Alton Baker Park, Eugene

so much depends
upon

a bit of blue
chewing gum

serrated with teeth
marks

against the yellow
grass.

Cat poop consumed: barely, yes

 

Alton Baker Park via River Path, Springfield

There’s nothing like a good long walk to ground a person not to mention dog. To be thoroughly exercised is to feel recalibrated and set to right after a day of jumbling about from meeting to meeting (me) or lying around (Jones). Off his leash in the big field, my guy becomes more of his true self, doing wind sprints and practicing his vertical leap in the high grass. On the way back Jones checked his pee mail at the big shrub in front of the Book Nook while I assessed the man who stood staring at a bicycle lying against the curb. I can’t believe you! he said. He shook the handle bars and flopped on his stomach on the sidewalk to speak to the bike more directly. Back on his feet he swayed, managed to wrestle the bike upright, then continued to scold it. I told you not to fucking do this to me. I glanced back as we rounded the corner. He’d made it across the street but the bike had to take a time out against a telephone pole and suffer a stern lecture about how to behave properly.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Alton Baker Park, Eugene

The hazelnut ranch hosted a wedding this afternoon and dogs weren’t invited, so we retrenched. How it had gotten to be 2:30 already was baffling, but the sun had burned off the morning fog and provided us a brilliant autumn day. Ramona and Jones were good citizens in the field, even when a couple of teenage boys blundered past on their bikes. That is, until they flushed out a pheasant from the tall grass. They’re just doing their job, but the bird was a little freaked out. Ramona, ever compliant, trundled away to keep up with us, but Jones lingered in the brush, certain there must be more where that one came from. Thus the term “dogged,” I suppose.

Cat poop consumed: no