Our beloved bassador is beloved by many many humans and nearly as many dogs (and even a few cats!) So what could be worse for all concerned than social distancing? Grace doesn't have a clue why I am suddenly pulling her - nay, dragging her - away from all of her friends. Her friends are equally distraught, even those who understand why. Grace is such a sweet, lovable dog, the whole world wants to love on her, and now they can't. Some humans have even argued with me about it. Luckily, I am very good at just saying no to mammals of all stripes. If I have to, I play the "my wife works in a hospital" card - leaving out the part about her working from home these last three weeks.
I don't know whether Grace has figured something out or whether it's just a coincidence, but the past couple of days she has intentionally cut her walks far shorter than normal. She does her essential business then leads me straight home. Is it because it's just no fun any more?
I reckon we'll never know.
All Clean!
Home From The Groomer
Monday, April 13, 2020
Friday, February 14, 2020
Dog-o-paws
I'm sitting here on the porch with my bassador watching and listening to the rain. Twenty minutes have passed, and Grace has shown no interest in going for our morning walk.
Grace was born and raised for three years in a place where, if you didn't go out in the rain, you didn't go out for days at a time. Four and a half years later, she sits on the porch rather than walk.
I suppose she is showing her age. If the old seven to one ratio is applied, she would be fifty three now. We left Meadville when she was twenty one. I guess I was more hesitant to walk in the rain at 53 than I was at twenty one also.
But now she is ready to go. Signing off!
Grace was born and raised for three years in a place where, if you didn't go out in the rain, you didn't go out for days at a time. Four and a half years later, she sits on the porch rather than walk.
I suppose she is showing her age. If the old seven to one ratio is applied, she would be fifty three now. We left Meadville when she was twenty one. I guess I was more hesitant to walk in the rain at 53 than I was at twenty one also.
But now she is ready to go. Signing off!
Thursday, January 16, 2020
The Loop
Walking has always enabled my best thinking. The longer the walk, the deeper the thoughts. This morning we walked the loop. It's not the longest walk we've done, but it's in the top five. We've walked it maybe six times during the year we've lived in Jacksonville.
Standard walks go either north or south on San Jose boulevard, with twists and turns into businesses, neighborhoods, apartment complexes and/or down connecting roads. Then we come back home along pretty much the same general route.
The loop goes south on San Jose, cuts west and north through businesses and neighborhoods to Beauclerc Road, then east to San Jose where we turn southward once more toward home - unless we go the counter-clockwise direction.
Yesterday was my second session with my mental health professional. One of the coping strategies she recommended was to walk the dawg. (Gee, I wish I'd thought of that!) And as if she knew the plan, Grace led me all the way around the loop. 6756 steps, 2 hours and 25 minutes. I told her everything that was rattling around in my headbone. Grace is a very good listener.
Friday, August 2, 2019
The Quacker Factory
A few months ago we expanded our wanderings to the world on the other side of San Jose Boulevard. First we went under the road where it crosses Goodby's Creek. Soon, however, we discovered that even at the busiest times of the morning rush, there are occasional huge gaps in the traffic in both directions at the same time.
One of the most intriguing places we tour over there is the Beauclerc Bay apartment complex. It fronts on the creek, so I imagine it was a prestigious address (for an apartment complex) at one time, probably many decades ago. Now it is dilapidated, and the parts that are still structurally sound enough are home to low income people of all stripes. There are a few dogs there, and many cats of questionable domesticity. But the primary residents are ducks. All along the creek one will always find a plethora of ducks, but the rest of the complex is lousy with them as well. We never know where we might surprise a mama duck off of her nest of eggs. Ducklings ranging from newly hatched to nearly full grown follow their mamas across parking lots, through courtyards or into the water to escape the threat of our zealous bassador. I even watched a duck nonchalantly climb an outside staircase once - a jaw-dropping experience I'll never forget.
Unfortunately, here in the depth of Florida summer, full tours of the complex are out of the question. We wander in there once or twice a week, but in order to get home before the day gets too hot, we have to turn around way too soon and wander out again. We may not see any humans or dogs, but ducks we shall always have with us
One of the most intriguing places we tour over there is the Beauclerc Bay apartment complex. It fronts on the creek, so I imagine it was a prestigious address (for an apartment complex) at one time, probably many decades ago. Now it is dilapidated, and the parts that are still structurally sound enough are home to low income people of all stripes. There are a few dogs there, and many cats of questionable domesticity. But the primary residents are ducks. All along the creek one will always find a plethora of ducks, but the rest of the complex is lousy with them as well. We never know where we might surprise a mama duck off of her nest of eggs. Ducklings ranging from newly hatched to nearly full grown follow their mamas across parking lots, through courtyards or into the water to escape the threat of our zealous bassador. I even watched a duck nonchalantly climb an outside staircase once - a jaw-dropping experience I'll never forget.
Unfortunately, here in the depth of Florida summer, full tours of the complex are out of the question. We wander in there once or twice a week, but in order to get home before the day gets too hot, we have to turn around way too soon and wander out again. We may not see any humans or dogs, but ducks we shall always have with us
Thursday, January 31, 2019
A New Game
So here we are in a whole new location, with a wide open world to explore. At first Grace just led me around Solano Grove, our condo community, but I knew it wouldn't contain her for long. We just couldn't squeeze a two-hour walk out of this little place. First we tried going north on San Jose Boulevard, across Goodby's Creek, past the Hooters with its eight - count 'em - eight boat docking slips. We wandered into a couple of neighborhoods along San Jose, but nothing really clicked. We tried going south on San Jose, and that was much better. There were ponds and ditches and paths through wooded areas, as well as populated businesses where people could fawn over her.
A couple of days ago, we tried going north again, but very soon we turned left onto Beauclerc Road. This she liked because there were bushes and ditches and neighborhoods to explore on a long not-very-busy road that stretches for miles. I like it because it has a sidewalk all the way along one side. Of course, she tries to drag me over to the sidewalk-free side, but I prevail (mostly.)
This morning we did the Beauclerc Road thing. She pooped in somebody's yard and I picked it up as usual. There were trash cans out in front of the houses all along the road, but they were empty so I didn't put my bag in them. I carried that bag for a long while, waiting for that golden opportunity to get rid of it. Then, up ahead I heard and then saw a garbage truck working its way along a side street, headed for Beauclerc Road. I quickened our pace, hoping to make it to the last undumped can in time. I didn't. But I saw that the truck was mechanically picking up the cans and dumping them into a large opening just a few feet higher than my head. As the truck went by, I flung my bag into the opening. "Two points!" the driver called out, and gave me a thumbs up.
On we went down the road. Just a few minutes later, Grace pooped again. Wouldn't you know it, the same truck was coming out of the next neighborhood as we got there. I shot, I scored. "You should be playing basketball," said the driver. Yeah, right.
A couple of days ago, we tried going north again, but very soon we turned left onto Beauclerc Road. This she liked because there were bushes and ditches and neighborhoods to explore on a long not-very-busy road that stretches for miles. I like it because it has a sidewalk all the way along one side. Of course, she tries to drag me over to the sidewalk-free side, but I prevail (mostly.)
This morning we did the Beauclerc Road thing. She pooped in somebody's yard and I picked it up as usual. There were trash cans out in front of the houses all along the road, but they were empty so I didn't put my bag in them. I carried that bag for a long while, waiting for that golden opportunity to get rid of it. Then, up ahead I heard and then saw a garbage truck working its way along a side street, headed for Beauclerc Road. I quickened our pace, hoping to make it to the last undumped can in time. I didn't. But I saw that the truck was mechanically picking up the cans and dumping them into a large opening just a few feet higher than my head. As the truck went by, I flung my bag into the opening. "Two points!" the driver called out, and gave me a thumbs up.
On we went down the road. Just a few minutes later, Grace pooped again. Wouldn't you know it, the same truck was coming out of the next neighborhood as we got there. I shot, I scored. "You should be playing basketball," said the driver. Yeah, right.
Monday, November 12, 2018
Early Christmas
Poop bags come in a huge variety of sizes, shapes, weights of plastic and colors. The bigger and heavier weight ones are less apt to be parties to unpleasant direct physical encounters with poop. Bright colors, while not appealing practically speaking, are nonetheless appealing to me aesthetically. I tend to buy packages with a variety of bright colors, and I take pains to rotate the colors as I use them Why? Well, let's just say that spending two hours following a dog around and picking up poop is largely uninteresting, and anything I can do to spice it up, I do.
This morning, I was carrying a bright yellow bag, looking for a place to deposit it. After about ten minutes, we were finally approaching a dumpster. It was the kind with the sliding door on the side, AND the door was open. As soon as we were close enough, I flung it in. Coming closer, I could see inside. My bright yellow ball of poop was hanging in the branches of a discarded artificial Christmas tree. Now there's an idea I bet nobody has thought of yet for Christmas decor!
This morning, I was carrying a bright yellow bag, looking for a place to deposit it. After about ten minutes, we were finally approaching a dumpster. It was the kind with the sliding door on the side, AND the door was open. As soon as we were close enough, I flung it in. Coming closer, I could see inside. My bright yellow ball of poop was hanging in the branches of a discarded artificial Christmas tree. Now there's an idea I bet nobody has thought of yet for Christmas decor!
Saturday, September 15, 2018
An Unintended Act Of Kindness
Wow, it has been a long time since I've written anything for any of my four blogs. Possessing a mindset similar to Mister Ed's, however, I rarely write unless I have something to say.
Every now and then, my girl invents a new addition to our standard menu of walking activities. Her most recent started around two weeks ago. On our way to the railroad tracks west of home, fully anticipating crossing those tracks and touring the River Plantation condominium community, we halted abruptly in the grassy stretch between Bellevue Road and the tracks. Her nose was in the grass, her tail was wagging furiously, and she began pulling me around and around this way and that. I watched intently, and finally saw the object of her search. A small, mouse-sized grey something skittered away from her and disappeared into another clump of grass. Her face was up to her ears in grass, so she didn't see it. We kept on, around and around, this way and that. Several more tiny grey somethings appeared and disappeared. This went on for about twenty minutes before I had had enough. I dragged her away, and we went home.
The following week we were back there on several afternoons. The search expanded to other sections of grass, always along the tracks. Little grey things skittered, she still hasn't caught one. One evening this past week while we were dancing in the grass, a little grey thing broke cover and ran across a bare patch of ground. In a flash there was a red tailed hawk diving down from the nearby trees. It hit the ground for a brief moment, then flew back up to its perch with a little grey something in its beak. Before we were done, it dove down twice more, but I couldn't see anything in its grasp.
So Grace hasn't been able to catch those little devils, but she provided a nice little snack for another hunter. And she doesn't even know that she did.
Every now and then, my girl invents a new addition to our standard menu of walking activities. Her most recent started around two weeks ago. On our way to the railroad tracks west of home, fully anticipating crossing those tracks and touring the River Plantation condominium community, we halted abruptly in the grassy stretch between Bellevue Road and the tracks. Her nose was in the grass, her tail was wagging furiously, and she began pulling me around and around this way and that. I watched intently, and finally saw the object of her search. A small, mouse-sized grey something skittered away from her and disappeared into another clump of grass. Her face was up to her ears in grass, so she didn't see it. We kept on, around and around, this way and that. Several more tiny grey somethings appeared and disappeared. This went on for about twenty minutes before I had had enough. I dragged her away, and we went home.
The following week we were back there on several afternoons. The search expanded to other sections of grass, always along the tracks. Little grey things skittered, she still hasn't caught one. One evening this past week while we were dancing in the grass, a little grey thing broke cover and ran across a bare patch of ground. In a flash there was a red tailed hawk diving down from the nearby trees. It hit the ground for a brief moment, then flew back up to its perch with a little grey something in its beak. Before we were done, it dove down twice more, but I couldn't see anything in its grasp.
So Grace hasn't been able to catch those little devils, but she provided a nice little snack for another hunter. And she doesn't even know that she did.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)