Sleepin' In

Sundays!  Murphy and I go to the "church of closed eyelids."  We need to catch up on our sleep in order to have the energy to read the New York Times.  Although, Murph keeps wondering when they will carry cartoons.

Sunday we slept in.  Then we ran.  Ok, I ran with Sage while Murph waited in the car, snoozing in a patch of sun.  It takes a lot of energy to read that paper!

We love Sundays!

Murphy's day.

Snow Falling on Daffodils

As I was working at my desk on Friday, I looked out my window and imagined being a researcher in Antarctica.  If I owned a copy of Happy Feet I would have put it on, strapped the snowshoes and voila, the total effect!

The dogs slept through the storm, by the time we left the house for our late afternoon walk, while it was still  cold, the snow was gone.

I love this time of year.  The contradictions.  Snow and daffodils.  Resurrection and crashes (ok, I don't like the crashes).  Pouring rain and glorious sun.  

The pups, they stay constant.  Wild storms, they still want a long walk.  Beautiful spring day, another long walk.  If only we could be so steady, so predictable.

Murphy seems to know better weather is on the way.  After a troubled past few weeks, she is walking better, enjoying the smells, nose straight in the air.  She seems to be settling quicker.  And that's what spring is about...growth, renewal, feeling better.

Murphy's day.

Murphy in art

There is the famous Andrew Wyeth painting of a Yellow lab sleeping on a bed.  At my favorite restaurant in Seattle, the Santa Fe Cafe, the chef and owner also paints wonderful works with his Yellow lab conspicuously present in each piece.  And there is my friend Carol, working on her water colors.  She has done several pieces with Murphy, including, recently, this one, an homage to Winslow Homer.

The thing about labs is they probably are totally oblivious to their place in the art world.  Unlike the studied photographs of William Wegman and his Weimeraners, labs simply don't pose or care about being in the art world.  You won't see them in some gallery opening, carefully sipping their Cabernets while commenting astutely on the sculpture.  You might, however, see them trying to clean off the cheese plate before anyone notices, or perhaps, if it is a male lab, circling the base of the sculptures with a little leg lifting in mind!  Labs are about as unpretentious as any dog.

Having Murph memorialized in paintings or photos, though, is nice for me.  While the event in Carol's watercolor never really happened, Murphy and I certainly have had our share of adventures on rivers, with me on one side fishing, and her on the other, supervising.  Everyday, when I look at this wonderful gift, all the memories of the North Fork of the Flathead, the Gallatin, Yellowstone, Yakima, Hat Creek, Truckee, McCloud, Big Wood, Lochsa, St. Joes, Greys, Snake, Icicle Creek, and many others, will be there for me.  Always with me, yipping at my catch, staring at me, waiting for me to finish so we can get on to the important things, like ball throw.  Murphy is alive in this painting.

Murphy's day.

Dog ESP

I would never describe myself as "new age."  Sorry Shirley McLain!  But I do believe dogs sense things.  For instance, when I first moved back to Seattle I was happily settled on the couch, watching the Mariners in the play-offs (ah, yes, there was a time the Mariners fielded a competitive team) and Riley the Wheaten and Murph began to stir, in fact, both became agitated.  Then the Earth rumbled, and we were in the middle of an earthquake.  They are my weather/earthquake/mailman Early Warning System.

More importantly, the dogs sense things about me.  When I am under stress, in particular, they become more attentive.  

This morning, when I got back from my run, I got on the floor to stretch.  Murphy came over for nuzzling, then Sage scrambled in, licking, tail thumping against my arm, cuddling.  Did they know I was thinking about grave and important stuff?  The cuddling gave me energy, made me smile and even giggle (hard to giggle at 6:30 AM!).  Dog ESP.

Murphy's day.

Shouldn't Life Imitate Lab?

As I write this, it is a cold, wet, March morning.  When I woke up, rain was pounding my south facing bedroom window.  I wanted to pull the covers over my head, roll over, and tell Sage we were staying in bed.  But no, I got up, and a half hour later we were in the rain, plodding down 34th NW.

Of course, Murphy has it right.  Find a patch of sun, or in her case this morning, a warm corner of her bed, and sleep.  At least until toast and breakfast time.

Really, shouldn't life imitate lab?  There would be no wars, ok, maybe a small growl from Sage, but that would be it.  There would be kindness, empathy, more tennis balls, a shortage on bread, lots of employment in toaster factories, and to quote a cowboy song: "the sky would be sunny all day."

Murphy's day.

On Serendipity

I know, frequently I write about nature.  It's my "job!"  But I am always amazed at my feelings when I have what I call a "nature moment."   For instance, I have been walking through a park for about a year, now, and only because of my friends Scott and Ann, have I noticed several Northern White Pines.  I supposed I focus on the dogs and birds when I walk.  Unusual for a forester.  I love the stand of trees that I walk through to get to the creek: Douglas fir, Cedar, Hemlock.  But now I am enriched, seeing even more.

Yesterday morning, while Sage and I were running, I heard what I first thought was a shorebird.  We were running along the bulkhead just north of the boat launch at Shilshole.  Then, I thought the sound was a waterfowl, although I could not place the call.  Finally we stopped because if it was a waterfowl,  it sounded like it was going underwater.  I saw two large masses just off the bulkhead.  Of course, I pictured Sea lion.  But I have never heard a Sea lion vocalization like that.  Sage cocked her head from one side to the other.  I suspect if I'd let her, she might have picked her way down around the bulkhead rocks to see if it was Max, her Flat-coated retriever mix who swims at the boat launch in the mornings.  But I kept her close.  

We watched for a few more minutes, then started our plodding.  The two things paralleled us until we turned inland.  

When I got home, I looked up Orca and gray whale seasons and vocalizations.  We saw, in the pitch black, two Orcas.   As I listened to the recordings, I recalled hearing the water coming out of the blow holes and the sound that I thought was a drowning waterfowl, was indeed, an Orca. 

It's the amazing thing about life.  When the mist parts just a little and you see the Tetons, or friends show you White Pine in Seattle, or two Orcas come close to shore at 5:30 AM.  Serendipity.

As I was listening to the whale vocalizations, Murphy came into my study and cocked her head, just like Sage.  The wild spoke to her, too.

Murphy's day.

Benchmarks

Yes. Easter and Daylight Savings Time came early this year (for those of us up at 5 AM, Daylight Savings is a misnomer.  It is darker now that we "sprang forward" than it was three weeks ago, so much for saving energy!).  

But the spring holidays and ritual of changing clocks is a benchmark, human benchmarks, of a new season.  

Of course, there are the birds and vegetation.  My daffodils, tulips, and buds on the cherry tree.  While I was walking the girls on Saturday, I saw a Pacific-slope Flycatcher, a sure sign the migration is "on."

I think about where Murphy was last spring.  Still wanting to do ball throw, in fact, carrying her ball with her on our longer afternoon walks.  Able to go upstairs without help.  Time causes change.  I know I fret a lot about Murphy, worry she is deteriorating quickly.  But she is still here.  And this morning, when I got onto the floor to stretch after my run, she came over, nuzzling me, letting me hug and kiss her.  Over 14 years, that has not changed.  Her affection is a benchmark, too.

Murphy's day.