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

 

Island Park, Springfield

Some pundits go so far as to say that all that jumping and wiggling that dogs do when we get home is actually the result of anxiety and too little exercise. One doesn’t want to anthropomorphize animals and ascribe human emotional content to their behavior, but I’d call that excitement. Ditto for the dog food ritual. Jones jumps in the air three times while I bring out his food, and Booty spins in place. Maybe this is a stress reaction born of domesticity and disconnection from pack-style hunting. Sure. But a recent study proves what anyone in a multi-dog situation has already observed: that dogs get pissed off unless everyone is treated fairly. That said, every human child soon learns the old saw that life isn’t fair; presumably dogs must too. Booty, being a compact wrestler-type, finishes his smaller rations before Jones, then sniffs around and stares at me with his big ol’ bug eyes as if to say What the hell, why does he get more?  On the walk, however, we’re comfortably in formation, all striding at an even pace through the new snow, doubts about status dissipating like so much woodsmoke.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Lower Rock Creek, Bishop

We have a guest writer today: D., niece #4, who is 7 and a half.

 we walked for a little bit then we had to stop because D. got a bad stomachache.

D. also had to manage Mr. Krabs with salami, but then he ran away, and came back just to get salami.  It was very pretty and hot.  There was a blue sky and lots of trees.  It was super fun!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Downtown, Cottage Grove

Like many of us, Chubs has a troubled past of unruliness and random peeing in hallways. But tonight she walked like nobody’s business at L.’s heel, perfectly content to comply. Ramona balanced out the tableau on the other side. Three dogs disrupts the delicate chemistry of the pack, and Jones pulls harder than usual, trying to outdo L.’s leadership. I’m, like, not into competition, so I let them work it out. We rounded a corner and passed a kute kottage undergoing renovation–It’s been like that for months, L. said–and it unleashed a flood of memories of living in partially finished houses. I couldn’t stop talking for several blocks about plywood floors and washing dishes in the bathtub until we closed in on a noisy party spilling out into a front yard. It cast a net of sound over several blocks, and I thanked my lucky stars for my mostly quiet neighborhood, my barking dog notwithstanding.