West D Street Greenway, Springfield

coop courtesy of This by Them

The expected rain today started to fall while we were still out on the path, but it’s July so even Ramona was dry by the time we crossed Mill St.  Rain is pretty unusual in the Willamette Valley this time of year, and the temperature has dropped to require jeans. And was that thunder or just heavy equipment on the new I-5 bridge project? We made it home before the skies opened up in a bona fide thunderstorm. Good for the crops but hard on chicken coop construction, which had to suspend operations for a few hours until the lightning passed and the use of power tools became a little less nutty.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Autzen Dog Park, Eugene

As Kenny Rogers said, there’s someone for everyone (and Tommy’s love was Becky). So I’m glad there seem to be plenty of people who appreciate the dachshund, which is a breed whose original function–hunting rodents in their holes–has overwhelmed its form–long & low. I find them unbeautiful and inconvenient. The poor guys need stairs to get up on the couch. And they can’t move all that fast on those short legs although Jones had a fairly satisfying romp with one today. Jones did most of the running.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Meadow Park, Springfield

Is there a name for those median-strip like concrete things in the middle of apartment building parking lots? Mostly they are covered in grass, but at the Imperial Arms across from the park they all contain little vegetable gardens. The Imperial Arms itself has kind of gone to seed, so it’s appropriate that there is corn growing in the parking lot. These pockets of renegade food production make me feel very happy.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Jefferson Westside neighborhood, Eugene

I forgot to bring the leashes. The dogs made it safely from the car to the house, but when O. suggested an after-dinner walk we had to punt. Fortunately Booty lent one of his extras to Jones but Ramona had to make do with L.’s belt., which turned out to be a stylish alternative. Jones was especially squirrelly in the reconfigured pack and never really settled down. I felt a certain elevated excitement myself as we strolled past kottage after kottage, each one kuter than the last, with Monroe Park nestled in the middle, and then there was Sweet Life, a treasure house of dessert delights mere minutes away.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

West D Street Greenway, Springfield

I can get a glimpse of the crabby old lady I will become whenever there are fireworks around. They’re just so noisy and dangerous and pointless, I crab. That’s exactly why they are so fun, L. informs me. Because they are dangerous and noisy. Fortunately Ramona agrees with me and retreats to my side whenever there is another bang and crackle.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Willamette River Path, Springene

An easy, three-step process for making a dog tired:

1. Wait until it is at least 90 degrees outside.

2. Go to the dog park for 30 minutes.

3. Ride three miles home on your bike and make the dog run alongside.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Washburne Historic District, Springfield

I ask you, is pee really the worst thing a dog can “contribute” to someone’s lawn? Is sarcasm really the best approach for dealing with it? I suspect the woman–who owns a dog which presumably pees somewhere other than her grass–is troubled by larger issues of powerlessness, so naturally she takes out her frustration on us for this tiny imposition. She should make that angry phone call to the IRS. Her father needs to know how he crushed her self-esteem by teasing her about her hair all her life. The neighbors with the noisy bad music across the alley? Confront them!

Her lawn wasn’t even nice.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

If tonight’s walk were a children’s book, here are some potential titles: 

Say Hello to My Butt: Dogs We Meet on the Street

Will Your Dog Eat Grass?

Ramona: Building Bridges of Friendship and Understanding

Kids: Friend or Foe?

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park, Springfield

It sometimes helps on days like this to imagine a different fate as a way to jumpstart the sluggish biorythms. What if I’d been born into a New England preppy family and this morning I’m walking my twin golden retrievers, Brandy and Brooks, on the path that follows the rocky Maine coast where we have our summer cottage. I’ll go sailing later and admire how straight my hair is, even with the spray and humidity. In the evening I’ll enjoy civilized cocktails on the porch and laugh in a throaty, well-bred fashion. I would be stylish and idle and interesting in my espadrilles, instead of being a 41-year-old knocked up woman in an orange poncho doing a lame 20-minute walk with a pair of poop-eating dogs.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Dorris Ranch Living History Farm, Springfield

I keep thinking there must be some garden or house work to do that I’m forgetting but really there isn’t. The floor is swept, the bathtub is scuz-free, the bolted spinach is on its way to compost. L. has to make a website and be industrious (Mr. T sez: I pity the non-Drupal-usin’ foo!), but the dogs and I are free to take a long walk under the hazelnut trees on this lovely morning.

Cat poop consumed: no