Year-end Errata

Wishing everyone an happy, healthy new year. Live long and prosper.

The Star Trek fans know that last line. Let me just say, I luv Tivo.

I also love REI. My holiday haul included a nice gift certificate, so I'll be getting new waterproof boots at their next big sale. If you have been so fortunate to live to this point in your life without walking in wet wool socks, allow me a moment to assure you - you want to live the rest of your life in ignorance of this experience, too. Not fun.

The other pedestrian experience I can not really recommend is walking in boot-sucking mud. I have several acres of it, and it's a horror. The ground is frozen, so as the snow melts the moisture can't soak into the ground. The top inch or so of earth has thawed, but is so moisture-laden it's more like walking through molasses. Knee-high rubber boots are the recommended footwear (which means my feet freeze) to stay dry, but the slip-sliding passage across the pasture is quite treacherous. Give me ice, please.

We've had an abundance of pre-dawn hawk sightings in the past 10 days, most in motion and very close overhead and totally silent. Someday the people that make movies will stop inserting bird-of-prey noises everytime a falcon or buzzard is on the screen - in real life they don't announce themselves.

Bugg is settling in pretty well, given all the changes in her life. She's dealing with severe changes in altitude, humidity, and temperature, and depsite a short-lived fever her appetite never waned. Bugg is now in work, as I learn Parelli's seven games, and this too is a huge change for her. And me, negative reinforcement-based training is something I'm really struggling with, emotionally. More on that once I've sorted some things out.

This weekend I am taking a couple of hounds for a long walk in the desert. The weather forecast is for the low 60's, significantly warmer thatn we've had recently, so I'm concerned about keeping the boys cool. Water, water, water... good thing I'm a camel.

On the drive down and back I'll be listening to something by Simon Winchester, a marvelous author with not just a clever mind and lovely way with words, but insatiable curiousity for fascinating topics. My iPod is stuffed to its gills, and I have company for the hours of driving.

Christmas Traditions

Something old, something not-so-new...

We went to a wedding on Sunday; the last cousin of my generation has finally found the perfect woman and gotten hitched. Of the seven of us, only one was married in a church, two are divorced, one re-married. The rest of us put off marriage until at least our late 20's and that may have been part of making it stick. Chris just turned 44, his bride is 41. The ceremony was ancient (a Diné ceremony on Winter Solstice, with a Circle of Elders), the reception was modern (catered with electricity), the happy couple wrote their own vows and there was nary a dry eye in the building. Long may they love.

Here at the ranchero, we finally got our tree decorated on the 22nd. The tree was purchased nearly a week ago (by tradition, always on the 16th) but work, chores, snow storms, shopping, the wedding, and general procrastination conspired to put it off. It's a HUGE tree, we had to put coffee table away until the tree comes down. In case anyone wonders how we live with intact males and have a tree indoors, it's simple: x-pen.

This is Anthony's last Christmas living here, I can hardly believe he'll be off to university somewhere next fall. We made a point of putting all Anthony's childhood ornaments on the tree. Holiday cards are slowly covering the hand-made door to the deck (we haven't mailed ours out yet - eek). Some years the glass is completely covered, and while the tape is a pain to clean off it's nice to have them all in one place, easy to read.

The hanging of the stockings is always a tear-jerking affair. Every being that lives here gets a stocking, but once somebody dies that stocking is retired. I know it's going to happen, picking up Thomas's stocking and bawling, but I do it every year. Tommy was 17 when he died, and it nearly killed me when he went. Rick (hubby extraordinaire) and I both know this is Mac's last Christmas; he's had a really rough couple of months and every day he wags his tail and trots outside makes me treasure him all over again. The snakes' stockings are taped to their tank, as they are very small (and the snakes don't appreciate gifts the way the mammals do).

The other thing that's become a tradition, though it actually goes on all winter, is Boomer's favorite napping spot. Boomer (Desert Island Boomerang, CGC) was a dog I rescued from the pound and we fostered, but his adoptive home didn't work out and he was returned. He has a number of chronic health issues (lumbar sacral disease, bilataral subluxating patellas, moderate heart murmur), as well as a recent diagnosis of cancer, and is an extremely difficult dog to live with (our first and last scenthound, hand to doG), but we love him anyway. This may be his last Christmas too, though it wouldn't surprise me if he lives another 10 years. Boomer's favorite hobbies are proving once again that there's no such thing as a beagle-proof fence, stealing food, and finding posh places to sleep. During winter the underside of our wood stove is, appearantly, an ideal place to nap. It seems incredibly dangerous, but he's been doing it for years and we've given up trying to discourage him. Beagles are described as "hedonists of the dog world" and it's true.

Since moving back to New Mexico, a couple of other traditions have taken hold. New: Christmas Eve dinner somewhere. In recent years we've eaten out, this year my sister is hosting. Should be a nice afternoon. Old: Canyon Road Walk. Some years we freeze our asses off, some years it's just cold. The last couple of years I've taken a borzoi on the walk; they love the weather and draw lots of compliments. And yes, a Santa hat is required garb for the 'zoi. The smell of pinon fires and hot cider, everybody bundled up, crazy holiday hats with flashing lights, the occasional burst of Christamas carols, art galleries with doors flung open late into the night... it's not to be missed.

This year we will again have a house-full of family, food, and fun for Christmas day. Eggnog lattes have been improve with the discovery of peppermint coffee espresso (thank you, Sandra!!). Gifts are exchanged but generally low-key, but the annual tradition of mis-packaging items will continue. One year I got a plain brown box and was told to keep it in the freezer for two weeks... it was a skirt. Every family is a little crazy, right? Our neighbors will stop by to exchange home-made goodies, near-violent games of 42 will be played, naps will be taken.

And of course, New Year's weekend I'll take a dog or two down south to look for Mr. Jack. My newest tradition, and it's a dandy.

I'm hoping that sometime in the next couple of weeks I can get up to the Taos Inn, where one of my uncles has an art exhibit of photos from his travels around the world on exhibition. My aunt decks the Inn out with spectacular holiday decorations - another family tradition.

Wishing everyone a very merry Christmas and spectacular new year, whatever your traditions, old and new.

Homecoming Queen

She's here!!!

I'm pleased to introduce Bugg, an 11 year old Connemara Pony.

Bugg has been living in southern California for the past few years with my friends on their ranch as a broodmare. The realities of the economic decline have affected the equine markets, forcing us to leave her open this year; with no plans for her for '09 either, I decided to bring her here and put her back in work. My neighbor, Elizabeth, has been itching for somebody to do Parelli with and this is a perfect opportunity for both of us.

Despite 8" of new snow today and 15 degree temps, Melissa of BlackJack Transport got Bugg here before bedtime. Melissa fell in love with Bugg in just a few hours (Connemaras win a lot of converts); Bugg came off the trailer, looked at the snow, and walked the 200 yards through a mild blizzard to her new stall. Let's hear it for sane ponies!!

Welcome home, sweet Bugg-a-boo. We're gonna have a lot of fun.

The above photo is from June 2006. Nice extended trot, eh? New pictures once we have some daylight.

Dog hair and dust

What, your night-stand and car have something else on them?

Yesterday was a very good day. I had fun, my dogs had fun, the weather was great, the drive was stunning, the company for dinner was spot-on.

In this state, hunting is perfectly legal. Yet a lot of people get up in arms (ironic pun, no?) over it, so I share details with those I know only. Gotta wonder how some people think all those groceries show up in the meat case... a topic for another day I suppose. And yes, I have a license.

The car was mostly loaded on Friday night - ruck sack with people snacks, dog blankets, binoculars, some first aid stuff, bottles of water, dog bowl, orange vest; more water, dog beds and blankets, assortment of collars and leashes; my wallet, sunglasses, sunscreen, hat, gloves, ear muffs, down vest, windbreaker, spare coat, cooler with chicken necks, thermos of coffee and mug... for a day-trip there's a stunning amount of STUFF involved. The one thing that I wanted but didn't have was some extra collars; they were ordered but hadn't arrived yet.

Saturday morning I arose at 4:30 a.m., pushed "start" on the coffee pot, fed Py and Day half-sized breakfasts of thawed chicken necks, got dressed, double-checked that I had enough water, my iPod, cell phone, sunglasses, and assorted dog gear, then pottied the hounds and hit the road. We had about an inch of snow overnight, the air was still and in the mid-20's and just glorious. The moon was setting to the west, the sun eventually rose in the east... Less than two hours later I pulled into our meeting place for breakfast, paid my entry fees, and ordered more coffee. Two hours after that, we were walking in the desert somewhere, looking for Mr. Jack.

More than seven hours and some many miles later (figure 3-ish MPH for 7+ hrs) we returned to our vehicles for a quick potluck. As the sun set we headed back to pavement, the hounds laid flat out and dreaming of the day's courses. After a quick dinner with my friend Elaine I headed home – the moon rising from the east.

Perfect symmetry to the day.

Today is snowing and blowing, a good day to be at home rather than walking fields. My shoulders were sore from the ruck sack and dogs pulling most of the day, but my feet were (and today still) feel great. Someday I'll have to replace my waterproof hiking boots from REI and it will cost a fortune, but I have never regretted the $200 (sale price!) I spent on these. Best damn things I ever put on my feet.

But my car is still needing to be cleared out... guess what's waiting for me in there?

Sing it with me

Monday, Monday...

You know, as in the Mamas & the Papas... no? Hm, bet you're under 40 . Probably a LOT under. Not that that's a bad thing... anyway...

Mondays have turned into Delta Society day for Py and me. We spent a couple hours at a residential treatment facility this afternoon; today most of the kids wanted to read to "Mr. Py" as they call him. I think that's very sweet, since he towers over the littlest ones and they all clearly love to spend time with him. Some lie on the floor and stroke his fur, others hug/hang on him, others just sit quietly, some won't read until he lies down. Each interaction is differnet, and how Py knows what each individual kid needs is beyond my understanding, but I know it's real.

Anyway, today one of the kids I'll call Billy read a story about a mystery tower in Rhode Island. Who knew?? Very cool, have to put that on the "visit someday" list.

Right before we left a girl I'll call Billie came in, her third visit today, and asked if she could sing Py a song she was writing. Like a lot of kids at this facility, she's got what is euphamistically refered to as a "troubled past." I don't know, and I don't want to know. Sure, I said, this is your time, anything you want to do is fine. So she sings this song, moving closer to Py as she does so, winding up with her hand on his back, and he leans onto her. The lyrics? "You're my best friend..." Pass the tissues. Then she sang it again, and apologetically said it needed some work. No honey, it's great just the way it is.

On a good day I learn something new; today was a good day.

Latest Passtime

Note: this is not an addiction.

Last Christmas our son got a new iPod, and I finagled around until I inherited his old one, a Nano. Driving carpool the last few years has opened my ears to new artists and genres, which I think makes me one of the cool, hip parents. (Note that I have been informed by said carpool participants that use of the words "cool" and "hip" mean I'm "not" - but I think they're messing with me.) Anyway... my dad and I have traded audiobooks thanks to Pando we each get from our respective libraries. Pando is pretty amazing, having figured out a way to e-mail HUGE files, like audiobooks, movies, monster collections of photos, etc. Audiobooks are great for keeping me occupied on my long drives to dog trials in CO, AZ, and southern parts of NM. Not to mention during my 120 mile roundtrip carpool stint.

So imagine my delight when I found that iTunes has some NPR podcasts available, free! Like any good Libertarian, I listen to my local NPR stations for the news, local to global. But there are lots of great shows, particularly on the weekends, that I never get to listen to. If I'm not at a trial, I'm doing chores around our ranchero. Click & Clack, Whaddayaknow, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me... guess what - all of these are FREE podcasts to download!! Then I found Capitol Steps and George Carlin available, and I suspect that people in cars next to me wonder what the hell I'm laughing at, but let me tell ya these are a hoot. Falling over funny.

Not that I'm addicted to podcasts or need a bigger iPod anything... Want, yes. Need, no.

First Time for Everything

And redux, too.

After a week of houseguests and no clients - which means the house stayed pretty darn clean for a change - Ren and I were off to the southern part of the state for the weekend for a little action with Mr. Jack. Sandra, her two dogs, and her colleague Nancy left early in the morning on Friday, with my assurances that such helpful and self-entertaining company would be welcomed back any time. I poured another cup of coffee and set about reducing the mounds of laundry, only to realize at about 11 that the clothes I needed to pack were still on the floor in my closet. Oops. I didn't get out of the house until just after 2. An uneventful drive, a beautiful sunset, and only one wrong turn put me at the hotel just after our friend Susan arrived from Texas. Within a couple of hours we and the dogs were all fed and bedded down for the night.

Fast forward to late morning on Saturday, a spectacular sunrise, crisp and dry air, and like-minded desert walkers... just too good to be true. When it was time for one of Sandra's dogs to be on the line, she'd hand me the spare dog to hang on to. No problem, I've got a lot of practice hanging onto other people's dogs, even those that mimic freight trains, helicopters, and assorted rocket launched missiles. Unfortunately, hubris is often paired with public humiliation, and CJ got away from me, prong and leash attached. I just managed to keep my face out of the dirt, but the dog was gone.

Never before had this happened to me. Thanks to Tom & KC's hounds for breaking me in (translation: pulling me on my face multiple times), and one or two of mine that have no sense at the sight of plastic or fur, I'm quite accustomed to sore shoulders and arms of unequal length. But NEVER once has a dog gotten away from me by pulling the leash off my hand - never. Not at lure coursing, straight or oval racing, agility, obedience, open field, never. Oh well, guess I can take that "no problem, I can hold your dog" line out of my vocabulary. I paid the $5 fine (for having a loose dog on the field) and quietly swallowed my humble pie.

Little did I know there would be a second helping on Sunday. Because my own dog got loose. By breaking the snap bolt on his leash. In Finals. While I was huntmaster. Another $5 fine, and I have to buy a new leash.

The incessant assurances of the field committee that "it happens to everyone" and ensuing stories of their experiences cheered me only slightly.

Today's menu is...

We have company for the holidays, and it's been a dandy week. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and as usual I have an embarassing number of things for which I'm enternally grateful. Friends, family, and this magnificent state.

Today was a fun, fun day. Our houseguests' schedule overlapped with a free day of mine, so we spent it together. After morning coffee and dog chores, we headed out to Sandia Peak, via the Tram. It was a truly glorious day at the top - all 10,300'+ feet high - upper 30's and barely any wind. A storm is headed our way for the holiday, so the air wasn't as sharp as usual, but the views were still spectacular. I've taken the Tram up several times in the last 15 years, and it's cool every single time.

The first picture is the view to the North East, going toward the Jemez Mountains. The colors are not doctored, that really is the color of the sky. Note the ski lift to the right.

The second picture is the view north, as the Tram is descending. The bottom right has the shadow of the car; mere insignificant spec against the mass of the Sandia Mountains.

After running a couple of quick errands, we headed over to the Albuquerque Zoo. Compared to the San Diego or Washington, D.C. zoos it may not be a big deal, but I was very pleased with most of the exhibits. There were countless birds, from the gaggle of flamingoes near the entrance to the countless feral peafoul and a couple of indiginous roadrunners - one in an exhibit, one quite loose - to the walk-in aviary of parakeets, to the flight cages of eagles and vultures... so very interesting.

What got a little creepy, however, was the reaction we got from several resident animals. Take a look at the following and see if you can decide that they were thinking. I'll give you a hint: The prey animals were GREATLY agitated by us, the super-predators were pretty sure we smelled like lunch.




Note to self: next time get all the dog hair off before heading to the zoo.

World's Greatest Neighbors

We have pretty much won the lottery when it comes to neighbors.

To our east is open land, about 15 acres. We have first dibs on the lot adjacent to us if/when it's ever available. To the west are great people; they used to breed and race sled dogs, now focused on rescue of purebreds and wolf/coyote hybrids. We see each other about once a month, but the twice-daily howl-fest from their kennels is a joy; the local coyotes often join in. To the south, well, let's just say the developer's abundance of money is balanced out by his absence of taste. Grack. Thank doG for the hundred trees between our house and his. And to our north, visible beyond our barn, are The Greatest Neighbors Ever.

Smart, funny, sensible, and highly compatible. They phone before going to the feed store, are happy to trade horse chores for tractor work, and share their basil and tomatoes for our chile and chicken necks. Their dogs and ours try to wear each other out running the width of our pasture - not fence fighting, but a thrilling game of "you can't catch me" and "watch how deep into the corner I can go before turning." A common appreciation of wide-open spaces, privacy, and political jokes makes morning coffee at the fence-line something I look forward to in spring and summer.

They say you can't pick your nose or your relatives; I'd add neighbors to that list.

A Special kind of Crazy

I suspect there is no treatment for this particular disorder.

Here's the set up: It was 11 degrees and I couldn't WAIT to get outside. The hounds were climbing the furniture, itching to get GOING already - and I decided that leaving my boots at home wasn't that big a deal, I'd just wear my sneakers. Coat over jammies, slippers over bare feet, and I took the boys out to a paddock for their morning constitutional. No wind, stars galore, the moon setting over Pike's Peak, and a hard cold that puts a spring in one's step.

Dog trial fashion this time of year trends toward the... bag-lady impersonator. I got a cup of coffee and began to dress. Layers and layers of long-sleeved everything, heavy wool socks, lined gloves, ear warmers, hat, down vest, windbreaker. While I would have liked my ski pants, I had to make do with my very favorite fleece lined jeans. Ski pants are wind-proof, which is a wonderful thing on the windswept high desert in winter. Feel free to call me a wimp, but only my toes and a couple of fingers went numb. Yes, it's essential to pee before going to the field, because dropping trou in a porta-pottie is not only incredibly uncomfortable, it's utterly cumbersome.

By the time breakfast was finished I'd broken into a sweat and the dogs were ready for the relative comfort of the car. The sun was just coming up, promising sunburn in addition to frostbite. It was 14 as we pulled onto the field, and about 20 by the time we had roll-call. I seriously doubt it broke 30 before lunch, and the wind made it feel a lot colder than that. The borzoi were, of course, giddy. Cold weather is their favorite, and running in the cold only makes them happier.

After the trial I headed back to the ranch house for a shower, where I traded bag-lady for lobster impersonations. When my last toe thawed out I exited the shower and got ready for dinner. Then it was time for a good dinner with friends all things dog.

We laugh at ourselves and what we do for the our love of the hounds and what they do. Call us crazy if you want to; we're nearly as happy as our hounds.

Word to the Wise(ass)

Busted.

Somebody a bit west of me wants to buy a borzoi puppy; it took exactly two days for a visit to his home and a check of his references. And now every borzoi breeder in the Mountain time zone knows about this person - and has put a black mark by his name, forever.

A few tips:
1 - Don't claim you have a fenced yard if there's a 4' cinderblock wall.

(somehow this post was damaged and parts of it are missing!!)

And, for the most part, we all know each other and never hesitate to help when asked. We may squabble amongst ourselves over everything imaginable and inane, but we instantly close ranks to protect the breed that has given each of us its gifts.

Big dog, small breed. Don't lie.

Great Expectations

No pressure, dude.

1 - Say it with me: OBAMANOS. WAHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

2 - Note to President-elect Barack Obama: We all know the country and globe are a mess, but don't fuck up this opportunity, OK?

'Nuff said.

Star light, star bright...

Q: Name one benefit to a dog with a 13 year old bladder?

A: the Milky Way.

Age is fast catching up with Mac; lately he's having difficulty making it through the night without needing a trip outside. If I'm lucky, he wakes me up for door service. If I'm unlucky... well, let's just say brick and tile floors have significant benefits in the ease-of-clean-up department.

Last night he woke me around 3 a.m. I got him safely into the potty yard - canine cognitive dysfunction means sometimes he gets lost - and soaked in the stillness. No vehicle noise, not even the miles-away interstate. No dogs, no roosters, no coyotes, no breeze. Nothing. Totally silent. I looked up. In my head I heard Carl Sagan saying "billions and billions" - it was hovering around 30 degrees and I was in my jammies, but oh my... "it's full of stars." The new moon means there's no extraneous light; the silent hulk of mountains to the west was the only line defining the horizon.

Years ago, my friend Whitney and I talked about soul-scapes. She would curl up and die without the ocean, and so she lives in a coastal city. She loves the desert, but doesn't need it the way I do. I love the ocean - the smell, the sound, the way the salt sticks to my legs, the way it tastes... but I don't need it. We visit each other and treasure the landscapes, but each of us is happiest at home.

I am so lucky to live here, the one place on earth that completely fills me with peace and beauty. Mac neither sees nor remembers the night sky, so I treasure the rising winter constellations and the bright band of the universe itself for both of us.

Old Age and Gravity

Denial only works for so long.

This weekend the two dreaded horrors I've assumed would never happen to me - well, happened.

One, plucking eyebrows (my sole regular concession to vanity) uncovered a gray eyebrow hair. I have little enough eyebrows to begin with, and so began the newest dilemma: to pluck or not to pluck, that is the question... I'm no stranger to gray hairs - after all, I do have a teen-aged son with a driver's license - but on my FACE??? Oy.

Two, Saturday afternoon I stepped in a hole and something in my knee went. A knee brace and massive quantities of acetaminophen got me through the night and Sunday, but by Monday the compensating limp had started the other knee to aching. Tomorrow I go to the doctor... my dad has two bionic knees, guess that may be in my future too

Repeat to self: Getting old beats the alternative!!

Let it snow?

Um, what happened to fall?

I mean, we've got the firewood stacked and I've ordered propane, but seriously... A few weeks ago we were in shorts until bedtime, then the predictable change to putting sandals away and keeping a sweatshirt in the car. But SNOW???

Terrifyingly, I'm guessing that means the holidays are closer than I want to contemplate. Denial is my friend...


Sure wish I'd closed the barn doors; oh well.

The good news is, the rattlesnakes have probably all gone to ground for the winter. Probably. I hope - as the fall coursing season (well, winter) is here and the dogs are out every weekend. Our elevation is inhospitable for rattlers, but most fields are better habitat.

In the time I've been typing, it's started snowing HARDER and is now starting to accumulate. Love my SUBARU!!! The puppy walked through the photo:

And why she thinks this means she gets to spend the day lounging on the sofa is beyond me... outside, silly girl, you're from Siberia!!

I've started the wood stove and found my boots; let it snow all it wants.

Update: The propane tank is full; there's $700 worth of cooking fuel for the next year. It also runs the wimpy furnace that just barely takes off the chill in the early winter mornings. It's warmed up to 37 degrees, the snow is transforming to mud. Lovely.

And last but not least, this is from early September:
Tarantulas regularly cross the roads around here in fall... there might be a joke in there somewhere, but I don't know the punchline. Gorgeous, fascinating creatures. (Thanks to Whitney for sending me the pictures from her visit.)

True Love

One of the most intimate and rewarding relationships I have is with a six year old.

That may sound a bit weird until you realize that this isn't with a child, but a bitch. Not just any bitch, but one with an opposable thumb and middle finger.

My involvement with Dot was intense before she even arrived. I spent a year searching for a breeder for a new puppy - not just any puppy of course but a border collie bitch, confident and stable - as my agility partner. A year!! That may sound excessive, but I've found that taking so much time enables me to be really sure, totally comfortable, with a decision. Dogs live at least 12 years; it's not a choice I make lightly.

With patience and persistence I found a breeder, one with high standards and exceptional lines. With luck she had a puppy that sounded right; she approved our home, and the match was made. With Dot, I got so much more than I could have ever expected. She is my friend, my partner, and - frequently - my teacher.

What has happened over the past several years has been a roller coaster of hope, despair, adjustment, bliss, and change. From emergency surgery to a string of first place finishes and easy titles to career-ending injuries to new sports to conquer, Dot has done everything I've ever asked, with mind-blowing speed and intensity. As her seventh birthday approaches, I flinch at the thought that the ride is half over. I love Dot more than air; she is so far deep inside my being that I am incapacitated by the notion that I will, someday, be forced to be without her.

There are great dogs: dogs that do things we determine to be great, dogs that make the news for heroic deeds, dogs that change peoples lives though quiet acts. And there are dogs that effect change through sheer force of presence; Dot is a force of nature. She is tough - incredibly tough - in mind and spirit.

But she is reckless; her body has proven to be more fragile than her will, and that has cost us both quite dearly. For good or ill, with Dot it is never about the journey, it's only about the destination. And getting there as fast as speeding bullet, sometimes with as much destruction.

There are no "freebies" with Dot, every day is a challenge. Despite that, her ability and willingness to try anything that occurs to either her or me is a constant joy. Agility? Her first three runs on the field were all blue ribbons, picking up a standard title her first weekend. No other dog was within 10 seconds of her time. (She retired with only two titles after destroying both an elbow and a knee. Speed kills.) Herding? The first two instructors I took her to offered to either buy her or train and trial her for me. (She has titles in three venues, with me at the crook.) Obedience? We went into the ring to try it, and half way through Dot told me that it was repetitive and dull and would I *please* pay attention to how boring it was? (She was right, and we never went back.) Rally? That has been both fun and entertaining, as her obsession with jumps sometimes overpowers her attention while heeling - but the titles racked up anyway. Her official name is: Turandot, CGC, NAC, TN-N, HCT, STD-s, JHD, PT, HTD, RAE

Dot is a typical border collie - intense, intelligent, and a little bizarre. She loves watching TV; her favorite programs involve animals - no cartoons, however - and pro bull riding not to be missed. She is both a supreme alpha bitch and exceptionally gentle with puppies. She flings tennis balls into your knees for another throw (once training a neighbor to throw for her by stuffing the ball through a hole in the fence), is an exceptional foot warmer on the sofa and in bed, and an incomparable traveling companion. She is safe with babies, cats, and has no interest in food - and we have to spell s-h-e-e-p or she heads to the door, eager to work.

She is also completely unique. No other dog I know can turn on the TV, or understands that the remote control is needed to change the channel. At a dead run she has a double-suspension gallop, rare outside sighthound breeds. She will meet any dog's challenge with fire in her eye, but is completely non-lethal. Only Dot sleeps on the bed, every night. And she is dead safe with all people. Dot can herd cattle, goats, and sheep, but not ducks. There's nothing she can't learn, and quite a lot I'm not entirely sure how she figured out. I speak to her in complete sentences, and she often replies in kind.

A couple of years ago we went to a herding trial in the morning (she took first and finished a title), then drove a hundred miles to an agility trial in the afternoon. On a lark I entered her in an class with no jumps. After second-guessing myself as we waited our turn, then getting a terrible case of nerves as we went in the ring, it began. We ran as one, sharing vision, breath, heartbeat, focus, and joy. Agility can do that - two species with a single soul. For fifteen seconds, we were one being. Agility veterans call it "the dance" and it is as powerful as any addictive substance. After crossing the finish line I collapsed into tears; thankfully my son was there to catch me and Dot. They were complicated tears: happiness, release, anger and frustration of all the years of dancing we missed because of injury - and temptation to compete again anyway, just to feel it, one more time. Dot sparkled and begged to go again; she felt it too.

Her size, coat, and color (leggy, smooth, tri) elicit comments, and recently people have referred to her as both young looking and beginning to gray. I only see her eyes, locked on mine, unblinking, screaming with intensity, full of challenge and sentience and mischief. The love of my life; may she reign forever.

Still at 50%

A reader reminded me that I had promised pictures of the kennel project, so here they are. Lucky for you I swept out the dog hair and dust this morning - a constant battle in the desert. I'm posting no pictures of the outside, as it needs some trim around the door and a good coat of paint. There's a HUGE pinon to the west of the kennel, providing late afternoon shade. The inside remains a work in progress, I haven't decided how much insulating to do yet. Probably the ceiling before winter, maybe the north wall. Or maybe not, the budget will decide.

First up, the reasons I wanted this shed for a kennel building. One, to stop sleeping in a kennel myself (see earlier post on this topic). Two, it's only two dozen steps from the house, much closer than the barn. Three, it's very well built. Concrete slab, industrial-strength built in shelving, and already has power. In fact, the only thing lacking is a doggie door to the puppy paddock and a water supply; one of those will be very easy to add. The other necessary item is a smoke detector with a remote alarm; anybody knows where to get one, please drop me a note.

This first shot is the NW corner; as you can see the built-in shelving has been put to use storing crates and trial supplies. To the left some metal shelving was slid in; each tub contains gear for a specific sport (Rally, coursing, racing, CGC, agility, etc.). The bottom space is roughly the size of a 700 crate; the left side has been fitted with hog panel, the front (above the date stamp) has a top-hinged piece of hog panel to make the front of the "crate." Add a platform bed or thick padding, and voila: sleeping space.

Continuing our tour to the right, is the window. This is set into the north wall of the building, and has been fitted with a bi-directional fan made by Honeywell. We have several of these in our house to move air around during the summer, and they are great. Mechanical (not electronic) controls, so they come back on after a power hit (frequent during our monsoon season); variable speed; independently reversible (for example, one blowing in, the other out).

Out the window you can just make out the perimeter fence of the puppy paddock (so called because that's where the puppies started out this spring). It's about 1,700 square feet, with 5' field of welded wire fence, and has digging deterrent items. The doggie door will go under this window, once I can figure out how exactly to prevent the blasting winter wind from getting in.

Opposite the window is the door, so this is facing south. The red thing is a battered space blanket, necessary to keep out the sun. It's both reflective (on the other side) as well as creating shade. I have a half dozen and use them for an endless variety of things - fence shade, shade on the outside of the van, a waterproof barrier under an x-pen, insulation under same... they are easy to clean, easy to store, and incredibly versatile. A new one will have to be put up every year, which is fine as they're pretty inexpensive.

Just under the red you can see the van; how simple it is now to grab a tub of gear, load dogs, and go for the weekend. Wahoo!

I wanted to be able to leave the door open, for ventilation, but not have the bugs take over. Luckily I found an affordable walk-thru screen. Just to the left, on the wall, you may be able to make out a wall switch; that's for the overhead light. On either side of the door are power outlets, I think there's four, total. The screen keeps out the bugs, but the dogs can walk through it as they please. I, however, have to duck to miss the shade.

Below: the left picture is the NE corner; Py and Ren are having breakfast. (Which reminds me, winter is coming and critters are looking for shelter, I need to get some more RatZappers.) There's ample room for these two 700-size crates, or smaller sizes could go in 3 wide and even 2 high. Options are good... To the right is the SE corner, with the raised, heated platform with edging:



Speaking of options, if Oxota is ever blessed with a litter, we will of course whelp and rear in the house (the space in the family room has long been identified), but when the puppies are old enough to start exploring, this area looks like it could be a good destination. I'm thinking we could take out the crates and run an x-pen from the doggie-door, across the length of the building, to the left of the main door. Access to the fenced puppy paddock via the doggie door, access to shelter and warmth via same. Of course yet more work needs to be done (as well as finding a new home for the ladder - maybe the barn?) before it could go into effect, such as an escape for the dam needing a break, but I have visions of happy puppies... racing out the door, making piles to sleep, and growing up strong and fit. Someday...

Opposite the raised heated bed (installed by the previous owners, who had outside-only dogs), on the other side of the door, is another built-in crate. This would be the north-west corner. Here you can see (because the door is closed) the "finished" product, with the hog-panel door in the "down" position and held in place with snapbolts to the eye-bolts. There's currently sleeping spaces for four dogs, with ample room for two more.

I don't need it all right now, and might never, but the arrangement has already proved its merits with visiting bitches over the past few months. The shelving above is the same industrial-strength as the first picture (which is to the right of this) and holds crates, miscellaneous supplies, and - temporarily - tools being used for the project.

And one of these days I'll get off the 50% bubble and can claim 100% done.

The Desert is Ugly and Barren...

...NOT.

I went for a walk with a client/friend this morning, and finally got around to taking some pictures of our amazing fall blooms. Despite it being the END of September, there are flowers everywhere! These are from our walk and my drive home (elevation ranges from 6,500' to 7,000'). Enjoy!

Yellow is a very popular color for desert blooms. I'm not a botanist, so can only guess that it's color has some ultra violet characteristic to attract pollinators - bees, butterflies, hummingbirds. Here are some common examples:


The top one (above) is Chamisa; it grows about 4' tall and wide if left unchecked. The other three plants are mysteries; the picture immediately above is almost 5' tall, while the two below are less than a foot high:



There are some truly odd looking things growing here:

Above you can see Becky (with her dog Thor) next to some examples of this strange, tall, plant, which has leaves like lamb's ear. This gives you a sense of the scale. (And yes, she'll kill me if she sees this picture.) The photo on the right is of a specimen taller than anything in the picture on the left. Wish I knew the name of it!

Speaking of tall, the wild sunflowers this year were unbelievable, some had to be close to 10' tall. Here's one that's merely eye-level:


This is sorta a yellow, but with very interesting seeds:


Not everything is some shade of yellow, however. Yucca, of course:


Wild agastache:


And native aster:


We do have some exotic invasive, such as thistle. Many of these are loathed by ranchers for being toxic to cattle:


Other plants are absolutely essential for both wildlife and livestock:

Silvery winterfat is a welcome sight.

As for trees, we've got 'em. This time of year our cool nights (upper 30's) have the Cottonwoods down in a creek...


...and looking up the mountain, Aspens (below) turning:

Who needs New England? New Mexico colors are just fine, thank you.

Of course, we track the bark beetle's progress by the destruction they wreak. Our fire danger grows with their spread. Look at the dead pinon on the left, and the live juniper on the right (with another skeleton behind it):


Back at Becky's house, I took some pictures of her garden. She can transform a broken pot or busted chair into a thing of beauty:


And her front courtyard is a wonder of xeriscaping. Enjoy!!

above left: red yucca; right: view out the front door


above left: more courtyard; right: two stages butterfly bush bloom.

The Replacements

It fails at least as often as it works, and I find myself wondering why so many people try it.

A chance conversation this past weekend at an agility trial got me thinking: am I the weird one, or is she? Laura has a new dog, not her usual breed, that she freely admits was an impulse acquisition coming on the heels of the death of one of her dogs. Laura said this new dog's eyes reminded her of her dead dog's expression, so she got the new dog. But they're both unhappy, it's a bad fit.

I asked her if she'd considered returning the bitch, and she said no, it was a rescue and not going anywhere. But Laura loves to compete in agility, travels widely doing it, and enjoys doing well. All her dogs are expected to do agility and some obedience; it's her house, those are her expectations. The dog hates it, is very stressed, complies out of... something, but shows no sign of having a good time. And needless to say, doesn't do particularly well. So, is that really being rescued?

A lot of training organizations give discount to people that get rescue dogs, and on the face of it, that seems like a great idea. There are too many dogs in shelters, one way of encouraging people to adopt them is to help reduce expenses where we can. But, if it's the wrong dog for your situation (or, the wrong situation for a given dog), saving money won't make it any better.

What to do? I haven't the foggiest. But then, I've never tried to replace a dog.

Years ago - heck, DECADES ago, I had the world's greatest Labrador Retriever. Her name was Polar Bear, "Bear" for short, feet the size of dinner plates and more coat than a beauty salon's dumpster. She would retrieve anything, for endless hours, in any kind of water. And she would work for anybody. Hunters would come by the house and borrow her, and return Bear with a couple of ducks at the end of the weekend. We ate well on those; nothing is better than fresh fowl. I don't think I'll ever have another Lab, but if I did, it wouldn't be to try and replace a dog that was so perfect.

A few years ago I was involved in rescuing a dog for a directed adoption; the dog was ideal for them, and the family acknowledged that. But the new dog wasn't their previous dog, so the new one was returned. He's still here - Boomerang, "Boomer" for short, and will never leave - proving once again that no good deed going unpunished. My husband and sister love Boomer, his health issues make him unsuitable for adopting out again, so there we are.

Currently I have a client with a rescue, I'm helping them place the dog. They called a little while ago; they are falling in love with the rescue and need her to go to a new home quickly, before they bond too much. One of the risks of doing fostering. Hopefully they keep their eye focused on the unsuitability of this particular dog for their lifestyle, and not her charms, letting her go to a better home when one is found.