away, and then I was flat on the ground. He missed the flying part altogether. And where were Baxter and Kirby, my fearless protectors? Off galavanting around.

I picked myself up, put my glasses back on, brushed off the grass and did my best to recapture my dignity. I waved to let everyone know I was OK. I was really surprised that neither my knees nor my elbows were sore. The next day I felt it, however. The bottom of my rib cage was a bit bruised (which I only felt when I tried to cross my arms) and I stretched a few muscles in ways they are not normally stretched. All in all, however, I was pretty fortunate to come out of the deal in such good shape.

I guess dog-guardian karma finally caught up with me. When Baxter was a youth of approximately the same age, he was leading a pack of dogs in a game of chase through the park and plowed into an unsuspecting woman. I think he messed up her knee pretty badly. Baxter, of course, acted as if nothing had happened and kept right on running. It's hard to apologize enough for such a thing. It's not like it was entirely my fault, after all, we were at a park where all the dogs were running off leash. But somehow I felt responsible because it was my dog at the front of the pack. I offered to pay for the woman's doctor bill if needed. She just waved me off and limped away with her dog. I felt awful.

I've spent a lot of time in dog parks and this was my first direct hit that actually knocked me down (I've been grazed a few times and a few of those actually felt worse). I guess I had it coming eventually. I'm just thankful it was a relatively smooth flight and a nice, even landing. And I'm glad it's a really clean dog park.

Seeing Double at the Dog Park

They say everyone has a double somewhere. Yesterday we met Kirby's at the dog park. Now, when you have a purebred dog, such things are not particularly noteworthy. But with dogs of unknown and diverse parentage, finding a double is a rare and wonderful thing.

Yesterday my husband took the day off of work in honor of his birthday, and we decided that nothing screams "party!" like a trip to the dog park. Of course, Baxter and Kirby were all for the idea and they both started whining about a mile from the park (Bax knows the proximity from any direction, Kirby usually follows Bax's lead).

We arrived, snapped on their leashes and escorted them (ran behind them is more like it) to the gate. We unleashed the dogs and they took off for the green fields. I closed the gate behind us and when I turned around to look for the dogs, I had a moment of utter confusion. I saw Kirby. No, wait, Kirby's not wearing a harness?! Huh? Then I saw him again, running circles around himself. Soon I saw Kirby wrestling and jumping and running with a little dog that, from a distance, looked almost exactly like him. Actually, from up close, the little dog looked almost exactly like him.

Meet Paco. He's a scruffy little black-and-tan terrier/dachsund mix who originally came from a Southern Oregon shelter and didn't quite make it through Dogs for the Deaf school. He went up for adoption and found a home with a nice, scruffy-dog-loving person.

On closer inspection, Paco is a little bit smaller than Kirby -- about 19 pounds to Kirby's 22 -- his hair is a bit wirier and his snout is a bit shorter (this is where you can actually see the German Shepherd genes from Kirby's mom). Still, when the two of them played together (which they did, a LOT) it was hard to keep track of who was who in the swirling mass of black and tan.

I've heard that dogs recognize their own breeds and are more attracted to them. This is usually said about purebreds, who will pick their own kind out at a dog park and immediately make friends (or at least hang around each other). Yesterday it was as if Kirby had found his "breed." The attraction was immediate, the play style was highly compatible and the two of them proceeded to wrestle and play and pick on each other for most of the time we were there.

Just about everyone at the dog park commented on the likeness, some asked if they were related and I suggested perhaps there was a little terrier/dachsund making his way down the West Coast. Paco's guardian said they took him to Baja on vacation and the locals said he looked like a Baja dog (apparently these little guys are practically a breed down there).

We all stood around telling stories about our dogs (usual dog park conversation...we didn't even learn the humans' names until we asked for an email address) and lamenting that none of us had a camera. At long last I realized that my cell phone was in the car. The camera's not much for beauty shots, but at least it was something. I ran for it.

Of course, once we decided to take pictures, both Kirby and Paco decided to become the squirmiest dogs on the face of the planet. The super-bright sun and my camera-phone's glacial shutter delay didn't help matters. I ended up with a lot of shots of wagging tails, dogs half out of frame, blurry masses of black and tan that were barely recognizable and the back end of Baxter and one other dog who decided he had to be in front of the camera no matter where it was (dog politician, no doubt).

Finally we managed to snap a few frozen squirms and my husband made the composite you see here.

Next time we're going to make a real "play date" for our little scruffy black-and-tan mutts, and we'll bring a better camera. We might have to wear the dogs out for an hour before we get them to stand still, but it will be worth it.

Paco: Here's a hearty welcome to the Scruffy Dogs blog!

Baxter Dodges a Bullet

Actually, the bullet was a B-A-T-H. While Baxter slept calmly in his bed (but with some internal anxiety, I'm sure) , little Kirby was hauled-off to the shower for a good sudsing. Kirby needed a bit of coaxing to get in there, but once he the sudsing started, he really didn't seem to mind all the attention from my husband. After all, 10 minutes of warm water, massage and attention from the Alpha can't be all that bad.

Now he's shiny and fluffy and a tad more cuddle-worthy. I'm sure somewhere, in the back of Baxter's mind, there's a sense that he's going to be next...

He's Just Big-boned

To me, Kirby is still a little dog. But when I went to pick him up this afternoon I was shocked at just how heavy the little guy is. He's not very tall and he's definitely not fat, but I swear that little dog's bones are made of some super-dense material that makes him weigh half again more than you think he should.

Looks can be deceiving. For example Baxter's scruffiness makes him look bigger than he actually is. When wet, he's a tall, but lanky dog and in spite of being at least 3" taller, he weighs less than your average labrador. Kirby's kind of the opposite. His scruffy coat kind of hides the fact that his leg bones are pretty darned thick for a little guy.

We're rethinking the assumed dachsund lineage. I've been watching the dachsunds at the dog park, and while they have long bodies and short legs, their shape is really quite different. I've had at least two people tell me that Kirby looks more like a "shorty jack," the shorter, non-AKC version of the Jack Russel terrier. His coloring is off, but that little face sure has that spunky expression at times. Then again, with his heavy-duty bone structure I wonder if there isn't some other stocky, short dog in there. Maybe a corgi back there somewhere?

Well, his lineage doesn't really matter. But when contemplating a cuddle or keeping Kirby from running out after the Fedex guy, I do have to remind myself from time to time that the little guy is a good five pounds heavier than I expect him to be...

Tick Season

I've never felt entirely comfortable putting flea and tick protection on my dogs, but my husband and I choose to do it anyway. For one thing, one of my oldest and dearest friends, someone I trust, is a veterinarian in the Midwest, and she believes the benefits outweigh any dangers. Our own vet recommended it. But when we lived up north, it never seemed like a big deal. When we moved southward, to a warmer climate, however, Baxter really suffered. We started calling him "tick bait" because it seemed he was a magnet for any tick that happened to wander into our yard. A couple of times he got them in the tender skin next to his eyes, which was not only painful for him, it left permanent scars.

So we knuckled under and put the stuff on him. Frontline was the one we chose, because if it's tick-repelling properties.

Last weekend, when we visited our friends on the farm, we asked them about ticks. Their dog, Willa, has very short hair that makes it easy to spot ticks. They chose not to put the stuff on her because, they said, "the ticks were coming into the house on her and jumping off to go find us." That is a hazard of Frontline. The ticks land on the dog, looking for a meal. But the stuff, whatever it is, repels the ticks and they depart looking for tastier hosts.

This is a particularly bad year for ticks. It's not even summer and already they're out in force. The other night my husband was sitting, watching TV, with both Baxter and Kirby at his feet. He felt something on his leg. Sure enough, a tick was crawling up his pantleg. Shortly thereafter it happened again.

Now I can't lay down for a nap with the dogs without having the heebie-jeebies all afternoon, certain a tick is on me somewhere. Perhaps I'm a little more sensitive to the idea, having had my Lithuanian tick experience earlier this year.

I can say that I'm happy to say we'll soon be moving back up north. Oh they have ticks, just not legions of them. And whether or not we'll continue with the Frontline is something to ponder.

A Glorious Day on the Farm

Some friends of ours have an absolutely beautiful little organic farm in the wilds of Southern Oregon, where they grow wine grapes, vegetables and flowers and keep a tidy little group of chickens, three horses a dog and at least one cat. We live less than two hours from their place, but somehow, unfortunately, we haven't managed to make it out there to visit in a long time.

Saturday was our day. We got up at the crack of dawn, slathered on sunscreen, packed our swim suits, loaded up the dogs and headed for the hills. We spent the better part of the day out there -- horseback riding, swimming in the pond, enjoying a delicious al fresco lunch, drinking good wine, engaging in stimulating conversation and soaking up the spectacular beauty of the Illinois Valley. It was a vacation in a day and all of us, dog and human, had a fantastic time.

Baxter had been to the farm before, so as we pulled into the driveway, he started whining in eager anticipation. Kirby started whining too, of course. He had no idea why, in particular, but if Baxter was excited, it had to be good. Bax knew what was coming...

A day at our friends' farm is a day in canine heaven-on-earth. With acres of territory to explore and the freedom to run unleashed, Baxter and Kirby spent the entire day playing, swimming and napping in the shade with their friend Willa, the very sweet resident dog. (Baxter and Kirby both know Willa from her visits to the city with her humans, but I think they would all agree that meeting on Willa's turf is a heckuva lot more fun.)

As far as Kirby goes, I think it's probably safe to say that Saturday just may have been the best day EVER for Kirby. Not only did he get his first taste of farm-dog freedom, he discovered horses (with whom he got along very well) and had his very first swim.

We humans had a lot of fun as well. My friend and I went for a morning horseback ride (a real treat for me because I don't have the opportunity to ride very often). When we returned, my husband and I rode around the farm for a while, which Kirby and Baxter both found very interesting.

Following Willa's lead, the dogs did a pretty good job of staying out of the way of the horses, with the exception of one attempt at a group photo that took a bit too long. Kirby got tired of sitting in the sun and decided go for the shade under the horse. He calmly curled up around the horse's right front hoof. Fortunately, the horse, Avatar, who is a beautiful, sweet, soulful Arabian, was used to having dogs around and didn't seem very concerned.

Next came swimming, which felt wonderful on a hot day. First Willa, then Baxter, then my friend went into the water. Kirby waded in up to his belly, and looked longingly as the other dogs chased sticks. My husband gently picked Kirby up and put him out just ahead of where his little feet could touch. He started paddling, but quickly circled back to safety. So I went in and started calling to him. With a little encouragement from us and a bit of whining, he steeled his resolve and waded back in. He started paddling those little legs and swam all the way out to where I was treading water in the middle of the pond.

We were proud of the little guy. My previous experience with a terrier and water was not pretty. Katie, our little cairn terrier, just never got the hang of it. Baxter, on the other hand, has always been a natural in the water. He took a bit of coaxing the first time in as a pup, but his swimming technique (aided by webbed toes) looked quite professional from the start.

I was worried that Kirby, being more of an "earth dog" like Katie, might have a similar tendency to sink like a stone. He did start out a bit awkwardly, listing to port, then starboard. But once he figured out the right rhythm, off he went. Soon he was swimming after the other dogs and eventually he started using his tail like a little rudder, wagging it back and forth as he swam. Honestly, he looked a bit like a baby otter.

We all enjoyed our cool dip, dried off and headed for the yard where our friends had set out a beautiful lunch with fresh greens from their garden, fruits, cheeses, wine. Not being much for conversation, the dogs sacked out in the shade under the table. Kirby and Willa curled up next to each other (those two really hit it off).

Just when I thought I couldn't eat any more, they brought out coffee and ice cream with strawberries. The whole meal was delicious, and enjoying it in that setting was a slice of heaven-on-earth for the humans as well. As we sat there, I could see the horses grazing in the pasture in the background. It felt so peaceful.

There's something about watching horses graze that has a calming effect on me. It's a deep-seated thing, almost an instinctive response. Perhaps it is that signal to some more primitive part of the brain that says "hey, if the horses are calm, there must not be any predators around." Whatever it is, it's beautiful.

And I'd have to say the same for that entire day. I'm sure Baxter and Kirby would agree.

They're ganging up on me!

Really Hot Dogs

It's toasty warm here today, and by waiting until about 2:00 to go for a walk with the dogs, I ensured we were out at the absolute hottest part of the day. As I mentioned before, Baxter takes the heat pretty well. He's tall and wiry and his tongue, when fully extended can disperse a LOT of heat. Kirby, on the other hand, is mere inches from the ground, a bit broad in the beam and mostly black. He's a heat magnet.

Kirby is usually out in front, vying with Baxter for the lead spot. Today he was walking just a few inches behind my heel. I looked down to see what was going on and I realized he was walking in my shadow. Clever little guy.

So I stopped and asked: "What would you like to do?"

Kirby looked up at me, made a 180-degree turn and started heading for home. Baxter followed along happily.

Kirby the Cuddler?

Some sort of transformation has happened in Kirby. I know, I've covered this before, but the subtle and not-so-subtle changes in this puppy are downright fascinating.

This is true for all puppies, to some extent. We watched Baxter grow from being kind of unfocused as a wee puppy to gonzo as a teenager to the wise, calm fellow he became as an adult. But through it all, he has always been a very affectionate dog. He always wanted to be near us. He still follows me around the house all day long, sleeps with his head on my feet, etc. He doesn't want to be in the yard by himself for very long because he wants to be where we are. He does well when left alone (no separation anxiety), but he also looks to us for guidance most of the time.

Kirby came out of the starting gate with that independence of a terrier. He was an incredibly self-directed puppy. Instead of following me around or coming to my office when I went to work, he seemed perfectly satisfied to play in the other room alone or sleep under the sofa. He considered "come" to be a suggestion rather than a command and things were always on HIS terms. We rather expected him to be a cuddler, but he really seemed uncomfortable being picked up and held for very long. In spite of his small size, which makes it really tempting to hold him in your arms, he would just struggle or try to start chewing on you.

Well, something has changed in the last week. All of a sudden, Kirby is Mr. Affectionate. He now follows Baxter as he follows me around the house. He consistently sleeps at my feet (right now Baxter on the right and Kirby on the left). When we're watching a DVD in the evening, Kirby sleeps with some part of his body touching either my or my husband's feet. And when we lay down on the floor, he comes over and snuggles. I have even caught Kirby and Baxter curling up together for a nap on several occasions. I never thought I would see that happen.

Yesterday he was standing on his hind legs next to my desk chair with his front paws on my leg. As a test, I picked him up and put him in my lap. He just licked me under the chin and snuggled-in as if he would be happy sitting there for a long time.

My husband likes to stretch out on the floor each afternoon for a nap with Baxter. These naps are usually interrupted by Kirby pouncing on top of him (my husband and/or Baxter), walking around on his stomach, chewing on his nose, etc. This usually results in Kirby being banished to my office where he sits looking at the closed door. But the other day Kirby just crawled up and stretched out next to my husband, nuzzled into his side and snuggled. This is new. He did the same thing with me yesterday morning. And he's coming when I call him too.

Oh I don't think he's quite at the mellow stage Baxter has achieved, but Kirby's definitely becoming a more affectionate dog. Perhaps his terrier-ness just manifested itself in the puppy phase and some other lap dog in his lineage is just now coming out. In any case, I'll take it!

Guilt and Grumpy Neighbors

This is my guilt post. First, I feel guilty because I've had a draft sitting in my box for weeks and haven't posted to my blog because I've been too busy working and traveling and doing other things. So here I am posting a couple at once. C'est la vie.

Something has been eating away at me for a few days now and I really debated whether I should even write about it because just the act of writing commits thoughts to memory (both mine and the Internet's), and it's not something I really want to remember. On the other hand, perhaps it's something I could stand to get off my chest...

I'm angry at my neighbor. And I know at least some of my anger springs from the fact that I feel a wee bit guilty.

This is a relatively new neighbor, a couple of blocks down the street, whom I had never met. I was walking Baxter and Kirby past his house and I was walking in the street because I didn't want the dogs to go up on anyone's lawn.

Sidenote: I try to make sure the dogs do #1 in our yard or along a stretch of shoulder on the road, not on peoples' front yards. It's that "do unto others..." thing and I don't particularly appreciate yellow spots on our lawn either. And I always carry bags with me to pick-up #2, no matter where it is. When I walk through the neighborhood I do sometimes allow the dogs to walk and sniff in the parking strip, next to the street. After all, the parking strip is technically city property. And sometimes #2 happens. Out comes the bag.

Well, as noted previously, on this fine day we were walking in the street past this fellow's house when Baxter decided he had to do #2 on the parking strip about 4" from the street. I got out my bag and was in the process of picking it up as the neighbor man came running out of his house to tell me that I should NOT under any circumstances allow my dog on HIS grass. I was dumbfounded. There I stood with two dogs (now standing in the street), a poop bag dangling from my hand and, I'm sure, a look of shock, anger and guilt on my face. I had left no trace of Baxter on the grass (I'm sure a dog would beg to differ, but no human would know).

My second reaction was to blush profusely (something that happens when I'm embarassed or angry, in this case both). All I could think of to say was "Well, the dog had to go. It just happens. I'm sorry, I won't walk my dogs by your house again. And by the way, at least I pick up after my dogs, unlike a lot of people around here!" (OK, I had to add that to make myself feel slightly better.) He replied that I had the right to walk in the street, but just not to allow the dogs on his grass.

I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to accuse him of being a dog-hater. I wanted to say "don't you know this parking strip belongs to the city and I can walk my dogs there if I want to?" I wanted to ask him if he had ever lived in a subdivision before or if he just had some sense that it was his job to enforce his idea of a perverse American Dream where dogs stay in the back yard and are never seen or heard. I wanted to ask him if he always greets his new neighbors this way. Or even suggest that "hello, I'm your new neighbor" might have been a better ice-breaker.

But I didn't say any of those things. I just apologized, excused myself and walked away fuming on the inside. All the rest of the way home, and for the next couple of hours, I kept going over what I should have said. I wanted to tell someone what happened. I wanted someone to tell me that I was right and he was wrong. But somewhere in my mind there was guilt. I had that little voice saying "well, your dog did poop on that guy's grass, and even if it does belong to the city, he's the guy taking care of the grass."

I think that niggling guilt made me feel even angrier. Both at myself and at the grumpy neighbor.

Is it wrong to allow a dog to do his business on someone's property (or the property they tend), even if you pick up all traces? I want to believe it's perfectly ok, but at some level is that an infringement on their space? If someone doesn't have a dog, should they have to deal with the repercussions of my dog having been there (even if microscopic) and then the next dog and the dog after that stopping to smell the invisible evidence and probably depositing their own (which may not be picked up knowing some of our neighbors...) Perhaps it was the less careful dog-walking neighbors who made the guy grumpy and ruined it for the rest of us...

I don't know. But I want to believe that we make certain exceptions in our society for companion animals. Heaven knows we do for cats, who are allowed to roam freely and use our flower beds for litter boxes. For those of us who obey the leash laws or don't live next to a dog park, we pretty much have to walk our dogs to give them exercise. So don't dogs have some rights as companion citizens as well? I like to think that, in a civilized society, we would welcome the presence of dogs, and that as long as owners are responsible and pick up after them, they should be allowed to do what dogs do when out on a walk.

If anyone reading this has thoughts on the subject, I'd love to hear them. Was I wrong to let Baxter make a deposit (with my immediate withdrawal) on grumpy neighbor's parking strip? Should I have kept him off the parking strip altogether or dragged him away mid-effort? Where does my right to have a dog infringe upon grumpy neighbor's right to have pristine turf? And what kind of person could look at Baxter doing what comes naturally and get mad?

All thoughts and ideas welcome...

Discovering Sprinklers

The other morning Kirby startled at a strange noise in our back yard -- the sound of the neighbor's air conditioning unit turning on -- and I suddenly realized that Kirby has yet to experience a summer. The hissing of sprinklers, the sweet and bitter scent of lawns being mowed, the sudden influx of neighborly information from open windows are all new to him. The last time he experienced these things, if at all, he was a newborn. Kirby came of age during the cool, wet days of fall and winter.

Somehow we skipped spring this year. It seems we went straight from the dark, cloudy, cold weather to hot and dry. Much to our chagrin, the grass is growing what seems like inches per day and everyone is turning on their sprinklers once again.

The other day when we went for a walk it was cool, but over the course of the 45 minutes or so we were out on the greenway the temperature must have risen at least 10 degrees. On the last leg of our walk home both of the dogs were dragging. What had started with much enthusiasm and leash-pulling had turned into a mere saunter, tongues dangling long out the sides of their mouths.

Suddenly Baxter's ears went up (well, up as much as a floppy-eared fellow can). It was the hiss of sprinklers. Suddenly the spring was back in his step. Kirby, still lolling behind had no idea what was going on. Baxter lurched forward and practically dragged both Kirby and me around the corner where the sprinklers were going full blast. He lunged for the water, doing his usual bite-and-drink combination and looking extremely happy to have his face completely soaking wet.

Kirby, meanwhile, had no idea what to do. He was a bit startled at first, but seeing Baxter interacting with these strange objects gave him some courage. He stepped forward onto the grass without paying attention to where the sprayers were and got plastered by a jet of water. At first he jumped, then, realizing just how pleasant it was to be soaking wet on a hot day, he started running around in circles getting himself completely soaked.

After that interlude, both dogs happily trotted home with beards (and entire body in Kirby's case) dripping beneath huge dog smiles. Kirby practically danced home with a joyful puppyesque exhuberance.

Next time we pass a sprinkler, I'm going to have to make sure I'm holding tight to the leashes, because I'll have two dogs making a beeline for refreshment.

Entering Doghood

I think Kirby is becoming a dog. Oh, he still has very puppy-ish moments, and if he's anything like Baxter he always will. But there's something different about him lately. Something calmer, more thoughtful. There's a different look in his eye and it has a bit more dog wisdom to it. He's figured out the rules of the house, and while there are still negotiations as to which rules he wants to follow, he clearly knows what the rules are.

Kirby has really developed his own unique personality -- a personality that is more consistent from day to day than it was even a month ago. Puppies (at least the ones I've known) have a carefree, gonzo, experimental quality about them. They try on all sorts of different personalities (angel, hellion, perfect student, fearless hunter, racing lunatic, cuddler, frightened wild thing, vigilent guard puppy, foot-warmer), as if they are looking for the dog they will become someday. I sometimes wonder if the human role in puppy training is really just being a form of input, providing guidance that helps the puppy decide which aspects of the personality are going to stick around for good.

Continuing with that last idea, I think Kirby has decided that his world is a much happier place when he keeps us laughing, when he doesn't force us to clean up his messes, when he's the cuddly puppy more often than the racing lunatic. (Although I have to admit, the Kirby Derby laps around the house usually do keep us laughing, so those aren't going away any time soon.) In short, Kirby is choosing the dog he is going to become, with a bit of our help, and he's forming the personality he will have for the rest of his life. That's a pretty big deal.

The best part is he's becoming a very sweet little dog. Oh, he has some of the wiring of a terrier, no doubt about that, which makes him naturally more talkative, spunky and independent. But he's learning how to temper that to be a more successful member of our family pack. I think Baxter is a big influence on him in this regard. When Kirby's first instinct is to bark at something new, he looks over and sees Baxter quietly pointing and it slows him down a bit. (The only exception is "Mini-Cujo" next door -- when that little dog comes frothing at the fence, Kirby cannot (or will not) let it go without sending more of the same right back. Heaven forbid those two dogs ever actually meet with more than 1" of space to work with...)

Of course the negotiation over who is top dog in the house continues, but now that Kirby's more mature, Baxter is taking the gloves off more and not just letting Kirby get by with things. This is good. I've seen Kirby humbled by Baxter's power more than once. That doesn't stop him from trying again later, but it does give him pause.

Lately I've had a lot more relatively blissful days working quietly in my office with two dogs sleeping at my feet. While I'll always be attracted to the goofy, playful nature of puppies, I have to say it's nice to know the dog Kirby is becoming.

Scruffy in the Pearl

On the way to a meeting yesterday in Portland's Pearl District, my colleague and I stopped for a few minutes to soak up the morning sunshine. Portlanders know how to grab sunshine when they see it, particularly after a long, drizzly winter. As we sat on a park bench sipping our green tea Virtual Buddha tonics (fuel for a brainstorming session), an adorable scruffy dog walked by. It looked rather like someone had crossed Baxter with a Basset Hound. Of course, we had to ask about this beautiful, scruffy, vertically-challenged canine.

Glen of Imaal terrier. Wow. I'd only seen them in pictures and for some reason I had always thought they were smaller, more like a Cairn or Norfolk Terrier. He wasn't very tall, but his larger, longer body, short legs and glorious moustache rather reminded me of a Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen.

His owner was kind enough to let us take a couple of photos, but it was quite apparent that the dog was eager to be on his way, so we said our thank yous and watched as he trotted away with his smiling owner (see above re: sunshine).

A few minutes later, as we headed for our meeting, two Portuguese Water Dogs pranced by and as we went to lunch later, we shared the elevator with a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. It was like "rare AKC breed day" in the Pearl. I guess every day is rather like that in the Pearl, so if you're in Portland and you're into dog-watching, pick a park bench in the Pearl District on a sunny day, sit back and enjoy the parade.

The Mysterious Danglers

As Baxter has grown older his walks have become much more routine. Oh he's eager enough to pull me down the road, but he doesn't react to things like he used to. When Bax was a puppy he was a lot like Kirby, jumping at every bug, bird or bit of paper that flew by. If I kicked a pebble he'd pounce on it. If a pigeon sat on the wire above, he'd gawk at it. Pretty much anything that moved caught his attention.

It's tempting to think that an older dog just isn't noticing things as much. But this isn't the case at all. Rather, I believe Baxter isn't missing a thing. He just has the experience to tell him some things are worth looking at and some things aren't.

This became quite obvious to me when we went for a walk the other day. Same route, same plants, same places where the pigeons sit on the telephone pole. Baxter was just walking along at his usual pace when suddenly something stopped him in his tracks. He froze and looked straight up to where a pair of running shoes was dangling from the high wire. He stood there, absolutely riveted by the sight, for what seemed to me an exceedingly long period of time. I didn't ask him to move, I just waited. He watched as the shoes moved ever so slightly in the wind. Now this was novel.

I realized that Baxter isn't just missing things. He's taking it all in, all of the time. He knows where it's normal to see birds or horses or butterflies flitting around. But when something is truly different, it's worth focusing on.

Today we passed the same spot and once again Baxter's attention focused upward. This time there were three pairs of athletic shoes dangling from the wire. Fascinating.

I wonder how long the shoes will remain up there? And I wonder if they'll keep multiplying? I also wonder how many walks it will take before those, too, blend into Baxter's mental map of the "usual" landscape?

Baxter's in Charge, Mostly

For months now, Baxter has patiently endured the puppy's tireless romping, chomping and wrestling. Sometimes Baxter will play along, getting down on the floor to even-out the playing field. Sometimes Baxter will have enough of it and flip Kirby over and pin him to the floor with a growl. Kirby sometimes takes this as a clue to lay off. Sometimes.

I have to say, Baxter is pretty lenient with Kirby, and it's really not doing Kirby any favors. For example, when Kirby tries to take a toy Baxter is playing with, Baxter usually lets him take it without a fight (there's the occasional growling threat, but Kirby usually prevails with persistence). If Baxter's eating and Kirby decides to try to eat or drink out of Baxter's bowls instead of his own, Baxter usually lets him do so without a fuss.

For months now I have figured that somehow, in Baxter's mind, he was thinking that Kirby outranked him. Or perhaps it's just been a courtesy to the puppy. I don't know. But of late, I'm noticing that Baxter is holding his own a bit more. Baxter is instigating more of the wrestling matches and backyard chases. Sometimes Bax just doesn't let Kirby take his toy. The other night, when Kirby started eating Baxter's food, Baxter went over and started eating Kirby's food, which threw Kirby for a loop. He just didn't know what to do.

As far as I can tell, two things happened that have really started to change things around.

1) Kirby has reached a level of maturity that signals he's no longer a puppy. This means the top-dog position is fairly up for grabs and the gloves come off. The signs: It seems like Kirby has stopped growing (height wise, anyway). While he's still playful, Kirby now has an air of dogness about him. He's a bit more clued-in to what's going on around him. A bit less flighty, a bit more savvy. Baxter senses this, I think.

2) Baxter's finally getting the message that he is special. I read a quote from Jane Smiley in a recent Sunset magazine where she talked about her relationships with horses :

"The nice thing about horses is that you don't have to hide the fact that you love them in different ways. They're not like kids."

I think this is also true for dogs. There's a definite hierarchy in dog society and it's perfectly OK to love dogs in different ways. Kirby is cute and spunky and charming and I love his quirky little personality. But I love Baxter differently. Baxter stole my heart the moment I met him and I've been smitten ever since. He's just special. I don't know how else to put it. People who know Baxter usually agree with me on this point, and to know him is to love him.

Last weekend I took Baxter for a long walk by himself, the way we used to before Kirby came along. That was truly special for both of us, and it's something I haven't done enough during the cold, dark winter mornings when I tend to opt for a trip to the gym. By the time the sun comes up, it's time for me to be at work, so the dogs get a short walk together. (If I don't get my exercise in the morning, I seldom manage to extract myself from work until it's dark again).

Anyway, last weekend there was a spring in Baxter's step I haven't seen in a while. It was like old times. We visited all his favorite spots, met some of his dog friends along the way and came home feeling re-energized for the day. Baxter was the lord of the manor once again, and he made that clear to Kirby in no uncertain terms.

Kirby seems to be taking it in stride. He still tries to get wrestling matches going, but he's more likely to back-off when Baxter gives him a firm "no." And Baxter, once he's decided to prove something to Kirby, is the one who doesn't want to back-off.

The struggle for the #3 and #4 slots in the family pack may go on for life, but one thing is clear: Kirby no longer gets extra credit for being a puppy.

Ok, We're Trusting Again

Sometimes it's easy to take Baxter for granted. He's so constant, so trustworthy. He has his moments, certainly, like when he insists on digging a hole behind the bushes where he knows he's not supposed to go. But for the most part, Baxter is dependable, the kind of dog you can trust.

Kirby is just earning his stripes in the trustworthy department, so allowing him to roam freely while we're home is still an act of faith on our part. Since my last post, however, Kirby has proven himself to be quite trustworthy. I don't know if my semi-hysterical approach to finding the puddle finally got the message across or if that was, indeed, an accident where a well-meaning puppy just accidently let go while ringing the bell. Anyway, that's water under the bridge (so to speak). Kirby has been quite well-behaved ever since. He's ringing the bell, doing his business outside and even going to his crate and staying there to sleep while I'm in the shower -- without my having to close the crate door. That's a big one.

I think he does rise to the occasion most of the time. When we trust him, he works hard to maintain that trust, which is a sign of maturity. I'm not holding my breath...accidents do happen. And it's just like a teenager to seem grown up one day and a child the next. Of late he's been the more mature Kirby and I think all of us (Bax included) are relieved.

Kirby's In the Dog House

No, I'm not talking about architecture. I'm talking about a puppy who decided to nullify my last blog post by having an unannounced accident in front of the back door yesterday evening. Actually it was not entirely unannounced. The little dickens peed first, then rang the bell. When I came running to take him outside, I found a neat, round wet spot in the rug in front of the door. Apparently he figured "better late than never."

These are the moments when I don't know what to do. Dog training experts say that once the deed is over, the puppy doesn't remember having done it, so it does no good to punish them if you didn't catch them in the act. Past experience and family traditions of dog rearing suggest the "grab the puppy and stick his nose down next to it while firmly scolding" method. In this case, it was hard to believe that Kirby had totally forgotten that was his puddle. It was fresh and I came within seconds of hearing the bell.

Kirby seemed pleased that I came, but as soon as I laid eyes on the puddle, he headed under the couch. I opted for the traditional approach...grabbed him, pulled him out and re-introduced him to his own puddle. Kirby knew I was mad. My husband came running when he heard the scolding and shortly Kirby knew he was mad also. I took him outside, he finished going about two drops and then, upon returning, remembered what he had done and ran for the back bedroom. We had to coax him out to reassure him that we still love him and eventually the trauma of the ordeal was over.

Now I'm not sure what would have been the proper reaction in this case. Here we have a 9-month old puppy, supposedly housebroken, able to hold it in motels and other peoples' houses without problems. He had just been outside not long before the incident occurred and had done his business. He peed mere inches from both his bell and the door. But it was on the rug he's had accidents on before (it's been washed and treated with enzymes, though).

Could it be that he somehow got the message that going on that rug is "ok"? Is he smelling the lingering molecules of accidents long past? By not catching him in the act on a couple of occasions and not reacting, could we have sent the wrong message? Are we going to have to move so Kirby won't have an "ok pee spot" in the house? (We're moving anyway, but still...) Or is Kirby just going through that adolescent period where young dogs appear to completely forget what they know and/or they know they're doing something wrong and choose to do it anyway, just because?

I don't know. But our little Kirby is a little teenager in dog years, and he's not yet "grown up." I guess it's back to full supervision in the house. Sigh. So much for milestones.

Arizona Hold 'Em

Our little Kirby demonstrated a new level of maturity on our latest road trip. Perhaps the time sitting in the car (a total of four 10-hour days and two six-hour days on the road in an 11-day timespan) gave him time to contemplate. Perhaps he noticed that the less he whines to stop the car and get out, the faster we get to our destination. Perhaps he was on his best behavior because he was at Grandma's house. Or perhaps his bladder and brain just reached a new level of maturity. I don't know, but I like it.

Kirby quietly rode in the car for hour on end, just like Baxter, in a sort of "travel trance." He didn't get sick once. He didn't have an accident once (not in his crate or anywhere else). He didn't whine when we left him in his crate in a strange place. And he actually spent several hours unsupervised with Baxter one afternoon in my mom's house and there were absolutely no signs of struggle. Kirby and Bax were both asleep in the living room when Mom and I went out into the garage. We got busy going through some boxes and I completely forgot that we never put Kirby into his crate (the usual locale for long periods without supervision). We couldn't hear Kirby ring the bell to go outside, and I didn't realize how much time had passed until I heard a sharp little yap come from the other side of the door to the garage.

In a split second the realization came over me with a hot sweat: I'd left the puppy for hours unsupervised in someone else's house. I pictured a puddle in front of the sliding glass door. I pictured the lamp laying in pieces on the floor (Bax and Kirby had knocked it over once during a chase scene when we were actually IN the house with them). I pictured Mom's oriental rug with a corner shredded. I ran inside. Kirby was rather impatiently waiting for me on the other side of the door. As soon as I entered he ran for the back door and I whisked him out to the back yard. He did his business (that little guy must have been holding a gallon in there) and then happily trotted with me back into the house. Just like a grown-up dog. No puddles. No lamp on the floor. Nothing chewed.

Mom had been telling me to trust Kirby more (after all, it was my parents who first let a youthful Baxter have full run of the house 24-7 while they were pet-sitting). Then again, Baxter never damaged anything that wasn't in his crate and he has been pretty trustworthy since a very young age. It's not that Kirby has ever been a particularly mischievous dog, we just want to make sure he doesn't turn into one when we're not looking. Over the course of his puppyhood thus far Kirby has managed to sink his little teeth into a couple of things that weren't his and he's had the occasional "accident" when he got overly excited and/or we didn't heed the bell soon enough. But that was then and this is now. A lot can happen in a few weeks when it comes to puppy maturity.

In any case, Kirby passed the test. And Baxter gets kudos for being a good puppysitter. We're still not going to let Kirby have the run of the house when we leave the premises (he seems perfectly content to go into his crate when we ask him to), but I do feel better about letting Kirby roam freely with Baxter while I'm in the back office working.

Our little guy is growing up.

Hotel Room Dog Hazard: Medications

It's been a long time since we've had a dog who was small enough to fit under the bed and furniture in motel rooms. Of course Kirby, being his curious, terrier-like little self, immediately dives under the bed to explore whenever we come into a new motel room. On the past few trips this has made me nervous and I always try to shoo him out (which only seems to make him more determined). But on two occasions during our current road trip rather alarming things have turned up:

Drugs. No, I'm not talking about finding illegal drugs or anything like that, I mean plain old human, over the counter (or perhaps prescription) pills that people unwittingly drop on the floor in their motel rooms. One morning in Santa Fe we picked up a tiny white pill. It gave me pause. I was glad we found it before the dogs did. What if it had been some heart medication or a tranquilizer, human-sized dose, that could kill a little dog? Or a big dog, for that matter?

This morning, in a motel in California, my husband found an Advil -- with the coating partway licked off -- in Kirby's crate. Apparently Kirby had found it and smuggled it in there. That probably wouldn't have caused him any grave problems, but it once again raised my awareness of the danger lurking in unexpected places.

It's so easy to drop medications. The pills are often tiny, and travelers are more likely to have them stashed in odd places like pockets or in purses instead of their normal medicine cabinets. When someone drops an aspirin or other relatively inexpensive medication, they probably don't make a great deal of effort to look for it or pick it up if it rolled under the bed. And while they definitely hold some of the blame, I don't hold the hotel housekeeping staff entirely responsible either, as it's rather difficult to vacuum every square inch under a King-sized bed in a small motel room.

I don't know what to do about it other than trying to train Kirby not to crawl under the bed. Fat chance. But even if I did, it wouldn't stop him from finding things under the curtains, around that tight corner by the desk, etc. Those tight little spots are easy to miss with a vacuum and easy to find for a nosey puppy.

We were fortunate not to have any trouble this time, but I'm definitely going to let the motel management know about it and do a better job of scanning the floor of motel rooms next time we travel.

Basic Black: Good for eveningwear, not great in the desert

Kirby is not a desert dog. We and the "grandpuppies" are paying a visit to my mom in the desert Southwest. We have, thus far, been blessed with absolutely perfect weather -- blue skies, golden sun and temps in the high 70s to low 80s. Yesterday we had a glorious morning. We went for a hike along a semi-shaded pathway that lead to an absolutely gorgeous area of red rocks. In the shade it was cool enough for long sleeves, but in the sun it was quite warm.

Of course Kirby was extremely excited about all the new sights and smells and things to discover, so he was pulling like crazy (no, we haven't yet taught him leash manners...shame on us...but anyway) and he was wearing himself out. Baxter is an old hand at desert hiking, and despite his tendency to want to stick his nose under rocks (bad idea) he knows how to pace himself pretty well. Kirby had no clue. When we got home Kirby sacked-out for hours.

This morning we went for a walk on the streets in my mom's neighborhood. Kirby took off with great zeal -- after all, it was morning and it was relatively cool and he was on a walk! Well, by the time we got about halfway through, Kirby was dragging. The sun was heating things up a bit and his little blackness was absorbing far too much of it for his taste.

Kirby slowed way down and his tail was dangling limply behind him (he's a tail held high kind of guy). His tongue was hanging out farther than I've ever seen it, and when we got to a little patch of shade he literally dove for it and flopped down the pavement. Baxter, in the meantime, was absolutely fine, as were my mom and I, because it really wasn't that hot and the walk wasn't particularly far. Kirby begged to differ.

Not wanting the little guy to collapse from heat exhaustion, I tried carrying him for a bit. He finally decided that was even worse than walking and struggled to get back down. He managed to make it home in his draggy, hot, hang-dog way.

Needless to say, it was a quiet afternoon at Mom's house. Both dogs slept for hours. Kirby doesn't seem any worse for the wear, but I don't think he's going to head out with quite so much gusto next time.

Pulling and Parenting

There are some things we can blame on nature vs. nurture...things like having a tendency to point at things (Baxter) or the urge to crawl into small spaces (Kirby). Then there are those other things we would really like to blame on nature, but which we know, down inside, are probably the result of our own parenting skills. In this case I'm referring to pulling on the leash. With Baxter, I've blamed some of this on nature, as the pointer instinct says he should be yards out in front, but I know a lot of it is consistency in training too. Now we have Kirby...surprise, surprise, he likes to pull too. And while I know that his tendency to pull is based partly on seeing Baxter do it and partly on his desire to be in front of the pack, it's also partly (or mostly) because I haven't really taught him to walk loosely on a leash.

There are training advantages to having two dogs. Kirby, being the student of big brother Baxter, tends to do whatever Baxter does. This has been helpful in teaching him good behaviors like sit, lay down, stay and leave-it. Unfortunately, I'm now paying double for never having really mastered the "walk loosely on leash" idea with Baxter. Now I have two of them pulling me down the greenway trail, and determined little Kirby is practically choking himself all the way.

Kirby's face is so small, I can't quite imagine a gentle leader working on him (although I might try it if my latest trainer fails to work), so this past weekend we took Kirby to the pet store to try on a few harnesses. With his somewhat dachshund-esqe figure (long back, barrel chest, tiny neck and shoulders), the small sizes seem uncomfortably tight around the ribcage, yet he's swimming in the mediums. We left the pet store empty handed. Kirby left the pet store pulling and gasping all the way to the car.


Searching for something with fewer buckles and yet a customizable fit, I ran across the Four Paws "No-pull Trainer" yesterday. The name implies that it is to be used for training (as opposed to coping, which has been how I've used the Gentle Leader on Baxter for years), so I'm not sure if it's a good idea to use it all the time. We tried a test run this morning and it seems to work wonders. It's a bit complicated to get on and the buckle is next to impossible to pry open without tools, but once I got it on Kirby and adjusted properly, he didn't seem to be bothered by it at all. He trotted along at a nice, jaunty pace and didn't pull at all, even though Baxter was testing the limits of his Gentle Leader (and my patience) the whole time.


The design of the Four Paws No-Pull Trainer is pretty simple. It doesn't have any metal parts to rub on the dog, which is a plus, and the strap goes in front of the ribcage right under his front legs. My only concern would be chafing in his "armpits" on long walks (if anyone has any experiences with that, please share). And while I'm not sure that chafing is any worse than choking on long walks, I'm hoping it is truly a "trainer" and that with time and patience I can get Kirby to give up his quest for the front of the pack.

All that sitting wears you out...

We've been making a lot of road trips lately, for a number of reasons both personal and professional, and we've been taking the dogs with us. This past weekend we made a quick turnaround trip involving a 4.5 hour drive each way and a considerable amount of time in the car waiting (the dogs anyway) with occasional outings for short walks and leg stretches. But despite what would seem like a lot of sleeping, I think the dogs worked pretty hard. After all, they had to keep their balance as we made our windy drive through mountain passes. And when we were parked they had to guard the car from intruders. At the motel they had lots of new smells to explore, then another windy trip home.

By the time we got home last night the dogs were exhausted. At least it seemed that way. Kirby did the Kirby Derby a couple of times, then settled down for an evening of sleeping. Bax, of course, had settled down immediately following dinner. Their schedule today was rise, go out, eat breakfast and sleep. Follow me to the office and sleep. Follow me to the living room at lunchtime and sleep. Follow me back to the office and sleep. Follow my husband to the living room to take a nap and now they're just waiting for dinner.

I'm sure we'll settle down to watch a DVD tonight and they'll be all rested up and ready to wrestle and do laps around the house and ring the bell a dozen or so times asking to go out... Just wait...

Crash and Oops

Baxter knows a lot of things that Kirby hasn't figured out yet and a lot of them have to do with knowing when to panic and when not to panic. When Bax was a puppy he would be startled by a loud noise...such as thunder...but only the first time he encountered it. He'd jump, look at us to see if it was something he should worry about, and if we didn't react negatively, he'd let it go. I think this is the wiring of a gun dog.

Kirby, on the other hand, is a bit more tightly wound, so when there's a loud noise, he has only two reactions: if it's close, run and hide and if it's farther away, bark at it (and sometimes run and hide).

One area where Baxter has clearly adapted to the noises of daily life is kitchen accidents. Baxter has learned that a loud noise followed by "oops!" or "(expletive deleted)!," means that there may very well be something tasty on the floor and within his reach.

The other night I was fixing dinner and I accidentally knocked a bottle off the counter. Fortunately it didn't shatter, but it did make a very loud noise that sent Kirby racing under the couch with his tail between his legs. True to form, Baxter passed Kirby going the other direction and within seconds was in the kitchen surveying the floor. Nothing good this time. He looked disappointed.

Kirby waited under the couch until his dinner was served.

Another Beach Trip, Roadwork and Breaching Whales

We made another trip to the coast this past weekend and even though it was a quick one-night visit, we had some truly memorable experiences.

The day we drove out to the coast it was sunny and beautiful all the way. Right about the time we parked the car and unloaded the dogs for a romp on the beach, the fog rolled in. At first I was bummed at the thought of losing our clear and lovely view of the ocean, but this was a pretty spectacular fog. It came in around us, but still allowed visibility out as far as the surf. Unlike our last trip to the beach, there was almost no wind. The sun was still shining brightly enough to cast shadows and the mist that swirled about us created a sort of ethereal space where it seemed at once open and private. The sand, the sea and the air seemed to merge in varying shades of tan. It was absolutely beautiful.

Of course the dogs didn't mind the fog at all and immediately took off running down the beach. My husband took some fantastic pictures and short videos, which I'll share in the days to come.

We had another great night's stay at the La Quinta in Newport, Oregon (which, like every other La Quinta we've stayed in, was comfy, clean and pet-friendly). This one even had a last-minute $49 weekend getaway rate, which made the deal that much sweeter.

The next morning was a bit brighter and we headed back out to the beach. The dogs had another nice romp. But the truly spectacular aspect of that day occurred because of a traffic stop for road construction work. As we sat, waiting for the flagger to tell us it was our turn to pass through, our gazes turned out to sea. I remembered reading that it was approaching whale migration time, so we scanned the horizon for spouts. Almost immediately I spotted one, and during the short time we sat there on the road, perhaps a minute or two, we saw at least 10 whale spouts, all in the same area not far from a fishing boat barely visible on the horizon.

We passed through the construction and stopped at the next turnout. The fishing boat was still barely visible, so we pulled out the binoculars and focused-in on the area we had been watching a mile or so back. As I scanned the horizon I saw a spout, then another, then I saw one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen: a gray whale breaching the surface. I saw its giant body come out of the water, it looked like at least 2/3 of it was visible. I saw the nose, then the body, and as it turned I saw a giant flipper before it came crashing back down into the sea making an enormous splash. I was speechless. Once I regained my composure I handed the binoculars to my husband, who watched the same spot. It couldn't have been more than a minute later and he saw a whale breach too. Same reaction.

I couldn't help feeling that we had both just been given a tremendous gift from nature. We've seen whales spouting before, and we've even gone on a whale-watching trip where we saw the backs of migrating gray whales rise and spout not far from the boat. We even saw a mother whale and her baby rise and spout together, side by side. But never had either of us seen a whale breach. It was so fortunate that we each had a turn at the binoculars when the two breaches happened. To the naked eye it was still pretty cool seeing a large, dark mass rise out of the water and come crashing down, but the binoculars made the sight all the more spectacular.

So I extend my heartfelt gratitude to the whales who, breaching for whatever reason, managed to do so at exactly the right moment for us, twice. And I never thought I'd write this, but I guess I should thank the road department, not only for keeping the lovely Highway 101 in shape, but for stopping us long enough that day to notice the whale spouts out our window.

Next time I won't need the road work. You can bet that every second I'm not behind the wheel, I'll be scanning the horizon for that giant splash.

Rediscovering the Bicycle

I love my new bicycle. It's a beauty. I haven't been so thrilled about getting a new bike since I was a kid. In fact, as I rode home from the bike shop on our local greenway bike trail the other day, I felt a childlike glee come over me and I realized I was riding along with a huge grin on my face. Fortunately, it's still early enough in the year the bugs weren't out...

I've always loved my bikes. My first bicycle was a Huffy, a little red number with training wheels, red grips on the handlebars and a white woven basket on the front decorated with bright plastic daisies. It was a gift from my parents and it was the bike I learned to ride on. After a couple of years my Dad had it updated for me with a white banana seat, a sissy bar and stingray handlebars. I added fluorescent flower stickers and playing cards held on with clothespins that rattled in the spokes to make a chopper-like faux-engine sound. It was very cool.

Of course, I eventually outgrew the groovy red bike and wanted something a tad more sophisticated. My second bike was a brown 3-speed women's bike with fenders, regular handlebars and a comfortable seat. It took me everywhere for the next 6 or 7 years -- across town to visit grandma, down to East Park to play tennis, even to school on a few occasions (with it I got my first combination lock).

When I was in high school I sold a bunch of my childhood toys on a garage sale, took my earnings and went down to the bike shop to buy a shiny new 12-speed road bike. It was a sparkly blue men's bicycle (which all serious riders rode) with drop handlebars and, eventually, toeclips to maximize my power. Compared to my previous bikes, this one was fast. I put a lot of miles on it as my best friend and I crisscrossed northern Iowa seeking out every hill we could find (and that took some looking). No one wore helmets back then, and screaming down a hill with the wind blowing through my hair was pure joy.

But as I matured, the thrill of the whole "go fast" thing wore off. The seat on my bike seemed to get harder, the handlebars more annoying and the skinny tires more dangerous on the sometimes gravel-laden roads of Oregon (in Iowa we used salt to melt the ice, here they use fine cinders or gravel for traction...by summer it's a pile right where I want to be riding).

As the years went by my road bike spent most of its time gathering dust. Every so often I would get the idea that I wanted to start riding again, so I'd take it down to the bike shop, get it tuned-up and enjoy a few rides before the winter rains started (I never really got used to the wet stripe up my back). I even rode it to work for a short time. I put on a cushy seat, added some plastic fenders and slightly wider tires, but it still spent more time gathering dust than covering territory. It hasn't been out for a ride since we last moved. It's been five years. Five years in some of the best bike-riding territory in the state. So what's up?

Feeling rather guilty seeing my bicycle out in the garage, covered with sawdust and serving as a makeshift spider condo, I pondered our 25-year on-again, off-again relationship. Was it something about the bike or something about me? I determined it was both. So what would inspire me to ride?

For starters, my mind and body have matured a tad and so have my bicycling desires. Being aerodynamic and going fast are no longer priorities. Being comfortable and feeling stable on my bike are. I always used to think I had to "gear up" to ride my bike...shorts or workout clothes at least (nothing to get caught in the chain), shoes that fit in my toeclips well enough not to cause a minor panic at a stoplight (I had a few close calls over the years), padded gloves (because my handlebars were so hard they made my hands hurt) and, of course, a helmet. Riding the bike was always an event, something I had to get ready to do, and this prevented me from using my bike in a casual way...such as a quick ride down to the post office or to pick up a loaf of bread at the store.

Last fall we had the good fortune to spend a couple of days in Amsterdam, a true bicycle city. There were bikes everywhere. People were riding in their everyday clothes, going to everyday places and using their bikes as their primary mode of transportation. Bicycles lined the sidewalks on nearly every street and at the train station there was a multi-story parking garage filled with nothing but bicycles -- we're talking tens of thousands of bicycles. Rain or shine, these people ride. And the bikes? Nothing fancy. It's almost perfectly flat there, so only one speed is needed. They have chain guards and fenders to keep their clothes clean. They have baskets, comfy seats and ordinary handlebars. They are the kinds of bikes that were so totally un-cool when I was a teenager. Suddenly I found myself longing for one.

The seed that was planted in Amsterdam germinated a few weeks ago as I sat at a stoplight in my car, burning fossil fuel on my way to workout at the local Curves. I was driving my car to a place that's only five miles from my house and 1/2 a block from the greenway trail that parallels the road I was idling on. Suddenly two things dawned on me... 1) riding a bicycle doesn't have to be a production number and 2) #1 is more true if you have an easy bike to ride.

I started looking at bicycles -- not road bikes this time, something more urban and more ordinary. I looked at mountain/road hybrid bikes and I looked at so-called flat foot "cafe racer" kind of bikes (the ones that look like shiny American versions of the Amsterdam bikes). I even tried a Bike Friday folding bike, which was pretty cool and pretty expensive. I'd seriously consider the investment if I were traveling with my bike, as it folds into a standard hardside suitcase. But for day to day use, I just wanted something nice, comfortable and low maintenance.

I started asking myself the tough questions: Do I really need 24 speeds? Probably not. I won't be climbing the Col du Joux Plane any time soon. Do I need more than one speed? Yeah, especially here in hilly Oregon it would be nice to have a few lower gears to help these non-bike-habituated thighs make it to my destination. Do I want speed or comfort? Comfort wins...I never found the drop handlebars and teeny seat to be very comfortable and I know I'd be more likely to ride if the experience were pleasant.

I asked a colleague who formerly owned a bike shop for his recommendation. He got a faraway look in his eye as he pondered the possibilities. He mentioned several makes and models, but became clearly excited at the notion of one bike in particular: the Bianchi Milano. He extolled the virtues of this well-designed bicycle, saying it sounds like just the bike I'm looking for and that it is probably one of the best all-around town bikes in its price range. That price range was a bit beyond the price range I was targeting, but he thought it was well worth every penny. He mentioned it several times and got that faraway look again when he talked about the beautiful "celeste" blue-green color.

Finally, last week, I went to a local bike shop to check out the Milano. While they didn't have any in my size in celeste, (which is pretty darned cool, I have to admit) they did have a 120th anniversary edition in a sleek silver and gray with celeste and red trim. Looks are nice, and this had both form and function.

The Milano 120 comes standard with front and back fenders and a blinking light integrated into the back of the all-leather seat. With only eight speeds and slightly wider tires, I wouldn't expect to do any serious road riding, but because the rear gears are enclosed in the rear wheel (excuse my lack of technical terminology here), there is no derailler. This means it looks like a single-speed bike, with a chain guard in the front to protect my pants and nothing to rattle or get caught-up in the back. Perfect. I looked it up online: everyone who has one seems to love it and they go for years without needing tune-ups (though it's probably a good idea to get one occasionally).

From the second I started pedaling, I liked this bike. Once the guy adjusted the seat for me, I loved the bike. The seat was pretty comfortable, surprisingly so for not having all the springy suspension posts of the mountain and hybrid bikes I'd tried. Changing gears was a snap (my old bike always required a bit of finesse to find the gear and it had a perpetual rattle) and even with only eight gears, the low ones made going up hill a snap. I found I could get a pretty good cruising speed going on the flat (fast enough for me, that's for sure). The cushy leather grips on the handlebars felt like Italian leather gloves. There were no toe clips to reckon with and it had a kickstand for easy parking. This was a bike I could ride any time, any where without making a production number out of it. After a few spins I was hooked. And when I saw that the 120 model was on sale (about $100 off the original price) I was sold.

I am now the proud owner of a Milano and I love it. I've been riding every day, even in the rain (love the fenders!), and rediscovering the joy of riding. I get on my bike in my sweats and ride to the Curves. I get on my bike in my jeans and ride to the post office. The only extra gear I put on is my helmut.

Of course all this bike riding is much to the chagrin of the dogs, who probably feel like they haven't been getting anywhere near enough walks as it is. But I'm sure the excitement will wear off eventually and I'll find a nice balance of both walking and riding. But for now, I'm reliving my childhood just a wee bit and realizing that with a good bike trail running through town, I can get some places just as fast on my bike as I can fighting traffic in my car. And I enjoy the trip a whole lot more.

La Quinta: Spanish for "Great Pet Policy"

La Quinta has earned my loyalty.

We made another road trip last weekend with the two dogs and, once again, we stayed at a La Quinta. Both Kirby and Baxter remembered the place and even little Kirby trotted right up to the room we stayed in last time (same motel, different floor). I'm amazed at the directional capabilities of canines, even young ones. This is probably because I can't remember where I parked the car at the mall half the time.

Anyway, I just want to take a moment to thank La Quinta for having such a great pet policy. Dogs are welcomed with a smile and sometimes even free biscuits. They don't charge a pet fee (not even for two dogs) and the rooms are equipped with extra counter space, little sinks and refrigerators...perfect for fixing dog dinners (or cocktails...in our case it's always the former). And, to top it off, they're usually clean and quite reasonably priced.

I've stayed in a lot of hotels and motels, for both work and pleasure, many of which do not allow pets or charge very large pet fees (Marriott: $100 non-refundable per pet per visit...unbelievable, but at least they allow them...sometimes), and none of them were any cleaner, more convenient or well-appointed than La Quinta. I've stayed at some very pricey, big-name hotels with fancy lobbies, big chandeliers and absolutely filthy rooms. I think such places don't allow pets because they know their housekeeping staff can barely clean up after people. In my experience, the quality and cleanliness of the La Quinta chain is pretty consistent from motel to motel, at least in Oregon and California where I've spent most of my stays.

Another fun aspect of La Quinta is the camaraderie with other pets and pet owners. The motels tend to draw a dog-loving crowd, so there's often someone to talk to when you're standing out in the grassy area waiting for Fido to do his business. Yes, there's the occasional bark-fest when the housekeeping staff rolls the trolly down the hallway (of course barking is contagious), but I'm always surprised at just how quiet these motels are. Either they have extra insulation in the walls or people who travel with their pets are responsible enough to make their dogs stop barking at the maid.

I wish I could say the same for some of the parents who allow their small children to run up and down the hallways screaming at 7:00am, which we encountered on our previous visit. One could almost hear all the dog owners shushing their pets as the dogs reacted to the ear-splitting screeches. (Now I'm not holding the children responsible here...any normal little kid would love to go running up and down a motel hallway screaming with glee. In those cases it's the parents who are irresponsible and shouldn't be allowed to travel without supervision.)

I seldom see a motel with a "no children" policy (although I did run across a B&B recently). This is because our society pretty much expects children to be able to go anywhere adults go (except for bars and certain other locales of adult entertainment, of course). And motels expect (rightfully so) that parents will have their children under supervision, and the housekeeping staff just has to pick up the pieces after the irresponsible ones leave.

But many places of lodging have a different policy toward companion animals. By their view, because Baxter and Kirby are a different species, they are somehow less clean or less a member of the family than a little human would be. I think there are a lot of families out there who, like us, would beg to differ. And this is especially true from the kids' point of view. I'd be willing to bet you 9 out of 10 kids would say their dog is just as much a member of the family as their little brother or sister is, and in many cases they would probably rather travel with the dog. I say bring 'em all.

The question really comes down to parenting skills. Irresponsible parents are irresponsible parents, whether the little ones they are ignoring are human or canine. And I'm sure the little disaster areas left behind when they check-out bear a striking resemblance (with the exception that dogs leave behind a bit more hair). But we don't discriminate against ALL parents just because some of them don't take good care of their children. I think the same should be true for dogs.

Returning to the La Quinta example: they do not charge a pet fee, but they make you sign a waiver that says if your pet ruins anything, you will be charged. That seems entirely fair to me. Charging me in advance for damage my dogs will not make (thank you, Marriott) is really just a way of saying "we really don't want your pets in here, but we don't want to be seen as not having a pro-pet policy." Hogwash.

The difference between La Quinta and most other mid-range motels out there is that La Quinta trusts their pet-loving guests to be responsible. And, in my experience, their guests oblige by being trustworthy. I think we pet owners are just so happy to have a pet-friendly motel chain, we're extra careful to be as low-impact as possible. We don't want La Quinta to suddently start charging pet fees or, heaven forbid, stop allowing pets altogether.

And a note for those motels who play the allergy card... Again, this is partly an issue of cleanliness. If you are really cleaning and vacuuming the room, you'll pick up most of the pet hair and dander, which are usually responsible for allergies. And for those folks for whom a microscopic amount of dander can create an allergic reaction, offer them the choice of "always pet-free" rooms, just as most motels offer non-smoking rooms. (Honestly, I can sympathize as I was terribly allergic to cats until a few years ago. I could barely breathe after a few minutes in the proximity of cat hair and dander...thanks to NAET acupuncture, that's over...another story).

And while you dog-refusing/allergy-aware motels are at it, maybe you should consider that some people will be allergic to the mold in your bathrooms or the synthetic scents in your shampoos or even the dust in the rooms that your housekeeping staff never bothers to clean. If you are going to have a "no pets due to allergy concerns" policy, you damn well better make sure your rooms are SPOTLESS. I haven't seen one yet. And at this point I really don't plan to give my business to any "no pets" establishments unless I'm at a business function and required to do so.

Interestingly enough, even though ALL rooms at La Quinta motels are pet-friendly rooms, I didn't notice anyone sneezing or wheezing at breakfast (I forgot to mention the free continental breakfast, which is pretty good). Perhaps those who are allergic to pets self-select to stay at other motels. Or, perhaps, La Quinta just happens to run a very clean establishment that caters to responsible people of all types.

Blustery Beach: The Movie

Video of Kirby's first trip to the beach.