A Coon Hound Rib Roast

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!", she seemed to scream as she came bounding over the crest of the hill like a freight train, all legs and arms flailing at full capacity in hopes that she might stay just ahead of the coyote now pursuing her with bad intentions.

She and I walked this stretch of hill many times when she a puppy, but months had passed since we were last there.  When I let her off the leash she bounded like a kangaroo through the tall grass.  I assumed it was exuberance over being back in this area after a long absence, never knowing it was the fresh scent of a coyote lurking nearby.

This was taken several years back in Marin County

This crappy iphone shot shows the same coyotes the next morning.  This is about 200 feet from our house.

It's not uncommon to see coyotes when we walk.  I estimate we see them three times a week, usually at a distance of about a quarter mile.  Even then she will come to attention and point when she sees them moving, hoping for a chance to go introduce herself.  It must have been quite a pleasant surprise to her to have the opportunity to say hello face-to-face.  It probably went something like this:

"Hello Mr. Coyote, I'm Olive!  I've seen you and your friends walking around, I've smelled all your poop, I feel like I know a little bit about you, and I'm excited to spend time together"  (Olive only speaks in sentences that end in exclamation points.  EVERYTHING IS THAT EXCITING)!

(Coyote looks at her with a piercing glance and thinks):  Mmmm.....steak.  Come one step closer and then you're mine.

Olive:  Oh shit, I've seen this look at the dog park once before.  RUUUUUUUUUUUUN!

Olive Honing her skills.  She's a feisty shit when she needs to be.

My first instinct was to bark like a dog and I was a little surprised it worked.  The coyote came to an abrupt halt when it saw me and sat down.  Overcome with a new sense of confidence at this change of fortune, Olive swung around and turned to go back at the coyote and reproach him for his bad manners.  BZZZZZ!  She stopped immediately and came back to me, validating my decision to buy the electric collar all those months ago.  The coyote laughed at the submissive canine and walked off back over the hill, stopping briefly to pee in our direction.

I  fully expected to find some bite marks on her backside and began looking her over.  The coyote was that close to her.  Amazingly I found nothing and we continued our walk, her attitude and confidence the same as it ever was.  Once at home, I gave her the lecture about social hierarchy, dominance, law of the jungle, and other important life lessons.  About halfway through my talk she looked past me, fixated on something,  and screamed, "LOOK, THERE'S A BALL OVER THERE, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!!!!"

And off she went....

Field Of Dreams

Poop shouldn't make a creature this happy, I think as I watch Olive devour a large cow turd. I don't think it's anthropomorphic to believe she's smiling every time she surveys the open field with the mounded treats. I think it's a fact.  She runs with them, she sits with them, she rolls with them, and she eats them.  They're as equally entertaining as they are fulfilling to her.  She poops cow poop.  I've never seen anything like it.

Puppies are generally excitable and energetic but this pursuit of poop goes way beyond normal.  If it's possible for a dog to have ADHD then this must be what it looks like.  As far as I can tell each turd is a completely new experience because each one is approached as if it's the first time she's ever seen one.  Her enthusiasm never wanes.  Ever.  If I could give voice to her exuberance it might sound like this:

"HOLY SHIT (that's punny), I FOUND A TURD OVER HERE, LOOK DAD!!!!!!"

"OH MY GOD, LOOK, ANOTHER TURD!  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!!"

"LOOK OVER THERE, I THINK I SEE ANOTHER TURD!!!  I"M GONNA GO CHECK IT OUT!!!"

"YEP,  I WAS RIGHT, IT'S ANOTHER TURD!!  I'LL BRING IT OVER TO YOU NOW SO YOU CAN SEE!!"

On and on this quest goes.  Day after day, week after week, it's the same thing, with the same enthusiasm.  She pursues turds at 9 months old with the same excitement she did when she was 4 months old.  She likes sticks and she like bones, but poop will never hurt her.  Is that how the nursery rhyme goes?

We all want our favorite foods just the way we like them.  Thankfully she prefers her mini mountain snacks in a pseudo jerky form.  This way she can carry them with her and I'm spared the brown pasty kiss that would ensue had they not had time to properly cure.  Nikki has asked me to try and stop it but that's a fools errand.  Though the sight of it is rebarbative, what's in there other than the golden grass these free range cows eat?   I see it as a balanced, healthy snack and besides, who would take away a kid's crackers mid snack just because they didn't like saltines?  If they prefer pureed peas, you give it to them even if the sight and smell of it makes you gag.

I try to imagine what could make this hunt so relentless and her energy so indefatigable. It must be like having the food from your favorite restaurant laid out daily for you while you lounge at your favorite place in the world.  Oysters and beer in the sand at sunset? Wine and steak in the lodge at Vail with a gentle fire burning nearby?  Whatever that place is, go there in your mind and you have a small sense of what she must experience when looking out over her buffet.  Her body shakes with anticipation as I fiddle with the leash to release her into the lavish feast that awaits.   I unlatch the hook and off she goes, into her field of dreams.

Prepare To Be Underwhelmed

"Prepare to be underwhelmed", Perry said when I suggested we get together and play some music.  The idea to play came when I was at his apartment several months back and noticed he had 16 guitars lined up on a rack.  My dad was a musician for many years and never had more than 3 as far as I can remember.  When I asked Perry why he had so many he said he got the urge to buy one every time he was deployed or changed assignments.  I can remember the urge to compulsively buy drum equipment years back, but it has long since subsided, replaced more recently by the urge to buy camera gear.  In fact, I had a new camera body I wanted to try out on this day.

When Perry agreed to bring some of his guitars over I knew I would have to climb into the rafters in the garage to retrieve the drum equipment that had been relegated in favor of maintaining space for the racket stringer and other things that are used more frequently.  Well, except for my motorcycle which has stubbornly maintained its space on the garage floor, refusing to yield its spot because of the intense grip it has on my psyche.  It whispers to me of younger times and although I know its day has passed, I humor it from time-to-time by promising to get it fixed one day.  After 3 head bumps and 2 shin grinds, I had the drums down on the garage floor.

There's something magical about setting up drums.  For a brief moment I am actually a musician, anticipating the things I'll do with the sticks and imaging, surely, how similar my playing will sound to John Bonham's.  It used to take 15 minutes before I was convinced I was a level below the top players.  Now, one 5 second trip around the skins killed the dream.  All the coordination was gone and I had rigor mortis arms, not the fluid, calm muscles required to play at a high level.  At least I still had the ability to press a button on the camera.

I knew Perry could play a little based on a couple videos he had posted and once he was set up and began noodling it was clear he was way past the basic stages of guitar competence.  I indulged the ruse by insulting the drums for a few minutes and then I picked up the camera.

We talked and laughed about old times, a little about the future and enjoyed fleeting moments of greatness on our instruments.  We agreed that the next time we play we will absolutely destroy "Just Got To Be" by the Black Keys.  Whether we play well or not we will have met our goal.