November 21, 2009
Today’s post is brought to you by the letters M and R:
Jones attempted to menace the mailman near Mill St. but managed to maintain a modicum of manners. Ramona refrained from running and remained at home with the rest of our relations.
Cat poop consumed: no
November 19, 2009
I didn’t know this path had a bona fide name until the Rosa Parks Path construction forced me to take a slightly different route into it and I discovered the sign. It is such a delightful name that I would walk here all the time except that the gully slash drainage ditch is on the fetid side, not to mention that the path parallels the freeway. And plus the walk back through the neighborhood has no sidewalks, which wasn’t such a big deal when it was just me and Jones but maneuvering a dog and baby juggler is more challenging. I wish I could call it a pram.
Cat poop consumed: no
November 16, 2009
Passive construction: The raccoon was hit by a car and lay dead in the shrubbery. The next day it was removed.
Active construction: Jones smelled the aroma of missing raccoon. He pulled at the leash to stop and inhale deeply.
Cat poop consumed: no
November 11, 2009
The dump smells like artisanal cheese. The bakery smells like bread. The river is swollen. It is raining. My shirt smells like an aquarium. I am very good at spitting while running.
Cat poop consumed: no
November 10, 2009
When I don’t get enough exercise I can be restless and irritable. When Jones doesn’t get enough, he pulls diaper covers out of the laundry basket and licks out the poop. That’s when it’s time for a good, long walk out to the Whilamut Natural Area. Walk down West D St. in Springfield to the bike path along the Willamette River where the path is called the West D Street Greenway. There is a sign that says so. Go past the canoe put-in and the marker for Prefontaine’s Trail, and a little further on slip under the underpass and you are now officially in Eugene. The twilight comes softly down over the muddy trail through the big field, but the jingling of the dog’s tags lets you know where he is. Watch for the twinkling of bike commuters’ lights in the distant trees. Circle back around on the bark path to the pavement, listening for runners behind you. Be glad it’s not raining this time.
Cat poop consumed: yes
November 6, 2009
There are two songs you definitely don’t want stuck in your head while out for a dog run sans iPod: Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head by B.J. Thomas and Time to Change by the Brady Bunch Kids (complete with Peter’s voice cracking).
Cat poop consumed: no
November 3, 2009
A guest contributor today: Private S., U.S. Marine Corps.
When I was reading this book I came across this passage, if you will, that made me think of you. More like Jones, but it reminded me of your walking the dog stories.”For those who despair that their lives are without meaning and without purpose, for those who dwell in a loneliness so terrible that it has withered their hearts,for those who would squander their in self pity and in self destruction because they have lost saving wisdom with which they were born, for all these and many more, hope waits in the dreams of a dog, where the sacred nature of life may be clearly experienced without the all but blinding filter of human need, desire, greed, envy, and endless fear.”
Cat poop consumed: no
November 2, 2009
I’ve been bugged about all the gimmicky books out there these days that are based around the idea of doing something for a year. It’s a tidy time period; long enough for a rigorous trial but not too long to create real suffering. The trick is to find something relatively banal that one can do each day, add a twist, and then blog about it. And it helps to have the endeavor lend itself to a book and movie tie-in. Rather than go without bottled water or toilet paper, or trying to incorporate peppercorns into every meal, I think a more interesting challenge would be to chronicle the truly mundane. There are lots of things one does every day year after year that could provide truckloads of insight and illumination that don’t involve heroic acts of sacrifice: flossing, putting on clothes, reading billboards, rolling cigarettes, managing the drifts of dog hair accumulating in the corners.
Cat poop consumed: no
November 1, 2009
As T.S. Eliot said, a cat is not a dog. I would like to add, as something of a non sequitur, that walking is not running. I knew a woman who rather spontaneously entered the Los Angeles marathon without really training for it. She said that since she’d been running for 20 years her body would know what to do. And it did; she was fine. I’ve been a runner for 16 years but I wasn’t feeling my springiest my first time out after seven months off. This despite all the aforementioned walking. Jones had no such drama and trotted alongside like a perfect citizen. His only concern was that we make our usual stop at the interpretive sign so he could check his pee-mail.
Cat poop consumed: no
October 30, 2009
Another experiment in family living today. I strapped E. into the torso jet pack (for better nap excellence) and took Jones on the leash for a long walk out to the Knickerbocker Bridge. Would he pull and lunge and endanger my genetic replica? Must I untangle yet another shift in pack dynamics? But no. Again with the miracles, mostly. We passed all the usual triggers without incident: skateboarders (not a crime, I keep telling him), dogs running alongside bikes, the mail truck, squirrels, heavy equipment, all without the usual drama. It’s like some After School Special about a troubled dog transformed by his new responsibility to watch over a baby. It’s more likely that he just wants to ensure the ongoing supply of effluvia she provides.
Cat poop consumed: no
