November 24, 2009
We’re all living in the luminous now and everything, but a long walk does provide long-term benefits that one can look forward to, even while on said walk around the big field. For Jones: good citizenship. For yours truly: Vitamin D absorption and slimercising of thighs. E: nap excellence and ultimately a cheerful evening free of The Fear.
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 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
October 24, 2009
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
June 27, 2009
It was so hot that I wanted the dogs to get some water before we looped back through the field, so we went the extra quarter mile to the pond on the Millrace. There seemed to be firm ground under the reeds so Ramona tentatively stepped toward the water’s edge but soon found herself up to her chest in the water. Jones went in up to his neck in pond goo. He morphed into the frisky wet dog, rolled in the foxtails, and tried to stir up a wrestling match with Ramona. But it was short-lived. As soon as we hit the bark path, he succumbed to heat-induced torpor, poor little solar cooker that he is.
Cat poop consumed: no
March 29, 2009
Spring, lo! I brought my sunglasses and umbrella because it was that kind of morning, and sure enough, by B St. the maybe-sun had turned to an easy rain which quickly evolved into a torrential hail blown sideways by the wind. I scurried the dogs into a doorway to wait it out. Once it passed, I considered the dark cloud over our intended direction–Dorris Ranch–and reset the GPS for the river path which had actual blue sky over it. Good choice there. Midway through the field I was glad for the shades. Iffy weather also keeps the number of runners low on the paths out here, which means more off-leash time for the dogs. I try to be a good neighbor and make a show of putting on the leashes when we encounter other people. Plus there was a parks & rec truck patrolling this morning. I have heard tale of tickets for unleashed dogs, and they aren’t tickets to the dog show.
Cat poop consumed: no
March 27, 2009
I’m like a wrestling coach trying to help my charge make weight before the big match by putting him through the paces of one last hardcore workout. Tomorrow is the annual vet appointment where we see if the deprivations of the weight loss program have made a difference. I think we’ll get good news and Jones will be able to wrestle in the appropriate midweight class instead of with the chubs, but a long bike ride-run couldn’t hurt. Jones did his usual freaky barking at my bike before we started but then he settled in to a focused, all-out run, too busy to smell anything, root around for cat poop, or menace other dogs on the path. The virtues of vigorous exercise.
Cat poop consumed: no
March 14, 2009
Oh god it’s good to be home in my own bed in my own now-clean house in my own kitchen with all my own utensils and my own backyard where Jones and Ramona can go check. And I’m going to make bread and catch up on my bills and knit on my own couch and return to serious and energetic visualization about the garden and invite P. to a fun dumb movie. First, though, we all deserve a good, long walk out to the field for some off-leash action. Feels like forever since we’ve been out there. The river is low. Trees have been cut down on E St. in front of that ramshackley rental. Ramona has developed her own taste for the delicate flavor of cat poop, a Springfield specialty.
Cat poop consumed: yes (Ramona. Who knew?)
January 13, 2009
I knew something was up when I tried to maintain an interior monologue about calorie intake and expenditure but kept mixing up the words. In a glucose tailspin, so hungry. Turns out a banana and cup of green tea are not enough for life to flourish on a morning run through the field. The aromatic breeze of the coffee roaster and bakery across the river made it even worse. Jones had no trouble, fueled as he was on ¾ cup of diet kibble. Meat loaf sandwiches and big bowls of potatoes with salt and butter. An endless gingery pile of stir-fried vegetables. All the oatmeal the world has ever known. Walking, you can get away with it. You can head out for a dog walk starving in an evening gown crowned by an architectural hair-do and come home relatively intact. Baked beans and bacon. Peanut butter toast to infinity.
Cat poop consumed: no
January 6, 2009
One might be tempted in a forum such as this to lean dangerously toward the “everything I know I learned from my dog” kind of sentiments. Others have already covered that thoroughly so I don’t need to, and frankly, they give me a rash. Especially since Jones did not teach me how to alphabetize or how to stir peanut butter so the oil gets all the way to the bottom of the jar, both very important skills. I think my energies would be better served with, say, Everything I Need to Know I Learned from My Blender (wait patiently then be exciting), or Everything I Need to Know I Learned Growing Up in My Mom’s 1970 Volkswagen Bus (take your sweet time, be ready to camp anywhere, ask for help, don’t expect a radio), or even the Willamette River (flow, man; be mighty).
Cat poop consumed: no
