Dog Lessons

Blow Down

2012-01-26T22:09:00.003-07:00

Saturday, January 21st. Days of being stuck close to home because of snow finally get to me. And Finn. We both need to run.

The recent snow is now coated with thick ice as the result of a relatively rare ice storm that hit the area over the previous two days, causing massive power outages as trees already burdened with snow now break under the weight of the ice and rain, nudged by strong winds. Local streets are an ice rink, so we're not running in town. Too dangerous.

Overnight, the wind howled, with gusts over 40 MPH, making my bedroom windows rattle - pretty rare, here. The plan was to meet Mike and his dog Alice for a run at Cougar Mountain at 8 am, but listening to the wind continue to howl just before daybreak, I cancel, texting that I'm going to wait for the winds to subside. I wouldn't forgive myself if Finn got hurt by a tree trunk or flying tree limb felled by the wind. It can be very dangerous, running under trees, when the wind is gusting over 30 MPH. The wind advisory predicts the storm will subside by 10 am.

Here at home, the winds do subside by 9 am, so I load Finn into the car and off we go. Thinking there will be less iced/snow-covered trails at Tiger, where there's more tree cover, we head there. At the trail head, the winds are still strong.

Finn on Swamp Trail, Tiger Mtn, at tail end of wind storm.

With YakTrax on my shoes, the snow is actually easy to run on; not too crusty with ice. But oh my, the wind debris covering the trail is incredible. Finn and I barely go 100 yards before we come to these scenes. I think about turning back, but convince myself that those trees and limbs that were likely to fall because of wind have already done so. Besides, Finn is beside himself with joy - off leash for the first time in a week! In snow! He's rarely this excited. We continue on.

Looking back along Swamp Trail; trees and branches down everywhere.

I quickly fall into a pattern: run a few yards, then...scramble over, under, through or around newly downed trees, limbs or branches. I quickly realize this is going to be very slow going, more of a hike than a run. But that's fine; we're out in the woods, so it's all good. Or it would be if the wind weren't still blowing so hard. It makes me a little nervous. But so far, no branches are falling on us.

Finn provides scale for big downed tree on...Big Tree Trail. I went under this one. So did Finn - much more elegantly than I.

Finn treats the downed grees like an agility course, launching himself over tree trunks or dashing up hillsides to go around. Often, I follow him, as he tends to find the path of least resistance. He frequently stops to sniff the evergreen branches now splayed on the snow. I can only imagine all the critter smells he's zoning in on. His joy at being out here is infectious. Despite all the obstacles, I'm also glad we're out here.

A relatively clear - and all too short - section of trail.

Entrance to Wetlands/Round Lake trail - almost impassable, but we pass.

It takes a lot to discourage me and Finn. This is oddly fun; it's so different than our usual run. It makes me appreciate having well groomed and maintained trails most of the year.

Round Lake, frozen over.

We're having fun, but the wind seems to be picking up, getting stronger and louder; I can hear the trees straining against it. I decide we should call it a day, even though we're covering only about three miles instead of the usual five to six. Tt's slow going, yet we've both gotten a decent workout clambering over all the debris. It's taking us an hour to cover just three miles.

Just before we reach the parking lot, I see friends just starting their run. After telling them about conditions I've seen, they're convinced they should wear their YakTrax. They follow us back to the parking lot, where Finn gets to know Mika.

Finn enjoying some attention while Mika gets a little jealous.

The amount of debris blown down onto local trails is significant; it's been years since I've seen so much damage from one storm. I did what I could, tossing branches. In subsequent days, I learn that local hikers and trail runners are already out with their hand saws, cutting through the smaller trees and limbs; eventually the park and forest service crews will come through with the chain saws to remove the big trees. It will quickly return to normal. Finn, I suspect, would prefer it stay the way it is, so he can keep leaping over trees.

Here's what I learned: check expectations at the door (or trail head), and simply enjoy what you find. Some might have quit right at the start, seeing all the debris on the trail. They would have missed a Nature-made agility course for human and canine that slowed us down enough to truly appreciate Her power and whim, and treasure how good we usually have it.

Abundance of Snow III (January 19th)

2012-01-22T15:00:00.000-07:00

By now, being snowbound is really getting old. I put on my heavy snow boots - sometimes adding YakTrax for better traction - Goretex jacket, insulated Seattle Sombrero (rain hat) and two layers of gloves to take the dogs on walks of a mile or so around the neighborhood. Things are strangely, peacefully quiet for midweek - schools are closed, as are most businesses. Very few cars are on the roads. Enough snow/sleet still falls all day that most people are staying inside. I notice that most of us who are venturing outside, on foot, are being led by happy - and very energetic - dogs.

Back at the house, we're bored. Very bored.

Meadow expressing her boredom.

Finn - toy in mouth - joins Meadow on the deck to see if he can lighten her languor.

Finn manages to get a minor reaction our of Meadow.

Maia the Referee comes out, just in case someone actually starts playing. With nothing to referee, she commences eating hardened snow, one of her favorite treats.

Maia scrapes the hard snow to eat, using her toenails and front lower teeth. Not sure why she loves it so much but she's done this her entire life.

Finn succumbs to the collective ennui.

I give serious thought to taking Finn for a nighttime run. The snow on neighborhood roads is sufficiently packed to make a decent running surface. At night there would be even fewer cars on the roads, and there's something wonderfully cathartic about running through a dark, silent, snow-covered city. But the ice storm that pelted the region all day left trees weakened from the weight of iced-over snow; limbs are falling throughout the region and lots of folks have been without power for a day or longer. I decide the reward of a run - for me, and Finn - isn't worth the risk. We can wait.

After a week of this - unable to get to the forest trails I so love to run, or even run much from home - I find myself wishing for a Pineapple Express to quickly melt all this white stuff away.

Abundance of Snow II (January 18th)

2012-01-21T15:16:00.000-07:00

As more snow keeps falling and the roads and sidewalks become more slick, the dogs and I venture out less and less. We're all getting bored. This is day four of messy roads.

Luckily for the dogs, I have some marrow bones and cow hooves stashed away. Happy, happy dogs.

None of them seem to mind that the snow is still falling, collecting on their coats.

The snow made a wonderful, natural muffler for the usual loud gnawing sounds that can be heard against the boards of the deck when the dogs work their bones or hooves.

Abundance of Snow I (January 17th)

2012-01-20T16:15:00.002-07:00

[Forgive me for yet another post about snow. But you see, in Seattle, we don't get snow very often. This past week, the city and surrounding suburbs have come to a virtual standstill because of snow, then ice, now slush. I hunkered down and only left the house on foot. With little else to do, I took a lot of photos. I'm lucky - I didn't have to be anywhere, I never lost power. And I've got dogs who LOVE snow.]

Tuesday the 17th: fresh snow on the ground, more gently falling form the sky.

Maia enjoys her bed of snow.

Finn checks in with Maia; he can't understand why she likes snoozing out here.

Meadow agrees with Maia: no better bed than one made of fresh snow.

Later in the morning, Finn - out of sheer boredom - tries taking a toy outside, seeing if he can interest Meadow in a game of keep-away.

Meadow - ever patient - awaits the perfect moment for toy stealing.

"Did you say something?"

"Here I am; what do you want?"

I admit it. I call Finn to the door to distract him, so Meadow can have the toy. She's much too polite to take it by force.

Meadow's toy now.

Knowing how smart - and fast - Finn is, I suggest he "find your toy" so he does:

Each with their toy.

Finn needs more exercise than a simple walk through the neighborhood, which he and I had already done that morning. A quick game of Chuckit is order.

Watch out for the snow person with the long nose!

Finn is a little unsure about a tennis ball covered in cold packed snow; he holds it delicately between his jaws. Occasionally he loses it under the snow. Finn is keen of eye, but not of nose. I have to find it for him.

"C'mon! Throw it again!"

Late afternoon on the 17th, the weather clears a bit so the girls and I take a tour of the neighborhood. The light on the snow was gorgeous.

Meadow and Maia pose on the snow-covered sand of Juanita Beach.

Winter's Soft Light

2012-01-17T12:48:00.001-07:00

After playing in the snow much of the morning, I strap on the YakTrax and start walking dogs. First Finn, who at age four can pull as hard as two malamutes, so I always take him by himself. Then I take the girls for a walk to the neighborhood park, just as the sun is setting - hidden - behind the next storm coming through.

Snow dogs enjoying the snow.

Winter light reflecting off water and snow.

Continuing our stroll through the park, we come upon a couple of snow Munchkins waving from the concrete wall. Only one has a face. Maia goes right up to them to sniff, as if they might truly be alive.

Who are these guys? Apparently the one of the right wishes to remain anonymous.

Happy, smiling snow Munchkin.

A hint of pink from the setting sun.

Morning Snow Play

2012-01-16T09:59:00.000-07:00

As the snow falls in big, fat, wet flakes most of the morning, I elect to stay inside. The dogs, though, can't resist their inner puppies and play - as much as they can in our very small fenced yard.

Meadow collects flakes as they fall.

The solar dogs keep Meadow company, looking a little hang dog.


Finn comes out, looking to stir up some trouble.


Finally, Maia comes out to supervise.

But, nothing's happening. Meadow hasn't moved. First Finn, then Maia go back inside. I follow them - I'm getting soaked by the huge flakes, and it's cold. Apparently, after a few minutes, Meadow feels left out (literally) and comes looking for us.

Meadow decides to join us inside - bringing the snow in with her.

Meadow shakes off the snow - inside the house; Finn starts licking it off the carpet.

Meadow has an ulterior motive. She really just wants to stir up some trouble of her own. She manages to entice Finn to follow her outside. Come on! We can't waste fresh falling snow. Finn obliges. Out through the dog door they go. This time, though, Finn takes a toy, for a game of keep away.

Meadow and Finn start romping on the deck.

Finn gets a toy - better for taunting Meadow, making her chase him.

They start dashing about the yard, the possessor of the toy the winner of their game.

After lots of teasing by Finn, Meadow gets the toy and shakes it to death.

Maia hears all the commotion outside - including my laughter in encouragement, and comes back outside. She has always been the referee dog, the supervisor of all play.

Sensing too much fun is being had without her, Maia checks in with Meadow.

Uh oh - Finn dashed in and stole the toy when Meadow wasn't looking.

It's still snowing and I'm getting much too cold to continue cheering on this play session. I go inside. Maia follows me; he weakening rear end doesn't let her participate as she used to. Poor old girl - she also doesn't seem to enjoy the cold as much.

Soon, Finn joins us inside. And finally - reluctantly - Meadow. She's the party girl who can't believe everyone else goes home so early.

Meadow brings more snow inside. Helps keep the humidity up.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

2012-01-15T09:53:00.001-07:00

Snow has been falling in fits and starts over the last day here, barely enough to stick to decks and ground. This morning it seems to be falling with purpose. I love waking up to fresh snow.

One of the things the dogs and I miss about Idaho's winters: lots of snow. Feet deep. Months long. There's nothing like running on freshly falling snow, dogs by my side. The snow quiets the rest of the world, makes it go away - like living in our own wilderness snow globe. All I hear is foot falls and breathing - mine and theirs - muffled by that special hush of the falling snow gently contacting trees and ground, accented only by the occasional whoosh of a small heap of snow sliding off a tree branch to marry the snow on the ground and ravens calling out their own astonishment with the scene. Fresh snow brings out the inner child (and puppy) in us all, refreshing our sense of wonder at the beauty of nature. And let's not forget the fun of discovering footprints in the snow - deer, elk, wolf, fox, coyote, turkey, raven. The prints delight my eye while teasing the dogs' noses.

Okay. It's much tamer, here in the city. But fresh snow still makes us giddy and happy.

Finn and Meadow enjoying snow on the deck at dawn, noses raised, smelling...?

Still smelling. Must be some interesting smell wafting through the air. More snow? Solar butterflies signal their happiness with the snow in the background.

Within two minutes of my taking the photos above and returning inside...it starts snowing again! Clearly both Meadow and Finn could smell it coming. Wish I had that ability. Maybe I should offer their services to local TV news weather forecasters?

Meadow gives me an "I knew it!" look. She loves snow, letting it fall on her.

Perhaps the only part of Meadow's body that ever feels the falling snow is the tip of her nose. In Idaho, there were times when the snow was falling fast and furious, and I'd look out in the yard to see two lumps - Maia and Meadow, curled into balls, completely covered. I'd try to convince them to come inside. They'd give me withering looks, as if to say, "Why? This is awesome. You should try it!"

Finn's coat shows every flake.

Finn, with his thin coat and lack of undercoat, can enjoy the snow only briefly before needing to shake if off and seek some warmth inside. When we run, he's fine - generating sufficient body heat with movement; in fact the snow helps keep him from overheating while running. But I never find him curled up outside, nose to tail, letting the snow gently fall on him. That's for thick-coated malamutes.

Showing out the Old Year, Ushering in the New

2012-01-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

Finn and friends at Marymoor Off Leash Park

To send out 2011 in appropriate fashion, Finn and I met a friend and her two black labs at Marymoor Off Leash park for a late afternoon playdate. Despite temperatures hovering around 40F, the dogs were more than willing to take a dip in the Sammamish slough.


Friend, with labs Cassie and Bailey.

Trying to convince the dogs to swim.

Finn, convinced, swims while the other dogs watch, and taunt.

Finn, mid-shake, water flying, soaking Bailey. Revenge!

All of the dogs enjoyed much running and romping. Finn chased the tennis ball for nearly an hour. He was exhausted when we finally headed home. For once, he wasn't upset when I left him home with the girls while attending a New Years Eve party next door. I think he even slept through the fireworks celebrating the New Year. Wish I could say the same.

The next morning, it was time to properly usher in the New Year with...a trail run! Finn and I headed to Cougar Mountain. Amazingly, it wasn't raining, and was fairly warm - a great morning for a run.

Finn on Coyote Creek Trail, Cougar Mountain. Hoping to spot a coyote.

Finishing our run and nearing the parking area, we spy several other runners with three dogs. Apparently they all had the same idea for the new year. We often see one of the dogs, Jasper, at Cougar Mountain. She's a really sweet dog, and has a thing for Finn. When she sees him approaching, she crouches down on the ground, tail wagging, then rushes up to him in happy greeting. Finn, ever the cool boy, accepts her greeting, then focuses on meeting the two other dogs in the group.

Jasper greets Finn.

Note the Siberian in the car, sandwiched between two people, wearing a red hat. Party on!

It was unexpectedly warm, in the mid-50s, thus all the folks wearing shorts on January 1st. I was overdressed. So was Finn, judging from his tongue-hanging appearance. Or maybe he's just smiling at Jasper's adoration.

Later that afternoon, it was time to celebrate the new year with the girls. We strolled through Juanita Beach Park.

Maia and Meadow and their new friends.

As we entered the park, a couple with their adorable young girls asked to meet my girls. They spoke English as a second language, with a European accent. Asking a lot of questions about my girls, and dogs in general, they often struggled for the appropriate word but we all understood each other. Turns out they've been thinking of getting a dog. I commended them for taking their time, learning as much as they could, and meeting different sorts of dogs before plunging in. We had quite a discussion about various breeds, getting a puppy or an older rescue dog, and what sort of training is involved when bringing a dog into a family.

The mom asked me to tell her girls what to expect if they get a dog; to describe what sort of care would be required. I listed the obvious things - feeding every day, providing fresh water, grooming, and scooping poop. That latter point brought some giggles. All the while the children were petting the girls, stroking their thick fur in a gentle way. It wasn't until later, running the encounter through my mind, that I wished I'd said "loving them up" as the first and most important thing they'd be required to do if they got a dog.

The discussion ended and the children said goodbye to the girls. They walked over to a nearby bench. Thinking this would make a good blog post, I asked if I could take their photo with my girls. The parents were eager to comply, and the father took photos with his own camera from over my shoulder. As we parted, their mother smiled, thanked me for letting them meet my dogs, and said, "And now we'll go practice scooping poop!"

That evening, at home, I marveled at the perfect way my dogs and I had started 2012.

What's in a name?

2012-01-03T21:15:00.001-07:00

Finn, on Tiger Mountain.

I'm often asked about Finn's name. Is it short for Finnegan? No. His full name is Finn MacCool. It comes from Celtic mythology. I chose it because one defining characteristic of the minor god Finn MacCool is: Delights in running after adventure with dogged persistence.

Perfect, for a trail running redheaded dog.

How apropos that one of our favorite trails to run at Tiger Mountain is called...Adventure Trail.

Birthday Celebration

2011-12-30T06:00:00.000-07:00

Finn and I share a mid-December birth date. Finn came to me through a rescue, actual birth date unknown. Based on what my vet guesstimated his age to be when I got him, I decided to make his birthday the same as mine. Easier to remember.

Since we both love running trails, and doing that together...that's how we celebrated our birthday this year. Running trails at Cougar Mountain. Big surprise, eh?

It was a drizzly, muddy, fun run.

Finn on a log.


Finn getting a mud bath, one step at a time.

Since it was just me and Finn, I decided I should try to take a self-portrait to commemorate the occasion. All I had was my iPhone 3, the version that has the camera lens on the back side, and the screen and touch button for snapping photos on the other. Not easy, taking a self-portrait, when you have no clue whether you're even in the frame, or whether your finger is hovering over the button icon.

First attempt, Finn decided he'd give me a birthday kiss so he wouldn't have to look at the camera:

Or maybe he was just telling me this was a really stupid use of our time, that we should be running.

I tried again - pulling on Finn's collar to bring him into what I hoped was the frame - with slightly better results:

Oh well. At least we're both sort of smiling.

My arms are too short for this maneuver.I'm told it's better with the newer version of the iPhone, which has camera lenses on both sides.

Finn got his wish. We continued running.

Where, or where does the trail go...?

Despite the fog and drizzle, it was a lovely day for a run. It seemed as though we had the mountain to ourselves.

Finn luring me onto the trail so I'll quit taking photos.

Toweling off.

Toweling Finn off after one of these runs often feels futile. The towel soaks up some of the moisture, but barely removes the mud. He'll track a significant amount of dirt into the house, dirt that will slowly drop from his fur into the carpet as it slowly dries over the next several hours. That's life in our household - dogs gets dirty and bring it inside with them. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Later that day, the weather cleared so the girls and I enjoyed a walk.

The girls also wanted to help me celebrate my birthday (they didn't care so much about Finn's birthday; he's just their bratty kid brother). They ushered me to the park to enjoy a bit of a sunset. At least it wasn't drizzling, or foggy. They helped me meet lots of nice people, including a sweet child in a stroller.

All three dogs got PupCakes with their dinner in honor of Finn's birthday. I ordered up some chicken vindaloo and garlic naan to celebrate mine.

It was a great day. A perfect birthday, thanks to my dogs and their unconditional love.

Magnetism of the Winter Sun

2011-12-25T06:00:00.000-07:00

I'm drawn like a magnet to the winter sun. Probably has something to do with living most of my life in Seattle, the land of gray.

I don't like hot weather - neither do my dogs - so the summer sun can feel a bit like the enemy. We do our outdoors playing very early in the morning during the summer months, before temperatures rise, or walk late in the evening. But the winter sun draws us all outside like moths to the flame, any time of day. That elusive sun teases me, demanding that I take photos. Camera, iPhone ...whichever I have with me. Photos, good and bad. I just have to take them.

Meadow in setting sun light.

Here's what I love about dogs: they're eager to go with you on that walk or run. Always. Any time, any weather. No complaints, no excuses, no putting off to a more convenient time. The girls - aging as they are - can be deep in their midday naps, yet jump up with enthusiasm when they hear me say, "Girls - wanna go for a walk?" Tails wagging, they can hardly get out the door fast enough. Finn? He bounces like a dog on a pogo stick when he seems me reaching for running clothes and shoes.

Dogs are nature's best motivators for staying in shape. Their joy and exuberance is contagious.

[All photos were taking in late November or early December while strolling through Juanita Beach Park with the dogs.]

Sharing the Forest Love

2011-12-23T06:00:00.000-07:00

My dogs and I love showing friends - human and canine - our favorite trails. Recently, Meadow and I met a friend and her two dogs at Cougar Mountain for an afternoon walk. Despite living in the area for many years, she'd never been to Cougar.

I left Finn home with Maia, whose knee wouldn't tolerate the three or so miles we would be covering. Finn wasn't happy about being left behind, but I wanted to focus on Meadow, who I would be keeping on leash so that she wouldn't tweak her knee. One tweaked knee per household is more than enough.


Loki and Macie waiting for a treat, Meadow (ears visible) wondering if she gets one, too.

Meadow was so happy to be out in the woods again. Even better, Loki is her oldest boy toy, and she hadn't seen him since dog camp last summer. When she was a pup, and Maia just two, they would team up and maul Loki, who loved the attention. Lots of gentle chewing on necks, dodging and darting, accented by Loki's unique bark/howl.

Amazingly, the Cougar Mountain park employees clear leaves from most of the trails, making footing easy. I'm told that removing the leaves keeps the trails in better condition over time. Hmm. I rather enjoy walking and running on fallen leaves. Finn, however, appreciates the effort park employees put into removing them; he can sometimes be a little fussy about where he steps. For example, he won't step on sewer covers, heating grates or any other metal cover/plate on sidewalks; he veers around them at the last minute.

Two days earlier Finn and I were at Cougar for a run. It's December, and there are few leaves still clinging to tree branches, allowing the low morning sun to nearly blind me whenever the trail meandered toward the south.

Nothing so refreshing as wild water.

Forest Primeval

2011-12-20T19:23:00.005-07:00

Every forest has its own feel.

In Idaho's West Central Mountains, up high, the trees are mostly lean and stunted evergreens interspersed with the silvered trunks and limbs of trees burned by wildfires years ago.

Maia and Meadow enjoying a field of lupine on the way to Coffee Cup Lake, Idaho (2008).

Occasionally one's eye is teased with the contrast of aspen - white bark, leaves almost neon green in spring and gorgeous yellow-orange in autumn.

There's little undergrowth other than wildflowers, so light filters easily through the trees, allowing one to see far vistas. Running trails in Idaho always feels light, almost breezy; rather than focusing on your next step, you can look up and take in the scenery.

Here in Washington, on Cougar Mountain most of the trees are deciduous so following the seasons is easy. The sense of openness changes as the leaves bud out in spring, filling in the canopy with green and offering shade, or falling to the ground in autumn, allowing the low winter sun to penetrate.

Meadow - doing her best imitation of a boy dog peeing - on Cougar Mtn in May 2009.

On Tiger Mountain, the evergreens are big, and old, providing a high thick canopy filtering whatever sun dares to penetrate. The undergrowth of ferns, salal and Oregon grape is dense and waist high. At eye level for me - tree trunks. For Finn: shrubs.When I run there, the term that often comes to mind: primeval.

Finn in the dark forest of Tiger Mountain.

An old maple, split near the base & covered in moss.

The few maples on Tiger find themselves struggling for light, and are often clothed in moss from the constant dampness. Finn also frequently gets damp, and brings some of the mud and damp home.

Finn collecting mud on Tiger.

When I run alone - with just Finn for company, no people - I tend to head to the darkness of Tiger. Something about all the mud, tree roots and rocks, streams, fallen logs...forces me to pay attention to every foot placement, distracting me from life's troubles, making me feel like a kid again, free from stress and worry. I watch Finn dart after birds flitting through the Oregon grape, or chase a squirrel up a tree trunk, and laugh out loud. "You're a goof, Finn!" I tell him. There's something more elemental, more basic and real, about running through a dark, thick forest.

Enter if you dare....

On Tiger, virtually all trails are off limits to mountain bikes and horses, a restriction made obvious by these gates. The gates also seem to be a final barrier between light and dark, between open space and the primeval forest beyond.

Finn's always ready to enter. So am I.

We'll keep exploring forests - dense or sparse, dark or light, high elevation or low, dry or muddy. It's all good.

Perhaps those are some of the most valuable lessons all three of my dogs have taught me. Explore it all. Take it in, revel and play in it, regardless of season or conditions.

******

Karma! Shortly after posting this entry, I picked up the latest issue of The Sun, one of my favorite literary magazines. They have a regular feature called The Dog-Eared Page - "...works that have deepened and broadened our understanding of the human condition." (I don't think they catch the wonderful irony of the reference to dog ears coupled with deepening and broadening the understanding of humans, but I do.) In this January 2012 issue, they've selected something from Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, published in 1962, a book I read as a freshman in college, in Environmental Studies 101. Carson was instrumental in getting us to think about our environment, to protect it. Here's an excerpt from The Sun's excerpt, which explains well my feelings about venturing into the forest on a regular basis:

     If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last through life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years, the sterile preoccupation with things that are artificial, the alienation from the sources of our strength....
   What is the value of preserving and strengthening this sense of awe and wonder, this recognition of something beyond the boundaries of human existence? Is the exploration of the natural world just a pleasant way to pass the golden hours of childhood or is there something deeper?
   I am sure there is something much deeper, something lasting and significant. Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. Whatever the vexations or concerns of their personal lives, their thoughts can find paths that lead to inner contentment and to renewed excitement in living. Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.

Get out and contemplate the beauty of nature. And take your dog.

Water on Aspen Leaves

2011-12-14T17:50:00.002-07:00

These photos were taken October 31st while hiking in Idaho. I forgot to post them at the time. It had rained a bit the night before. The sun was shining, and I marveled at how the water droplets on the fallen aspen leaves reflected the light, like diamonds.

Meadow's paw, for size perspective.

It Happens Again

2011-12-11T06:00:00.000-07:00

About a week after meeting Helen B, who so graciously took great quality photos of me and Meadow during an afternoon walk, it happened again.

Meadow appears to be a magnet for photographers. Here's what happened on November 28th.

Meadow and I head out for an afternoon stroll. The sun is shining. I have my iPhone. When we get to Old Market Street - a old road reclaimed as a park walkway along the shore of Lake Washington - I ask Meadow to pose in front of one of many memorial benches set on a raised deck along the road's length.

She cooperates. Sort of. I ask her to jump up onto the bench, but after putting a single paw there, then giving me a look that says, "I'd rather not," I let her have her way and simply pose in front of it.

Looking north along the walkway. It's actually an old bridge; the lake is to the left, and underneath and to the right is a vibrant wetland area, full of beavers, ducks, frogs and other creatures who thrive in or on the water.

Meadow does her best to obey the law. The ducks don't appear disturbed.

IAlong this stretch of the walk we always see a huge variety of birds: eagles; egrits; blue herons; mallards; wood ducks; swans; and many others I can't identify.

Mallards preening.

After taking several photos, Meadow and I continue on our walk, heading toward Juanita Bay Park proper. I can see several trumpeter swans in the distance, and hope to get a decent photo of them with my phone from one of the boardwalks with viewing platforms jutting into the lake from the park.

As we walk onto a viewing platform, I notice two tripods set up with professional grade cameras and lenses pointing at the swans, and two men standing behind them. The men are chatting to each other; an elderly couple is also there, enjoying the view. As soon as Meadow makes her entrance, all eyes focus on her. "Oh my, what a gorgeous dog!" says one of the photographers. "What is she?" I have my standard answer ready. "She's an Alaskan malamute with a haircut," I say. While we exchange pleasantries, both of the photographers are holding out hands for Meadow to sniff, and cooing about her appearance. Then they both whip out digital cameras from their coats and simultaneously ask if they can take photos of her! Of course, I agree. They both take several photos and show me the results on the camera displays. The older guy then shows me photos of his Tibetan terrier and we talk about that breed for a bit.

I ask if the big white birds trumpeter swans. They verify that they are. The younger photographer tells me that he's also been seeing a snowy owl in this area recently. I can tell he loves these birds, and photographing them.

I ask the men if they publish any of the photos they take of the birds. The younger of the two - he's about 30 - turns without a word and plucks a book out of his bag and shows it to me. "Oh!" I exclaimed immediately, recognizing the cover. "I have that! A friend gave it to me as a gift. It's great; wonderful photos." The young man smiles big, then gives me a one-armed hug around my shoulders in appreciation. A sweet gesture. [This photographer's name is Aaron Baggenstos, and the book is called Kirkland's Wildlife of Juanita Bay.]

Just then, one group of big white trumpeter swans starts swimming toward another. "Photo op!" the older photographer says, and both of them return to their cameras on tripods and start shooting. I take out my iPhone, feeling completely amateurish and inadequate, but manage to get this shot:

You can sort of see the big white swans.

I should have taken a photo of the photographers, but that didn't occur to me until much later.

Meadow and I say our goodbyes and head back the way we came. After leaving the boardwalk and back in Juanita Bay Park proper, we pass two more photographers with tripods on their shoulders, heading out to the viewing platform. The second one looks at Meadow and smiles. We keep walking, but then I hear someone say something behind me. I turn, and the second photographer has stopped and is looking at us. I put my hand to my ear to indicate I hadn't heard him, and he says, "Do you jog?"

To me, that's not such an odd question. I run a lot, and frequently through this park. So I immediately think he's seen me running but is confused and unsure because when I run, I have Finn with me, not Meadow. "Yes," I reply, "but not with this dog." By now the photographer has approached, and explains that he's a professional photographer who often provides photos for a company called Human Kinetics, that he's recently received an email asking for photos of an over-35 woman jogging with a dog. Would I be willing to run a short distance so he can take some photos?

Now that is a rather odd question.

The photographer appears legit, though. Probably in his sixties. "Do you have a business card?" I ask, being cautious. He does, and hands one to me. His name is Dale. We then agree that Meadow and I will run a few strides along the Old Market Street portion of the park. Dale sets up his camera and tripod. Luckily, my dog walking clothes for winter are mostly old running clothes, so after shedding my fleece jacket, I do sort of look like a runner. Meadow and I pretend to run for the camera.

Interestingly, Meadow thinks this was great fun, and requires no extra prompting to run alongside me for several strides. In fact, she bounces with joyful abandon!

"Send me an email and I'll send you any photos that turn out," says Dale.

When I get home, I Google his name, find his web site, and verify that he is indeed a professional photographer. He has taken some fabulous photos of the local water birds as well as action shots of high school sports teams (football, soccer).

True to his word, he sent me two photos. Here's one:

Doesn't Meadow look happy and youthful? Three of four feet off the ground! And me? Well, no mistaking I'm over 35 with all that gray hair flying!

Another fun afternoon strolling with my dog the photographer magnet.

Sock Snatcher

2011-12-09T14:00:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else have a dog who steals items of your clothing while you've left them home alone? If so, send in a comment; I'd love to hear your stories.

In my house, Meadow is the culprit. She's always been the mischievous one; sneaky, but in a fun and funny way. She hasn't a mean bone in her body.

Meadow with an unusually large haul of stolen socks.

Doesn't she look guilty? Busted!

Usually she steals a sock. One sock. From the floor in my bedroom closet. Sometimes she'll pick one out of the clothes hamper (also in my closet) if there aren't any easy targets on the floor. Given a choice, she'll steal a recently worn, still damp and smelly running sock. Then she brings it downstairs. She never chews them; she just snoozes near them.

In the photo above, she'd apparently picked up three socks from the floor, adding one at a time until she had all three in her mouth, and was in the process of bringing them downstairs when I came home; she dropped them on the stairs.

As if I wouldn't notice.

Given that Meadow, from earliest puppyhood, has always enjoyed licking toes - mine, as well as those of strangers who are crazy enough to wear open-toed sandals or shoes in her presence - I shouldn't be surprised by her sock fetish. Every morning when I get up, Meadow's happy face is there to greet me (along with Finn), and she delights in licking my toes when they first hit the floor.

Resource guarding.

Once I came home to find that Meadow had snatched one of my slippers from the upstairs closet and brought it downstairs. That's her teddy bear under her chin. Finn is just outside the picture frame; she's doing her best to guard "her" slipper from him. Finn couldn't be less interested.

And now, with winter here, Meadow has extending her list of targeted objects to include my running and walking gloves.

The mate of the snatched glove, in original location.

Meadow snatches gloves from the key-change-poop bags-junk basket near the front door. Under the glove in the photo above is a dog brush. She has been known to steal that, too; in fact, the handle has her teeth marks in it. While she never chews my clothing, apparently she thought it was wise to chew on the grooming brush she so detests.

She never spills anything else out of the basket. She's very precise and delicate when she steals.

She has also been known to steal a running glove off a drying rack upstairs.

I guess I'm flattered that she selects clothing items that have my scent on them. But recently worn running socks? Yuck.

I try to remember to keep gloves in the hall closet, or in drawers, so I don't find them damp with dog saliva just when I need them most. The socks, however, I've decided to occasionally leave on the closet floor so she can continue to steal them. I'd hate to ruin all her fun.

An aside: See those leashes hanging on the wall to the left in the photo above?

Here's what they're hanging from:

Creative leash holder.

Isn't that clever? A great gift from my dog-loving friend Chris R.

Postscript: After writing the entry above, and scheduling its publication for later today, I headed upstairs. Meadow and Finn followed. While in the bathroom, I saw Meadow wander ever so quietly into the closet. A couple of minutes later - as if to prove everything written in the blog entry - upon entering my bedroom, this is what I saw:

Note the running sock under Meadow's paw. She stole it out of the hamper in the closet.

She's relentless.

The Hawk and the Ravens

2011-11-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

[The following piece was written while spending a couple weeks in Idaho last June. I meant to post it then.]

Red tailed hawk.

“Screeeeecchhhh!”

The horrible scream of a creature in mortal distresscomes from the trees just up the dirt bank from us, breaking the peaceful silenceof our morning walk in the forest with its sudden, shrill alarm. This isn’tnormal forest chatter. This is serious.

I’m wandering through Idaho’s Payette Forest this coolspring morning with my three dogs, following an old logging road that seeslittle use these days. Maia and Meadow, the malamutes, spent many fine hourswith me in this forest between 2005 and 2008 when we lived in Idaho full time.Finn MacCool, my young, red tri mini-Aussie, joined our pack just six monthsbefore we moved back to Seattle in late 2008, has less experience here. Now, inMay 2011, we’re visiting our old home after too much time away.

Today, I feel as though we’re the only inhabitants of theforest, it’s so peaceful and undisturbed. The sun streaks through the thin cloudsto highlight the newly blossoming arrowroot flowers decorating the rockyhillsides. Tamaracks add another filter to the sun’s rays. The dogs areenjoying the usual onslaught of smells: animal footprints in the dirt; scat leftbehind by foxes, coyotes, deer and elk; so many scents floating on the cool breezepast their keen, uplifted nostrils. I hear the distinctive thump thump thump ofa deer or elk bounding away, unseen in the trees. Finn chases small birds andsquirrels; he’s always chasing after whatever moves. A turkey gobbles an alertfrom its vantage point a few yards into the trees. The dogs and I are allexcited to be back, even if the girls are older and slower and no longerinterested in chasing wildlife, like Finn. It feels…like home.

But this home can sometimes also be a raw, violent place.

In the time it takes me to turn my head toward thescreeching sound, a red-tailed hawk swoops out of the branches of a Tamarackpine just up slope, flying across the old dirt road the dogs and I are walkingalong, not ten feet from us. A small forest chipmunk – the source of that awfulscream – is squirming in the hawk’s talons as it glides toward the tops of thetrees down slope. Two huge, black ravens immediately swoosh out of the trees,closely following the hawk, cawing loudly, hoping to threaten the hawk intogiving up his cunningly earned, squirming fresh meal.

All three birds are oblivious to the dogs and me,watching this spectacle of hunter and prey play out vividly – and loudly – merefeet away.

As instantly as it happened, it’s over – at least as faras my own ability to observe. I can no longer hear the birds, or the chipmunk.The dogs return to their own endeavors, closer to ground, unconcerned about thelife and death drama that just played out before their eyes. I don’t know howthe drama ends, although I hope the hawk keeps his bounty. The ravens seem tooopportunistic, parasitic. I prefer the purity of the hawk’s efforts.

Snowy Cougar

2011-11-27T15:38:00.001-07:00

It's hard to beat the combination of a dusting of fresh snow on the ground and sunshine filtering through the trees from its low winter angle. Finn and I take full advantage of the combination on a trail run at Cougar on November 20th.

Starting out on Coyote Creek Trail, Finn impatient to keep moving.

Tibbetts Marsh Trail. Gaining a little elevation; more snow. Birds!

Looking east across a gravel pit toward the three peaks of Tiger Mountain.

Clay Pit Road, leading to the gravel/clay pit.

Now we're talking: enough snow for Finn to eat as we head up Mine Shaft Trail.

While I'm snapping the photo above, and looking about to see if I want to take more, Finn makes good use of the break, amusing himself by rolling in the snow:

He's enjoying it so much he doesn't care that I'm standing right next to him, snapping away. I really need to get a camera with video capability.

I tell him, "Let's run!" and he's off. But...I see another shot I want, right around the corner. I love this spot, how the snow turns the spindly tree limbs into lace. In summer and autumn this is a shady, mossy tunnel that's gorgeous in filtered sunlight.

Finn can't believe I'm stopping again.

As long as I'm stopping, Finn decides to entertain himself by rolling in the snow again.

A look back down the trail.

I stow the camera in my pack and tell Finn "Let's run!" again, this time meaning it. We run along the trails for another hour, occasionally greeting other people and dogs, but mostly lost in our own thoughts. Finn's thoughts seem to consist of "I'll pounce on the next thing I see moving." My own thoughts wander all over, from solving life problems and worrying about my aging malamutes, to composing articles and blog posts in my head while laughing at Finn's trail antics.

No matter how sad or troubled I may feel at the beginning of a solo run, no matter how achy my joints and tendons might be from running the day before, after just a mile or two my thoughts turn happy and productive and my body feels great. Never fails. Best and cheapest therapy in the world.

When Finn and I arrive back at the trail head, I notice for the first time (despite running here weekly, sometimes more than once a week) these big white berries clinging tenaciously to the limbs of their shrub. I've no idea what they are, but they fit in perfectly with the wintry landscape.

I often encounter grumpy people on the trails. I never encounter grumpy dogs. And rarely are the people with the dogs grumpy.

There's a lesson there.

Two Dog Walk - The Old Ladies Shuffle

2011-11-24T18:33:00.001-07:00

Several days ago, I brought both girls for a stroll along the beach. Maia's knee was better and she was eager to go on a longer walk. I had my iPhone for photos. Good thing; within a day or two, the weather turned to the usual Thanksgiving Week deluge of rain with wind gusts to make sure the leaves and off the trees and on the ground, clogging storm drains, ensuring flooding. Even though the official start of winter is still nearly a month away, it has arrived in Seattle.

The girls pose on the park's new compass.

Filtered sunset.

One of the nice features of the Juanita Beach Park's renovation is a new wetland section on the west end. They're provided some areas for Juanita Creek to overflow and sustain a bird sanctuary. Some felled trees were "replanted" - like telephone poles with spindly arms offering praise to the clouds - to provide nesting and roosting.

The girls reluctantly pose in the new wetland area.

Impatient dogs.

I struggle daily with the logistics of exercising two aging dogs. For most of their lives - indeed, all of Meadow's life - the girls have been companions for each other as well as me on our daily runs and walks. When running trails with me, we had our off leash formation: Maia in the lead, then me, then Meadow bringing up the rear. The Malamute Sandwich. On in-town walks and runs, they always worked well together on the leash coupler, Maia always on the left.

But now Maia suffers with a stiff knee if she walks more than a mile or so. Meadow could easily enjoy a three mile walk on a daily basis. Neither likes being left behind. If I take only Maia, Meadow howls in the house for several minutes. If I take only Meadow, Maia barks in an unhappy high-pitched way. For now, the compromise is usually this: I take them both for a short walk, maybe a block, maybe a half mile to a mile depending on Maia's knee, then take Maia back to the house before continuing on with Meadow. Maia barks less this way. Meadow - after the first few times we did this - no longer tries to tell me we've forgotten someone and need to return to the house to get her. In fact, Meadow seems to thrive on her alone walks, moving with a bouncier step, no longer constrained by Maia's tugs on the coupler to keep her in line.

This is a hard, hard time for me. The girls' aging process is gaining speed on that downward side of the bell curve that is a dog's short life.

I savor every Old Ladies Shuffle Walk that we three take together.

Wild Water is Best

2011-11-22T18:42:00.000-07:00

Another Saturday, another trail run with Finn, Mike and Alice the Samoyed. We rendezvoused at Cougar Mountain and headed down Coal Creek Trail. The dogs like this route because of the many opportunities to play in the creek.

Reaching a spot near our turnaround, I let Finn go into the creek while Mike - ever the engineer obsessed with distances and his GPS - takes Alice on down the trail to the "official" turnaround point.

"Where did Alice go?"

Within a couple of minutes, Mike and Alice return. Mike lets Alice off her leash and she can't get to the water fast enough.

"Outta the way, Finn!" Alice is all business.

Finn follows Alice back into the creek. Alice would stay there all day if she could. She spies a leaf floating on the water's surface and attacks it. "I think she's pretending they're salmon," Mike laughs.

Finn stalks birds in trees while Alice hunts "salmon" in the creek.

Coaxing Alice out of the stream, we head back the way we came. We see several other runners and hikers with dogs. Just before we reach the trail head and parking lot, we pass Coal Creek Falls again. Finn dashes down the steep bank into the water. Brrrr. It's about 35F; how does he stay warm?

Finn belly high in Coal Creek below the falls.

Never being outdone, Alice also bounds down the bank and joins Finn in the stream.

Alice monitoring all the moving leaves.

Mike and I smile, watching the dogs enjoying themselves. We say we're out here to run, but I often think we're really on the trails to give our dogs the opportunity to play in the forest and streams, and ourselves the joy of watching them. Only when we start getting cold do we ask them to come out of the stream and back onto the trail.

Alice goes momentarily deaf and continues to play in the creek; Finn comes up the bank when I call him, but wonders why, if Alice doesn't have to?

Alice finally returns to the trail.

Autumn is such a beautiful time of year to run trails. Leaves of many colors coat the trails, covering the dirt, teasing the eye with every footfall when the filtered sunlight hits them. Temperatures are cool, energizing dogs and humans. There's abundant water for dogs to drink and play in. I can never get enough. I sense Finn feels the same way.

A Morning at Marymoor

2011-11-20T19:27:00.001-07:00

I needed a day off from running. Finn doesn't understand why. So off to Marymoor Off Leash Park in Redmond we go, where with the help of the Chuckit, I can give Finn an intense workout that leaves him breathless. It was overcast and threatening rain, but that didn't deter us.

"Throw the ball, already!"

Finn demonstrating his ability to blend into his environment.

All the dogs enjoyed the chance to run and play with abandon.


Finn shakes after a dip, doing a good imitation of a small brown bear. Where did his ears go?

Enjoying a quick dip in the Sammamish Slough.

Off leash parks are the best. They allow dogs to keep their socializing skills sharp while providing safe open space for ball chasing or joyful running, and - in the case of Marymoor - clean, fresh water for swimming as well. Support your local off leash park!

Sunset Walk at Juanita Beach

2011-11-15T18:53:00.001-07:00

Twice recently I've walked with one or more dogs through the newly renovated Juanita Beach Park near sunset, cursing that I didn't have even an iPhone camera with me.

Today when I set out with Meadow, I brought my camera. Here's what we observed.

Meadow posing reluctantly. Seattle skyline way in the background.

Meadow smoking a rainbow cigar. (Not sure how this happened, but I like it.)

A few leaves still clinging to trees.

A dog takes someone for a walk along the boardwalk surrounding the beach.

Looking west toward Juanita Bay Park and wetlands beyond the boardwalk.

More dogs walking.

As I was taking photos, I noticed a woman standing patiently nearby, watching Meadow. Eventually she approached. "What a gorgeous dog that is," she said with a soft accent that sounded eastern European to my ears. After introductions, the woman offered to take a photo of me and Meadow together, using my camera. She got this one before my camera battery died:

Then, the kind stranger - who had some professional quality cameras strapped over her thick coat - began taking photos with her own cameras. We kept trying to get Meadow to look into the camera, but - as in the photo above - I don't think we succeeded. The woman had me write my email address in her day planner so that she can send the photos to me. What a wonderful encounter. I can't wait to see her photos. Just the way she casually handled her cameras - then showed me on the digital display what she captured - convinced me she knows what she's doing.

She was there hoping to photograph a great blue heron at sunset.

One of the best lessons my dogs have taught me through the years: presenting a calm, happy demeanor allows strangers to approach you. With the encouragement of a smile from me and friendly body language from the dogs, people will engage in conversation, pet the dogs, share a compliment and perhaps even some photos. Yesterday evening, walking in this same park at the same time of day, a boy of about 13 stopped in his tracks as Meadow and I approached. I smiled, knowing he was hoping he'd be allowed to meet Meadow. As we got closer, he kneeled down to Meadow's level, broad smile covering his face. "Smart kid," I thought, seeing he knew the silent language of greeting animals. As he held out his hand for Meadow to sniff, his mother, standing nearby, complimented Meadow's beauty and haircut, and asked about her breed. After the boy caressed Meadow's chin and ears a bit, he stood up. "Thank you, and God bless!" he said as he walked away.

It always brings me joy to see the simple joy my dogs bring to others.

I call my malamutes the goodwill ambassadors of big dogs.

Addendum: The kind woman who took photos of me and Meadow with her own cameras did indeed send them to me by email today. Thank you, Helen B!

Here they are (and much, much better quality than my own):

Leaves on trees, leaves on ground

2011-11-12T21:44:00.001-07:00

On November 10th I took these photos of autumn colors from my deck. It was a sunny morning.

Leaves on deck, guarded by the solar dogs.

Meadow enjoying a nap on the deck.

That afternoon and evening, the wind howled, rain poured, thunder clapped. By the next morning, the tree with the gorgeous red leaves was denuded.

This morning I met my friend Mike and his Samoyed Alice for a run at Tiger Mountain. The fall colors there were gorgeous. At times, the maple leaves already fallen to the ground completely obscured the dirt, rocks and roots on the trail. I felt like a kid, scuffling through them. Other times, they provided contrast as we looked through the forest's dense evergreens.

Heading up High School Hill at Tiger Mountain.

Alice has a funny quirk. Like most dogs, she likes wading into wild water (streams) to drink. But once her thirst is slackened, Alice will pee in the stream:

Alice - caught in the act!

When I point out with laughter what Alice is doing, yet again, Mike just grins and shrugs his shoulders as if to say, "What can I do?" I'll tease some more by saying, "Finn - don't drink downstream!"

Snow signs

2011-11-11T16:04:00.001-07:00

Shoulder season. Transitions - from one season to another - can be messy. Especially in Idaho's mountains.

Winter to spring means melting snow changing to shoe-sucking mud. Flowers blooming help ease that transition.

Autumn to winter means new snow that often melts soon after falling, creating...shoe-sucking mud, or at the least, wet and cold shoes. Until the temperatures stay below freezing and the snow sticks and accumulates, drying to a nice fluffy powder, it can be a little dreary.

The dogs enjoying the first snow of the 2011 season.

With the first true dusting of snow at the house in New Meadows the first week of November, it was time to return to Seattle to avoid the shoulder season. Don't get me wrong. I love winter, especially in Idaho's mountains where the sun shines so much, making the snow sparkle. But I'd just as soon avoid the transition into winter. We'll come back when there's two feet or more of snow in the yard.

Finn hopes I'll throw the Kong-on-a-rope while Maia supervises.

As long as there's a toy to chase, Finn loves the snow. Otherwise, he'll hang in the house with me. He has a very thin coat. Like me, he stays warm only if he's exercising. Maia used to spend almost all her time outside if there was snow on the ground, but her aging joints seem to appreciate warmth these days; she splits her time between snoozing in the snow and in the house.

Meadow is always reluctant to come inside, regardless of temperature but especially when there's snow on the ground. Maybe it's her wooly coat. No matter how cold - and there were days and nights with temperatures well below zero when we lived here full time - she loves surveying her domain from the deck.

Meadow hoping to see deer cross the field.

Last Brundage hike for the season

2011-11-04T20:36:00.001-06:00

On October 31st I took Meadow and Finn for a hike on Brundage. Given that snowflakes are now a regular feature of the atmosphere, it's time to return to Washington. This hike was likely the last of the season.

The morning started with fog in Meadows Valley, making an island where none exists.

Wisps of fog low on the mountain as we started out.

The always impatient Finn coming back to herd us along the trail.

Okay, okay; off we go. I'm treated to my usual view: fluffy malamute butt.

Out of the big trees, into the open and sunlight. Few autumn leaves remain.

A chairlift, seeming to go up, up... forever.

It has been an awesome autumn in the mountains of central Idaho. The dogs and I look forward to winter, and snow. We'll be back in a few months, when all is covered in white, sunshine glittering off snow crystals. The girls will enjoy curling up in the snow, noses tucked into tails, letting flakes accumulate on their fur.

Finn will stay inside with me, watching from our warm vantage point.

Wolf Talk

2011-11-03T22:32:00.000-06:00

Wolf Talk
by Rebecca Wallick

[This piece first ran as and Endpiece in Bark Magazine's Sept/Oct 2006 issue. The photo was not included.]

THIS MORNING, WE SAW ONE.

A wolf.

In the wild.

Grey wolf. Photo credit: Joel Sartore/National Geographic

Running a trail ina remote part of the Payette National Forest in Idaho, my two Malamutes and Iwere allowed to commune with nature in a way most can only dream of. First, heand Maia exchanged direct looks. Then Meadow turned to see. Then, I looked intothe eyes of a truly wild wolf. I will carry the memory forever.

Standing in thedense Ponderosa pines and low undergrowth, he was gorgeous, the sun dapplinghis coat and illuminating his amber eyes. His coloring was much like Maia's,gray with black guard hairs, a hint of brown mixed in, no white on his muzzle.He was tall, with long legs.

He had been followingus as we ran on a wide dirt trail through a dark section of forest. Maia heardhim first. She'd stopped, turned and stared into the forest, tail down, facinghim. Her quiet anxiety caught my attention and her body pointed me to lookwhere I would never otherwise have seen him, blending as he did with his shadowyenvironment. I followed Maia's stare. He was a mere 100 feet away, watching us,head and ears perked, standing very still, eyes intense and interested.

So close.

I didn't sensedanger. Nor aggression. Just curiosity. His body language put me totally atease and I had no desire to run away. It was peaceful, almost surreal. A gift.

I gently told thegirls to stay, breaking eye contact with the wolf to make sure Meadow waslistening (she was), though actually, they didn't seem inclined to move. When Ilooked again, he was just turning, then calmly he trotted away from us, solight on his feet that he was almost dancing. To make sure he kept going, Iclapped my hands together once, loudly. After quickly glancing over hisshoulder at me, he picked up his pace. I felt badly about scaring him, but wasglad he was moving away.

I didn't see any others, although it's well-known that apack lives in this part of the forest. I felt certain they were nearby, perhapswatching from the deeper shadows. Except for the occasional faint crack of atwig as he gracefully slid away, all was quiet.

The entire encounter lasted mere seconds. Reliving itwhile driving home, it felt as though I'd dreamed it.

The girls and I hadbeen three miles from the trailhead, on the "back" part of anout-and-back route we'd done once before. On a weekday, it's deserted, which weprefer. We had just stopped and gone a few feet off trail to drink from astream. Back on the trail, Maia started at a noise. Throughout the run, her moodhad been happy as she took the lead position, but her tail had dropped a fewminutes earlier, a sign that something was making her nervous, something wasout there in the dense forest. I assured her we were fine, that the presencewas likely the elk we'd seen on the way out, the one that made such a racketcrashing through the undergrowth to avoid us. Within a minute of my soothingwords, Maia turned and saw the wolf.

After theencounter, we ran - at a faster-than-normal pace, more aware of oursurroundings, but not fearful - toward the car. Even Meadow's tail was downnow, something I'd never seen in my happy-go-lucky younger Malamute. Shetrotted right beside Maia for a couple of miles, as if both reassuring and takingreassurance from her. I looked over my shoulder a few times, I admit. It wasn'tuntil we were a mile from the car that Maia started focusing on chipmunksagain, and Meadow's tail came back up. Their unease was over, and so was mine.

It was a relief to see that Meadow in particular had nointerest in approaching or chasing the wolf. Also a relief - to me - that shemade sure I was never more than 20 feet behind them as they ushered me towardthe car those last few miles. I marveled that we all had reacted the same way:cautious, curious, awed - and quietlyready to retreat. We were the trespassers.

I'd give anything to know what Maia and the wolf were thinkingwhen they exchanged that initial look. What did their eyes say to one another?

Nature's Restroom

2011-11-03T22:09:00.003-06:00

I confess: one of the many benefits of running trails in remote forests where few other humans are encountered is that when - ahem - nature calls, all I need do is step a few feet off the trail.

A week ago, while squatting and attending to business mid-run with Finn on Brundage, I happened to look up. A stunning view was framed by a nearby aspen tree.

Finishing the task at hand, I dug my camera out of my pack and re-assumed the position to take a photo of that view.

[An aside: Today I read about those black spots seen on the aspen leaves. Because of a late snow melt and moist spring, three different kinds of blight, or fungus, have hit aspen and tamaracks in this area. With more normal conditions next year, most trees should be fine. But it's sad to see.]

Running trails with dogs, off leash, is a big part of my life. The only time I'm not able to pay complete attention to them is when I'm attending to my own call of nature. So, early on, with the girls, I trained them to wait nearby, a treat being the reward once I'd pulled up my shorts/pants and was ready to resume running. Finn has been trained this way as well, although with Finn, the reward for waiting patiently nearby is "Finn - let's run!" Running is Finn's favorite thing in the world, a better reward than any treat.

Releasing Finn after he patiently waits for me during a pit stop, he dashes up the trail.

"Finn, come!" I call, and he does, leaping in joy down the trail.

I'll never forget one particular pit stop several years ago, before Finn. The girls and I were running along Ruby Meadows trail one weekday morning, deep in the Payette Forest. A couple of miles in, I stepped off the trail to pee. We were in a section of forest fairly thick with young trees and little undergrowth beyond some phlox. Meadow positioned herself behind me, about five feet; Maia was in front of me, maybe three feet, sitting. I thought, "Malamute sandwich; me in the middle." While they knew to keep close during these calls of nature, usually they moved around, smelling the ground, exploring nearby as they waited. This time, though, was different; they both seemed to be guarding me.

It was later that run, on the return leg of our out-and-back route, that we had our magical wolf encounter. I've always wondered, since, whether the girls stayed so close that morning because they sensed wolves were nearby. I also wondered whether they were protecting me, or were seeking protection from me.

I'll post the Bark Magazine piece about that magical wolf encounter in a separate post to follow. It ran in the Sept/Oct 2006 issue, before I started this blog.

Shadow Play

2011-11-02T18:59:00.004-06:00

Winter's fast approaching. The days shorten. The sun's trek across the southern sky is fast, and lower on the horizon each day. Evening walks near sundown cast long shadows.

Maia and I take an evening stroll, just the two of us. We walk at old lady pace. Watching my old girl walk the slow pace that suits her age and joints, I think, "I hope someone takes me for walks when I'm old and slow."

Maia poses against a backdrop fast fading to late autumn brown and beige.

When I lived here a few years ago, I once photographed the shadows cast by me and the girls against a dirt hillside in the forest, just before sunset. One dog on each side of me, one standing, one sitting. Curious, I printed it onto 8.5 x 11 inch office paper. It printed beautifully, and I've always liked it. At my last workplace, I tacked it to my office bulletin board. It generated lots of positive comments. Noticing similar shadows on several recent evening walks, I decided to see if I could capture a similar scene.

Setting up the shadow shot, but Maia's in the foreground and...I cut my own head off!

Better, but Maia's still in the shot. And bored. She wants to keep moving.

We move. Maia exercises her nose, which remains as keen as ever.

Nice lighting on her legs, throwing long shadows.

Finally we reach a spot where the shadows fall against the nearly dead field grass, with enough definition that you can tell it's a human and a dog.

Getting there, but you can tell I'm holding a camera. Try again.

Now we're talking. Not bad, although the field grass makes for fuzzy outlines.

Sun now nearly set, we head for home. Turning up the gravel driveway, I see our shadows again, really long this time and more clearly defined.

Maia, impatient, simply turns and heads for the house. She's done playing with shadows.

She turns to look at me, as if to say, "Enough already! Let's go! I want my end-of-walk treat and a drink of water."

I follow Maia to the house, let her in the yard, then bring Meadow and Finn outside to join us. Treats all around! We watch the sun turn vibrant shades of orange before it quickly slips out of sight behind the hills to the west.

Curious llamas

2011-10-28T19:38:00.000-06:00

Maia meeting the neighbor's llamas:

Two of the three rush the fence, huffing, thinking Maia must be a wolf.

This one - bravest of the three - wants a closer look.

Now the third one joins the party. Maia's getting nervous; she has no interest in exchanging nose breath with them, as she's done with horses in the past. I don't blame her. I've seen these guys snort at each other, and it's a wet affair!

"Come on, let's go home," Maia's body language tells me.

One blue eye, one brown! Gorgeous ears. Very intense stare.

Maia's had enough, really wants to go home; so much so, she knocks me off balance as she points us in the right direction.

Tall grass and K2

2011-10-26T21:26:00.003-06:00

What is it about dogs and tall grass? As with snow, a field of tall grass brings out the inner puppy in any dog, causing them to run and leap and bounce. It's a joy to behold.

Finn in field grass, near sunset.

There is abundant tall field grass near the Idaho house, on neighbors' acreage as well as my own. When the girls were younger, they'd chase and wrestle each other as soon as we entered a field of grass. Now, Finn shows the same propensity.

Finn and I are enjoying an evening stroll through the neighborhood, past the pasture with the horses to a gated entrance to the Payette Forest, our turnaround point. Walking along the pasture fence line, I notice that the property owner appears to be in residence; he's been gone since I arrived two weeks ago.

Finn and I turn at the gate to head back home. He's romping through an adjoining neighbor's field grass, racing around like the nut job he is. Three big dogs come rushing from the home of the guy who owns the horses. Two of the dogs I already know - Quincy, a Brussels griffon, and his sister Cinder, a black lab - and Finn has also met them on previous visits. Nice dogs, despite the rather aggressive initial greeting. They all sniff and greet. But there is a third dog with Quincy and Cinder, one I'd never seen before. She appears to be an airedale. Full grown, but puppy-ish and eager to play with Finn. Quincy and Cinder are called home; the other dog stays to play.

Finn makes a new friend.

They start playing inside one of the horse pastures, then quickly move into the tall grass of the neighbor's lot.

"K2!" calls the owner of Quincy and Cinder. I know him, so I ask if he's gotten a third dog. "No, it belongs to a friend," he replies. "Her name is K2," he adds. "She's a year and a half, really sweet, but a wild child." He's clearly becoming exasperated that she won't come to him. He keeps calling her, but K2 is having too much fun playing with Finn to listen. And I'm having too much fun watching Finn play with K2 to intervene. I'm bad.

K2 has no collar, and avoids all attempts by the neighbor to let him grab her, dodging his hands at the last minute. I try to not laugh. The neighbor is getting mad at K2. Eventually, taking pity on my poor neighbor, I get down into a crouch and call K2, gently; she comes right to me. I take the leash I always have around my waist, for emergencies (since Finn is always off leash on these neighborhood walks) and gently wrap the handle end around her neck, weaving the clasp end through the loop of the handle so that the neighbor can now walk K2 back to his house. The neighbor says he'll return the leash to me later that evening as he's already late for an appointment. "No problem," I say, but think that the real problem is that no one seems to think K2 should have identification on her. She could easily have followed me home, become lost....

Despite the loss of K2, Finn still flies joyfully through the grass.

Finn and I play just a bit longer in the tall grass. It's too nice an evening to rush home.

"Maybe if I'm really quiet," Finn seems to think, "something fun to chase will wander by."

Eventually, Finn and I continue our walk back home. Before we get there, the neighbor, with K2's owner in the car with him, drives up and stops to say he forgot the leash and will bring it by tomorrow. Again, I assure him it's no problem. K2's owner thanks me for helping corral her. "She's adorable," I tell her. "I'm thinking of stealing her," I joke. "Oh, that's good to know," the owner says. "If I have to sell my house and move, it would be nice if she could live somewhere with lots of room to play." Oh my god, the woman thought I seriously want K2! "I'm only joking," I quickly say. "I've got three dogs, that's enough for me." They thanked me again, then drove off.

The more I thought about K2, the more upset I became. Such a sweet and lovely dog, but clearly she's had no training, no manners, and is saddled with an owner who doesn't appear to care much about her, and hasn't made a life long commitment to her.

Why, oh why, do people get dogs without making that commitment?

Meadow enjoys Brundage

2011-10-25T20:24:00.000-06:00

Meadow and Finn joined me for an easy hike at Brundage. Not wanting Meadow to tweak a joint, like Maia, I keep her on leash most of the time. We cover between two and three miles. Meadow loves it. I love watching her love it. The only problem: I really miss having Maia with us.

Starting out, sun just over the summit to the east.

Because it's hunting season - and even though there's no hunting allowed at Brundage - I make Meadow wear her Do Not Hunt Me vest. She's too wolf-like in appearance, and they fear, hate and hunt wolves in Idaho. (Don't get me started. Actually, I've already started. I've been working on an essay on the topic, for a later post.)

If Meadow has to wear a vest, then it's only fair that Finn wear his, too.

[Aside: I love these vests for walking dogs in the city in the dark. They have reflective stripes that make the dogs incredibly visible in headlights. They're made by VizVest. Adjustable Velcro straps make the vests easy to put on the dogs, and there's a thick band across their chest for front-on visibility. Reasonably priced, at $12 for a small, $15 for a large (Finn wears a small, the girls wear large). I highly recommend them.]

Meadow seems to like the aspens as much as I do.

A service road, connecting two trails. Finn doesn't understand the photo delay.

Meadow follows Finn down a hill, tail high in joy.

For quite some time now, Meadow hasn't held her tail high and curled over her back as regularly as she used to. I've noted the same thing in Maia, and have written it off to aging. On occasion, though - when happy, or when presenting a "don't mess with me" posture to a strange dog - their tails sail high.

This hike is clearly a happy occasion for Meadow. I love seeing that big fluffy tail of hers floating in the breeze as she trots down the trail.

"Wait for me!" I call out. They do. For a second.

Then they're off again. I have to run to keep up!

Meadow near some mountain blueberry shrubs in glorious fall color.

A look at our playground, up slope; other ski runs seen in the distance.

Every tree tells a story.

Of my three dogs, Meadow uses her nose for information gathering the most. She sticks her nose right into elk and deer prints left in dirt, mud or snow and inhales deeply to extract their information; she stops to smell scat left by any number of forest inhabitants, big or small; she's first to lift her nose high in the air to catch the scent of nearby ungulates on the breeze; and she always gives me, Finn and Maia a thorough sniffing when we return from an outing in which she wasn't included.

Meadow can spend a full minute or longer taking in scents left behind on tree trunks. Maybe a deer or elk brushed it, passing by? Maybe a bear scratched his back here? Or maybe she's just enjoying the smell left by the squirrels and chipmunks who have traversed the trunk on the way to higher branches.

As I watch Meadow's rapt attention to this and other tree trunks, it occurs to me that, while we humans cut down trees to turn them into paper on which to tell our stories, dogs read stories from the trunks themselves.

I wish Meadow could translate the stories for me. They might be mundane, but they might also be incredibly interesting.

Fall foliage - including a red bra!

2011-10-24T23:14:00.002-06:00

On October 21st Finn and I spent another morning on the slopes of Brundage, enjoying the crisp autumn air and foliage. Please - enjoy it with us:

Mountain blueberry shrubs turning red.

Tamarack starting to yellow on the left; evergreen on the right.

The tamaracks - or larches, as I'm used to calling them - are starting their autumn transition from green to yellow before dropping their needles altogether. When looking at the forest from a distance, one sees pockets of yellow within the expansive green - tamaracks, or aspens. It's lovely.

Finn poses on quirky tree stump.

More aspen.

Can you tell I'm a western Washington girl who has felt deprived of aspen most of her life? I never tire of seeing these trees - growing in clusters derived from one mother tree; white bark; green leaves all summer that shimmy and shine in the breeze, then add zest and zing to autumn as they slowly dance through their color range of yellow, orange, red and finally black, ultimately resting on the ground, adding back nutrients to the soil so that the cycle can repeat again.

Finn in more blueberry shrubs.

Tamaracks contrasting with lodgepole pines, other evergreens.

The Irish Finn MacCool needs his drink - in his case, wild water.

On this particular morning Finn and I were scouting an area we don't usually travel, lower on the mountain. I was checking to see if it might have easy trails for the girls. It does, and you'll see in an upcoming post photos of Meadow enjoying herself here. But what was most memorable about this outing was the following odd item that caught my eye, up high in some aspens:

What's that up in the tree?

A red bra! Must be a Triple D!

At first I thought it was a bird's nest. Then I noticed it was red. Then, getting closer...it's a bra! What the heck...? It's so high off the ground, it would be near impossible to toss it up there. Then I noticed that a ski lift ran near by. Hmm. Some sort of wintertime disrobing-while-on-the-ski-lift scenario? Brrrr.

I posted the photo on my Facebook page. A friend noted that at many ski areas, it's an end-of-season ritual to strip off clothing.

Go figure.

Coyote scat

2011-10-24T22:32:00.003-06:00

When out in the forest, the dogs and I come upon all sorts of wildlife scat: deer, elk, bear, coyote, fox. And at one time - before hunters and Fish & Game removed them - wolf.

Maia and Meadow always stop to inhale whatever information scat provides. Finn, however, usually goes right past scat, too busy scanning with his eyes for movement.

Different dogs, different ways of gathering information about the world around them and the creatures that inhabit it. Personally, I prefer Finn's method.

Running trails on Brundage Ski Mountain with Finn recently, I stopped to marvel at this example of how coyotes deposit their scat in very obvious places:

Coyote scat, neatly deposited on dead tree limb, in the middle of the trail.

All I can say is: their aim is good.

Coyotes use their scat to alert other animals to their territory. They make it obvious, and place it where it will have long-lasting effect.

Years ago, on a trip through Jasper National Park in Canada, a friend and I did some road cycling and running along a remote highway. We were amazed at the amount of coyote scat along the shoulder, often right on the white paint stripe! Never in the middle of the road; always on the shoulder, where the cars won't run over it, diminishing its impact.

Closer to home here in Idaho, I see scat frequently along the trails I run with the dogs. I've seen it placed adopt a cairn-like pile of rocks alongside a trail, wondering how the coyote was able to balance in the pooping position while making the deposit.

During this particular stay, I've hardly heard a single coyote yip at night. In years past, there was often a constant chorus. I'm not sure why it's so quiet, or where they've gone. I miss their singing.

The scat in the photo above had me literally stopping in my tracks, laughing out loud, digging for my camera, knowing that the maker of the scat fully intended to place it exactly where it landed.

Dog beds - revisited

2011-10-24T18:57:00.003-06:00

The bigger, more expensive orthopedic dog bed arrived a few days ago.

Meadow - and I - question whether this really is a dog bed.

This one came from Drs. Foster and Smith. When the FedEx guy brought the package to the door, I thought there was a mistake. It was too small. I cut open the box, and still thought there was a mistake, even though the fabric encased in the plastic was what I expected based on the online photos. I had ordered a waterproof liner for the bed's inside, to protect the foam (Maia has occasional "flooding"); I didn't see it in the box. I read the packing invoice, discovering that Drs. Foster and Smith are proud to reduce shipping bulk by vacuum sealing products like this bed. "Let the bed sit, and the non-memory foam will expand to its normal shape with several hours," the literature advised. I cut open the plastic, set the bed on the floor, and within about ten minutes, voila...

Bed, having breathed a bit, berber/furry side up.

Maia cautiously checking out her new bed, poly/cotton twill side up.

The waterproof liner? It was already "installed" around the foam interior. Sweet!

This orthopedic bed cost $85; the plastic liner was another $40. The bed cover is washable with a generous zipper for easy removal. The foam seems firm, completely fills the bed cover, and being non-memory, returns to uniform density after each use. The "berber" side was advertised as "hair-catching" but I'm not sure that's the case (although I admit nothing can catch all the malamute hair these dogs produce and shed on a regular basis). The berber looks rather like some cheap sort of fake fur, on the thin side, which wasn't what I was expecting. Were I to order another of these beds - and this point, I would; it seems to be a good bed - I'd skip the berber option and just get one entirely of twill.

As with the other bed, Maia was reluctant to try this new one. Because of the liner, it makes a swishing sound when she steps on it. She walked across it, at my insistence, but stepped right off. I set it by the sliding glass doors, where she frequently snoozes and where the other bed seemed to entice her. And waited. Later that evening:

Close, Maia, but not quite what I had hoped.

I guess malamutes and beds are just not a natural combination.

I moved the bed over to the left. That produced better results, first with Finn, then Meadow, and finally Maia:

Finn needs no enticing.

Meadow, demonstrating that I got the sizing correct - large is large enough.

And finally, the next day...success!

Maia now uses the bed about half of the time she's inside. She especially likes it after spending most of a night outside on the grass. (Sleeping outside is always her choice; I'd prefer she come inside with the rest of us, but I think Maia's always hoping to see something come near the yard - a deer, elk, coyote, raccoon, fox; doesn't matter.) When she asks to come inside, in the wee hours of the morning, she heads straight to the bed. I can hear her doing about three circles on it before settling down with a big sigh.

The other bed? Finn likes and uses it a lot. A couple nights ago, I experimented by placing it where I had a throw rug near my bed, where Meadow typically sleeps at night. Meadow was willing to use the bed, but she's one of those dogs who sometimes scratches her bedding with a fore paw, moving it into a lumpy pile, making a nest. She also tends to drag her hind feet lazily, and often caught the edge of the bed as she stepped onto it, folding it over or moving it away from the wall. I often awoke to see her half on/half off the bed, or the bed moved three feet away from its starting point, abandoned.

Can't say I didn't try!

Two very different beds, each with their pros and cons.

The ortho bed has more cushioning. I tried it myself. The dogs can't even feel the floor when they're on it. It's more substantial, so doesn't slide around on the floor. One they got used to the sound of the liner when they stepped on it, they completely accepted it as a good place to snooze. While I'll put it in the back of the car (where Maia can lie on it during) and take it back to Seattle with me when we go, its size makes it less appealing for travel, and it will take up a significant chunk of available floor space in my small townhouse.

The Canine Hardware bed, at $40 and a third of the price, completely washable, and big enough for even the malamutes. Having its own stuff sack is a real plus for traveling. On the down side, the stuffing is minimal - rather like a down sleeping bag but slightly lumpier - so I'm sure the dogs can feel the floor when they snooze on it. Still, it provides some cushioning for aging elbows and hips. And if the girls don't use it much, Finn totally appreciates it.

Mail Run

2011-10-22T17:53:00.000-06:00

The mailbox and newspaper receptacle for my Idaho place are a mile down the gravel road. Most evenings, after the dogs are fed, I take Finn and occasionally Meadow on a Mail Run.

"Can I come along?" this calf seems to ask.

This is a neighbor's calf. If her name isn't Bessie, it should be. She gets quite excited when we pass her pasture on our Mail Runs, sometimes running alongside the fence and kicking her heels playfully.

Maia's gimpy knee won't allow her to do the two mile round trip without significant soreness and stiffness the next day, so she unhappily stays behind. Even though Meadow can tolerate the distance, she doesn't care for the gravel, so I don't always take her. After most Mail Runs, I take the girls for a short walk of their own before dark.

Finn loves going to get the mail. He gets to keep me safe from real or imagined rodents hiding in the long grass alongside the road. He's constantly leaping and bounding after prey, amusing himself and me. Meadow ignores him. She's got too much dignity.

Finn, refusing to demonstrate his pouncing technique.

In the photo above, in the distance, is a large old barn (upper middle of photo). It has the typical distinctive notch at left upper end of its steeply peaked roof. This is one of three historic Meadows Valley barns along our road; there are many others scattered throughout the valley and the county, as well as neighboring counties. There's an effort to preserve those still standing.

Virtually every night I've been here, sleeping with my window cracked to let in the cold night air, I've been serenaded by one or more nearby owls. "Hoooooot ... hoot hoooot!" sings one, with another responding, "Hoot hoot hoot....hooooot hoot." Almost always the same three-part or five-part song, back and forth, over and over. It's a wonderful sound, and in this quiet section of the valley, usually the only one I hear in the dead of night. When I was visiting in early June, walking in the forest just above the house one evening, Finn and I spooked at least four great horned owls from the trees. It was magical to see them swoop past on huge wingspans, landing in trees down slope. I'd never seen them before. They're quite large birds.

On a recent evening, as Finn, Meadow and I are making the Mail Run, I hear the familiar hoot of an owl. I'm surprised, since it's still early. I scan the tall trees in the nearby field, but can't see the source of the hooting. As I approach one of the old barns, the hooting gets louder. I spot the owl - his horns distinctive as he swivels his head to take us in - perched on the ridge line of the barn's roof. Of course! That's exactly where he should be, the perfect vantage point for spying and swooping down on field mice below.

View through Bessie's historic barn.

The barn next to Bessie's pasture is no longer used to shelter animals. The owners have added a metal door, which is always left open; the barn's entrance is right at the road's edge. They stuff their barn with firewood for the winter, some hay, and machinery - like the old tractor you see in the photo - keeping the old barn alive and useful.

Almost sunset. Bessie's barn is barely visible, on the right side of road, mid-photo.

Can you spot the deer?

Closer to home, I see movement just beyond another of those old barns: a deer. Once it sees me and Finn, it stands very still. Finn hasn't seen the deer, so I keep him moving up the road toward home until I know he won't be able to see it through the tall grass. (This isn't the first time I've been grateful I'm much taller than Finn and able to spot game before he does.) Only then do I stop to photograph the deer, so well camouflaged that I'm not even sure she'll show up in the photo.

There she is - in the scrawled circle!

The deer's coloring blends perfectly with the dead field grasses of autumn. Smart girl, to stay still until we were safely past.

[Here's a better shot of the owl barn, taken 10-24-11, with the setting sun shining through the distinctive notch at one end of the peaked roof:]

One of many historic Meadows Valley barns.

Meadow suffers a haircut

2011-10-21T21:12:00.004-06:00

The name Wooly Malamute says it all.

Meadow is a wooly.

Meadow's coat is so thick, and grows so long, that the only way to manage it is to give her regular clippings. Every three months or so. On Wednesday she had an appointment with the hairdresser: me. It's very much like shearing a lamb.

The before photo:

I "rake" her fur on a regular basis, to keep it from matting. The teeth of the rake pull out the shedding undercoat, which I'm sure doesn't feel very good to her but is the only way to manage it. Her undercoat is so much like lamb's wool that, without the raking, she'd be covered with knots and mats. Her overall coat is amazingly soft and gorgeous, and very high maintenance! Especially compared to Maia, who beyond a weekly light brushing, needs no maintenance. Neither Meadow nor I enjoy the process of haircuts, but it's a necessary evil.

Before the haircut, because it was such a nice day, I encouraged all three dogs to play in the yard, enjoy the sunshine.

Old girl Maia, supervising.

Meadow, trying to entice Maia to play.

Amping the enticement, with little success.

Meadow has always been the goofy one, the playful one, the one who knows how to make me laugh. She's the instigator of play and mischief.

Alas, it was time to trim the fur.

I use professional grade dog clippers, and trim down to about an inch in length (although if Meadow moves unexpectedly, sometimes it gets a bit closer). This removes most of the darker guard hairs, but her undercoat (the wooly part) is so dense that I never worry that she'll be cold. I use scissors to trim around her feet and lower legs. Her belly is the hardest; she squirms and moves and usually I just give up trying to trim there.

The after photo:

This is referred to as a "lion cut" because the head and tail are untouched, resulting it what appears to be a lion's mane on the head. Also known as a "puppy cut" because regardless of the dog's age, this haircut will make them look and feel like a puppy. Meadow always prances and plays immediately after a haircut. She's probably a few pounds lighter, too. I stuffed a grocery bag with clipped fur from this cut.

She's now a mostly white dog.

Whenever any of the dogs endures something they don't especially enjoy - a haircut (Meadow); eye drops (Maia); a bath (Finn) - all three are rewarded with a treat afterward. In fact, whenever I reach for Maia's eye drops, Meadow and Finn gather round to watch, knowing a treat for all immediately follows Maia's twice-daily application.

The treat provided after Meadow graciously allowed me to trim her coat was a bone, one for each dog.

You can see the fur trimmed from Meadow's feet and lower legs on the grass.

One of the best lessons I've learned from dogs - one that also applies to everyday life with people - is to reward the good behavior, ignore the bad. Offer praise and rewards frequently and lavishly when you observe good behaviors, and pretty soon the "bad" behaviors almost completely disappear. Sometimes the reward, for people especially, is as simple as saying thank you.

Partake of the simple joy of being grateful for whatever gifts and rewards come your way, just like the three dogs in the photo above.

Captain America - walking along Idaho's Hwy 55

2011-10-21T17:39:00.002-06:00

Driving into McCall to run errands a couple days ago, I see this guy walking along the shoulder of Hwy 55, just outside town:

(Photo credit: David Holsted, Harrisondaily.com)

He's hard to miss.

In one hand he holds a shield with a bold red, white and blue design (hidden behind his left leg in photo above), and in the other, a flag wrapped around a staff. His belonging are in the backpack.

He strides purposefully along the shoulder, eyes focused on the pavement, hardly noticing the cars whizzing by him.

My first thought is, "Well, it's getting close to Halloween. Maybe he works in one of the nearby restaurants?"

But his head down, destination-in-mind style of walking makes me toss out that notion.

Finishing my errands and driving back toward New Meadows close to an hour later, I pass Captain American again, about three miles farther down the highway. By now, I remember reading something about such a character roaming the country, for some cause, but that's all I remember. I'm tempted to stop, take a photo, ask who he is and what he's doing. But he's along a stretch of highway with little shoulder and a 55 MPH speed limit. I decide to keep driving toward home.

I expected to see something about him in the McCall weekly newspaper, which came out yesterday. Nothing.

A Google search discloses the following basic background: He's a young man named Scott Mullens, and he's been on a walkabout since 2009. He didn't start as Captain America; sometimes he dressed as Superman. He grew up in a Dalton, GA orphanage. His cause has always been to draw attention to the plight of homeless vets and to raise money for local VFW posts along his route. He's now on a mission to visit every state capitol, and walk the outlines of every state. He figures he'll be walking until 2020, when he'll be 38 years old.

According to an interview with reporter Mark Olson of the Chaska Herald (Minnesota) published July 1, 2011, "As he walks, Mullens listens to an iPod he found on the side of the road containing 3,000 songs. Although, he noted, he only can listen to about 30 percent of the music – bypassing the Brittney Spears and Hannah Montana songs for the Conway Twitty and Travis Tritt."

Given his route and direction when I saw him, I'm guessing he's left Boise, and is on his way to Olympia, Wash. Maybe I'll see him again when I head back to Washington.

Happy trails, young man.

Watch out for that cow!

2011-10-21T16:30:00.002-06:00

Cow foraging along Cemetery Road.

Every autumn, a few cows (typically two mamas and their ever-growing babies) are left loose to chew down the grass and other plants that grow along the side of Cemetery Road in New Meadows, ID. In the six years I've been here, it has been an annual occurrence along Cemetery. They're there for a week or so.

They don't spook easily; they rarely bother to stop eating as you pass by in your car. The dogs enjoy getting an up-close look and smell as we slowly drive past.

In the Payette National Forest, cattle graze freely all summer, especially in the section just above my house. They follow no particular path, although frequently use forest roads in their meanderings. If we drive a few miles into the forest to access a nice dog-walking spot, we often come upon a small group grazing along the shoulder. In the forest, however, as soon as they see the car approaching, they start running up the road - away from the car, in their minds, which is exactly where the car is trying to go! The young cows seem to think it a bit of a game, bucking and nudging each other on, while mamas - worried about their babies - try to keep up. Eventually, they'll make a 90-degree turn off the road and into trees. Maia especially thinks this is a great game and watches intently out the window.

Bulls don't move. If they're standing on the forest road, chewing their cud when you drive up, you wait until they decide to let you pass. I swear they're as big as my Tribute, and take up so much room that you can't pass around them unless they want you to.

On evening walks with the dogs last July, when the cattle had just recently been set loose the graze in the forest (snow finally melting out), we frequently encountered them. For the girls, it was rather ho hum, having seen cattle up close during the years we lived here. For Finn, it was pretty exciting. It was a good opportunity to work on his "Leave it!" and "Come!" commands. If they stand still and munch foliage, he ignores them, but if the young ones start to run.... He can't hurt the cattle, who are used to being herded by dogs, but the cattle could easily hurt him.

Of course, it's not uncommon at any time of year to see one or two escaped cattle along Cemetery Road or any of the other side roads down in the valley if they've gotten out of an adjoining field. Or - spring or autumn - seeing an entire herd of cattle being slowly moved down a road by people on horseback or ATV, with one or two border collies or Aussies to help, from one pasture to another. Leaves quite a mess of cow shit on the road, which my car tires fling onto the undercarriage and mud flaps as I drive through, giving the dogs something wonderful to smell the next time they get into the car.

[Aside: While here in July, I drove the road to Brundage Ski Mountain shortly after a herd of cattle had been moved along it to access forest grazing. The usual amount of fresh cow shit ended up on the undercarriage and sides of my old Tribute. As soon as I returned to Washington, I attended a writers' conference at the Hyatt Hotel in Bellevue. Very high end hotel. I grinned inwardly every time I parked my car next to a nice Mercedes or BMW in the underground garage, traces of Idaho cow shit still evident.]

I've learned to keep my eyes peeled, especially at night, and slow for the ruminants along Cemetery Road each autumn. It would be awful to accidentally hit one with the car.

I'm thoroughly enjoying noting the vast differences between life in the suburbs of Seattle, and here in rural Idaho. It keeps things interesting, for me and the dogs, bouncing back and forth.

An Autumn Morning Stroll

2011-10-18T22:07:00.001-06:00

I love autumn, especially here in Idaho. Cold, with sunshine. Perfect combination, in my book. I often think that's one reason I'm attracted to malamutes: they also love cold and snow (but not rain so much).

Maia, my amazing girl, doesn't do well if our walks exceed a mile. Her left knee is still bothering her, although she's doing much better than a month ago. So on Sunday morning, October 16th, I left Maia home, and took Meadow and Finn for a walk through our neighborhood. Maia got a shorter walk of her own, later.

Meadow and Finn. View is south across Meadows Valley. Long shadows of early morning sun.

One thing I adore about autumn here: the thin veils of fog that cover the valley floor on sunny mornings. The fog moves about the valley, lifting here, descending there, rearranging itself until finally allowing the sun to burn it away by noon. Trees poke through here but not there; spider webs on plants become laundry lines of jeweled drops of moisture. It's a joy for the senses.

Miss Meadow.

It makes my heart ache to leave Maia behind on these walks. But Meadow needs to get out, exercise, explore. She hesitates at the start, looking at me as if to ask if I haven't forgotten something very important - Maia? But soon she revels in the outing and eagerly keeps pace with me and Finn.

The horses.

Near our turn-around point we pass these horses. The fog has nearly lifted here, and the morning sun is just breaking over the ridges to the east. I know my camera is facing the sun, but I take the photo anyway.The owner of these horses is out of town, and they are clearly eager for attention and diversion.

Near the forest boundary, our turn-around point.

The horses welcome our return.

"Is that a wolf? Doesn't look so scary to me!"

After the dogs romp in the field grass near the forest boundary, we head back. By now, most of the fog had lifted, and the horses are glad to have us pass close by again. They are particularly interested in Meadow, who so resembles a wolf. They neigh and prance in the field as we pass. Meadow ignores them; she has become used to this reaction after our years in Idaho. (Mules in particular tend to have a violent reaction to the girls if we walk past them in a pasture; snorting, hooves pounding, threatening body languge. I've learned to fear mules, on the girls' behalf.) Finn, however, has to be reminded to "Leave it!" A few days earlier I chatted with a neighbor who has horses and an adorable rescued border collie named Dolly. Dolly is on forced rest because she got kicked by one of the horses, dislocating a hip. "But that's better than the last time, when her other hip was broken," the neighbor said. I don't want Finn to ever discover the pain of a kick by a horse, mule, cow, elk or deer. So much better to simply leave it. Still, Finn bounds near the fence, as if to taunt the horses and say, "Yeah, I can out maneuver you!" Such a show off is Finn MacCool.

The house of the guy who owns the horses.

The guy who has the horses is also from Seattle. His house is pretty cool: built into a hillside to take advantage of the earth's natural heat; sod roof; very modern yet unobtrusive. The part you see in the photo above is the only two-story portion; he wanted it to look like a Forest Service lookout, and it does. Of all the houses in our rural development, his most blends into the environment. I applaud him for that. It borders the national forest, has an awesome view of Meadows Valley, and has 11 acres of land for horses, dogs, whatever. Lucky guy. Smart guy.

Happy dogs.

Cattails.

As Meadow, Finn and I descended the hillside with the horses, heading home, we were briefly enveloped in fog once again. What better evocation of autumn than cattails?

Our autumn morning stroll ended as all outings in the neighborhood have since I first moved there in 2005: with a joyous romp up the driveway and back into the house. Maia greets us happily, smelling Meadow first, then Finn, to determine just where we'd been.

Later on, I took a photo of those two horses, from my deck:

The horses, from my house.

I marvel at my good fortune, to have found this slice of paradise, to be able to enjoy it with my dogs, even if only part time. I am lucky, indeed.

You can lead a dog to a bed...

2011-10-17T21:17:00.002-06:00

...but you can't make her use it.

Maia, I'm talking about.

Maia snoozing on the heated concrete floor.

I realize that most big dogs prefer to sleep on hard surfaces. This has been true for both of my girls their entire lives. At our townhouse in Washington, there's little floor space that isn't carpeted. Yet Maia and Meadow will invariably snooze on the kitchen linoleum, the small bit of tile in front of the fireplace, or outside on the deck, completely avoiding the softer carpeting.

Here in the Idaho house, with in-floor radiant heat and concrete floors, the girls will often lay on one of several thin throw rugs I have. Not for the cushioning, but because the rug forms a barrier against the heat of the floor! (This isn't an issue in the summer months, when the heat is turned off and the floors remain nicely cool.)

Over the course of her life, Maia has had surgery to remove cysts on her elbows three times. A lump will appear, looking very much like a callous, then somehow get infected (usually, I suspect, after she's wrestled with Meadow in the yard), swell and cause fluid retention around the joint. At that point, surgical removal is the only option. They're not caused by sleeping on hard surfaces, but are likely exacerbated by doing so.

Unfortunately, after several years, a cyst returned on one elbow, necessitating a second round of surgery on that side in late 2008. Recently, I noticed that the other elbow is now working on a second lump which I'm hoping won't become infected as I really don't want to see Maia undergo yet another surgery at 12 1/2 years of age.

So, I ordered two dog beds, figuring the less pressure on her elbows, the better.

The first bed arrived a couple days ago. It's really a great bed, intended for easy travel (comes with its own stuff sack), completely washable (a requirement because Maia sometimes "floods") and just big enough. It's made by Canine Hardware and is very reasonably priced at $40. I ordered it through REI.com and it arrived two days later.

I placed the bed next to the sliding glass door, because malamutes are always too hot when indoors and Maia especially likes having her back to a door. It's one her favorite spots in this house. Finn immediately liked the new bed - but then, he loves sleeping on soft surfaces. I kicked Finn off, then coaxed Maia onto it, but she stayed for only a few minutes.

Later, I came home to this scene:

Not quite the use I had in mind.

Close, but.... Oh well, wait and see. The other bed I ordered is much more substantial; maybe she'll like it better.

Meadow snoozing on my bed, my pillow.

Meadow has always had an interesting approach to bed surfing. When the girls were young, they'd frequently join me on my bed at night, although they rarely spent the entire night there (too warm, I'm sure). As they've aged, they jump onto the bed less frequently, and now almost never when I'm in it. In fact, if Maia wants on the bed when I'm in it, I know she's really in need of comfort; otherwise it's too much effort for her old legs. I had begun to believe that even the younger Meadow had reached the point where the jump up onto this Idaho house bed (a bit taller than the bed in Washington) was too difficult. But then I noticed that if I left the house, say to go for a run with Finn, when I returned the purple dog-hair-protection cover would be ever so carefully pulled back where my pillow lies underneath, and the area just below my pillow would be wrinkled from the weight of a malamute. This is her daily routine in Washington, too. Sweet, huh? She rarely lets me catch her sleeping there, though; not sure why, since it's okay and she's never been scolded for it.

Doesn't look very comfortable, does she?

I did catch Meadow trying out the new dog bed last night. She's still working on her technique.

Finn on the futon.

Finn doesn't need coaxing to use a bed. I've decided that the futon in the guest room can be used by any dog that wants it. I've covered it with an old sheet, and a towel, to keep the futon itself clean in case a human guest wishes to use it. Finn has started spending much of the night there, even though he can't see me in my room (he rarely lets me out of his sight).

Success! Maia uses the bed.

Finally, late last night, I found Maia sound asleep on the new bed. I'm relieved she's willing to use it without prompting, although most of today she spent on the concrete floors. We'll see if that changes over time, or when the serious dog bed arrives.

I can only do so much. Malamutes definitely have minds of their own.

A Writer's View

2011-10-16T20:18:00.001-06:00

Downloading photos, editing them, uploading some to Blogger and writing a blog post takes a significant chunk of time.

While I was in the middle of creating the previous post, I found myself looking out my home office window at the warm glow cast by the descending sun onto the grass in my field and the nearby trees of the forest.

I'm lucky to have such a view to distract me. And inspire me. This is a wonderful place to write.

Often, this view includes a few white tailed deer meandering from one section of the forest to another, munching field grass along their way, watched closely but quietly by the girls. Not now, though; it's hunting season, so the deer keep well hidden during daylight hours.

Today was full of Idaho mountain weather: thunder and lightning overnight making dogs restless, with a deluge of rain pounding the roof; a brief reprieve mid-morning with fog banks knitting through the layers of tree covered hills and ridges across the valley, during which I took Meadow and Finn for a quick walk one mile down our road to collect the Sunday paper; another few hours of periodic deluges, during which the dogs and I napped - it is Sunday, after all; a later reprieve just after the dogs' dinner at 4:00 pm, when Finn and I snuck in another walk; and finally, around 6:00 pm, a clearing of clouds during which the sun bathed the bucolic landscape with warm light, making me pause from my computer to soak it in and take the photo above.

On Trail!

2011-10-16T19:51:00.001-06:00

I often feel as if I call out "Finn, on trail!" a hundred times during some of our trail runs. Especially in areas where there is abundant wildlife moving about.

I end up saying "On trail!" most frequently when my own pace is slower. Finn has more time to find mischief just off the trail if I'm walking, or taking photos, or just running slowly. This was the case last Friday when we went to Ponderosa State Park for a morning run. I was feeling tired, so more willing to stop and take photos.

Lily Marsh, Ponderosa State Park, ID

There were a few ducks in this marsh. Given Finn's intense desire to swim after ducks, I was pretty stern with my "Finn, on trail!" commands through here.

Other end of Lily Marsh.

Finn on foot bridge bisecting Lily Marsh.

I constantly marvel at the differences between Finn - a herding breed - and Maia and Meadow - malamutes - when running trails. When the girls were my trail companions, they rarely left the trail to chase squirrels or other wildlife. Birds? Not worth their notice (although Maia often delighted at the sudden flush of a grouse, creating a thrilling loud whoosh of wings). Maia was always in lead position, followed by me, then Meadow - a formation I fondly refer to as The Malamute Sandwich. Maia's focus was on going from Point A to Point B along the shortest trail route, using her senses of smell and hearing to take stock of what was going on around us in the forest. If either of the girls stopped and put their noses up high, inhaling deeply, I knew to grab their collars or attach their leashes, because something large - elk, deer, cow, sheep, moose - was nearby. If Maia's tail suddenly dropped and she acted nervous, a bear, or wolf, was nearby. Maia would use her nose to steer me away from the perceived danger.

Maia accepted direction from me at intersections regarding which way to go, but after a few miles out she would start to show concern that perhaps we were getting a bit far from home or the car. (This inclination increased as she aged and so our range slowly decreased; I always let Maia determine pace and distance.) If I suggested taking a route that wasn't the shortest way back to our starting point, Maia would give me a look as if to say, "Are you sure?" She always knew, even if we were in new territory. I took great comfort in knowing that I would never be lost in the woods with Maia along. Meadow doesn't have the same sense of direction, which I guess is why she was always happy to hang in the back and follow Maia's lead. Meadow, though, always had our backs, and that provided a huge sense of security for me and Maia in the forest. Meadow is fearless.

"Nice view, huh?" Finn demonstrating his uncanny ability to not look at the camera.

Finn, on the other hand, primarily uses his eyes when on the trail, and anything that moves is fair game in his mind. Birds, squirrels, ducks...even bees and butterflies on occasion. He's constantly jumping a few feet off the trail into the undergrowth in vain attempts to get that squirrel or chipmunk that dashes across the trail or up a tree as we approach, chattering away. Because he's so quick, he can do this repeatedly over the course of our run without ever falling behind. (Who knows how much ground he actually covers on any given run?) However, if we come near a deer, cow or horse - even a cat - that doesn't move to run away, beyond a quick glance Finn doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't use his nose like the girls do. It's all about the chase, about herding.

It also appears that Finn has absolutely no sense of direction in terms of where we started from. I wouldn't ever rely on him to find our way home if lost. Nor do I believe he can warn me about bears, like Maia could; instead, I fear he'd chase a bear - he already, has, once - which could create a very dangerous situation for both him and me. But, if Finn has covered the territory at least once before, when we come upon intersections, he always remembers which way we went the last time we were there. Perhaps this is because I've trained him to wait for me at all intersections until I give him a release with which direction to follow: "Finn...that way!" with a point of the hand is one of his favorite releases/commands. Or perhaps it's because this breed functions on a memory of patterns? There have been many times, running familiar terrain, when I'm lost in my thoughts and all of the sudden Finn stops in front of me or slows and lets me pass before I realize that oh, yeah, we're at a trail intersection. Good boy! Finn's ability to remember the direction we went the last time we were on a given trail - even if it was weeks before - is something I don't remember seeing in Maia.

Different dogs, different breeds, different talents. A working breed like a malamute would be most valued for following a track without distraction. Think Iditarod. A herding breed like an Aussie would be valued for an ability to quickly view the creatures needing herding - like sheep - and then covering whatever ground is necessary to move them where they need to go.

So: commands like "On trail" and "on by," and if those fail, "come" have been invaluable while running trails with Finn.

Finn, demonstrating his ability to respond to the "on trail" command after chasing yet another chipmunk.

Enjoying Payette Lake.


Finn demonstrating his response to "Come!" so we can start running again.

Back at the trail head, another great trail run finished.

It has been an interesting adjustment - and learning curve - running trails with Finn. He's a wonderful companion, don't get me wrong. But...I miss the intelligence of Maia, and the goofiness of Meadow, who kept me and Maia entertained with her switchback cutting and other antics on the trails. That girl has a sense of humor, where Maia is all seriousness and business, completing the task at hand. The make a complimentary pair. I laughed at, and talked to, the girls so much more during our trail runs than I do with Finn. I guess that's because, with Finn, I'm too focused on making sure he doesn't go tearing off after a deer, or calling him back after he's treed a squirrel.

As both girls age, I find myself reminiscing more and more about all the times we shared on the trails. Miles and miles and miles. Indeed, I once estimated - conservatively - how many running miles (trails and roads) Maia has covered with me over the years: 10,000 miles. That's a ton of fun! I keep a running log, and so the estimate isn't far-fetched. Meadow, two years younger than Maia, and retired from running at the same time as Maia (the girls hate not doing everything together, so it simply wasn't possible in my view to continue to take Meadow running when Maia displayed a disinclination to continue running) accumulated perhaps just few hundred fewer miles. Pretty amazing.

Finn - with all his side-tracking and dashing up and back on the trails as we run - will likely exceed even Maia's mileage over the course of his lifetime, assuming of course that my own legs don't give out anytime soon.

I can't imagine a better way to develop a deep, intelligent and elemental bond with my dogs than running trails with them.