Send in the Clowns

I have said many times that my "girls" help me laugh out loud at least once a day.  The thing is, labs are clowns.  Comedians.  More in a Lucille Ball eating chocolates at the candy factory than a stand-up Jay Leno sort of way.  Lab comedy is pure slap-stick.  Unintentional.  It stems, I think, from their love of life.   They simply are funny.  From falling over accidently to their facial expressions.  When God made labs it was for the purpose of delightful comedy.

The best thing is when I am laughing, they are able to laugh at themselves.  They look around, realize I am chuckling at them, and might even try to repeat whatever it is I thought was funny.  Oh, if you thought standing idle watching the treat soar over my head was funny, wait till you see this one!

One of my all time Murphy stories is from her puppyhood.  When she was young, newly released for the run-of-the-house while I was at work, I commuted to New York City.  I usually got home to two dogs standing by the front door, waiting for play time.  One day, I came home, they were both by the door, but Murph's ears were pinned back and she was shaking.  Uh-oh, I thought, something is wrong.  I searched the main floor, then downstairs, and finally, climbed the stairs, noticing by then the lab puppy was no where to be found.  My whole upstairs, which was three bedrooms and two bathrooms, was covered in toilet paper.  It looked like the whole cheerleading squad from Friday Night Lights had been there!  I imagined her glee as she grabbed the toilet paper and ran through every room.  I sat down with her and laughed and laughed.  

We've shared many times like that.  And now here is Sage, clown number two.  She is the one coming out of the tiny car, oversized shoes, looking slightly bewildered.  And you can only imagine the two of them together!  Clowns.  

Murphy's day.

Dreary Day

Murphy must be sensitive to weather.  Little hard to not notice good weather when you live in Seattle.  Gray, gray, gray, gray, did I say gray?  But recently it has been nice.  Mild.  The crocuses are blooming and I can see leaves starting on my cherry tree.  

Part of Murphy's restlessness has been due, I think, to this weather.  Life is getting shorter for her, she wants to make the most of it (hmmm, a little projecting here?).

Today is more typical of Seattle.  It's raining!  And after the bark I want toast she has settled down for her nap.  That's after several nuzzles on my leg as I work at the computer.  I have a cold.  Maybe she is doting on me a little.  She noticed that my routine changed this morning when I didn't have the energy to run.  

We all work together here, making sure we get through the dreary days.  Curling up, napping, knowing this storm will pass, eventually.

Murphy's day.

Dame Murphy

If you want a dog with attitude, live with a terrier.  My Soft Coated Wheaten, Riley, owned the world and allowed the rest of us to live in it.  Labs are totally different.  They are all about becoming part of your world.  Mimics.  Those big brown eyes carefully watch your every move, then attempt to assimilate into your world.  

One Thanksgiving a number of years ago I had lots of friends and family at the table.  We were are engaged in a lively discussion about something, I can not even remember what.  Murphy had been sleeping, then when we all laughed and the level of talk became louder, she woke, and I think decided she wanted to contribute.  A friend was sitting on a bench on one side of the table, and Murphy simply climbed onto the bench, sat up, and I kid you not, looked ready to engage: Ok, what's the topic?  Bark bark bark.

As Murphy ages, though, there is a certain grace and elegance about her.  She has become a little more demanding.  Toast time, in particular.  She isn't a queen, but perhaps a knight.  My hero, of course.  And certainly has a right to seek out the little things that will make her happy.  Dame Murphy.

Murphy's day.

Tired Ol' Hips

Murphy has been an avid snowshoe and cross country ski dog.  She would not just "come along," but rather blaze the trail.  Sometimes I all I could see of her was the tip of her tail and maybe her ears flapping as she plowed a path 25 feet ahead of me.  

Then she would demonstrate her luge or skeleton ability.  Head first she would slide down a hill.  I could almost hear her "whoopie" as she descended.

But  now it's hard for her.  If she postholes, she struggles getting back up.  Her back hips must hurt and it's hard for her to muster the energy it takes to pull herself out of the hole.  

It's hard watching someone you love struggle trying to do something they love.  I will continue to get Murphy out in the snow.  It will be easier as Spring comes, and  the snow is crusty, the paths more defined.  And I will dote, staying closer to her, to help pull her out if she does posthole or get stuck.  I don't want to restrict her, to leave her in the car or even at home.  I think banishment may be worse for a lab than the struggle.  At least if she is out there, inside her head she can still "whoppie!"

Murphy's day.

Murphy's Oscar Performances

Well, it's not a red carpet, but we thought we would remind everyone of Murphy's Oscar Performances.  She wasn't nominated this year, but is currently working on a new film, Murphy and Me which she believes will eclipse the arrival of you-know-what in theaters.  

In the meantime, here is Murphy's filmography:

1. Dances with Labs
2. Silence of the Labs (although Murphy didn't play the silent part).
3. Murphy Clayton
4. Murphy's Web
5. Gone with the Labs (with the famous line: "frankly mommy, I don't give a milk bone.")
6. African Murphy
7. The Good, The Bad, the Labrador
8. Mrs. Labfire
9. Murphy Poppins
10. My Fair Murphy
11. Murphyback Mountain
12. Crouching Cats, Hidden Labradors
13. Its a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Murphy
14. Bridge Over River Labrador
15. Sound of Labradors

And of course, who can forget Murphy's famous Oscar speech when she said: Bark, Bark, Bark, Of course you really love me, I am a lab!  This year, Joan Rivers was a little catty about Murphy's red collar.  Murphy claimed it was vintage Orvis.

Murphy's day.

It's a Beautiful Day!

Saturday.  Sun, the smell of spring.  Crocuses peering up through the dirt.  It's a beautiful day.  Time to lay in the sun, let the heat massage Murphy's hips, the smells tingle every memory she has of time in the back yard.

A drive to the Skagit Valley.  Hundreds of Snow geese, a Northern Harrier, an errant Shrike, several Bald eagles.  We walked along the Skagit River.  Murphy and Sages' noses in the air, the smells, the warmth.

It's a beautiful day.

Murphy's day.

Happy Birthday Ansel Adams!

This week was Ansel Adam's birthday.  I don't recall, out of all his marvelous photos, if he ever did any of dogs, much less Yellow labs.  But his photos inspired me, as well as legions of folks, to appreciate and value American landscapes.  From the Snake River cutting through the Grand Tetons to his iconic photos of Yosemite, Adams led us through landscapes haunting, graphic, and at times, stunning in their simplicity.  

Murphy and I decided to post our "tribute to Ansel Adams."  Of course, we smile at the PVC pipe in the foreground.  Oops!   Not all of us can be famous artists.

Murphy's day.

I Don't Need No Stinkin' Leash

Yep, it's no surprise to those who know me that I am not a fan of leashes.   While Murphy used a leash when we ran, our walks/ball throws have always been off leash.  Other than a few (ok, a number) of incidents in our youths when she decided a pack of Dalmatians was far more entertaining than going home, Murphy has generally (note the qualifier) been good about coming back to me.  When I have had to put her leash on, she always turned her head away, as if to say: Mom, I don't need no stinkin' leash.

Recently, however, she follows her nose.  And that led to get stuck in some bushes, falling off the trail, or simply seeming befuddled near the creek.  I worry about her, now.  That if Sage and I get a little ahead, she will panic, make a wrong move, and wander even further away.  

Several days ago we held a Leash Summit.  I wanted to go to some resort and have our aides hammer out an agreement, but Murphy preferred staying home and discussing the details over toast and cheese.  Our compromise, to be announced later on CNN, is that Murphy can wander for awhile off  leash.  Then, as the walks progress, she goes on-leash so that we can discuss Matters of Grave Importance.  After we gain a little momentum, the leash will go off and she is "on nose."  Negotiations were tense, but I appreciate her willingness to see me half-way on this one.  But that is how Murphy is, always willing to accommodate me: Yeah, Mom, whatever makes you happy makes me happy.

Murphy's day.

Not Taking a Back Seat!

It was fourteen years ago almost to the day that I picked up Murphy from my friend's house in Washington, DC.  Lab puppies.  They are so cute.  Little tails, soft ears, that smell, intoxicating smell of puppies.

I owned an Isuzu Trooper at the time and figured I could put Murphy in the way back, allowing Riley, the Soft-coated wheaten full run of her car.  Mary, my friend, warned me: "Kim, labs are not in-the-back dogs."

I held Murphy for awhile, then put her in the back seat.  Riley settled in on the floor of the passenger seat, and we drove out of DC heading north for New York.  After the stop for a latte at Starbucks (this was before there were any Starbucks in New York...almost prehistoric times!), Murphy launched herself into the front seat.  And she has never been in the back seat of my life since then!

Fourteen years.  Almost 50% of the marriages in King County, Washington, don't last this long.  Boy do we have memories together.  And like all relationships it is the hard times as well as the good times that strengthen the bonds.  The scary times when I've climbed down 10 foot crevices into freezing streams to rescue her after she decided to slide down into the water.  Or the times when I came home late from sitting up with my father in the hospital and Murphy, alone for a very long day, still nuzzles me, leans against me, then lays next to me:  I am here, it will be ok.  

All the TV pop-relationship psychologists remind audiences to tell the one you love what you feel.  Every day, every single day for fourteen years, I have said: Murphy, I love you so much.  I love you more than the moon, the stars, the sun itself.

Murphy's day.

Who's your mommy?

When I give Murphy something she really wants, like her morning turkey-patty thing that she now craves, or her toast, I say to her: "Whose your mommy?"  As in, who takes care of you?

She is my responsibility.  It is my job to make sure she gets what she needs, is comfortable, happy, and of course, healthy.  Sometimes, as she ages, it is hard to know what makes her happy.  In her younger days it was easy.  Food, runs, pigs ears, tennis ball throw, sleep.  Now she spends a good portion of the morning wandering the house, barking, looking for something.  I get frustrated with myself, that somehow I can not figure out what it is she wants.  Or can't understand that maybe she wants nothing, but is having a hard time dealing with her body, changing, aging, slowing down, hurting.  In some ways I am envious of her, being able to express the frustration of growing old.  There are days I want to bark at my body, too.

I feed her twice a day.  Nowdays, I sit on the floor and hand feed her, making sure she eats enough, keeps some weight on.  Labs have such soft mouths, and she gently takes kibble from me, practically leaving no trace of her grasp on my fingers.  Aside from sleeping, it is our moment together, where we trust.  Hopefully she knows, through each handful, that I am there, I am always there.  I am her mommy.

Murphy's day.

Subsequent to writing this entry, I read Verlyn Klinkenborg's piece in Tuesday's New York Times.  He is one of my favorite writers.  Here is a citation to today's piece: www.nytimes.com/opinion  Look for Verlyn's column from Tuesday, 19 February, entitled When Things Go Wrong.

Don't worry, be happy

You know, there is a definite advantage to sticking your head in a well dug hole-in-the-snow.  You don't have to think about Kosovo sovereignty, the presidential nominees, Iraq, Iran, Pakistan,  traffic jams in the Puget Sound region, much less my own neighborhood, the credit melt-down, steroids in Major League Baseball, what ever happened to the Husky basketball  team, how the pollution in China will impact the 2008 Summer Olympics, and of course, the recall of beef...among many other issues.

Perhaps it is a tribute to actually being able to relax when we get away, but coming home and seeing the headlines makes Murphy and me blanche.  We would rather be hiking up the Bridge Creek watershed, amazed at the number of small avalanches.  Or staring at the cougar prints in the field. Now, those are issues!

But then, we spend a day at home, acclimatizing to "the real world."  Our sleeves are rolled up, we're ready to get to work.  Lingering in the back of our minds, homesteading in our hearts, are the memories.   Especially laughing at Sage, the Queen of Digging in Snow.

Maybe next weekend we'll be back out in the snow, avoiding all the headlines.

Murphy's day. 

Time Out

There is, of course, something to be said for getting away from the daily routines.  When you get back, walking though the door, somehow the whole world seems new and refreshed.

In eastern Washington for a few days.  Lots of snowshoeing, tromping around the Aspens, listening to the piercing shriek of Red-tail hawks, the click-click of Bushtits, and noisy jabbering of Grey and Blue jays.  

Then there were moments of pure letting go, of simply sitting or in Murphy's case, laying in the sun.  Enjoying the break in the routine, time together, the shear beauty of the canyons, the mountains, bathed in snow, washed in sun, and scrubbed by the clean, crisp air.  

There was an hour or so, yesterday, when we were hiking up near the Bridge Creek watershed, when the whole world except for the mountains, the Ponderosa pines, the jays, when it all seemed far away.  As if we were time travelers.  We walked over the bridge, up the trail for a few miles and were gone, far far away.  

Murphy's day.

On being a little sister

I will admit this right up front.  Like Sage, I am the younger sister.  So, this post may also be as much about me as it is about Sage.

Murphy is perfect.  She is a gorgeous lab, full of energy, love, a "come what may" demeanor which is endearing.  She put up with everything, and added so much to anything we did together, including just hanging around home.

It's hard following such perfection.  And Sage is a totally different lab.  She is not into retrieving, but rather gathering and keeping.  She is slightly neurotic about doors, objects in her periphery, and moving tree limbs.  Unlike Murphy, she is possessive.  Get near her van, her toys, her bed (which was once my bed), her chew stick, and she will growl.  Of course, her tail is wagging, but she will let you know it's hers, whatever it is you're near.  Murphy wanted activity, Sage is truly a "mellow yellow."   It's hard to know what is going on inside Sage's head.

Murphy can hear ground beef from a mile away.  If I opened a package of meat in front of Sage she wouldn't even move.  Murph loves cats, Sage will chase them.  Murphy knows when the toast is in the toaster, Sage is comatose upstairs.  Night and day.

But yesterday, Sage climbed onto my lab and kissed me, over and over.  Happy Valentines!  Tail wagging.  And then she kissed Murph on the ears.  Maybe hard to know what's going on inside her head, but not her heart.  Little sisters may be different, but they are full of love for family.

Murphy's day.

At Lewis Lake, Yellowstone, Wyoming

On the shore of a lake.  A lake where Shoshone, Sioux, and Bannock rode near-by, hunting, setting down summer camps, and close to where Chief Joseph eluded the US Army by riding through the Yellowstone as he and his Nez Perce headed for the Canadian border.  Murphy and Sage drank from the lake, waded into the water, scanned the horizon listening for ghost horses, faint flutes, and the crackle of a campfire in the early evening.

There it is, the reason for taking the pups when I travel.  It is the imprint, the memory of the past.  From now on, each time I drive by Lewis Lake, or fish the North Fork of the Flathead, wade the St. Joe's, float Dry Falls, seek the cool water of the McLeod or Klamath, or stalk cutthroats on the Lochsa, I will see  Murphy.  She will be staring at a stick or ball, waiting for game, or among the ghosts, hovering near-by, watching me, protecting, waiting.  That is, of course, if she is not with me, next to me, barking to go into the lake.

It is always good to enjoy new places, get that stimulation from trying to locate myself in a new geography, find footing in unusual terrain.  But there is also adventure in places we have been.  Memories infused with time, with people and wildness we have never met.  Paiutes, Flatheads, Blackfeet, Yakimas, Salish haunt our places.  Lewis, Clark, Smith, Fremont, Jackson, Powell.  And someday, our voices, our spirits will join them.  Murphy, Sage, and me, sitting around campfires listening to stories about Lewis Lake.  

Murphy's day.

But can a beagle do this?

As many of you know, an adorable beagle, Uno, won The Westminster Dog Show.  Westminster is the creme de la creme of dog shows.  Labs never win Westminster.  We have our theories about why this happens:

• Labs are way too focused on the thousands of spectators, all the left over liver bits on the floor, and meeting the other dogs.  They don't act snotty and they don't have attitude.  They don't have soaring rhetoric or promise change, hope, or lower taxes.
• Labs require absolutely no blow dryers, no shampoo, no touch-up, therefore the grooming lobby at Westminster has it "out" for labs.  It is a vast groomer conspiracy.
• Ok, maybe it is the silly thing.  If Sage were in Westminster she would do her "walk around the ring" demonstrating "three legged dog."  (Three Legged Dog has a high degree of difficulty.  It is a trick perfected by Sage where she puts one leg over the leash, so essentially, she is walking on three legs with her 4th leg in a leash-sling.)  Or, as you can see, Murphy would want to show off her aptitude for wearing whatever I put on her head.  Not elegant.  Doesn't lend itself to tuxes and evening gowns.  I mean, look at the picture.  A formal name like: McDonald's Joy Murphy's Rules JD, MF, PhD (oh wait, wrong acronyms) just doesn't work for labs.  Plus, they don't even have a talent segment of Westminster where a lab could really show-off.  I mean, "three legged dog" would bring down the house.
• Aside from the silly thing, there is the "frankly, I don't give a damn" thing.  Maybe it's not as forceful as Rhett's line, but really, labs don't care about awards, fallderall, much less having someone flap their ears over their eyes just to check their neck.  Their attitude is: "come on, we're all dogs here, let's find the food and make a break for the Coffee Shop on Union Square where we can snuggle up with models and celebrities."
• Yes, it's true, there is the idea that since labs are one step ahead of humans in the evolution process (or if you happen to be a creationist, labs are next to God), therefore competing in some beauty contest is just beneath them.  But they really are way too nice to say anything, so they just "go along."

One more year, one more Westminster, one more time when labs don't even get into the final cut of the sporting group.  I am beginning to feel like a Chicago Cubs fan (or these days, a Seattle Mariners fan).  But the thing is, I would rather be owned by a lab.  Especially  one with a bicycle helmet on her head!

Murphy's day.  And, Happy Valentines Day!

Barometer

Yesterday was difficult.  Murphy wanted upstairs, no downstairs, no, maybe in the basement, no, outside, hmmm, maybe upstairs.  Woof, woof, woof.  I barely sat at my desk the whole morning.  Finally, I gruffly barked back at her: Murphy, you lie down on your bed.  Now stay.  

She looked at me with that face, you know, the face labs have perfected: Ok, Mom, it's your problem you're so agitated.  I'll forgive you.

Then I realized.  After a number of weeks of temperatures hovering around thirty-nine degrees, it was warm.  Or should I say, it was typical Seattle winter weather.  Forty-seven and cloudy.  Underneath my cherry tree the crocuses were popping up.  

Murph is my barometer, and I think part of her agitation yesterday, particularly how much she wanted to be outside, was an indication that the weather is changing.  As she ages, she has become more reliant on her "instincts," and they appear to be operating at 100%.  The rhythms of the day are important, such as walking times, toast times (the most important), and when to nap.  But I also think when the weather changes, Murphy senses it.  Maybe the subtle changes confuse her, or maybe she is "fired up, ready to go."  

Next time she is so restless I need to pay attention.  Maybe there is a new bird at the feeder, or another annual beginning to pop up.  Or maybe Murph is just trying to tell me that Spring is in the faint breeze, I need to stop what I am doing and walk with her in the garden.  

Murphy's day.

Murphy's Bucket List

When I thought about today's post, I got into movie-mode.  Usually I don't see a lot of movies, but this past year or so, I have been going to a number of them.  Murphy has nothing to "atone" for, so that title didn't work.  She definitely isn't too excited about the idea of "no country for old labs,"  and since she doesn't like blood, "there will be blood," simply won't work.  Last, well, er, since she can't have pups and it has been years since we read Roman mythology, "Juno" is out.  And since we are no longer insurance defense lawyers, "Murphy Clayton" didn't quite work.

But we have seen the previews to "Bucket List," and like the idea of thinking about things we have always wanted to do before we kick that bucket.  So, here is what I think Murphy's list would include:

1. Steak, hamburger, chicken, cheese, all day every day.
2. Winning Westminster Dog Show, because labs never win it.  Murphy thinks she has the combination of personality and good looks.  I agree of course!
3. Wading into the Pacific on that sandy beach south of Crescent City, California, on a hot summer day.
4. Swimming in Lake Shasta on another hot summer day.
5. Standing in Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park, just because it would make the Park police cranky.
6. Did she say steak, hamburger, chicken, cheese all day every day?
7. Receiving one of those wire baskets that tennis players use to practice their serves, filled with tennis balls.
8. Laying in the sun in the back yard.
9. Buttered toast.
10. Being the official greeter at something like Murphy's Vineyard. 

Ah, but then, I just looked at Murphy and realized that labs, at least this lab, probably has no regrets.  And maybe even more importantly, Murph lives about as full a life as a Big Yellow Dog can possibly live.  Ok, maybe the bucket could be filled with steak, hamburger, chicken, and cheese.

Murphy's day.

But We've Got to Have Friends

I used to joke that whenever I ran without Murphy people would ask: "where's Murphy?" But if she ever ran without me, no one would ask her "where's Kim?"  Murphy has a following that is loyal and dedicated.  

Recently I have been wondering how I will be able to form the words, to say, anything about Murphy when I have to tell each of her friends that she is gone.  Unusual for an English major  (much  less an overly verbal person), but I am not sure I know the words.

  I remember when Doug died, I forced myself to say he was dead, not passed on, but dead.  As if by saying the word, my imagination was barricaded from trying to believe he was still alive.  But with Murphy, I know it will be different.  When I had to put Riley down I could not even be in the house.  She was still too present.  I took Murph and Sage up to the Middle Fork of the Teanaway, just to find solace on a river, to let the water flow around me, thousands of molecules of tears.  But with Murphy...I will have no words.

Because of Murphy and Sage, we have met some terrific people.  This weekend we ran into friends all over the city, people we'd met only because of the dogs.

We took tea to a friend who is dealing with some family stuff.  We ran with another friend, talking about her 5th grade students.  And we laughed with Julie and Steve who are also owned by the gorgeous Yellow lab Cooper.  We ran into (and almost over) them at the park.  Then there are the dogless neighbors whose 3 year old daughter grinned when reminded that I was the "yellow dog lady"  who we talked with at the caucuses.  Murphy has nuzzled both of their children (in lab fashion, knowing the nuzzling scores cute points but really looking for crumbs).

Years ago when my Airedale Alex died, I went to work the next day and felt so alone.  There were not many, if anyone at all, at my office who had been owned by a dog for almost 16 years.  There was, for the longest time, a gnawing alone feeling.  But with all the friends, all the wonderful people who know and love Murphy, I know we are part of a tribe.  I am the "Yellow Dog Lady."  If I stand, not able to say anything at all, I know you will all know the answer to "where's Murphy."

Murphy's day.

Fired Up, Ready to Go

Fired Up, Ready to Go!  It's the slogan of one of the presidential candidates, and boy, did we hear it a lot yesterday in Washington.

But here, with "the girls," it has a whole different meaning.  It is heading out the back door in the morning, sniffing the air for tennis balls, treats in my pocket, and a patch of grass (or hopefully snow).  It is leaping out of the van, checking out where ever we parked.  Hey, Murphy, have we been here before, is this some place we get to play, off leash?  Are there other dogs?  A river, creek, or lake?  

So far, Murphy continues to be Fired Up, Ready to Go.  

She is slow getting up in the morning, but after she does her bunny hop 

down the stairs, she is all systems go. Barking at the door, let's go, let's go.

Our vet once told me that Murph would let me know when she didn't want to run with 

me in the morning. One day, she simply did not get out of bed.  

And so, I wonder what it will mean when she is no longer Fired Up, Ready to Go.  

But then, I guess that is the luxury of retirement. 

You don't have to be "always up."

It really is about more than slogans. It is about observing the nuances, 

the subtleties of our lives. So, it may be that Murphy is not Fired Up, but 

she still may be Ready to Go. And that is important, too.

Murphy's day

Whether weather?

If I had my druthers, when it is downpouring rain, cold, and windy, I would be sitting in my Big Ranch Chair by the fire, and Murphy would be at my feet.  The very picture of an Orvis catalog.  

But the reality is, she needs exercise.  I say this mostly to convince myself, but one of the joys in being owned by Yellow labs is that you always know the weather.  We get out in it every single day.  Usually three times a day.

Last night, for instance, we got in the van to head to the park.  The minute I closed the door, it started raining.  By the time we were at the park, it was pouring, and in the middle of the walk, it was a monsoon.  Did I mention it was cold?  And dark?  And Murphy was enjoying a slow walk moment?

We have walked in blistering heat in eastern Oregon, a hail and sleet storm along Puget Sound, 50 mph winds along the coast, frost bite cold in Whitefish, Montana, and sometimes, just sometimes, soft, spring days here in Seattle.  I have learned to keep towels in my car and near the back door.  And we know every place to get water in the heat from here to Sun Valley, from Tahoe to Portland.  

I am not sure if the best part is the time together outside, water gushing off my GoreTex and Murphy's much better water resistant fur, or if it is after we are dry, she has eaten, and we both migrate to the Big Ranch Chair near the fire.  Another day, another weather forecast.

Murphy's day.

Murphy's Slow Walk Movement

Murphy intends to be the Michael Pollan or Alice Waters of the Slow Walk Movement.  As you know, a number of years ago, a group of food producers, restaurants, and consumers in Italy collaborated on the idea that "slow food" is far better than "fast food."  Pollan and Waters have both written extensively about "slow food" here in the US.  I think the definition of slow food is rather ambiguous, but I think the idea is of vegetables (or other foods), nurtured in an organic garden, transported only a few miles to a local market, bought to be served at a home or local restaurant, cooked with other locally produced and bought ingredients, and enjoyed.  And while Murphy does love her "fast food" hamburgers, she agrees with the concept that our societies move way too fast.

Slow walking is ambling.  It is taking the time to sniff the Oregon grape along the trail, wade into the cool stream, or gaze at the Downy woodpecker working its way up a snag.  Slow walking is about the journey, not the destination (although when it is windy, cold, and raining, I want our walks to be about the destination).  Slow walking is one step at a time, stopping, looking, enjoying, breathing, sniffing, listening.  

While everyone else wants to use walking as exercise, slow walkers like Murphy understand that being outside is all about, well, being outside.  Slow walkers realize that sooner or later you will get to a destination, but life is about the stops along the way.  

If you want to see slow walking feel free to join us on one of our daily ambles.  Kim deve portare a spasso il cane.

Murphy's day.

What?

When Sage and I were out running yesterday morning we heard some woman calling, calling, and calling her dog while walking in Golden Gardens.  The calls increased in decibels and ferocity.  I smiled hearing this, thinking about all the times when Murphy would turn off her hearing aid and stare at me, from a good 20 or more yards.  What?  Are you talking to me?

Labs are, among other things, the very best con artists.  Those big brown eyes, soft floppy ears, big brown noses, convince you of their gentle nature.  And heck, they guide blind people, surely they must all be well behaved?  As many of us know from reading  Marley and Me, labs are independent, stubborn (which is why they are used as guide dogs) and hard of hearing.

When Murph was young and we still lived in New York, I would run with her in the morning, then throw ball for her before I left for work.  My hope was that I tired her out.  On weekends I would take her to the large ball fields on the SUNY Purchase campus.  There were several fields, each separated by a swale, or drainage ditch.  Murphy and I soon began to see other dog regulars.  

One Saturday, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man with two Dalmations.  He was two football fields away, but Murph made a break away and was greeting the dogs within seconds.  Of course, echoing off the empty fields were my increasingly emphatic calls.  Murphy, come.  Murphy, come.  MUUUURPHY COME HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!

  

She stared, wagged her tail, and started the pump fake motion that labs do when they are trying to play with another dog.  Of course, I had to jog over, clip on Murphy's leash, apologize to the other dog owner for interrupting his meticulous training operation he was conducting, and walk back toward the car, explaining to Murphy that when I call she should, believe it or not, come.  If our conversation was a cartoon, I could see my dialogue balloon going in one of her ears and out the other.

Fortunately, in our 14 years together, Murphy has been pretty good about coming.  The several times the gates have been left open she has not left the yard.  She knows, I hope, that she has it pretty darn good.  Now she wanders mostly because she gets on a scent, but still, if she sees a dog, her brain has that memory moment where she sees herself, bee-lining across green fields, leaping drainage ditches, eager for a romp.  She ambles over, gives a sniff, and lets the other dogs pay her homage.  After all, she is Murphy, Queen of Turning Off the Hearing Aid.

Murphy's day.

Sage's Wisdom

Those of you who know Sage will think this caption, "Sage's Wisdom" is an oxymoron.  But she is quite wise, especially when it comes to Murphy.

Several days ago I bumped into a friend whose cat had been quite ill.  We chatted about the cat's progress, then I asked about her other cat.  She related that the healthy cat always waited until her brother ate before she did.  Consequently, since her brother was ill and not eating, she would sit by her food dish, staring at it, then walk away.  Apparently this lasted for several days.

I think about Sage and how she relies on Murphy.  Sage is "labrador challenged."  Unlike Murphy, Sage is not at all interested in countless hours of playing fetch.  Sage's idea of a game is to get the ball and keep it.  She somehow missed out on the retriever part of her breed.  Aside from the lack of interest in becoming a duck hunting dog, Sage watches every move Murphy makes.  If Murphy slips into the kitchen when cheese or meat is taken out of the fridge, Sage will come running in, sit, and mimic whatever Murph is doing.  It's as if she is saying: ok, so is this what a lab does, Murphy?

While Sage is also quite independent, Murphy is her grounding.  Frequently during the day, Sage, who sleeps on the bed upstairs, will come down just to see where Murphy is and what she is doing.  She never comes into my study to check on me, but she will sniff Murph, sometimes lay down near her, then go back upstairs.  

Like my friend's cats, these two dogs are dependent upon each other.  Maybe more than they are on me.  

Murphy's best friend was Riley, my Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, who died a few years ago.  Several weeks after she died, we went on a trip to Sun Valley.  And I noticed that Murph seemed a little lethargic.  I realized that in being away from home, she noticed Riley was not there.  Murph looked for her in the places where Riley normally settled during road trips, like the closet in a hotel room, against the bench seat in the van.  Finally toward the end of the trip Murphy perked up, but I suspect it took her a few days to realize her friend was not joining us on the trip.

So I worry about Sage.  Until recently she treated Murphy as a peer.  She invited Murphy to play, she would tackle her, try to engage in chasing games, and always steal Murph's tennis ball.  Now, now Sage seems to realize there is a change.  That Murphy needs all gentle all the time.  There are more licks, nuzzles, and leaning into Murphy's body.  I'm right here, Murphy.  Hopefully Sage grows accustom to the changes in Murphy, that she is aware of the long, slow, fade.  And in the end, she knows that Murphy will always be there for her.  It will be Murphy's memory that whispers to Sage to run into the kitchen when the cheese or meat comes out of the fridge. 

Murphy's day.

Murphy Girl

Murphygirl.  Murphy Lulu.  Murphy Magoo. Boogaloo.  Mistress Murphy Barksalot.  She has many nicknames.   All given to her in affection.  

In the writing I am doing, the young men and women who committed "ecotage" used nicknames to disguise themselves, to hide.

  

And in various cultures including our own we have nom de guerre and nom de plume, ways of hiding our identities.  I think the "war names and writers names" are also a way of hiding from what the person is doing.  If I am not called by my real name, by who I am, how can I be responsible for war?  

But Murphy's nicknames are part of her identity.  They help embellish her silliness, her sense of living in the moment, her gusto.  Her nicknames are a billboard advertising who she is and what she is about. 

 

I think Murphy's nicknames should be considered nom de paix.

Murphy's day.

Kumbaya

Well, this is not exactly lions and lambs lying together, but it is "showing a lotta' love."  Murphy is that way.  She lets Sage lay all over her.  I'm convinced Sage even plumps up Murphy like a pillow!  And I am even more convinced if they could speak they would hold paws and break out into a round of Kumbaya after a round of "let me bug you, Murphy."

Dog whisperers, you know, people who really know how to work with dogs, will tell you that to change a dogs behavior, you need to also change yours.  I think about that all the time, now days, as Murphy is older and much more vocal about her life.  She barks about many things.  Wanting to go out, wanting to come in, wanting her toast, wanting to go upstairs, no downstairs, no back upstairs.   She is, I feel, struggling with how her body is changing, how her legs don't work like they used to, how she wants different things to eat than what she did even 6 months ago.  I could get frustrated by her barking, by her demands.  Or I could look at myself.  How can I help her ease into this time with dignity and grace?

I think it is hard for us, to deal with change with dignity and grace.  I know I get short tempered and cranky when my routine is upset, or life does not stay on the rhythms and pathways I enjoy.  Now, with Murphy, trying to understand her needs, what will make her happy and comfortable, it's sometimes hard.  Her restlessness rattles my quiet, serene, cocoon.  But then, she comes over to my desk, nuzzles my hand, looks at me with her big eyes, and I scroll through thousands of memories.  Fourteen years of times when she has adjusted to my schedules, my demands, my needs.  These are her days, now.  The few minutes it takes me to walk upstairs, then downstairs, then outside, then back inside, with her, are miniscule compared to the countless minutes, days, weeks, months, years she has accommodated me.  

Of course, it has been said many many times by people far wiser than I, that we can learn a lot from our dogs.  But when I see Murphy and Sage, wrapped up together, I do think the dog-is-our-life-philosophers are onto something.    How about a round of Kumbaya?  

Murphy's day.

Super Bowl Sunday!

Well, it wasn't Phoenix, but in our opinion certainly better.  A sunny Sunday afternoon, the Upper Yakima.  Murphy was just getting ready to "go out for a long one."  Sage was ready to "cover."  

The day was a touchdown for all.

Murphy's day.

Murphy for President

Yes, I know this is a picture of Sage.  She is Murphy's campaign manager.  And she asked me to post Murphy's positions on a number of issues vital to this country.  All three of us listened to the most recent Republican and Democratic debates, and Murphy realized no-one was talking about these critical issues, so she decided to throw her collar into the ring.

Border Security: Fences, expanded identification, passports...it all seems fairly ridiculous to Murphy.  Any lab will tell you, if you want to get through, over, under, or around a fence, gate, or guard, you can do it.  It just takes thinking like a lab.  It's better to spend the money making sure Canadian beer can flow freely, and people who are looking for work can find it closer to their family, friends, and yes, dogs.  

Other Foreign Policy Issues: First, it is time to bring the bomb sniffing dogs home.  Their lives are in constant danger, and it looks like there is no end in sight for their work, just bring them home.  Murphy believes if you humans want to fight a war, go ahead, but bring the dogs home.  They didn't volunteer, they were ordered over there.  Second, stop the quarantines.  Why is it when a dog wants to go to France, they have to be in a kennel for 90 days?  What?  Do they think their cheese is any better than our cheese?  Maybe it would help our relations with France if we treated dogs here like they do there.  Open up those restaurants and fancy Hermes stores to dogs.  Third, let's bankrupt China by not buying crappy dog food from them.  That will show them who still controls the global economy.

Energy Policy:  In theory mass transit is great.  Everyone who isn't owned by a lab should be using mass transit.  For those labs who need to get to the forests, rivers, lakes, mountains, lab limos are required and should be subsidized.  However, we have heard from a very good source that there are pretty good treats to be found on buses, so if labs are forced to ride with the "regular joes," make sure the bus is well stocked with doughnut crumbs, forgotten sandwiches, and bags of chips. 

The Environment: Ok, so there is global warming.  Let's get a little adaptive, and understand for older dogs, a lot of sunshine is not such a bad thing.  But, sucking all the carbon from cars when we're running in the morning isn't so hot.  And don't you think we would all be more concerned about conserving open space if you could hike, swim, fish, with your dog?  How about letting dogs at least hike in National Parks?  Or be off leash on trails?  Swim in lakes?  Murphy believes the trail to protecting the environment goes right through how much we open up public lands for the dogs.

Health Care:  You humans think health care costs are out of control, try seeing a vet. Corporations have bought up small vet clinics because they know they can make big bucks off of the backs of animals.  That is wrong.  Every animal (yes, including cats) deserves access to the same medical care chi-chi dogs from Park Avenue get.  

Taxes: Not a problem.  Dogs don't pay them.  But, about this licensing thing.  Don't you think it is perpetuating the idea that dogs are property by requiring dog licenses?  Free the dogs!  Dogs are humans, too!

Political Process: What is with you people?  Did you not hear of evolution, or do you only think that applies to beaks and fins?  All this arguing over changing positions?  It's silly.  Frankly, Murphy believes changing your mind, evolving your thoughts is a good thing.  A sign of flexibility, adroitness, intelligence.  She enjoys change, as in when a human says no, no, no, you can not have steak bites....well, ok, just one.  Or, Absolutely not, no way can you get on the couch....ok, if you want to watch Westminster Dog Show with me, hop up.  As she says, changing your mind demonstrates higher evolution, especially when humans see the light about how to treat labs.

If Murphy is elected she promises to not tear up the Rose Garden, to make sure her cabinet is housebroken so the carpets in the White House are not soiled, and to invite the cast from Snow Dogs to the Inauguration.  

Murphy's day.