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.

Orange Julius

Our neighbors have befriended a big, orange, semi-stray cat whom they have named Julius. I call him a semi-stray because we think the cat actually does belong to one of the other neighbors who just never bothers to feed it or let it in the house. So our cat-loving friends have put out a little basket with blankets and regular food and water for a number of months now.

One of Julius' favorite hang-outs is the top of a rock wall around the outside of our friends' yard. Baxter and I (and now Kirby too) pass this rock wall nearly every day as we go for our walks, and on nice days we often find Julius sunning himself up there. Baxter knows this, so every time we get within eye-shot of the wall, he goes into cat hunting mode -- pulling anxiously on the leash, ears up (as far as they can go) and eyes and nose scanning the area for any sign of feline presence.

Today the rain clouds gave way to a sunbreak and we decided to seize the moment for a short walk on the local greenway trail. My husband took Kirby, I took Baxter and off we went. Our friends were out working in the yard and Baxter anxiously pulled toward them. Suddenly, as if Baxter's wish had come true, there appeared Julius, regally sauntering along the top of the rock wall. Of course, Baxter locked-in on the cat immediately and froze in place, trembling in a near-perfect pointing position as we stood there chatting with our friends.

Kirby seemed pretty clueless about it all until one of our friends picked up the cat. Baxter sat down immediately, as if he had been given a command (maybe he thought if he behaved well they would give him the cat...?) and Kirby, finally realizing there was another living creature there, started to bark.

It struck me yet again how our two dogs take such very different approaches to novel situations. When Baxter encounters something new he immediately locks onto it, goes silent and freezes, watching intently as he tries to figure out what it is. As long as the object of his gaze stands still, Baxter will stand still. If it moves, Baxter might take action: stealthily approach and investigate, walk away or, in the case of cats, lunge and scare the cat away.

Kirby's first reaction to something new is quite the opposite. When something new appears in his field of vision, be it a cat or a person wearing a funny hat or whatever, Kirby immediately starts to bark. I imagine him saying "Hey, I don't know what you are or what you're doing here, but I want you to know that even though I may be little, I'm tough, so don't even think about crossing me, you hear?!" He then usually jumps back and hides behind my legs. Bark first, figure it out later.

In today's case, the Julius was unimpressed by Kirby's bravado. The cat is about the same size as Kirby and Julius knows he could take him. At this point, Kirby doesn't even know it's a cat. But Kirby knows he is a force to be reckoned with...or at least that he's safe when he hides behind our legs.

Brain Freeze and Bell-ringing

We awoke to a winter wonderland this morning. And it wasn't our occasional inch or so of white stuff that melts by noon, this was the real deal. Big, fat snowflakes you could catch on your tongue. And it was heavy...I bet we got at least 5" - 6" of thick, wet snow. The trees were practically bent to the ground and it had that texture that would have been perfect for making snowmen and forts.

Baxter and Kirby certainly enjoyed it, both for romping and dining. After chasing each other around the yard, Baxter and Kirby both settled-in and started eating snow. Crunchy water, what more could you want? But it comes at a cost...I actually saw Baxter get what appeared to be "brain freeze" this morning. He was biting the snow off one of our backyard shrubs and suddenly he stopped. His upper lip curled back and he winced, his teeth gleaming in a pained smile. Of course, he shook it off and kept munching.

Kirby had his moments as well. While Baxter galloped almost effortlessly through the snow, low-rider Kirby had a bit harder time getting around. Those little feet just sank right in and the snow was up to his belly. In order to move around, Kirby either had to plow (tough with such wet snow) or hop like a little black rabbit. He took to hopping. It was pretty funny.

Naturally, the little bell rang on a regular basis most of the day.

A Blustery Beach Trip

Some of the most memorable moments of puppy parenthood are when the little one experiences something exciting and new for the very first time. Puppy's first day in his new home, the first trip to the dog park, the first Christmas. We had planned to experience one of these sweet moments on the return leg of our long weekend trip...a stop at the coast for Kirby's first romp on the beach.

As fate (and Oregon coastal winter weather) would have it on the morning we had planned to spend at the beach, it was raining sideways with that kind of wet, salty, sand-filled blustery wind that manages to cut right through Gore-tex. As we sat in our motel room listening to the percussion of rain on the window and watching the trees outside bend to touch the ground, we contemplated just packing up the car and heading for home. But there they stood, both Baxter and Kirby, looking up at us, eagerly awaiting the adventures of the day. How could we let them down?

We pulled out the fleece and the Gore-tex and headed for the beach. The only other people we saw out there were another couple with two dogs of their own. Of course. Who else would be crazy enough to be there on a day like that? They soon left and we had the entire beach to ourselves. Unfazed by the blowing saltwater, Baxter and Kirby took off, running in circles, wrestling, and frolicking about as if it were a warm, sunny morning in August. They both have double-coats...all of which were pretty much caked with wet sand in about two minutes.

We tried to keep our backs to the wind and my husband took a few pictures (quite a challenge given the atmosphere). We stood until we were cold and soaked. The dogs played until they were hot and panting, and after about a half hour we all wandered back to the car.

Tonight, as I look at the pictures, I don't remember the chill of the biting wind as much as I remember the warmth of my heart watching those two dogs having a ball on the beach. It was worth every cold, wet moment.

Squeaky Clean and Scruffy

Because we have dogs who sport a naturally scruffy appearance, they don't require a lot of grooming. Still, after a few weeks of rainy winter weather and muddy trips to the dog park, their scruffiness gets to a point where scruffy becomes grungy and measures must be taken. These measures are, in the minds of our dogs, quite drastic. They involve brushing, combing and a trip to the shower where they're tortured with a warm shower-massage and lightly scented soap.

Kirby, who is still fairly clueless about the process, actually liked being brushed and bathed until he noted that Baxter did not, at which time Kirby decided he did not like the process either. (Why can't Baxter only teach him his good traits?)

Yesterday my husband took on the brave task of dog-washing and I was playing dog-catcher and towel maven. Kirby went in first. When wet, he looks rather like a black-and-tan dachsund with a lift kit. He survived and it was time to catch the big guy.

Baxter is too heavy for me to lift, so I had to physically usher (that is push, pull and shove) him into the chamber of horrors. As usual, this big, hairy dog who leaps with joy into ice-cold mountain lakes stood trembling at the prospect of being gently lathered in a warm, misty shower. When wet, Baxter is still quite handsome, looking rather like one of his sleeker pointing cousins. Once the lather goes on, he resigns himself to his fate. Interestingly enough, Baxter really likes being toweled-off and blow-dried. I've never been able to figure this out. I, however, really dislike using noisy blowdryers, so they mostly dry on their own.

Today we're heading off for a long weekend road trip. The dogs are clean, their beds are washed and their food is packed. They're ready to go. I am sitting here in my PJs without having packed a darned thing and am getting that "any time soon?" look from my husband which suggests that now would be a good time to stop writing and hit the shower myself.

More Snow Photos

The snow has melted, but the memories of romping in the white stuff are the things dog dreams are made of, I'm sure.

Here are a few more pictures of Kirby's first foray into the winter wonderland that was our back yard a couple of weeks ago. And, just because I love the pictures, a couple of photos of Baxter from another snowy day a couple of years ago.

Kirby is Vertically-challenged

Little Kirby seems to have stopped growing vertically, but he seems to be continuing to grow in other directions...

For a while we were concerned because little Kirby just didn't seem to gain any weight. We brought him home from the shelter at 11 weeks and he weighed just 11 pounds. They estimated his adult size to be 25-35 pounds, so when we took him to the vet for follow-up shots several weeks later we were surprised that he weighed just same. We were feeding him Innova EVO, a high protein, meat-and-vegetable-based food, at the recommended amount for a puppy. We figured we were just more recently accustomed to having a large breed puppy (it seemed like Baxter gained pounds and inches weekly during his first year...)

The growth on a little dog is so much more subtle...we barely noticed how much he had grown until we brought Kirby in for his neuter surgery in December and he weighed sixteen pounds. He was a bit taller, but most of his weight seemed to be in muscle and girth. This week he weighed-in at the veterinarian's office at a whopping 18 pounds. Trouble is, he doesn't appear to have grown any taller since December. Kirby just seems like he's getting more stout.

Ok, to be fair, he has developed a thick winter undercoat, and while it doesn't really contribute to the weight, it does make him look fluffier. Kirby also has a pretty thick frame for a little guy -- sturdy legs, good sized feet for his height and a fairly wide, flared ribcage that makes me wonder if Shih Tzu isn't in his parentage somewhere (we saw a black-and-tan "Shih-Poo" cross today and aside from the longer hair, his shape and markings were almost identical to Kirby's).

That's all well and good, but I seriously hope we're not being ignorant dog-parents here...you know, the "oh our son's just big boned" types. Could it be that our little Kirby is getting pudgy on our watch? He's such an active dog, that's hard to imagine. And he doesn't get table scraps and doesn't particularly even like dog biscuits. He does have a healthy appetite, however, and usually finishes off his food each day.

Kirby's seven months old now, so perhaps it's time to ratchet back the food a wee bit. As a small dog, Kirby just may be done growing already. It seems so strange to think so. Baxter didn't completely fill-out until he was three. And Kirby still has such a puppy face. Maybe he'll always have a puppy face, and maybe we just have to get used to the idea that Kirby will always be a short, sturdy-built little tank of a dog.

As long as he still can squeeze under the furniture, he'll be happy.