Why did I not get a Yorkie?

Goldie and I found ourselves in a very, very strange spot today. It was really like nowhere else I have ever been.

Imagine a maze. But instead of a maze made of corn or shrubberies or what have you, it is a maze made of stones.

Boulders, actually. Giant boulders from six to eight feet tall about as wide. Placed in a giant dirt field (about the size of a football field) with gaps between them. The gaps range from four inches to two feet.

In other words, some gaps big enough for a Suebob to squeeze through and just barely dirty her jeans and others that there is Just No Way.

Now imagine that there is a squirrel that lives in among the stones. And that you have a dog that loves to chase squirrels. A deaf dog.

Yes, it happened again. I lost my dog. For how long?

The answer is a long, long, long, long time. Because even if I could glimpse her briefly, by the time I found my way between the little gaps in the stones, she had moved on.

Finally her leash got stuck on the edge of a rock and kept her in one place. I saw her and had to go around and around a bunch of rocks to try and get back to her...and I got totally lost.

Meanwhile, a new load of boulders had come in on a truck and a guy on a Caterpillar D-9 was going over to get them and I just knew that they were going to crush me and my little dog in the process...

But I got the dog. We survived to walk another day.

Some people just walk around the park with their dog trotting beside them. But nooooo. Not me. I'm special.

Teach your children well

The other day, Goldie and I were finishing a walk by the beach in Carpinteria when a family came down the path toward us. Two adults, two kids, two dogs.

Mom called to the little girl, who was all of about 80 pounds with a 50-pound dog on the leash "Don't let Tasha come near that other dog."

So she knew. She knew Tasha was vicious.

At that moment, Tasha lunged and bit Goldie. It wasn't the kid's fault. She had no chance because she was too small to hold back a big, angry dog.

We got the dogs apart and the mom was saying "I am SO sorry," when Tasha slipped her collar and attacked Goldie. Full on attack frenzy.

It took maybe 2 minutes to separate the dogs. The dad had to use his whole body to pin Tasha to the ground as she snarled. Once I got Goldie away, my dear dog sat beside the trail calmly as if nothing had ever happened.

I called to the people, "Hey, I need your contact information." Goldie didn't look wounded but you never know what is going on under all that fur.

They were about 20 feet away, so I thought maybe they didn't hear me, and I asked a passerby to go get their info.

She soon returned. "No. They said no."

They started to walk off.

I used the Big Voice. "HEY! DO NOT WALK AWAY!"

Dad came up and got right in my face and started screaming, red-faced.

"I DON'T HAVE TO GIVE YOU ANYTHING! IT WAS AS MUCH YOUR DOG'S FAULT AS MINE!"

I was incredulous. They knew their dog was vicious. It escaped its collar and attacked Goldie. And somehow it was my fault?

The people took off toward their car and I followed them.

The mom started screaming at me with the same theme as dad. It was my fault. For having a dog that got attacked.

I got their license plate and called the police, but the people had taken off, screeching down the road.

With their kids in the car.

Their kids that have ears to hear and eyes to see. Kids who have now learned that the way to deal with something that is your responsibility is to deny it, to lie and to run away.

*********

When I was a kid, my mom was a smoker. She smoked while she was cooking, she smoked while she cleaned house, while she drove, while she gardened.

I know smoking is a filthy habit and I always hated that my mom did it.

But when Mom smoked in a public place, she had a tiny brass box that she kept in her purse and she tapped her ashes and saved her butts in it, so that she never had to drop trash on the ground.

Fast forward 40 years and I go out with my pockets stuffed with three plastic bags, just in case Goldie poops three times on one walk. It is a rare occurrence, but I want to be prepared.

Because that's what I learned from my mom. Be prepared. Clean up your own messes. She never told me that. I just saw.

********

Having great parents is such a blessing. My folks have always been hard-working, honest, law-abiding, fair people and if I am any of those things, I have them to thank.

It feels good when I behave like them. I try hard to do the right thing and that brings me real self-esteem because I know myself. You could sit me down in a room with an uncounted pile of hundred dollar bills and I know I wouldn't be tempted to steal even one, even if no one would ever find out. Because we don't take things that aren't ours.

Because: great parents.

*********

One of my favorite sayings is "Everyone teaches, and teaches all the time."

I hate seeing what those people taught their kids. I hope the children grow up to be good people, despite who they have to live with every day. Of course I worry that they won't and that, as adults, they will be my problem - that they will be the world's problem.

**********

Goldie got a big gash on her shoulder, under all that fur. For those of you with a high tolerance for gross, there's a photo on my flickr set. $356 at the vet so far. I will take the people to small claims if I can track them down, though law enforcement has been no help (animal control can't search license plates and the sheriff can't get involved in animal issues unless a human is injured).

She is fine, though. Bouncing around like her usual self. Dogs are amazing. Unlike some people.

Helter skelter

How often do you think to yourself "There is something seriously wrong with me?"

Often? Please say often. That way I won't feel so alone.

Today I was walked Goldie at my old community college and parked over by the swimming pool. I used to spend an hour a day there doing laps, back and forth in the glassy blue water, composing poetry as I listened to the bubbles in my ears.

I walked up to the fence and looked in and suddenly felt like I had been dropped down an elevator shaft. Darkness zoomed up around me.

I was instantly nauseous and reeling. I grabbed the chain link fence to keep from toppling over.

The pool was empty. It wasn't the sight of my beloved swimming pool empty that got to me. It was just...oh, here it goes - empty swimming pools horrify me in a way that I can't even explain.

It is not rational. It is blown out of proportion. It is more than a bit ridiculous. And it happens every single time.

I staggered back from the fence and kept walking Goldie around the campus for about half an hour, but I couldn't get that gaping empty swimming pool out of my mind.

I felt sick and weak and bad. I just limped on, propelled by the force of a determined 65-pound mutt on a squirrel hunt.

Toward the end of the walk, Goldie sat down suddenly and began madly licking a back foot. I looked at her paw and saw what looked like a moderate gash, like she had stepped on something.

I urged her on because there was nothing I could do to help her. In the middle of the street, she sat down and began licking and chewing and would not move. Fortunately, it wasn't a busy street, but finally a car came along and I kind of dragged her over to the edge.

"Is he ok?" the man in the car asked.

God bless him. I told him she was ok, just had a little cut. I really appreciated him asking - just one human letting another know that they cared. I love people like that.

I sat down on the sidewalk and inspected Goldie's paw more closely and found a big thorn. I pulled it out and we waited a bit and she recovered enough to start rooting in the bushes again.

Then I realized my fear and nausea was all gone. Funny how sometimes a small crisis can return our focus, bring us back into ourselves and make everything ok again.

So make me feel better and tell me about your irrational weirdnesses. Come on. You know you want to.

Adventures in Dogwalking #67

My dog and I share the same favorite place: the beach.

I go online to look up the time of the lowest tide - to ensure we have a nice, wide stretch of wet sand to play upon - and we head out to our Super Secret spot.

On the path to the beach, there is a pile of wood that Goldie likes to explore every single time. She thinks small animals live in it. She may be right.

She wedges herself in there to get a better look:


When we get to the sand (it is a remote area, down a path and about 1/2 mile walk from the road) I let her off leash to run and run and run. She will race up and down for as long as I let her, sometimes disappearing into a tiny dot at the furthest end of the beach.

When she gets hot, she plunges into the waves for a few minutes to cool down, her sides heaving, panting. Sometimes she goes out far enough that she has to swim for a bit and waves splash up over her head.


Her hobby is chasing birds. The little birds just fly up and out of the way, but the seagulls like to mess with Goldie's head. The same bird will fly just out of her reach or hover about 20 feet over her head, watching her circle around on the sand below with her head tipped back.

Often a gull will fly up and down the beach for 10 minutes or more with the dog in hot pursuit. When the bird tires of the game, it just takes off out over the ocean. I have seen this happen again and again.

Eventually I decide that we have to go home because it is getting dark. Sometimes Goldie lets herself be captured easily, but not very often. She usually pretends she can't hear me and races right by, tongue flapping. Then I have to wait until she is standing in the deeper water and can't run away. I plunge in and snap the leash on.



The next day she is always sore and moves around creakily. This is a 14-year old dog, after all. But she never lets it stop her the next time. Every day at the beach is a good day for dogs.

Because you can never have enough Goldie

...and because my last post was/is grossing me out.

She was hot, it was a summer day, and the coolth of the red passion vine looked appealing...

Attn David Geffen...

...and anyone else who may be trying to call.

I have zero cell phone reception at home right now. Zero. So if you are trying to reach me, leave a message and when I go out I will retrieve them. Or email me at the snackishblogATyahoo address and I will obsessively check my email every 15 minutes (like I don't anyway).

And yes, Mr. Geffen, I think we can deal.

Updated: So. I decided to take Miss Goldie out for a walk and search for cell reception at the same time. Put on my ugly ass yoga pants and ugly ass sweatshirt (a hand me down from my 80-year-old mom - THAT's how attractive it is) to go to the beach.

Drive. No reception. Keep driving. No reception. 2 miles, 3 miles, 5 miles. No freaking reception. We are at about 5 hours with no cell reception. Something is seriously wrong.

So I had to go to the cell phone store in my ugly ass dog-walking clothes to face smirking 20-year-old boys in polo shirts. They took my phone and rolled their eyes and went in the back room to no doubt talk about me. Look, I don't mind being old and hideous - I'm USED to that. Just don't make me feel crazy, too.

Soon enough, my young friends performed some kind of cell phone "master reset" magic, and I got my phone service back, minus my dignity.

Geffen hadn't called though. Hm. Must be busy getting ready for the Oscars.

Bad dogs bad dogs, whatcha gonna do?

Another walk, another attacking dog. Well, two attacking dogs.

What is it with these rampaging dogs this week? I am getting so paranoid that I am about ready to lock myself indoors and suck down some Tanqueray and tonic...oh, wait, I AM already locked indoors with the gin and tonic, nevermind.

So much for my vow to quit drinking. Get off my back, it's Friday! Why are you always nagging me about my drinking? I don't have a problem, I don't, I don't, honesht. I love ya, man, have I ever told you that?

Anyway, here's today's tale of dog evil: my dear Goldie and I were walking on the trail by the park when we saw an Akita and a pit bull, no owner in sight, attack two dogs that an older couple was walking. I mean, attack. The pit bull grabbed the older dog, a golden retriever, by the throat and forced her to the ground, while the Akita fiercely bit at the other dog. The people beat off the attacker dogs with these big heavy leashes they had. Then the dogs came after me and Goldie.

I was frantically looking for a stick but I couldn't find one. I hurled a big rock at them, missing by 10 feet, of course, because I am such a weenie-girl. The adrenaline kicked in and I got aggressive as they rushed up to us. I stood tall and stomped my feet and waved my arms and yelled like a fool maniac.

They slowed down but still came toward us.

When they got within rance, I kicked the Akita in the head. It was a beautiful round kick that my self-defense teacher would have been so proud of. I really landed that sucker. It has been about 15 years since I kicked somebody in the head like that.

I felt practically like the lovely Taekwondo Junior Olympian, Maya, seen kicking ass in this video over at Mad Organica.

The Akita turned and ran, and the pit bull glared at us for one more minute (I could not bring myself to kick him, given the size of his huge maw) and then followed.

I know kicking dogs is wrong. I'm a vegetarian, for goodness sake. I won't even hurt a pork chop. But sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do - and sometimes that is to open a can of whupass on a stupid pig-eyed Akita.

Two new posts, including one all-video edition, over at Linkateria.