Spike has a Bone Pillow

...While dreams of Sugarbones dance in his head...

Husky Sandwich

The Dynamic Dog Trio

Horatio and the Vuvuzela

Spike is Fancy

Spike is a very sophisticated dog.

Hyper!

This frickin' cracks me up. Reminds me of my boys.

Photo Credit: http://svalko.org/data/2010_08_05_14_37_romario_freevar_com_sv_69.jpg

Me. My Dog. My Lake. My Night.

Jack and I took a three-mile long walk around Lake Merritt tonight. We circled it once. It was dark, with only a slight breeze, the air crisp. It felt like fall.

It's placid, the water rippling slightly, the reflection of the Oakland Tribune building casting wavering red light on the black lake.

I don't know why, but something about moments like these make me nostalgic. Nostalgic for what, I cannot tell you. But I feel an overwhelming sense of calm as I look at the silhouettes in the lighted windows of the lake-view appartment. Silhouettes of lamps and potted plants and people. Sometimes people are having parties. Streamers hang in the windows. Sometimes people are sitting outside on the balcony, overlooking the joggers, the walkers, the girls walking their dogs.

I never knew people actually fish in Lake Merritt before tonight. But they were there, a dozen of them, maybe, casting their lines into the murky depths, placing their catches in the dingy white buckets they brought along. The men sit on the concrete sidewalk, their wives or girlfriends sit nearby on a bench, talking in some language I don't understand.

A late-night community. When there's not enough time to squeeze everything into the daylight hours, some find solace in the relative safety of the Lake.

I wonder what is happening in the various office buildings with flourescent lights still blaring on in the darkness. Yes, much of it must be so boring. But I like to imagine important, exciting things happening. Deadlines being met, stories being told. But I am glad to be on the outside. Outside the fluorescent lights. Outside with at least the illusion of fresh air, which is sometimes tainted with the distinct smell of algae.

And I think of home. My house may have a view of a cemetery instead of a lake, but it's mine, with my silhouettes.

Jack Meets Chico, Blitz, Kiva, and Max

Today Jack met my friend's dog, Chico. He smelled him, wondering if this was his lunch.

"What is the little one stuffed with?"




And then he met Chico's Brother, Blitz.
"How did the little one get so plump so fast?"





Jack wasn't too keen with Kiva, even though they had met before.
"Who is this crazy bitch?"





He seemed to get along with Max, the geriatric wonder dog.
"You're alright, Gramps"

He did well, I thought. I was worried because my boys have a high prey drive, but I was very happy that Jack didn't make lunch out of little Chico.

Bath Time

Rainy Days

Rainy Day Dog Walk



I almost fell face-first down the stairs this morning. I donned a pair of rain boots and I briskly trotted down the stairs after retrieving my purse from my bedroom.

With my heart beating quickly from the near slapstick fall, I clipped the leash on Jack's collar. I felt slightly guilty leaving Spike behind, but walking two dogs, who were bred for pulling, by a large body of water can have a few outcomes, none of them particularly satisfying.

They could become fixated on a pigeon or duck and pull me over the ledge into the murky Lake Merritt water.

They could run different directions at such a high velocity that I tear in two, as if I were being drawn and quartered by horses.

They could pull me down the path by the lake, dragging my lifeless body behind them after all my skin gets scraped from my torso.

Or they could have an all together unpleasant altercation with another dog.

No, I definitely wasn't going to take both of them.

The lake was wet. And no, not just because a lake is inherently wet. It was wet with the drizzle that had been coming down for hours. As I opened the car door Jack gave me a hesitant look as if to say "you want me to go out there? Doggy Don't do that!" I thought of Spike, laying in the warmth of the bedroom, and suddenly I didn't feel so bad for him.



Jack eyed an egret with longing. He either wanted to become fast friends with the majestic bird, or he wanted to devour it for breakfast. No Jack, I told him, not today.