Wash Out

This weekend, in search of cool water, we headed back to the wash-out on Icicle Creek.  It is amazing.  While we have yet to see the slide itself, we walked about two miles from the Ida Creek Campground around the wash out, and were able to see Icicle above the slide.  This was a hot weekend, and there was a lot of water pouring down the creek...still not ready for fishing.

But this is a great shot (if I do say so myself) of Icicle Creek over the road.  In other words, the road has become the new stream bed.  

It will be interesting to see how this impacts the fishing, but Sage just loves this spot for wading, and Murph was able to find cold water on a hot day.  They don't call  this creek Icicle for nothing.

It was about 103 ° when we left North Central Washington.  Hot, hot, hot.  But the good news is that there is lots o' water for the girls to swim or wade in.  Still too cold for this old girl, but the pups loved it.

Back on the so-called cooler  west side, where it is now 89 °.  I am thinking ice cream!

Murphy's day.

When It's Orange

Weather for Wenatchee for Saturday and Sunday is orange.  Hot, hot, hot.  We'll try it, and if it is too hot, come home to the cooler Seattle area.  Maybe the warmth will feel good on all our hips and other joints.

This morning, Murphy was snuggled into her bed when I came downstairs.  No mishaps.  But she woke and watched me.  After skimming the papers on-line, I got her up.  Her body was all warm, that gentle warmth of having been asleep.  She even had a bit of morning hair.  We went out in back and she did her thing.  I know this is repetitive, but she is an amazing dog.  Even in the very little things.  And, I suppose, that is what makes her so great.  The little things.

Off to some orange.

Murphy's day.

Sage and Dr. Nancy

Sage went to the vet yesterday.  She has been periodically limping on her left hind leg.  She does not like trips to the vet, shaking and hiding underneath my chair.  It breaks my heart, especially since Murphy and Dr. Nancy are good friends.  But no matter how many treats Nancy offers to Sage (which, despite her fear of vets, Sage still eats the treats), there is no peace treaty.  Grrrrr.  Nancy takes her outside, lets her walk, looking at her leg.  The minute they return, she growls.

We don't know what is wrong, yet.  Sage goes in on Tuesday for x-rays.  Anesthesia.  My poor Sage.  And then Murph, who has been having a few in-the-middle-of-the-night pees.  Probably a reflex, which can be treated.  It will be a long day, Tuesday.  

I suspect Sage picks up on my own nervousness about "anything wrong" with the girls.  I can only imagine how my mother was, the 50  million times I had to go to the various doctors...broken, sprained, strained, stitches, concussions, breaks.  She must have been a nervous wreck.  In fact, when I left the vet, the first call on my cell phone came from my mother.  She understands.

But the good thing about Dr. Nancy is she is so caring, despite of Sage's growling.  She was going to take July off (she is in semi-retirement) but is going to come in for Sage and Murph.  She knows how I love them, and knows her work is vital for their lives.  She has done a great job for Murphy.  I firmly believe that the reason Murphy is doing as well as she is doing is because of Nancy's good care over the past 13 years.  

As I left the clinic, my namesake vet tech, Kim, told Nancy there was a dog in "room number 1" with a huge gash in her head.  I walked Sage to the car, where Murph was sleeping, and hugged them both, glad the things in their lives can be treated, that they are safe.

Murphy and Sages' day.

Warm Weather Ahead

My friend Scott casually mentioned it was going to be 90 degrees this weekend.  Here.  Seattle.  I was planning on heading east of the mountains, which means, if it is hot here, it is frying hot over there.  

Indeed, the forecast is for 101 degrees on Sunday.  Yikes!

I love heat, and believe, now days, it is good for Murph and her hips, but, that may be way too hot.

Several weeks ago I bought a stock pond for the same reason I keep the kiddie pool over here.  A place for the girls to cool off when I don't take them down the road to the Wenatchee.  And the problem with taking them to the Wenatchee right now in this hot weather is the river is running full steam.  All the snow still left in the Cascades is coming down (bad for fishing by the way, which is a whole other story).  Murph can't wade when the current is strong and I don't want Sage's bravado to take over, swimming out, and me having to pick her up in Wenatchee or worse yet, at the mouth of the Columbia!

So far, it's been unusually cold all spring.  Looks like warm weather is ahead.  I guess it falls in the category of "be careful what you wish for!"

Murphy's day.

Yellow Snow

I have ranted about this one before, but taking dogs into National Parks is an experience.  Mt. Rainier, so far, is the worst.  When you arrive at the gate, the National Park staff upbraid you about the dogs and hand you a large, yellow, sheet of paper with all the rules about bringing a dog into the Park.

My favorite is that dogs are not allowed on the snow.  

Dogs can only get out of the car in places where cars can go.  A parking lot.

I drove down the road from all the parking lots, away from the people, and got them out.  On the snow.  Breaking, probably, about a dozen federal regulations and laws.  They left their paw prints and yellow snow.

Murphy's day.

Trip to Paradise

I love National Park inns.  I have listened to the lake lap the shore at Lake McDonald Lodge.  I have celebrated New Years in Yosemite.  Drank a warm scotch at El Tovar when it was zip degrees on the edge of the Grand Canyon.  I have eavesdropped on the disclosure of an affair at the Equinox (ok, not a National Park inn, but historic nonetheless).  I have peered into the windows of Old Faithful during a huge snowstorm.  So, I went to Mt. Rainier National Park to check out the renovation at Paradise Inn.

And I was disappointed.  

They removed the leather in the common room seats and put in nondescript fabric.  There are no carpets (it used to have beautiful Native American rugs), no weavings thrown over the beams, and the so-called Native American gift shop had absolutely nothing Native American or even made in America in it.  The bar is a tiny  corner of the common room that sells wine from extremely large bottles (white wine and red wine) and snacks in plastic packages.  Paradise Inn has lost its bearings.  It was bland, unimaginative, and sterile.  I would have never known I was in a sacred Pacific Northwest spot if I hadn't remembered I'd driven 3 hours to get there.  

There were no climbing objects, nothing reminding the public that they were at the base of one of the most difficult alpine climbs in North America....in short, the renovation was, well, sad.

It made me feel what I feel about most urban planning now: that we are reducing everything in our lives to homogenous.  

Sigh.

But, I did manage to sneak the "girls" out at Reflection Lake and let Sage have a great romp in the snow!  And, like Thomas Mann, the altitude did wonders for Murphy, because when we got home, she actually spent time chasing her tennis ball in the back yard.  For that, the long drive was worth it.

Murphy's paradise.

Day At Home

Saturday.  An unusual day at home.  A run (without Murph), some errands, quiet day.

Every  once in awhile we need to re-charge our batteries.  

Murphy's day.

Summer Solstice

Ok, it's arrived.  Summer.  Or at least on the calendar it has arrived.  

For those of you who don't live in Seattle, there is a tradition here, celebrating the Summer Solstice.  The Fremont Parade.  It's crazy, and despite the over gentrification of the Fremont neighborhood (read: it's too chic, too many condos, and Google, Adobe, and other chi-chi e-commerce companies are there), the parade seems to maintain it's silliness.  Every year there are the naked bicyclists and every year the police say they are going to arrest them.  A tradition of sorts.  The odd floats, the political statements (Republicans rarely fair well in the parade), the cute little hippy kids (yes, there are still a few in the parade although I doubt they can afford to live in Seattle).  

Summer.  I am looking for warmth on Murphy's hips, reprieve for all of our arthritis, and a few long evenings where we all can enjoy the garden.  I want to turn down the volume on the predictable rhetoric of the presidential campaign, escape from the seemingly endless sadness of the current economic state, and laugh at the escapades of local politicians who are taking themselves way too seriously.  

It's summer.  We lost spring to cold, wet, damp days.  Murphy spent three months looking at me wondering what I did to the sun.  Hopefully she can now have a few months of hot, languid days.

Murphy's day.

Where's Mom?

Gone most of the day to a hearing in Tacoma for one of the eco-arsonists I write about.  It has been a few months since I have been gone for the day, and Murphy has changed a lot during that time, as a consequence, so has Sage.  She knows things are different.  She is a little more clingy to me, spending a bit more time hanging around the study while I work.

The greeting when I came through the door was wonderful.  It could boost anyone's ego.  It made me feel like a rock star.

And I realize how much I miss them.

Murphy and Sage, I love you more than you will know.

Murphy's day.

Simple Joys

You gotta' love the astro turf front lawn for the trailer!  What can I say?  But Murphy loves it, and that is all that matters.

This past weekend she found the sun, let her hips absorb the heat, and seemed to feel much much better.  Really, it is the simple joys for Murphy.

I can think of dozens of examples of Murphy's big heart, but one stands out from this weekend.  I left her in the sun, and walked through the Aspens to get some tools.  I took one path up to the tool shed and another back down.  When I got to the trailer, no Murph.  I called, I looked around the bushes where she sometimes wanders.  No Murph.  Then I realized she probably woke up, sniffed, and went looking for me.  Sure enough, she was at the tool shed.  Labs are totally pack driven, got to be with their human.  We did a slow walk back to the trailer.  Every day she shows me courage, you know, that simple courage, the desire to live, to find a simple joy in each day.  That takes guts.

Murphy's day.

As Good As It Gets

I suspect when I tell folks "Sage is still asleep on my pillows" no one believes me.  I usually get polite smiles or tiny half-laughs.  Here is the evidence.  This is in the trailer, but no matter where Sage is, she feels comfortable snuggling in.  

When I picked her up from Mary, my friend who bred both Murphy and Sage, I held Sage up to my face and said: "I will take care of you for the rest of your life.  I will do everything possible to make sure you have a great life."  Do you think she took me literally?  Maybe she thinks her life is as good as it gets.  I remind her that with Mary, who kept the other female from the litter, she could be living the hi-life, in a gorgeous house, right on Chesapeake Bay, chasing foxes and squirrels through the lovely acreage of land.  Then I look at her, snuggled into my pillows, and think she is doing just fine!

Murphy's day and Sage's most wonderful life.

It's A Good Thing

Finally, it's warm.  The dogs have been accustomed to cold, that this warmth found them panting a little bit more than usual.  

But Sage found refuge.  First, Sunday in the field, wandering through the lupine and mustard, watching, guarding her turf.  Then she realized inside the trailer was cool.  Ah-ha!  

 

The last patch of balsam is blooming, the Bullock's orioles are going crazy in the Poplars and Aspen.   Murphy is beginning to feel more comfortable with the trailer.  It's all a good thing.

I am grateful for the nice weather.  It came none too soon.  I think the warmth helps Murphy's legs, and allows her to have time just laying on the back porch.  Or in the sun until it is too hot for her.  The long winterish-spring was hard on her, the cold seeping into her bones....or wait, is that me?

Murphy's day.

One Day After Father's Day

Murphy's father was a champion.  He certainly gave those genes to Murphy, even though I never "campaigned" her.  She has the heart of an gold medal athlete.  No matter what I have asked of her, she has tried to do it.  Long hikes, swims, waiting patiently at home.  

Murphy's father was a champion.  Her mother was a well loved lab.  Together, they gave me Murphy.  

Happy Father's Day (one day late) to Houston, Murphy's dad.  And of course to all the fathers.  Mine, who loves dogs, and in particular enjoys the joy of life in Murphy.  When my father was in rehabilitation they encouraged visits from dogs.  Riley, my Wheaten, leapt on  my father's bed.  But Murphy, gentle Murphy, slowly walked toward the side of the bed, then rested her muzzle in the crook of Dad's arm.  She then stared at him.  Murphy, gentle Murphy, always gets up to greet him when he visits, and when Mom was in the hospital, slept with Dad in my guest room.  She knows Dads.

Murphy's day.

Finding Warmth

We'll be finding warmth, today.  Hopefully it will help all of our joints, aching muscles, sense that the seasons are changing.

It has been a rough week for Murph.  Signs of incontinence, her legs hurting.  I dote, and she seems to rally.

It will be nice to look at the mountains, maybe explore the flooding on Icicle, absorb the heat.

Murphy's day.

Am I Cute or What?

Yesterday, while walking Sage, she saw two women across the street.  I didn't have her on leash.  She never does anything like this, but she crossed the street toward the two women, promptly sat down, and cocked her head.  The two woman seemed surprised, but I knew....she thought they had treats!

When we run in the morning, she mooches from friends: Nani, Colleen and Terry always have some treat for her.  In fact, I am convinced she gains calories when she runs with me!  And she has me so wrapped around her paw that if she hasn't managed to wrangle a cookie or something on our run, I get her one when we finally reach home.  

But, you know, they do have a hard life.  Ha!  A friend once said to me that she when she died she wanted to be reincarnated as one of my dogs.

Murphy's day.

Soothing from a Rough Night

I can hear it.  It is a mother's prerogative, I suppose, that I can hear Murphy at night.  She was panting, walking, no, pacing downstairs.  Finally, around 2 AM she barked.  I got up, came down stairs, and she was laying on the tile.  No collar.  I sniffed, thinking she had an accident and was stressed about that.  Nothing.  She got up.

We walked over to her bed, her collar had some how slipped off, and she'd wrestled the blanket covering the heating pad.  The new things must have upset her, or unnerved her, even though she'd slept on them all day.  It's been cold and I thought the heating pad would help her hips.

I pulled the blanket and heating pad off.  Gently guided her back on the bed, took her collar to the kitchen counter, and went back to bed myself.  I listened for about a half hour.

When I came down at 5 AM this is how she was.  

Somehow removing the blanket soothed her.  She didn't even give me an open eye when I took this picture.   I wonder if she can take a picture of me napping this afternoon!

Murphy's day.

47°

Yep, it was 47° when I got up this morning.  Hence, the picture.  It felt like it...snow.  Last night we had a wind storm reminiscent of March.  

I know folks back east are sweltering, and I am not sure I would exchange this weather, but it is unusual, even for Western Washington, to be this cold and damp in June.  I finally caved in and turned on the heat.

Sigh.  Spring may come just after the Summer Solstice!

Murphy's day.

Quiet Days

Despite the fact it is Tuesday, we're going to write about the weekend.  It was quiet.  

A little gardening, a few errands, time spent with family, picking ticks off, nice runs, gentle walks.  Sometimes it is nice to not be hard charging, or doing the drive across the mountains.  It's nice to do "nothing."  

Murphy has been active her whole life.  From her passions of ball throw, swimming, chewing pig ears, she reached 60 mph in a few seconds.  Even now, I feel her wondering why we are not doing something.  But then, I also caught her out of the corner of my eye, as I was weeding, just laying on the porch, enjoying a quiet day.

Murphy's day.

Ticks

We love it in eastern Washington.  We didn't go this past weekend, but we love the sage, Ponderosa pine, Aspens.  But we don't love the ticks.

The pups, and even I, seem to bring them home as souvenirs and I spent weeks picking them off like....well, you get the image.  And this despite the Frontline or whatever flea and tick drug I use on them.  

Sage in particular seems to be a tick magnet, simply because she loves to romp in the tall grass.  Murphy, who grew up in New York, home of deer ticks, lyme disease, and all that ugliness, almost seems weary of going anywhere ticks may roam.  It's been a week since we were there, and I spent this weekend still pulling them off the girls.

Which leads me to think the ticks are now over on the wet side.  Ugh.  There could be worse things.  Like the rattlesnakes....

Murphy's day.

Weekends

We love weekends.  Theoretically since I work from home, I could get up any time during the week, but I have kept my "working hours," up early during the week, sleep in a bit on the weekends.   And oh, we love the sleeping in.

And the long days that yawn out with nothing to do.  It's the nice things about labs, they don't have soccer or Little League.  Our weekends are rarely scheduled.

We become flexible.  It's healthy.

Murphy's weekend.

A Rant

Ok, this one did me in.  In a Seattle newspaper there was an article that the Seattle Park Department staff are recommending that beach fires at Alki (in West Seattle) and Golden Gardens (below me) be prohibited because they (drum roll here) contribute to global warming!  

Now, while I complain during the summer about all the litter and mess at Golden Gardens (I run through the park five days a week) caused by all the users on the few nice summer days, I have to say the five fire circles at Golden Gardens and the how ever many at Alki which burn wood are not in any way what so ever, causing global warming.  

Perhaps if the Park staff were willing to give up driving all over in their HUGE Ford trucks, stop using the mongo-leaf blowers to blow sand from one end of Golden Gardens to the other, or better yet, not use leaf blowers to blow the leaves off paths in Discovery Park...and I mean gas powered huge leaf blowers...then I would appreciate their efforts, albeit on a small scale, to stop pumping carbon into the atmosphere.  But beach fires?  

Like I warned, this is a rant.

So, banning beach fires because of global warming makes absolutely no scientific sense, but it sure makes a Seattle Park staff member's job a lot easier.  Not as much litter to pick up, not as much patrolling for teenage keggers, and in the morning, no one has to search for the homeless who are trying to stay warm.

Several days ago I paid for Murphy's dog license.  It was a leap of faith between us, because I renewed for two years.  But, the "bill" sent by the city was amazing.  It warned in bold letters that if I did not renew on time a uniformed officer would come to my door.  It threatened all sorts of dire consequences if Murphy was not licensed.  There was nothing on the bill thanking me for my previous payment (at least the phone company does that), nothing telling me what my money goes for, nothing commending me for helping prevent lost dogs or whatever.  I read the bill and felt disappointed in my government.

The update since I wrote the above paragraphs is that after nearly 300 comments on the Seattle PI web site below the article about banning the beach fires, the head of the Seattle Park Department announced he would not ban them, this summer.  It's so cold today I might light a fire in my fireplace just to celebrate!

Sorry for the rant.  Murphy already had to listen to it.

Murphy's day.

Whose on Your Shoulder?

This one is for my dear Oregon friends Les and Ann (and yes, their black lab, Kol).  Today, Les goes in for surgery.  He assures me every thing will be fine, and I am confident all is well.  But that does not stop "the girls" from worrying.  

Les said "no flowers or cards," but he didn't say anything about "no blog."  So, get well Les, know we are "on your shoulder" with you, Ann, and Kol.  The tribe anxiously awaits news, and will celebrate with you when you return to your beloved Lake Floras, wind surfing your way through the summer.

Murphy's day.  And, Les's day.

Missy Paw Paw

Sometimes Sage scares me.  I have written about her "healing" thing, the licking of wounds.  How she senses stress and adds extra kisses.  

Several nights ago a friend gave me tickets to a Mariners game.  Despite the Mariners horrific playing, I knew these were great seats, so decided to go.  It was, of course, a cold, amazingly wet night.  But, indeed I sat through 6 innings.

About a week ago, while walking down the alley behind the house, Sage found a baseball, a hard ball.  We have a number of kids on the block, many who practice their throwing in the alley (I have no idea how many windows have broken, fortunately none of mine!).  Sage was so proud of her find, I let her keep it (ok, kid, tough lesson on leaving things out...sorry!).  

Usually I make her leave balls in back, but this one snuck in and landed in her toy basket (yes, she has her own toy basket).  And at the end every evening, I pick up the toys so I don't trip over them in the morning.  

Last night, when I came from the game, the baseball was laying in the middle of a rug in the dining room.  It wasn't there when I left.  

Sage scares me.  How did she know I was going to a baseball game?  Wow!

Murphy's day.

Adaptation

It has taken several trips and a few nights of pacing the small space in the trailer, but this past weekend, Murphy "got it."  It was warm, and I  found Murph panting, staring at the trailer door.  I lifted her in and after a few moments, she settled on the dog bed.  Nice and cool.

Throughout her life, Murphy has adapted well to new situations.  Self-centered that I am, I thought she could adapt to anything as long as I was around.  Really, though, she is simply self confident in a sweet way.  She knows that no matter what she will land on her paws.  New homes, new cars, new food, new fridge (ok, that definitely was not traumatic since the new one had a light that worked and she could finally see the left over steak!).  Murph has adapted to all the changes.

As she has gotten older the changes have sometimes flummoxed her, but, in time she continues to adapt.  From tent to hotel to trailer was a transition for her.  But she is working it through, realizing this trailer really does have advantages, even room service in the form of her mom (and a mini-bar too!).

Hopefully she continues to adapt to it, since it will help her during the hot days.  Sage has figured out the best shade is underneath the trailer, although, in the lab imitates lab scenario, she did leap into the trailer and snuggle on the bed for awhile.  Perhaps they are realizing what a luxury dog house the trailer has become!

Murphy's day.

Clown Car

After a short, quick weekend in eastern Washington, the clowns loaded into the car and were ready to head home.

What can I say about this picture other than it managed to capture the personalities of "the girls".

 

When they ride with me, I drive the clown car.

Murphy's day.

Home

Home.  I am almost finished moving my parents to a new place.  It has been an extremely emotional experience, going through memories.  My parents have been married for over 60 years and in their condo for over 20.  They acquired a lot of stuff that have so many memories attached.

The process led me to thinking about home.  I am very place based.  I remember a "getting to know you exercise" during orientation at Yale, where each of us, all outdoor oriented people, had to describe a favorite place.  I was stumped (no forestry pun intended).  Was it the rock on Hoods Canal where I sat for many summers, watching the waves?  Or the back woods at my family's farm?  The Nisqually where I romped during my childhood?  Or even the Housatonic River in Connecticut where in the fall, the reds, yellows, oranges of the oaks and maples shimmer their reflection on the water?  I was connected, deeply, to all those places and more.

But my home.  It is sanctuary, refuge for me.  I have lived in this home for almost 13 years, most of Murphy's life.  We both continue to explore and learn something new about our home every day (and then there are the days we don't especially like learning something new, like a leaking pipe or dry rot...).  

Our neighbors to the north just moved out, and are putting their house on the market.  Today, a fancy realtor in her HUGE Mercedes showed up with the "stagers," along with a U-Haul full of plastic wrapped furniture.  It is no longer a home.  When I moved here the couple that lived in the house tended to it every moment.  Lovely Rosemary, Lavender, Sage plants, fresh paint every summer, and the woman's stenciled walls.  After they moved, it became a place for a young man to party, then a place for the next buyers to simply reside.  Now it is being staged, shown as if no one has the imagination to see it as their home, their place.

Murphy says she could never live in a house that has been staged.  It has to be as authentic as she is.  I agree.

Murphy's day.