Suzy Says

Thud! Splat!

That was my head exploding and falling off. It’s raining yet again. I can’t remember it raining in May since the evil El Nino winter of 1996-1997, when it rained from September until May, and rained every single goddamn day in February. I worked in a cool old brick building in downtown San Francisco in those days, and the constant deluge took its toll. Rain came down the exposed brick walls, so I had to keep a plastic hood on my computer like a grandma protecting her fresh beauty shop ‘do, and I had no fewer than three wastebaskets collecting rain around my desk.

Sitting here in my sweater by the heater in May just seems wrong. I also have that east coast feeling of “Will winter ever end?” while simultaneously lamenting the fact that the lilacs have already bloomed and gone.

It takes a Suzy.

People have been asking me how June and Audrey are doing. They don’t actually accuse me of being a negligent cat doorman or dumping them in favor of doggier pastures, but I can read between the emailed lines.

Audrey catnaps on the balcony

The girls are doing fine. Since they now have the great outdoors, they’re a lot less destructive in the small indoors. They generally come in to eat or nap, though I have seen them napping outside from time to time. I was slightly surprised by that: I thought they went outside to play and hunt, but apparently they also use it to increase their living space, much as we do.

Excuse me, you interrupted my bath!

June spends more time inside than Audrey does. June sleeps with me most of the night, pinning down the covers so parts of my anatomy are exposed to the chill night air in her patented manner. Audrey’s in and out all night, though thanks to Rob, I’m no longer the night watchman.

It’s funny how when I first moved, I thought I could bring them in at dinner time and that would be it for the night. In retrospect, I find this hilarious.

I visit Henry at least once a week. She’s safe and cozy under the chinkapin tree. I always bring her flowers and fill her in on the latest news. I miss her so much. She was such good company. I wish we’d had more time together, though as Rob says, it’s never enough time.

Star went to her first obedience class on Wednesday. She was fearful of strangers, barked at kids, and it was generally a somewhat depressing experience. I was surprised, since she adapted so quickly to us and is so friendly and affectionate with us. She’ll go every week and hopefully will improve. We have to get her properly trained and socialized before we can even hope to find a family for her.

Schatzi seems to be doing better. Dr. Karen thought so, and will have another look at her on Friday. Keeping her still is a real challenge. I took care of her yesterday while Megan taught a CPR class, and she followed me everywhere. Finally she settled down on the couch, but you can tell she’s really depressed at being kept inside all the time. A friend of Megan’s is giving her a sort of dog playpen so she can be out on the garden but not wandering around. I’m still hoping we can avoid surgery.

Schatzi in a field of clover

You know how when you go to the dentist, your tooth stops hurting? Well, Schatzi has her own variation on that. Within an hour of coming home from the vet last week, she was limping around the garden.

An investigation of her paw and leg showed former EMT Megan nothing, but when a couple of days had passed and the limpiness had not abated, it was time to go and see Dr. Karen yet again.

The verdict is that the Schatz has torn her ligament. She’ll be re-checked on Friday, and if it’s not better…it’ll cost $2,000 to fix it. So think good thoughts.

While Megan and Rob were getting the bad news, I was Star sitting. My idea of doing this was to sit in the sunny garden, painting my toenails, reading Vogue, and drinking the remains of a bottle of wine from my sister’s refrigerator. I’m not just the hostess with the leastest, I’m the sitter with the leastest. You have been warned if you ever ask me to baby-sit.

Star meandered around, sitting in sunny patches and occasionally asking for pets. She can’t be left alone because she freaks out, and has an unfortunate tendency to chase cats (also butterflies, birds, rabbits, lizards, and pretty much anything else ya got). Rob had to go in his truck to take Schatzi home after the vet, since Meg had to go on to a meeting about fundraising for Star and then, you know, her first twelve hour night shift of the week.

Earlier that day, my brother came across a dog wandering in the middle of the road, dazed, clearly having been hit by a car. He stopped, and was in the middle of examining the dog when another car stopped behind him. The driver offered to take the dog to Dr. Karen, and added that if the owner can’t be found, she’d be glad to keep her. Rob told me that he had seen the dog at the vet and she’s fine, thankfully.

The fundraising for Star and a rescued pit bull puppy, little Shiloh, is set for May 15. Since Monica is hosting and organizing it, there will be fabulous designer clothes and delicious cupcakes for sale. We’re hoping to set up a PayPal account soon, so that those of you who don’t live near us can still help out. Wish us luck!

Schatzi had an appointment at the vet, so Star and I went along for the ride.

It became immediately obvious how used I was to Schatzi’s inveterate good manners. She jumps into the back seat and stays there. She may stick her head out of the window for a power sniff, or whimper a little with excitement if she sees we’re going somewhere really good, but that’s about the worst you can say about her in the car. She never even barks when left alone. Bonus: you can leave your groceries with her and she won’t touch them.

Star, on the other hand, is wiggly and bouncy and keeps trying to get into the front seat, where she clearly thinks she belongs. I ended up putting my arm across the space between the two front seats, and she’d push against me and sometimes give me a kiss.

We weighed her at Dr. Karen’s, and if there had been a prize, I would have won it for guessing her weight correctly at 50 pounds. Her lack of fur on her belly and armpits is caused by distress licking, but Karen also said that the fur was growing back, so Star has stopped doing that since the fostering started.

Schatzi is completely perfect, other than her usual need for thyroid tablets. She’s in better shape than most dogs half her age, I’m happy to report.

During the time it took to get the two dogs checked out, a woman came in with a two month old blue-nose pit bull puppy who had fallen and needed an x-ray; a man dropped off a basket of strawberries for Dr. Karen; a woman picked up her dog who had an ear infection, scratched it, tore the cartilage, and had just had surgery; and I helped an elderly lady carry her aged cat to the car. The woman with the ear surgery patient had come all the way from Willits to see Dr. Karen. Never a dull moment in that office, even past closing time on a Friday afternoon.

The wind was howling yesterday as I drove into town for some errands. I felt as if it were trying to blow me off the road, and I wasn’t surprised to hear on the radio that there was a wind advisory in effect. With a haul of library books, groceries, and a tank full of gas for today’s dog rescue adventure, I headed home.

As I turned onto the Ridge, I thought “I bet I’ll get home and find the power’s out.”

This is one case where I wish I hadn’t been right. I unloaded the groceries in the cold, sunny house and plugged in the emergency phone. My brother called to say that the outage was caused by a downed line on the Ridge. This was good news, because a) it wasn’t a whole pole which would have to be replaced; and 2) it was local, so we wouldn’t have to wait for the higher-ranking towns and villages to be restored before ours. Our turn is always last.

Meg, Rob, and Schatzi came over to sit by the heater and eat frozen pizza with me until the power came back on. I was very thankful for Rob and his generator-generating abilities, and for Jonathan, keeping me posted in his official capacity as fireman and unofficial capacity as brother.

Today dawned sunny and only slightly breezy. I know, because I was there to see it. I woke up before the alarm went off, and lay there considering whether to try and get back to sleep for half an hour, or just deal with it and get up like a grown-up. You will be pleased to hear that I chose the latter, so maybe I’m actually maturing. Just really, really slowly.

Meg should be here any minute. We’re taking my car, since it has about half the mileage that hers does, and it doesn’t make a slightly alarming metallic whine, either. We’re meeting Star at 11:00 or so at the Twisted River Cafe in Colusa. Stay tuned for details!

Today’s daisies

Somehow I seem to have drifted into a certain level of activism. These things can be catching.

Monica, Megan’s partner in pit bulls, contacted me about a sensationalized story in the Ukiah Daily Journal with the headline “Pit Bulls Attack Officers, One Shot”. I posted my thoughts in the comments section, a panoply of spelling and grammar errors along with a level of ignorance which made me picture Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel tapping away at a borrowed laptop. I also wrote an email to the editor and helped Monica with her own email to the editor, asking for a follow up story which presents the facts. They probably won’t do it, but at least we tried.

I also emailed the judge who is to sentence Aaron Vargas, asking him to sentence Aaron to time served. Aaron is a local man who was sexually and psychologically abused by a neighbor, starting at age 11 and continuing into his adulthood. Unfortunately, Aaron was far from the only victim. When the neighbor threatened to do the same to Aaron’s young child, Aaron killed him. This story has been featured on the Today show and received a fair amount of coverage nationwide for something that happened in a small town in an obscure corner of Northern California. Usually the stories marvel at how the town has rallied around Aaron, but that’s the sense of community up here and I don’t find it surprising. I just hope the judge listens and returns Aaron to his family so he can finally live in peace.

Another local sensation lately was a woman who fell to her death from the headlands while chasing her dog, Star, watched by her horrified and helpless nine year old son. The dog survived, but is in desperate need of a foster home. Guess who stepped in to help, since Megan walks the walk as well as talks the talk? After all, she drove eight hours in one day to protest Michael Vick for two hours.

So tomorrow morning, we’re driving three hours to Colusa (wherever that is), picking up a frightened dog, and driving right back. Though I’m not a total stranger to this kind of thing, it’s been a while. Megan and Rob will foster her until a permanent home can be found, and Schatzi will have a new (temporary) playmate.

Speaking of Schatzi: I decided that she rates her own category. I was amused to see that my earliest post about her dates all the way back to 2002.

You know, cleaning is bad enough. But cleaning for three hours only to have your hippie hovel still look like crap explains why I don’t clean more often. Dreams of cleaning ladies danced in my head as I abandoned the whole thing to do laundry in my clothes-eating washer*. I was reminded of the anecdote about Churchill, in which a women’s temperance member held her hand above her head against his office wall and said, “Mr. Prime Minister, if all the brandy you had swilled was poured into this room, it would reach to here!” Churchill gazed from the floor to the ceiling, and then commented sadly, “So little done, so much to do.”

Nothing like housework to make a girl crabbier than thou.

Yesterday, on the other hand, was great. Megan and I took Schatzi for a walk at Big River in the spring sunshine. It was so warm that none of us wore sweaters. Schatzi even took a wallow in the abandoned quarry which doubles as a pond in the winter and spring. It was full of tadpoles gadding about. Schatzi paddled cautiously. She’s not much of a water dog, but we’re trying to improve her confidence.

As we headed back to the car, Meg said, “Hey! Let’s go to Frankie’s for an ice-cream cone!” It seemed like the best idea ever. We couldn’t remember the last time we had an ice-cream cone. In a cup, at Erica’s store, yes. In a cone, no. And to think Megan and Rob used to live at Pier 39 for years, where the whole place smells like waffle cones, year-round.

At Frankie’s, I picked mocha almond fudge and Meg had pear sorbet, thereby negating the entire walk. It’s all about balance for me. All the ice cream is made locally and it was fabulous. We sat in the sun, people-watched, and speculated on what it would be like to live in the water tower that was for rent.

After that, we stopped by Mendosa’s for a few things, and then did a quick investigation of the hardware store that just opened next door. It’s so new that they were still stocking the shelves. Our tour revealed that they have almost as much stuff as they do at Rossi’s in town, but much closer. The boys will be glad to hear that.

Speaking of glad: my brother’s one remaining cat went on vacation for almost a week without telling anyone. We had all kind of given up on his safe return when he reappeared as if nothing had happened. I was so relieved to hear that. For both of us to lose cats in two weeks would be too much, even for our family curse. Also Jinx has been spotted in the woods and seems to be eating the food my brother leaves for him.

So it’s been a mixture of good and bad around here lately. It’s all about balance.

*Rob has appointed himself my agent. He’s already spoken to Mark about replacing the washer, and yesterday asked him to get the junk out of my yard sooner rather than later. I said thank you, and he said, “Well, were you ever going to do it?” and I had to agree that my habitual tardiness with the rent has made me a little reluctant to demand anything. I love Rob.

Nature always wins in the end

Yesterday, Megan and I took Schatzi for a stroll on the headlands at Navarro Point. As soon as we turned left onto Highway One, she perked up. Left is lacking in the boredom potential of right, which can mean getting stuck in the Safeway parking lot or going to the bank instead of doing something fun.

At the Point, there were signs of spring: wild irises, tiny violets, starry daisies, red clover, frothy Queen Anne’s Lace. Another sign of spring was deep mud and marshy grass. Apparently I still haven’t figured out the correct footwear for country occasions. While Megan splashed happily through the muck in her trusty Red Wing boots*, I ended up with soaked and muddy sneakers, socks, and pants.

The Point is a nature preserve, so there are signs warning visitors to stay on the paths, stay off the peninsula, and keep away from the crumbling cliff edge, warning that it’s unstable. Just like Me!

You’d think that people would have the sense not to litter in a place like that. But you’d be wrong. We picked up candy wrappers, cigarette butts, and other debris on our way back to the car. We put it in one of the beverage holders until we got to the store and could throw it out.

Arriving at the store, I scooped the garbage out of the holder. A surprise spider dangled from it, so I screamed and threw the stuff away from me. In the process, I managed to scare my sister; get dirt all over her pants; and distribute the trash throughout the car. In just seconds! Megan laughed at her silly sister as she collected it.

I still don’t know what happened to the spider.

Megan sent a package UPS by placing it next to a weeping flowering cherry tree outside the hardware store. Then we went to the store for necessities like PopTarts and SweetTarts. Because we’re girls. Behind us in line was a guy buying beer and pork rinds. Because he’s a boy.

The mail was more interesting than usual. I received the Dogs In Canada issue with my very first ever printed article** in it! I’m even listed on the “Contributors” page! For some reason, this is much more exciting than the pieces I’ve published on their website. We stopped off at the property, where Rob was building a cover for the water tank, and showed it to him. He was excited, too, or pretended to be.

He gave me a box from Bed Bath & Beyond, saying that he almost opened it, since he figured whatever was in it was a project for him. Fortunately, it’s only pillowcases to replace a pair of old, torn ones. But I’m sure I can come up with some kind of project for him…

*She told me later that her entire shoe wardrobe consists of those boots, a pair of Keen sandals, and the bee boots.
**Yes, I do realize how ironic it is that the article is about cleaning, I don’t have a dog, or live in Canada.

The scene of the crime

When it’s cold here, it’s usually clear, and as you can see in the picture above, that was the case yesterday (can you spot the Schatz?). I surprised Schatzi in her sunny patch, where she was catching some rays and some z’s (girls are all about the multi-tasking, you see). I let her jump around when she saw the leash, instead of taking the opportunity to make her behave the way my sister would have. There are perks to being an aunt, whether it’s to a kid or a dog.

When we got to the logging road, I let her off the leash and off she went to explore. I love seeing just her tail moving along above the scrubby huckleberry bushes, like a shark’s fin in the ocean.

She always trots ahead of me. You’d think I was the old lady here, though I’m a mere thirty-seventeen to Schatzi’s thirty-forty. But she is very lean, muscled, and strong, and looks and acts about half her age. Kind of like Me. At one point, she turned around to see where I was, and I told her I was coming. She came bouncing up to me and pushed her head against my hand, the universal dog sign for “pet me”.

I did, petting her and talking to her in the crazy lady way I always do when we take a walk (I’m sorry to report that after a recent viewing of the delightful “Top Hat” I was also inspired to sing). She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and I realized that this was the best possibly therapy for a Henry-broken heart. I was so touched that Schatzi actually came to be petted instead of exploring. It had never happened before, and when I told my sister about it, she said that Schatzi had never done it with her, either. I think she knew I was sad and was trying to comfort me.

Off she went again, and I trailed behind her in my official lady-in-waiting capacity, enjoying the unusual sun and blue skies. Coming around a bend, I came across a truck.

Schatzi was past the truck, and I called her. She came running like a racehorse and I clipped her leash on before approaching the truck. Its occupant had a barky dog, but Schatzi didn’t bark. She also sat like a good dog. I was really proud of her.

It turns out that the truck driver is the security guard for the lumber company which owns the logging road and the surrounding land. Rent-a-cops look a little different in the country. I explained that my brother has lived here for 15 years and my sister for 10, and we never knew it was wrong to walk on the road.

He took my name, address, and phone number (I only had to give him the last four digits, since all local phone numbers start with the same three), and gave me his card. He wrote another guy’s contact info on the card and told me to call him to get a permit to walk on the property. Apparently it’s basically a waiver of liability, which I can understand. We shook hands and he went on his way. Schatzi and I headed home. Even though I knew the guy was gone, I felt weird about continuing to walk down the road once I knew I shouldn’t.

When I got home, I dutifully called and left a message. I was rewarded by a phone call at 7:30 this morning, when I was dreaming of not marrying a handsome prince (even when I’m asleep, I never accept the rich guy’s proposal). I took off my sleep mask and ear plugs, picked up the phone, and stared at it for a ring or two. What am I supposed to do again? Eventually I figured it out and I’ll get my dog walking permit in the mail, so Schatzi and I can pick up where we left off.

I woke up yesterday morning to a bluish sky through the skylight. Encouraged, I got out of bed to start the day. By the time I made coffee and was settled on the couch reading my fan mail, the sky had clouded over and gloom reigned once more. At this rate, I’m going to become like an English person and start saying it’s a lovely day if it’s not actually raining.

Or not.

A glance at the weather-tossed (sometimes literally) thermometer on the back porch revealed that the needle had once again failed to reach the 40 degree mark by noon. I can’t get over how different the weather is from San Francisco, a mere 150 miles away. There, other than seasonal fog, the weather you wake up with is pretty much the weather you’re going to get that day. Here it’s like a severely under-medicated manic-depressive. And 40 degrees was reserved for a shivering overnight low, not a mocking daytime high.

I went over to my sleeping sister’s house, threading my way through the rain-filled potholes. As I sneaked in the front door, my wet sneakers squeaked on the floor and I could hear myself breathing. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke from the ghost of last night’s fire.

Schatzi was not on her chair, so I retraced my steps and went into the garden, calling her softly. It’s always a dilemma, since I want Schatzi to hear me, but I don’t want Megan to hear me. Fortunately, the Schatz heard me and came running. She bounced around with joy as I put the leash on and led her to the logging road.

There I took the leash off and followed her as she trotted down the muddy road, with detours into the brush for scent adventures. I could hear water running far below, and she was interested in exploring, but there was no way I was letting her climb down the steep cliff to check it out. The best case scenario would mean calling the fire department (aka my brother) to rescue her if she lost her footing. The worst case scenario involved leaving the country immediately under an assumed name. Fortunately, she obediently came away when I called her, and we went on our way.

The walk was Luna-free until the very end. Luna was between Schatzi and me, and Schatzi wasn’t too happy about this. But I was pleased that she ran to me for protection. I put her leash back on and took her home. She trotted off, looking for water or gophers in her garden, so I was spared the Sad Eyes* and could simply enjoy having made her happy.

I hadn’t noticed the grey skies at all.

*Schatzi has a highly developed talent for looking incredibly sad when you leave her behind. Which is why we hardly ever do. She has us well-trained.

Big River, Friday afternoon

I jumped right back into country life. Allergies back in full force, sleeping with a sweater on, cold mornings.

Amazingly, I actually unpacked on Thursday afternoon. I think my crabbiness gave me extra energy, since my usual method is to leave the suitcase open in the living room, taking things out of it as needed for oh, say, about a week, and wondering why it doesn’t unpack itself.

So I was ready to get up and go when Megan asked me if I’d like to join her and Lu in walking the dogs at Big River on Friday. The whole day turned into more of a marathon than we expected, as you shall see.

We were trapped in Little River, near the scenic cemetery, by roadwork. There’s no cell service there – the dead have no need to call anyone – so we couldn’t tell Lu we’d be late. While we waited, Megan said that the seasons here are waiting for rain, rain, waiting for rain to stop, and construction. We must be somewhere between the last two.

We finally got to our destination, where Lu was waiting for us with her two beautiful dogs, Harlow (right) and Marco:

Schatzi was happy to see her friends:

We set off down the path beside the river:

The tree was felled by the winter storms.

There were wildflowers everywhere, craggy cliffs of daisies:

Somehow, we spent two hours walking the dogs without quite realizing it. We parted ways in the parking lot, Lu returning home and Megan and I heading into nearby Mendocino to buy provisions for dinner. We had decided to make some new Indian recipes: poppadums, chicken tikka masala, and naan. We struck out on the lentil flour for the poppadums, so they were 86’d from the menu at the last minute. We still hope to find it online, though.

Returning home, we had to hurry to get the chicken marinating and the naan rising. Making the chicken was a leap of faith for both of us, since we are horrified by yogurt. We kept telling ourselves that this is the way they make it in restaurants. I heroically cleaned up all the yogurt-related dishes. If that isn’t love, what is? We laughed at the fact that Megan can scrape up brains off the highway, but can’t touch yogurt.

We barbecued the chicken, then put it in the sauce to simmer while Megan cooked the naan on the barbcue. She also made some dipping sauce for the naan: olive oil, slightly crushed Egyptian caraway seeds, and coarse sea salt. We had dinner in the garden as the light slowly faded.

It was a good day.

My “office” on Friday

It was 80 degrees and sunny on Friday. How could I be expected to deal with work on a day like that?

Actually, I did, in the form of taking cell phone calls by the beach with a friendly Rottweiler winding his leash around my wrist as I tried to act professional. It was hard to hear the market chatter over the crashing surf.

With work dealt with momentarily, Megan, Lu and I walked along the path by the beach with our small (Harlow), medium (Schatzi) and large (Marco) dogs in the bright sunlight. Despite application of SPF 70 sun block before I left the house, I acquired the first sunburn of the year. After about an hour, Lu gave me her baseball hat, saying I was “pink”. So was the hat, bearing the logo of her home state team, the Arizona Diamondbacks.

In Arizona, Lu grew up with temperatures that reached 120 degrees in the summer. But Marco and I feel the heat, and he flopped down in a stream on the beach, where he charmingly bit at the water as he chillaxed.

Chilling is a foreign notion to the pit bulls, who chased each other all over the dunes. Honestly, you’d never know that Harlow was the baby and Schatzi the old lady. The Schatz can outrun almost any dog around, and you’d never know she was 10 years old. People are as amazed by her persistent youthfulness as they are by Dick Clark’s.

As the dogs played, we watched horseback riders on the beach:

There were beautiful colors on the dunes:

And a warning:

Even though the seals were tiny white blobs basking on a distant rock.

The perfect ending to a perfect day was a barbecue at Megan’s, and dinner al fresco in the storm-tossed garden as the sun set.

Audrey inspects the bee boots

I got up at 5:30 this morning. For no particular reason. I can’t even blame the cats, even juvenile delinquent Audrey. As I write, they’re both still outside in the 34 degree pre-dawn chill. Just think: tomorrow it will be this cold and dark at 7 am instead of 6! Nice job, government!

I keep telling myself I can go back to bed later, but I know I won’t. I told myself that yesterday, and it never happened. It amazes me that I actually got to work at 6 am, in time for the markets opening in New York, for almost ten years. It seems slightly insane to me now, and also like something that happened to somebody else.

Yesterday, Meg, Schatzi and I braved the storms to go to town and shop, the best form of cardio known to girl. We started at the Feed & Pet, where I personally selected the wild fowl flavor of Taste of the Wild for Miss Schatzi, since she had wild bison and venison the last time. There were baby chicks in incubators, peeping away and just adorable: yellow ones, brown ones, striped ones. They’re a sign of spring, too.

We dashed across the rainy street to the saddlery, so Meg could get laces for her (non-riding) boots, and I wished I had my camera with me, because there was a poster for an NRA fundraiser later this month posted in the window.

Next stop was the Safeway, where Megan ran into the usual number of friends and acquaintances (I think she and Lu between them know half the county – this also happened at the magic show), slowing down the shopping experience, but also making it more enjoyable, as if we were at a local market instead of an enormous chain store.

After that, we went to Harvest Market, where we got another turkey breast for dinner, the last one having been so popular, and assorted other things. Like a shower curtain patterned with goldfish and a plush terra-cotta colored rug for Megan’s bathroom. Instant update for $40! Take that, “Design on a Dime”! She also bought a pair of bright yellow rain boots patterned with bees. Bee boots!

We were amazed that the cute boots came in grown-up sizes. We asked the saleslady for the right size, and she said she was pregnant, indicating a little bulge, but that her associate would be back from lunch in five minutes and he would be happy to dig around in the warehouse to find the boots. While we waited, she told us that she was eight months pregnant and had only gained eight pounds. Also that it was a boy named Liam and that she was never doing it again, pregnancy being a hideous experience. Not beautiful and mystical at all.

The assistant came back and with boots triumphantly in hand and congratulations to the mom to be, we headed out. Poor Schatz was bored out of her mind by now but it was too rainy to walk her.

By the time we got home and decanted all the groceries from the car, it was practically time to start dinner, which was the turkey breast roasted on top of tiny red potatoes, red pearl onions, carrots, and parsnips tossed with very good olive oil and sea salt. Meg snipped some herbs and we put those under the turkey’s skin and put it all in the oven to roast. One dish dinner!

As dinner cooked, Meg put on her new boots and we all went out for a stroll around the storm-tossed garden, drinks in hand. Megan pointed out various plants she is going to put on my deck when the weather gets warmer. We inspected the buds on the lilac tree and the apple trees, carefully stepping over the phone line, which came down several storms ago and now snakes blackly through the garden.

It reminded me of how I used to walk through Dad’s garden with him, glass of wine in hand, when dinner was started and we had a few minutes. His birthday is coming up next week, so he’s been on our minds more than usual lately.

Harlow, “my” puppy

My work ethic (such as it is) has really gone to the dogs lately. Yesterday, I bailed off work to go with Megan to meet Lu at Big River to walk the dogs, and today I delayed doing the work I should have done yesterday to walk Schatzi on the logging road in the unaccustomed sunshine. Before I left, I put my laundry outside in the sun to attempt to dry it, so I did accomplish something.

Now that I’m back, I’m blogging instead of working, so I guess I’m going to the blogs, too.

I guess I can’t list “amazing ability to procrastinate” under “special skills” on my resume. Imagine if I really did list my special skills? The ability to complain about anything, any time; unerringly select the most expensive item in the “New Yorker” estate jewelry ads; tell if someone is really a guy or a girl (that’s a skill acquired from many years of living in San Francisco); select just the right wine for any occasion. Really, is there a job on earth where a girl would get hired for these skills?

As work avoidance goes, yesterday’s walk was great. We were all reveling in the surprising sunshine. We met up in the Big River parking lot. I hadn’t seen Harlow, the artist formerly known as my puppy, since Halloween, and although she is still small (she was the runt of the litter), she has grown a lot. As you can see from the picture, she is still red and has retained her beautiful golden eyes, along with her worried wrinkles, which are cute on dogs. As befits “my” puppy, she is a handful! I decided to let Megan the disciplinarian deal with Harlow, while I took my old friend Schatzi and Lu took her huge, well-behaved Rottweiler Marco.

Lu’s ankle is still recovering, so we stayed on the flat road, and because there were lots of other dogs and people (it was one of those sorta holidays, where the banks and post office are closed, but you still have to work), the dogs were leashed. But a good time was had by all.

On our way home, there were no fewer than five cars making the turn to Hooterville in front of us, making six cars total. This may be unprecedented. At the store, we picked up a couple of their fabulous croissant sandwiches. Megan had hers in the car, but I made the mistake of taking mine home and microwaving it too long. It turned into mush, with the strange, intense heat of microwaved food. So my treat became unsatisfactory and weird. Oh, well.

Today, I couldn’t find Schatzi anywhere. I whisper-called her in the house and managed to wake up my poor sister, who had probably been in bed for all of three hours by then. It turned out that Schatzi was sleeping with her, so she sent the sleepy dog downstairs. She woke up when she saw the leash, though. Meg was a good sport about having her beauty sleep so rudely interrupted, though I suspect that if it had been for any other reason, she wouldn’t have been quite so forgiving.

I let Schatzi off the leash today, and she scampered around happily. Luna showed up, but when she started to bother Schatzi, I told her to beat it and she knocked it off for once, so it was a good walk for all concerned. When we got home, I surprised Schatzi with a pot of water in which I’d poached a chicken breast. The perfect after walk hydration in her opinion.

I left the doors open both yesterday and today, and I have to say, it’s nice to have a break from my real job as Cat Doorman.

I’d better get back to my other job. Finally.

I do too fit!

Last night, Megan and I had a girls’ night in. Schatzi came, too, sporting a cute new collar* which unfortunately doesn’t really show up in this picture. Also it kind of gives her demon eyes, but it was so funny I had to post it anyway. After a couple of glasses of wine, Megan observed that it really was a girls’ night, since all three cats and the dog in attendance are girls. Coincidentally, Megan’s cats, Ramona (the Pest) and Harriet (the Spy) are sisters, but our brother has only ever had boy cats.

As we binged on “Sex and the City” and junk food, it soon became apparent that Henry Etta likes Schatzi.

Yes, this is the same cat who was so spooked by hearing dogs bark in a movie that she fled the room just a couple of months ago. Now, if Schatzi is curled up next to Megan and not me (dogs are always welcome on my couch), Henry will sit on her lap to be closer to Schatzi. She has sat close enough to touch the dog. If Schatzi is sitting or lying on the floor, Henry approaches her and sniffs her carefully. Schatzi is always polite to cats, so she takes this attention in stride, but I still think it’s funny that my stray cat has a crush on a pit bull.

When Henry went for a snack break, Schatzi seized the opportunity to try on Henry’s bed for size. Being a dainty-sized dog, she sort of fit, and clearly found it as comfortable as Henry Etta does. Though she gracefully gave it up when its owner returned. No wonder Henry has a crush on her!

*Just in time for Fashion Week**. It’s a soft yellow, and patterned with little flowers which might be daisies or might be sunflowers. Either way, it brings out her brindle coloring very nicely.
**Rest in peace, Alexander McQueen. So sad.

Last night, I was sure that my dreams of the city would be washed away in the rain that pounded away at my roof as I prepared for a possible power outage and anxiously scanned the National Weather Service advisories.

When I went to bed, the power was still on, and the rain had stopped.

When I woke up, it still wasn’t raining! I called Caltrans and learned that the road was open. I threw a few things in a bag, did a conference call, and just after noon, I was on my way.

The road was still dotted with yellow FLOODED signs (probably staying nearby to be ready for the next one), and the Navarro river was pretty darn high. The brown, muddy waters reached high up the tree trunks on its banks. But the sun actually peeked out, and traffic was a breeze: I made the trip in three hours.

I have to admit that I enjoyed crossing the good bridge. Also that I feel like much less of a loser coming in from the country than I did from the suburbs. I’m now safely ensconced in a modest motel about a block from my old apartment (is it weird/sad/pathetic that I always stay in my old neighborhood?), enjoying the lightning-fast WiFi, Thai delivery menu at hand.

I called Meg to tell her that the Mouse had done its job and I had arrived safely. This is another of our family traditions, like waving until the departing person is out of sight. If one of us goes to the city, or, rarely, ventures further afield, we always call when we arrive.

Now neither of us has a thing to worry about. When I lived in Oakland, I was always worried about someone breaking in when I was away, in addition to worrying about the kitties. Now Rob is hanging out at my place during the day while Megan is sleeping. He can watch TV, play guitar, and listen to music with no fear of waking his sleeping wife. The cats have company, and so does Schatzi, since she goes with him. It makes me happy to know that Rob can enjoy himself there, since he does so much for me.

Yesterday, we had a break from the week of storms. I almost didn’t recognize my old friend the sun when she peeped shyly from the spectacular clouds.

I went over to Megan’s and said, “Quick! Before it rains again!” We bundled Miss Schatzi into the car and took off for Mendocino. Needless to say, the Schatz was thrilled. She’s enjoyed being stuck inside all week even less than we humans have.

We went to a different part of the headlands, at the north part of town. There is a spectacular clearing with trees fallen from long-ago winter storms:

I once came across a wedding there – what a beautiful setting:

Everything is so green from the rain!

Past the clearing and down a narrow path past wind-bent trees, we came upon the ocean:

It was considerably calmer than the 27 foot waves earlier this week, but it was still pretty spectacular:

As my sister says, “A pissed-off ocean is a beautiful thing.”

Schatzi wasn’t ready to leave, but we had run out of paths. She waited patiently in the car as we picked up groceries from Mendosa’s (we made chicken enchiladas for dinner last night). Her patience was rewarded by a second walk, in a place that was new to me.

Across from Gordon Lane is a vast expanse of hilly fields leading to the ocean. This was originally farmland, but is now fallow:

The dreaded Scotch Broom is in bloom now, and the huckleberry bushes have the tiniest of buds. The pine trees are beginning to make new pine cones:

It was encouraging to see some early signs of the spring to come, and to lift our faces to the sunlight. And it gladdened our hearts to watch Schatzi, sniffing gopher holes and the sea air, trotting happily through the fields, looking back at us to make sure her pack was still with her.

Schatzi takes the air

Yesterday morning started out with the sudden death of my adorable little coffee cup and skittered rapidly downhill in a landslide of work and financial problems. Note to New Year: if you don’t start getting it together pretty soon, you’re going to be in the same class as 2009, and that’s not somewhere you want to be. Aren’t you better than that?

So I was in a more bitter mood than usual (my mood tending to range from bittersweet to unsweetened) when my sister called and asked if I wanted to walk Schatzi with her. My initial reaction was not to go, since I didn’t want to inflict my bad mood on my sister (my mood having little or no effect on the dog), but in the end, I decided to accompany them.

I’m glad I did, because it turned out to be a mysteriously beautiful day, the clouds clearing to reveal rain-washed skies and the temperature hovering in the 60s. We took Schatzi to a little-known area called Pomo Bluffs. It’s not far from the main street of Fort Bragg, but is somehow off the beaten path, despite its spectacular ocean views:

The bluffs can be crumbly on the edges, hence this sign:

Also known as the international sign for Suzy. You will be glad to hear that I managed not to fall in the ocean, and am resolutely keeping my resolution to be injury free this year. Eight days and counting!

We let Schatzi off the leash in the meadow part of bluffs, where she pranced around and generally enjoyed herself while I admired the scenery:

A turkey vulture sailed overhead, sunlight glinting on his feathers. He hung in the air for a moment, so close I could almost touch him, and then, with a flap of his majestic wings, flew out to sea.

Sunny June

Like girl, like cat:

I was doing the dishes when I heard a thud. I turned around and saw that June had fallen off the sleeping loft and landed on the floor with a thud.

Unlike Me, she didn’t break the floor or her ribs. She sat up, looking a little surprised, and had an emergency bath – the kind that’s cat for “I’m really embarrassed and pretending it never happened.” I picked her up and cuddled her, and she purred while patting my face with her little white paw, so she seemed to be fine.

Audrey peered over the edge of the loft and pattered quickly down the stairs, then sniffed June anxiously. After joining in the emergency bath, they both went to the sliding doors and I let them out to play.

Later, when Schatzi and I came back from our walk on the logging road behind the house, June was waiting at the entrance to the road. When she saw the dog, she puffed up hugely. Schatzi looked away, and we sneaked past June, with me next to June so she couldn’t jump on Schatzi, who knows all about cats and their claws, thank you very much.

When I sat down to work again, Henry jumped up on my lap instantly. I used to think the shortest possible length of time was between a traffic light turning green and someone honking their horn, but now I think it’s between me sitting down and Henry jumping onto my lap, purring.

As you can see, I’ve had a hard time getting used to “Henrietta”. I’ve called her “Henry” for two years now, and it’s hard to break the habit. I’ve decided that “Etta” is her middle name, and no-one calls me by my middle name. At least, not anymore (why is it that saying your whole name is the international symbol for “You are in a boatload of trouble?”). So her whole name is now Henry Etta James, though she’ll answer to Henry or Henry Etta or any variable.

Or not.

After all, she is a cat.

Rita on the banks of the Ohio Canal

Yesterday, I was deeply saddened to learn that the Lovely Rita is gone.

She was at least fifteen years old, a ripe old age for canines, but it still made my heart ache.

All day, as I ran errands with my sister (the vet for Schatzi’s thyroid pills; the Feed & Pet; Rite Aid; the bank; visiting Meg’s partner in pit bulls, Monica, at her store; the Safeway; Harvest Market), my mind was running on parallel tracks: one for my tasks, and the other for Rita. I was flooded with memories.

Faithful readers will remember that Rita lived with me for about three years, when her Actual Owner’s life was kind of tumultuous. She was an amazing companion, and traveled with me often. I know everyone thinks their dog is beautiful, but the Lovely Rita really was. People actually came out of their houses and leaned out of their cars to tell me how beautiful she was. Everyone in the neighborhood knew her and loved her, even people I didn’t know. She was the Queen of the Dog Park.

What is that thing?

When I moved to Oakland, I made the difficult and painful decision to return her to her owner. It just about broke my heart, but I know I did the right thing for her. She would have been miserable there, and almost certainly would not have lived as long (or happily) as she did.

Last night, my sister and I toasted the Lovely Rita, and I tried hard not to cry. I remarked that it makes me wonder why we get pets at all, since we know they’re going to die before us, and it’s going to be horrible. Yet we keep doing it to ourselves. Megan said that it was because they make our lives better and happier.

Rita relaxing

In honor of Rita (and in keeping with my new year’s resolution to categorize), I’ll go through my old posts and put all the Rita-related ones into the “Dogs” category. Though perhaps she should have a category of her own, since she was always in a class by herself.

On the days Megan works, I try to take Schatzi for a walk. I figure it’s good for all parties concerned: Schatzi gets some exercise (Cesar says exercise is more important than even love is for a dog), so do I, and Meg feels a little less guilty about her dog being bored.

I got rained out yesterday, but today I went and got the leash out of Megan’s car and the dog out of the garden. I wish I didn’t have to keep her on the leash, but she doesn’t always come when I call her, and if she sees a deer or a rabbit, all bets are off. She can run faster than a greyhound. And if I lost her, I’d have to change my name and leave the country.

Luna being even more at large than usual is problematic. She horns in on our walks, and prances around in front of Schatzi, highlighting the fact that she doesn’t have a leash on and can do whatever she wants. Today it was business as usual, with Luna bouncing around and Schatzi pulling on the leash.

However, when sniffing and exploring the bushes by the logging road, she forgot about Luna and the leash for extended periods of time. Dogs really know how to live in the moment. When Schatzi was sniffing with particular alacrity, I had to be on red alert, since that often signals a roll in other animals’ calling cards. Nothing makes that dog happier. I can recognize deer, mountain lion, and bear, but today’s leavings were a mystery, and I made sure to keep our girl as far away as possible.

The sandy logging road is dotted with all kinds of mushrooms this time of year, from modest little brown ones to ruffled, neon orange to the classic fairy tale red with white spots. In the picture above, you can see huckleberry bushes growing in and on a burned out redwood stump. Redwoods actually need to burn during their growth cycle, which makes them perfect for our climate: wildfires in the summer, rain in the winter. They also need fog to take in water, being so tall, so if a realtor tries to sell you a sunny location among the redwoods s/he is telling you a tall tale.

Later on, the road got so muddy that I could have used those Chanel rain boots for real-real, as Jessica would say. As it was, I thought my sneakers might get stuck in the mud. They are currently out on the porch drying off, being too grubby to come in the house. Dirt is a constant, unwelcome visitor, just like bugs, and they both refuse to leave.