MOM, GO TAKE A WALK!

This is a new blog... about old thoughts.

I think I mentioned before as to how I had an incorrigible dog--a German shepherd called Claude--who wanted to be King of the World, and therefore was a danger to be on the loose... So, I had to take him on walks to give him exercise.  I don't think I ever really got into the habit or routine of going on walks as a daily exercise until then.  I've always debated with myself whenever I even thought of the word discipline. I knew it was good for me to exercise in some way, but every time I took up an exercise for improving my health, I'd reject my own self-discipline--I just wouldn't stick to it.  I think I thought life more interesting if I just played it by ear and did whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to do it.  The rest--the stuff I had to do at home--to me was self discipline enough, though it was the "necessity of having to do it" more than what my "self" wanted to do.

The necessity of taking that combative dog, Claude, for a walk in order that he got exercise, gave me a routine that has helped me considerably throughout my life since.

My children were growing up but all at home at that time.  My eldest, August, was august, like his name and, though quiet, when he did talk he was inspiring at times.  But as his mother, I wasn't going to let on that he had power over what I chose to do myself.  These walks had become one of the best therapies for bad moods... I could see that in my daughter Jo, who, when very young, but old enough so I could trust her not to go far when she would be "running away from home." When she got so angry with me that she'd "run away," she'd to come back after awhile with wildflowers in hand, and give them to me, but with no apologies, as she'd completely forgotten the anger that drove her to take a walk outdoors.  Like that, I hadn't realized what effect my anger or irritation had on my home life until one day when I was so irritated that I was difficult to live with and August said, "Mom, you should go and take a walk.  You always come back from a walk in a good mood."

As I said, I wasn't going to admit that he had a point, but I realized that taking a walk gave my emotions a rest, and the inspiration I got from my walks gave me a feeling of being in touch with God and the life force.  All my problems were either solvable or diminished by simply taking a walk.

"Thank you, August.  I've never forgotten your insight, reflecting back to me how much I needed that simple exercise... maybe not for my body as much as for my disposition--my mind, emotions and spirit."

THE BEST OF THE OLD BLOGS

Having gone through a binder where I've kept all my old blogs that I've since deleted, and since this was long before Facebook, I decided that I would update and post the best of those old blogs.  

DOGS AND CARS:

I'm convinced that all dogs think of cars as their portable doghouses.  However, if the first dog in is my English cocker, Bear, he is ready to guard the back seat against Polly, my poor passive beagle basset mix.  We lay down the law, and eventually the dogs lay down in the back seat to enjoy the ride even if we aren't going anywhere.

Either dog likes just being in a car, and to keep Bear safely away from the road, Tom lets him into my car while he goes down to get the paper in the morning.  The silly dog thinks he's on a ride [in a parked car].  And when I'm too lazy to walk to the mailbox, I take the dogs for a ride... to the end of the driveway and back.  They think they've been on a trip.  They also enjoy the anticipation and know what we're saying when we simply say, "Want to go car-car?" and they'll dash to the car, with bear jumping and twirling at the door, and hopefully not placing his paws right on the door... (a "no, no").  And, despite how eager Bear is to get into the car, it's Polly, as well as any other dog we've owned that appreciates seeing the world from an open rear window with tongue waving in the breeze.  Bear simply lies down and is more quiet in the car than anywhere unless asleep at night.

Polly as well as any dog I've had, other than Bear, will find the best window to poke their heads out to see the world and sniff the fragrant countryside, and watch for dogs, squirrels or deer to bark at.  Polly reads the wind like a chef sniffing spices.  I wish the dogs could talk so they could tell me what they smell.

It's my belief that the dogs we pass and are barked at by my dogs are getting just as much of a thrill barking back.  As long as I have dogs and cars, I'm going to be driving their mobile doghouse, doubling my joy of driving by sharing the dogs' experiences of reading the wind, and their utter joy of barking at other animals.

I'd like to add a turnabout, as in fair play.  Years ago there was a yellow Lab at a farm along the back way to Montrose which always seemed to be in the farmer's pick up truck when we'd go by, and he seemed to think his job was to BARK at anyone on HIS street.  And he'd be doubly upset if "other dogs" were in those vehicles.  from the way he barked, it sounded like he was cursing these trespassing cars... as if he were saying, "YOU GET THE HELL OFF MY STREET, AND I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU TWICE!!"   And from the way he acted, you got the message that he thought his job was to scare all other vehicles away... And, by golly, it worked.  All the cars appeared to be scared away with their tailpipe tucked between their wheels.

I really loved that dog.  He held that station for years, barking away cars, and when he no longer was there, I missed him.  Later we stopped at the farm for Halloween pumpkins, and asked about him, and found out he was a great dog and companion to them.  They were a little surprised that we missed his barking at us, but they told us he got cancer and after a short fight, he passed away.  They had a friendly yellow Lab puppy at that time, and she came out to greet us, licking our hands and wriggling for joy at anyone petting her.  Very docile, but not our memory of that Alpha dog with his superior attitude.

[This was first run in December 2005]

COME FOR A WALK TO THE LAKE WITH ME

Today's walk along the paths in the woods were cool still as I'd  gone well before noon... a record breaking 9:30 a.m. as of lately.  I've been getting out later and later walking the dogs... much to their frustration.  When we finally set out for our walk, Bear will bark then as if he's bawling me out for the frustration of waiting for me all morning.  He knows his rights.  And I know he has a point.  But his sharp bark hurts my ears.  Sometimes my trekking poles seem to slip out of my grip and the handles fall on his back if he doesn't jump out of the way.  Don't worry, he thinks it's a game.

I let Polly choose the way.  She's really slowing down. Well, 7 years for a dog in comparison to one for a human is 7 X 13 = 91years old.  Pretty old for a dog or a human.  She was perkier than usual and chose the middle trail once at the trailhead.  She's like a turtle... slow, but steady, and I stride along for awhile getting good exercise, but then see a hole I want to fill in with a rock, or a rock I want to remove from possibly hurting my skis in the winter.  Mostly I like to shore up the downside of the trail with a branch or log... always a work in progress.  So when I'm finally conscious of our walking again, I then begin to wonder where Polly is, and find out she's way ahead, minding her own business.

We went all the way to the lake.  I threw in a stick for Bear to fetch... way out.  And he swam out to get it the sun glistening on his wet back; then turned back ... once on land, taking it back into the woods.  He always does that.  At this rate I'll have to bring the sticks I'm going to throw along with me, as he has used every floatable stick handy, and the beaver dam sticks are waterlogged.  I learned that lesson the hard way... tossed one of those.  Bear goes to fetch it.  He sees where it had splashed, but "NO STICK?!" (I can see his confusion.) He twirls around looking, and meanwhile I'm on shore yelling for him to "Come... Never mind the stick."  Sometimes if I can see just a trace of the waterlogged stick on the surface, I'll yell "Left" or "Right" (he does seem to know what I'm saying), or sometimes I'll throw a rock near it so he'll go near the splash, but if he does see it then, he goes after it and in trying to bite on it, and sometimes it sinks.  He would at times get his whole head under looking for the damn stick, and I'd be having a fit watching him as if he'll drown.  Today there was no problem.

But where was Polly... "Good-old-steady-wins-the-race." No where to be seen.  People were up at the lake lately, and if they are up and around, I'll stay away from the lake completely.  I feel almost like a party crasher if they are near the lakefront where I throw sticks or sit in an old plastic chair someone pulled out of the water, it covered with green algae.  But the area was quiet, though their cars were there, but I guess they weren't out and around yet.  I worried that Polly was looking into their outdoor grills for some greasy leftovers, or generally bothering them, but thought, "She's an old, harmless, fat-looking beagle basset hound... who'd fault her?"  And we started back.

I went to lower path back.  It is looking to be a hot sunny clear summer day on this first of September.  But the lowest trail was still pleasantly cool.  The trees cast much of a shadow so there's little underbrush, yet, with wide spaces between trees, I noticed an almost invisible web... it was a small orb web with a little spider smack in the middle looking like the bull's eye of a target.  I wondered at this tiny spider when constructing this complicated almost invisible net to catch insects.  His fastening his first web thread, to one tree, then crawling down the tree with this web reeling out of his tiny body, then trekking across the floor of the forrest climbing another tree.  Then, I think he has to reel IN his web making a "tightrope" of sorts.  Then to climb out on this 'rope' to drop somewhere, having attached another lead "rope" (not the sticky kind) to somewhere near the forest floor... perhaps one near the bottom of one tree, and climbing back up, dropping below again to crawl to the opposite tree and anchor that thread near the bottom.  Now, I'm thinking of all the directions that those web-threads that come from the middle where he now rests, and how many of those, like spokes to a wheel, have to anchor somewhere, and how many miles he would have travelled if all was enlarged to human equivalent, and that was a full grown man in the middle of that web.  If I only could only take the time and watch this marvel of construction done, perhaps I then could learn to tat.  I think one of the most common designs in tatting doilies, as they kind of look like that spider web.  I know I said "Ugh" to spiders, but they have my upmost respect when it comes to the construction of their webs, and their way of trapping nasty bugs: gnats; mosquitoes and such.  I once saved a butterfly from the grips of its having gotten caught in a web.  Once I even saw a housefly 'outside' yet caught on one string of a broken web and flying like a toy plane on a string, but bumping into the window and making such a fuss out of getting out of this dilemma  just outside the window, I had to take mercy on him, and unhitched him from his cruel trap.  If inside I'd have swatted him and put him out of his misery, but the orb spiders usually stay outside, thank goodness, though a few have crept in and made fancy lacework between the antlers of the moose head mounted in our living room.

Today I took out my camera and had it on close-up setting with the flash on, and took a picture of the web.  It looks so large in the picture, but it was about 6 inches across... the spider only a few millimeters.