West D Street Greenway, Springfield

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

 

West D Street Greenway, Springfield

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

 

Whilamut Natural Area, Springene

The Ducks cross country team, both men’s and women’s squads, passed us with crisp efficiency on the bark path as they ran in tight formation–rain be damned!– and I gave thanks once again for young men in shorts and the benefits they provide to the landscape. I’m jealous and ready to run again, but a long walk through the field is the best I can hope for, at least for another week or two. To the field! To the field! Liberated dogs frolic! Be muddy! Postpartum women walk fast! Be overheated in rain gear!

Cat poop consumed: no

 

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

 

Washburne Historic District, Springfield

I had high hopes this morning for a long walk someplace different but alas with the industrious planting (two shasta daisies, two forsythia, one Russian sage) and gravel relocation, it was almost eleven before I could get out. So it’s the same old same old, made only slightly more eventful because of a torrential shower that soaked my poor fastidious dog and dampened my underpants despite the umbrella.

Cat poop consumed: yes (small consolation)

 

Willamette River Path, Springfield

These Tuesday mornings are a gift from the evening reference desk shift gods. So much time to drink tea and read that article from the Sunday Times about Justice Souter and take the dog on the hour-long loop by the river and learn how to do a yarn over for the baby booties I’m trying to knit while watching two episodes of the first season of Mary Tyler Moore and play tug of war with Jones and the squeaky bunny and then to pack a mid-afternoon lunch and still get to the bus on time.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Willamette River Path, Springfield

Now this is a normal February morning in the Willamette Valley. Light rain, 40 some degrees, low sky. A person can be positively enthusiastic about running on mornings like this, and find stores of energy and verve that lie hidden on other days. The dog takes some additional coaxing. Jones is never entirely comfortable when we go out and leave part of the pack behind. Ramona’s arthritic hips won’t hold up to this kind of running, and L. went off on an aesthetic imperative mission to the home improvement store. And Jones is fastidious about getting wet, so when we turned the corner and the whole river path stretched out before us in the glistening rain, he balked and turned back toward home. I used to coax and cajole and eventually give in when he did this. Not anymore. I’m the decider, pal.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Island Park, Springfield

I shouldn’t have turned the volume so low on my phone alarm. I should have gotten up 20 minutes earlier. I should have left sooner so my tea wouldn’t be tepid. I should have brought an umbrella. I should have worn sneakers instead of go-go boots. I shouldn’t have dithered over the color of my tights. I should have eaten something before leaving the house. I should have scanned those images and constructed the in-class activity on Tuesday. I shouldn’t have wasted time on barrettes. I should have left the bed unmade.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Downtown, Cottage Grove

My informal resolution for 2008 was to never let Jones be a guest contributor for the doglog. Despite his charming personality and good looks, I just don’t think it’s appropriate. After all, dogs can’t talk, much less write in anything other than doggerel (thanks, I’ll be here all week!). I do wish he would explain why he refused to go running with L. this afternoon. The rain? The coat that rubs his armpits the wrong way? Whatever the reason, after a few steps he simply sat down on the sidewalk turned in the direction of the house. I didn’t give in so easily later when I took him and Ramona out for a forced march, coat, rain and all.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Whiteaker School, Eugene

Toto spent the whole movie off-leash, without even a collar or tags, not that Oz had any kind of animal control–witness the flying monkeys. Some disciplined dog walking might have helped prevent the unfortunate biting incident with the egregious Miss Gulch during the sepia-toned portion of the story. On the other hand, a restraint would have prevented the smartypants from wandering freely to unmask the humbug Wizard. I would argue that the ultimate message of the film, at least from the perspective of dog representation, is balance.

Cat poop consumed: no