I only took pictures of dirt.

If I were to qualify the success of Dirt Nite by how many collective bars I caused 3 dogs to drop, or wrong discriminations I sent then into, I would have to say it was somewhat of not a success. To the point of rattling my cage somewhat of how did I become such a train wreck of a handler overnight. But you know, part of The Secret says think positive to get a new bike or your millionaire mansion or your ranch. So I would say last night, there was a huge success in amounts of dirt! Also, someone brought a cake. I'm no Stella Ramone doomsayer over here, magic Secret of millionaire ranches.


And having nothing to do with dirt, the lady who fostered Gustavo before he was mine, all mine, called me and said she has another one Just Like Him! Except actually is blonde and weighs 8lbs and has short fur and is a chihuahua. And a girl. So maybe not so much like him. But is fast and a spit fire and loveable and sweet like him. And, we keep this on the down low, very obedient and possibly a teensy bit s-m-a-r-t-e-r. She's in Santa Cruz. Email me if you're interested.

In today's episode, we're just back to being a law abiding dog agility lady.

Well, that was all exciting and all with the Rangers. Trust me, you'll be hearing more about it. Maybe you figured out, Captain Laura is a little bit of pig headed about some stuff and Rangers with too many accessories intended to take me out strapped on to belts leaping out of bushes to give me a ticket for walking my dogs is at the tip top of my list. Pyramid it, stud it and spike it. I smell a courthouse drama!

Let's take a soothing break for a genuine dog agility video made by sticking the camera on a bucket and hitting the button. Is genius, my figuring out how to make my camera take moving pictures. Next thing will be magic talking machines to talk to Jesus pinned to shoulders like corsages. I don't know what this video shows you. There is no moral to this story. Wait. Yes there is. That Gustavo is doing the same little sequences as everyone else. And maybe is faster and turning tighter. Ha! Take THAT Otterpop! Maybe I will end up with a genuine trained dog one of these days. Although still has training wheels on his weave poles.

And I was able to put words on the video. Sort of. Genius! Next time maybe all the words will show up instead of vanishing into computer land. Or my purse. Where the hell did all those words go? And if you listen real close, you can hear Gustavo making weird airplane sounds in the background. Just like you were there. With the sheep.

Spoiler for today's episode is at least I don't get shot with the firearm.

So you know, I haven't been yammering about Lighthouse Field much lately. Haven't seen many rangers out there, and continue to walk my dogs out there nearly every day. Leash my ass.


Technically, this is still illegal activity. But we still do it. Selling meth out there is illegal too, those guys still do that. Just look for all black shorts and knee socks and hoodies if you need some meth!


And this is illegal too. Luckily not happening in fresh hot man shit from the growing homeless camper population out there.


And this is actually illegal. Whew, glad they're not chasing all the feral cats we see since there's hardly any dogs out there anymore.


Part of Lighthouse Field State Park includes Its Beach. My local neighborhood beach, where I take my dogs to run pretty much every single day. Dogs need to run, and this has always been the Dog Beach. We always walk through the field on the way there and on the way home.


Sometimes they stop running for a minute to rest. That is actually just as illegal as running, in case you were wondering.


And sit down. Oops. If they sit and not on a leash, it's a misdemeanor.


And maybe even lay down. That was a lot of tennis ball fetches, Otterpop. Is illegal for her to lay down like that, but legal for the creepy drug addled guy to come and ask me for a cigarette.


So we always walk to and from the beach through the Field. Always have. Look who came running out of the bushes yelling at us today? Doens't it seem like it would be hard to run with that many accessories attached to your accessory belt?


It's Officer Borreson and Officer Walters! We've met Officer Walters before. But I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Officer Borreson. I called all the dogs in and they did a dog training sit and let me put on their leashes. I have really good dogs sometimes. I am pretty sure Officer Walters remembers us, because as soon as I whipped out my camera, he Loud Whispers to Officer Borreson, "Give her a 319." That's cop talk for a misdemeanor citation for having dogs off a leash in their new park. See, new park for them, old park for me. He told me he was going to video me too. I said that's Super! Cuz I was going to photograph them. She's calling in my info to see if I have any outstanding warrants in my name.


Officer Borreson was happy to write me up. Maybe she is like the waitress and Officer Walters like Top Chef? He just stood there all grumpy stink eye at me the whole time. One hand always right there by his sidearm. She had this really great eyeshadow on. But I didn't ask her what shade that was. She asked me if anyone had ever asked me to leash my dogs out there. I told her I had to think about that for a while, since I've been walking them out there for like my whole life off leashes and that's a lot of years to think about. Think, think, think. Um, Yeah! It's been mentioned to me once or twice.


They wrote me up. $211 is what we believe it will cost AND I have to go to court for it. So after she handed it to me, I thanked them, and asked if they would be writing any tickets to that guy I saw sleeping in the bushes this morning when I walked off leash to the beach? Or the meth guys I saw yesterday? Or the creepy guy that was on the beach and actually why I left this morning? Well, Officer Walter's answer was, "YOU NEED TO LEAVE THIS PARK NOW."


I was like, "Like you mean, you're kicking me out?"

Officer Walters stink eyes me again. Although he has on Terminator Style shades on so it's hard to see. I think they were a present from our Governator! Maybe he was actually looking kindly at me.

"Yes, I am evicting you and you need to vacate the premises immediately."


I said, in a nicey voice because I am a nicey lady, "Wait, how come you are KICKING ME OUT of my neighborhood park?"


He said in a not nicey voice that I have to paraphrase here because I didn't bring my reporter's notebook, although YAY I had my camera, because I knew the rules and I violated them and it was time for me to leave and not come back today. NOW. Like, if I can use my psychic What Do Rangers Think powers, I was knowingly being a naughty lady and maybe a little bit smarty pants and not at all like a nice waitress, and it made him irritated, and in his job, if he's irritated, he can throw me out of his park. No more sharing. No more our park.

Hello and welcome to my birthday party.

So I was going to replace my carpeting in the spare bedroom/office/storage unit with these Product Placement cool carpet tiles. Fast and easy. Looks really good. Urban. Modern. Cool and hip. Instant good taste. Come sponsor Team Small Dog carpet tile grand poobas. A Sunday with no dog show and time for fun and breezy home improvement.


First had to pull up the old rug. Got pee stained during the last part of Timmy's life. Was just some beige carpet, covering circa 1968 grody vinyl. Who needs that in a house when you can have carpet tiles in a plethora of colors evoking mossy woodland clearning and build a taxidermy room? There will be branches. I envision a squirrel shelf running the length of the room with taxidermied squirrels in realistic and threatening poses.

I thought maybe a nice job for one day. Tear out and install. Happy Birthday to me and I'll have a new floor. So all the stuff stuffed into that room, I stuff in all the nooks and crannies and all floor space of all our other rooms. Which are a bedroom and a kitchen/living/dining speck of space. So you walk in our house and you are sure the crazy have landed as you squeeze past STUFF. Have I mentioned once or twice our house is the size of the cupholder in your Ford Explorer? Like one Labahoula puppy laying down takes up the entire living room and kitchen and no one can walk even a single step?


So how did I end up with a pile of sheetrock and insulation and a truck full of wood and the surfer guy from next door standing in there sort of shaking his head but luckily out of work this week? Hope there's no swell. Trying to put the lid back on all the cans of worms me and my crowbar opened up. Involves walls. The topic today was the forest carpet and now I am missing a wall. And am embarking on a journey named A New Closet.

How's that carpet look you ask? Mossy woodland clearing? Ready for the squirrels to come home to nest?

Can you see that? It's my stink eye. Stinking right into your eye. Let's just not talk about carpets right now.

Project Runway-Green is the new green. Black. Brown. Green.

Green is in. Green is the new black and the new brown and the new gray. Last week we did recycling and this week we are doing green fabrics that don't have horrible ocean polluting dyes. And just when Suede, a big fluffy Tinky Winky really, is irritating us enough with his third person mentions of Suede, we get it. That's his thing. He's third person. Like Stella is a dour Ramone. Like Blayne is a tanorexic tweaker. And all the girls are sort of weepy art school gals from Portland. I think there's 8 of them. This is the postmodern season of Project Runway. The editing is about the editing. Everything is reused. The models are doing the shopping.

It's maybe the subversive season because now I am thinking is a big ugly F**K you to the Bravo channel for selling Tim, Heidi, and all the Saturn Vues off to the Lifetime Channel which is possibly the dorkiest and most uncool channel out there. Weepy badly written victim movie for ladies that are wearing high waisted jeans in an unironic, non Chloe Sevigny way. It's either that they've all just given up, or else they are going to lash the pants off the show like all Captain Johnny Depp with his saber before Lifetime gets it. Slash here, slash there, til it's in little shreds. Like if you got sold to JCPenny. It's a gig. But one that makes you secret cry as you walk to the bus stop every morning. You either go down weeping or go down with one helluva fight.

The designers haven't given up though. They're trying. They're going to make cocktail dresses for their favorite models. Because nothing says cocktails like a small herd of models walking in a row, following Heidi Klum in synchronized steps. It's the cocktail army. Heidi is as lean and mean as ever, in her tiny little skirts, and even Nina later mentioning shiney short tight as a good way to look cheap doesn't sway Heidi. Cool as a cucumber, that steely eyed tart. Her kids are off with Seal somewhere and she's shiney short tight and Nina can just say that to her face and see what happens is what Heidi thinks.

So let's cut to the chase. Honestly, I was bored. Ho Hum. Pretend Nina just said that and you can picture how I would say bored. Hold your mouth in an "O" shape for a little longer than everyone else. We didn't much get to see them building their dresses. Maybe a little. Once built, we had Suede's circus fiesta dress which actually won the prize and you can order your own off of Bluefly now. Which sells sort of over and done with fashion on the internet. Ha HA! take that Lifetime new home at the Lifetime Channel. BlueFLY!

Suede is curious, but they are teaching us to hate him, so maybe he's getting Aufed soon. Someone leaked it onto the internet that he was getting aufed this week, so when I saw him sewing his little shreds together, I was like ha HA! my psychic abilities say Suede goes tonite. He sort of reminds me of Perez Hilton, all chubby in screenprinted Grranimals seperates, lumbering about, with his teletubby body and helmet and puffy swollen feet.

Daniel Vosovic who likes animals made a cute black dress with pockets that I would wear to dog agility. Had frisbee holders and a nice scoop neck. I think it had a skort under there too. Stella Ramone stitched hers up the side and got big gushy kisses from Michael Kors for it. They made a big deal about her and the leather thing. But at least she has a THING. So far, they only made a thing about her thing. And Tinky Winky's third person thing. I guess we get more things, but it's going to maybe be in a F**K you ratings kind of way is my guess.

The special guest judge who is Natalie Portman is devoting her life to vegan shoes instead of being a movie star now. All the girls from Portland are like YAY! Vegan shoes! Detroit guy for a moment considers vegan shoes. He has kids. Go environment. Maybe the global warming won't swallow the kids up before they die of old age if Natalie Portman sells enough of her vegan shoes. She's wearing a green dress in honor of our generation. Her generation. Portland girls' generation. I think it was made of whale killing dyes. Maybe, maybe not. Her and her vegan shoes aren't telling though.

Wesley, who I'll tell you now gets aufed, wore his own little rolled up shorts and little red shoes. Really, he stole the show just for his little otufit. Like remember Angus from ACDC? I think that suit jackets made of lightweight seersucker and polo shirts under with rolled up shorts and no socks with your red shoes is the style for summer men in New York City. I am not lying. It's nice we can all get along in a city where you can wear all leather if you want or all rolled up shorts with no socks red shoes if you want. Wesley is like a quiet gay version of Angus, he might secretly play ACDC songs at home. Sadly, we'll never know. He made a matching dress with one of the Portland girls, I can't remember which one. How many of them are there, those girls back there? The one that likes making funny little satin nurse caps that match her dresses. They had a run off for last place and even with his little red shoes he got cut. Boy was his dress ugly though. Nina had a poison dart in her hand, and just told him the too tight short shiney line, and then pegged him right in the bare knee with it. Ouch. Bet he wishes he didn't roll up his shorts so high.

Korto almost came in last too for building a dress that looked like a flabby yellow fish. Her model looked like maybe would be available to stand outside a nice fish restaurant, El Pollo Pesco, and wave a net vigorously around in the air with a toothy, fishy smile. A fine fleshy tuna. It had fins for real. It even made Tim Gunn stop and pause and not sure what to say and snap out of his funk for a moment of the train crash he was witnessing with his own two eyes. Sorry Tim Gunn. We are sorry you endure this and maybe you come help me install carpeting this weekend for some real fun. Because it's my birthday today, Tim Gunn. And I'm installing carpeting myself to make my floor look like a woodland moss forest with 5 different colors. But I don't have to finish by midnight. I'll finish sometime next January at my rate of speed. Good thing I didn't enter Project Runway.

I was happy for Stella. Because I don't know anyone that talks like her. She is so potential dog agility lady. She's never used yellow satin before. Only leather. Pyramid it, stud it, spike it. The models all lied and said they'd go for cocktails in their dresses even when they had giant fluffy collars that prevent drinking or chewing on stitches. Because they don't drink anyways, causes pooching in the indented little tummies. And they sure as hell they never get to go shopping for the fabric again.

A puppy with feet the size of a big squashed frog.

This is Lily. She is not exactly a member of Team Small Dog, because she is a still a puppy and she is very, very large. She doesn't even fit in the whole picture she is so big and she is only 5 months old. We believe her to be part Catahoula and part Lab. She came for a sleepover the other night.


Her and Gustavo are best friends. They sit on the deck at work all day together and play bitey face attack squadron. Even though one dog is 12lbs and one dog is 4 million lbs. Gustavo makes a special Lily sound when they play, that sounds sort of like if Alvin the Chipmonk re-recorded Led Zeppelin 4 and you played it backwards at super fast speed. While you have the blender on. With Tom Waits singing backup.


The other dogs, not so thrilled Lily had to come home with us. She doesn't know the rules. Like you can't sleep with your head inside Ruby's crate when Ruby's in there. Like don't freak out when the chow from down the street decides to repeatedly leap over our fence into our yard to hang out on our porch in the middle of the night.


Otterpop makes sure to teach her important rules. Where she can sit and walk and what toys she can't play with. That would be all of them if Otterpop had her way. Lily is a puppy after all. A little grasshopper. And Otterpop is David Caradine.


Someday, Lily will realized that she weighs 300lbs and is 6 feet tall at the withers and that those little pipsqueak squirts are easily squashable. Until that day, she just does whatever they say. And does most of her gangly, too much leg for her body running with a sharp toothed Gustavo attached on to her lips. Because that's what friends are for.

In this episode, we'll do our best to fix a broken cat.

This is my cat. Her name is Princess. Maybe you think I named her. Maybe you would be wrong.


She's supposed to be an employee of a pet. Keeping the gopher population down. Not sure if she is a star employee or not, but she's a good cat. Lives outside on a dog crate. Got her from the feral cat population out at the dump when she was a kitten. Can't really remember how old she is. We usually just call her kitty and stick some food in a bowl for her every day. Your cat probably has a nicer life. I figure, it could be worse.


This is kind of her lot in life at my house. Get stared at a lot.


She holds her own all right. Unless she gets ganged up on. One on one, she can handle any of Team Small Dog just fine.


Sometimes fights. There's a lot of cats in the neighborhood. Pistachio from next door is of the Siamese variety and especially pesky. You know how cats like to hold their territory. So this latest round of puncture wounds, I think I'll blame on Pistachio. Gary brought home Kevlar gloves from work, which also happens to be the dump, so we could do some cat doctor magic on her. You know me. Junior vet with just enough knowledge to be dangerous to everyone involved. Repeat after me. Small animals ain't no horses. I brought home clippers too so we could see just what we were working with. Because you know cat fights and abscesses.


Wanted to clean them up and stick some stuff on them. I am too seeking prompt medical attention. Seeking it out in my own backyard. Not always easy to work on cats though.


Also would help if actually read the label of the stuff I selected out of the medicine cabinet. It's a tube from the drugstore. How many of those in there? Also because I kind of need glasses now but I forget I do and also forget where I put them the last time I remembered I need glasses.


So never seen this tube of stuff before but it lives in my medicine cabinet and just spread that stuff all over the cat bite wounds. Should take care of it, right? Later that night, Gary comes home. See's that tube out on the counter. "Um," he says, "this isn't the stuff you put on the cat, right?"


Uh, because that doesn't say Triple Anitbiotic Cream. It says someone in this house that isn't me may have a fungus somewhere common in the podiatry zone of atheletes and that's what I tried to cure the holes all over my poor cat with. Haven't really seen the cat since.

In today's episode, me and the dog show photographer offer you some nice shots of my ass.

Found some photos from the dog show photographer.My non agility friends, here is a whole industry you didn't even know existed. You get a camera with the longest lense in the world, looks like you have a tube of salami attached to your face. Sit in a beach chair outside the dog show ring and click every time the dog comes by. All day. Why bother taking that beach chair to an actual beach when you could sit outside that dog show ring? Start at 8am, finish whenever the dogs finish. 3pm? 5pm? 7pm? Sit and click, thousands of time. When you're done, put them on the internet and maybe someone buys one. Or someone goes up and grabs it and sticks it on a blog. Not paying. Horrible little thief. I've bought one or two, but it's hard to find a photo I love. Very picky, I am. Little bit of a crapshoot for those tired and bored photographers.


The thing I don't so much get, the photographers are very careful to try to just get a nice photo of the dog. Don't get the person. Closeup on the dog coming through the poles, or the tire, or blasting out of the tunnel. Because we wear weird outfits and our hair askew and ugly shoes, never, ever include the human unless it's a tragic photography mistake. I love the tragic mistake ones. I want the shot of me screaming at the dog. Looking panicked. Doing the electric slide with hands making a shimmy shimmy shake your tailfeather Beyonce ass to get your dog onto that table.

I just had to show you this.

I'm not really a video person. I mean, I am not at all a video person. This is taken with my regular camera, just setting it on a bucket and using the video for dummies button. And don't mind me hiking up my pants. But I thought maybe you'd like to see what Gustavo looks like doing a little sequence. Not having an actual camera angle that could show you, he does that chute barrel out to a staggered line of jumps before the tunnel. Like stuff I do with everyone else! And every time we did those poles, hit that entrance no problem, and pretty fast through 'em, RIGHT? Like I think, little drumroll, maybe even faster than Otterpop's poles.

Yeah, the channels are a little open at the first couple poles. I really want him super confident about those entries, even though this may come back to haunt me at some point. And yeah, that's how I do his startline. Like we just GO. More potential haunting of the future. And yeah, that's Otterpop barking under the soundtrack. I am kind of from the what the hell if the other dogs bark school of thought when it comes to irritating barking dogs during agility. Just pretend they have little cheerleader skirts and are tearing up pom poms at the same time. Too loud for any haunting. Those barking short dogs scare the pants off any lurking ghosties.

But see here, my non agility friends. I am running really, really fast. Look at Laura run, insert your giggles now. I don't care. This is the whole point here. That tunnel is almost 100 feet away from the camera. My chubby and stubbly legs are flying. And those jumps you can't see are on weirdo angles, and he's just getting it. You run as fast as you can, you do what I show you, and you think it's the best day ever. It is starting to get really, really fun with him.

They're not exactly the cuddly wuddly types.

I thought this just sort of looked like a scene from Sid and Nancy. Except I can't tell who is Sid and who is Nancy.

In this episode, we had a nice dog show over the weekend.

So yesterday, we drove up to a CPE dog show in Petaluma. CPE dog shows, my non agility friends, are sort of like the flip flops to your vintage Frye engineer boots. Not to be confused with non vintage ones purchased at full price through some swishy online retailer that sells the Perfect Belt for $340. Sort of like the Mazda to the F-250 truck. Your basic tract ranch with wall to wall berber to your sculpturally restored Eichler. Like it gets you where you want to go. Just has sort of a different vibe than USDAA. Kind of agility for the rest of us.

So when kicking back in a tract house in your flip flops, 6 year old Mazda parked in the pretty clean driveway, there's not a bunch of cares in your world. Crack a beer, turn on the tv, flop back in the slightly stained couch with a polar fleece throw to hide it and you hang out. Sort of like at CPE. USDAA show, you got your boots that are so perfect broken in and you had to make sure to do the truck maintenance to keep that big truck running good and running strong and there's always stuff to attack on that Eichler at all times to keep it stunning and better than the other ones on the block.

So you get it. Just different strokes in these dog shows. I go to both. One way, not so stressful, one way more of by way of aspiration work in progress. I think that makes me a slip on navy blue Vans wearer driving a 1999 Honda CRV living in a vintage wood paneled 1940's beach bungalow that still needs work. We took our friend Mary and her dog who live down the street so we carpooled and how green is that and her big dog had to sit sort of smashed up against my small dogs. I think they all had a nice time of it anyways. Is fun to bring a pal to the dogshow! Thanks Mary! She tore up the Level 3 CPE stuff this weekend.

My dogs had a swell time. Really can't complain. I know that they were all Qs, all the time. Now it's all a little foggy, I know there were some weirdo start lines for Ruby in the morning that went away by the afternoon. Cost her some time, cost me some concern, but she never looked sore and by the end of the day was running like that finely tuned big truck I always hope her to be. Just tried to keep her out of weave poles where I could. One bar late in the day at a double jump out of a blasty tunnel. One bar, whole day. Hey Ruby thanks! Our big goal here was testing out her super fast and CONSISTENT running dogwalk contact we've been working away at but this was nearly a dogwalk free dog show for some reason of mystery not figured out by me other than CPE judges not dogwalk fans? Is somewhere in the rules? Dunno. The one she did in her Standard was fast and feet ran straight to the bottom of the yellow like we've been practicing practicing practicing but no way to tell was it fluke or fact.

Otterpop continued in her newly scrubbed off brain idea of it is not so bad out there in that ring. Loped around like in the hunters. Can't say she's looking like the fastest dog in town like she does when she practices in a ring she deems safe and sane. She only likes sheep and horses to watch her. And have beloved frisbee there. But had a nice working canter, like if they had a hunter division for scrappy little Otterpops she'd be right in there. Would have to braid her tail somehow though. But just a steady, confident dog out there and I see her getting nothing but better and easier out there and not searching so desperately for zombies at every turn. In the world of CPE, this means she wins prizes and such, although I still need to check and see what they were. I kind of don't actually care though, so maybe tomorow. Or the next day.

Hey Goo you're two.

My friend Goo has a real tattoo
He always knows just what to do
He looks thru his hair like he doesn't care
What he does best is stand and stare

--Sonic Youth

You guys remember that song right? And Kim Gordon is getting the senior discount price at the movies now. Which is beyond creepy and weird and means we are all that much closer to dying. I used to aspire to being her. Didn't quite turn out that way. But if she's 55, means I've had Gustavo for a whole year. Can't really spit that whole name out much and mostly now we just call him Goo. He is still the fastest, happiest, and friendliest tiny dog I ever did meet. Didn't end up contaminating the whole agility community with his tainted blood. I think it ended up being untainted. We never figured out how old he was. We thought he was 1 or 2. Two rhymes with Goo. Hey you!

Might just be he's only two
for a long time hey Goo you're two
I know a secret or two about Goo
He won't mind if I tell you

He just likes to run everywhere
Cuz he's the fastest dog anywhere
Maybe he don't stick like glue
We don't care, hey Goo do you

Don't know how he'll end up at agility, and really don't care. He's really hard to train, but the better he gets the funner he is to run. But you know, just having him around is about the funnest thing I can imagine. Like on your worst day, you feel so bad, you just go find Goo. You get him to take a break from RUNNING and SQUEAKING the squirrel and just hold on to him for a little while and makes that worst day just kind of fizzle on back down. All the dogs have their things they do, they have their jobs. And he does that one better than any dog I know.

Let's try not to be such a bitch to Oprah.

Orpah: "Hey, how is your summer going?"

Laura: "First dog sick. Then a fire. Dog sicker. More fire. Dog still sick. More fire. Dog died. Watched a horse fractures skull/die. Got fat. Can't sleep."

Well that was a shitty way to answer. Especially when Oprah asks. She is so nice and everything to call and it's not her fault she lives in 4 giant mansions. Maybe next time when she rings instead you tell her about the 5 color rug yer making to replace the pee stained carpet. Gustavo's fast weave poles and sequences. 3 good dogs to take to the beach and who sleep in a row always in your view. Gotta nice husband and your very own house. A new nephew and yer mom and all yer pals remembered yer birthday in advance. And looking forward to a big fancy tattoo from Edu.

I'll watch Project Runway so you don't have to. Again.

So I dunno. Mostly it seemed kind of old and stale. But not so bad like something you throw in the garbage. More like some chips you might still eat, but the whole time thinking, "Why am I eating these?" Maybe what you are saying right now. She is watching that Project Runway crap again? Didn't she write this already? Well, what the hell else you going to read then? You want more about front crossing again? Yeah, I didn't think so.

But what was sort of weird and nice, right in the beginning, we met this little blonde fella that has classic alien eyes and puffy puppy cheeks and the first thing he wanted was a tanning booth. And he looks like somethng that was constructed on a government base and shipped out to Project Runway under the guise of fashion designer. How weird is that? Like a CIA conspiracy, but why? Curious. And the next guy we met was some dad from Detroit. Like sort of this plain, basic, guy. And then it was Stella Ramone who makes leather rockstar corsets for Sebastian Bach. And is like a super downer, bummer man, dyed black hair sad eyes. A bunch of them were over 40. And a bunch weren't.

The thing that was happening was it seemed like the alien guy was the Christian. A whole buncha the girls were the Kit Pistols. There was a Sweet P and a Daniel Vosovic and a Jeffrey. And so on and so forth. Recycling. Austin Scarlett even came back for a minute. Super-recycling. Tim Gunn just kept looking like he wanted to cry. His brow was so furrowed. Like he wanted a snack with some carbs and a ride home.

Suede gave us a new word though. Wackadoodle. I believe I actually have said it 4 times, making it my word now. And Stella Ramone has the candycane striped leather pants we can't figure out, and the little spiked raccoon eyelashes that maybe are tattoos? She is an enigma sent from angels for our perusal. And the guy that got voted off, irritating, but what a way to go off, with this chainsaw massacre bride. Exactly how we used to dress up the cats as kids! Chainsaw bride had a weird off with the maxi pad mesh leotard sent by the CIA to the alien. The CIA gave him the dumbest catch phrase to make him the new Christian. What's going on with network tv and covert government operations. CIA, you reading this? I'm not repeating it. So there. Wackadoodle. Catch phrase my ass.

A very good question from the mailbag. Mailbox. Emailbox.

So got this email the other day.

------------------------------------------

Dear Team Small Dog's Captain,

I noticed you link to homespun yarn and/or knitting on TSD. So, it begs the question, do you spin your dogs' fur and make glorious TSD knitted creations.

Sincerely (not really),

Wishy

------------------------------------------

Of course I emailed back not so sincere Wishy right away, not wanting her to fret another day, likely thinking how does she have the time to teach her dogs these amazing tricks and running dogwalks on an enchanted desert island, handspin dog fur, knit glorious creations, and cook fine cuisine, all in a days time? Bitch. Like I could be here, snoozing on the couch, and she thinks I am slaving away behind a spinning wheel? Just not right to mislead nice people.

So the answer is, first of all, the tricks and running dogwalks, I just used Kaki's video for that yesterday. Problem solved. So there's half an hour or so to just take my dogs down to the beach and throw a stick. Fine cuisine? We eat pizza, so I was able to fall asleep to a taped version of the New Project Runway, now on at 9pm when I'm not even home from dog agility yet. A promising beginning with a whiney reincarnated lady version of a Ramone and a guy named Suede. Spinning yarns and knitting creations?

I leave that to my friend Pluckyfluff. Pluckyfluff being a secret internet name for actual name Lexi. I can give her shameless plugs all I want because she is a member of my disfuntional little best friends forever family, husband to Joel Warner who won't even tell me how painful his giant arm tattoo was. Mom of the extremely cute kids you sometimes see photos of here. Marsha Hubert to some of you. And one of the biggest names in yarn spinning and knitting and crocheting around. She has 2 stunning yarn books out, and I highly recommend both. Her yarn is special cool yarn, not for those you you who want to knit a little rainbow throw for yorkies, more for you guys willing to take a brave trip to yarn bizarreness and knit yourself something that renders a massacre on the prairie or a drunken weekend of debauchery involving muskets on a wild horse ranch in the desert.

She taught me how to knit and crochet once. The knitting, didn't even come close to taking. And she got me sparkle knitting needles and everything. Way too much cursing in a 10 minute period to continue. The crochet? Enough to make one weirdly misshapen beenie that looks like of like you crossed a giant strawberry with something you might scrub a sink with and tear off an edge and shove it over your head. Sometimes I wear it. It took me like 6 damn months to crochet. I better wear it. I learned in that time I won't crochet anymore. Might be like some of you, my non agility friends and your dog agility. Just not gonna happen.

Maybe some of you dog people are yarn people? Although I have a suspicion most yarn people have lots of cats. That are not kept as mousing employees but have special hand knitted cat beds and indoor litter boxes. Just a theory of mine. Maybe I'm wrong. If you are someone with dogs who also walks in the handspun world, you enigmas of the yarn universe you, go buy her book. Because we're banking on Lexi to become the rich and famous one so we can all retire riding her knitted sweater dress/hand reconstructed vintage concert tee/conceptual scarf ends to a comfy retirement on a ranch somewhere.

In this episode, you can watch someone else's video and you just pretend it's me.

This is Team Small Dog training. Sort of. Doesn't seem to help deer chasing. Or cat chasing for that matter. But is pretty fun.

This is Kaki. Remember her? She lives on an enchanted island somewhere with her cute border collies that do it all and have perfect running dogwalk contacts. Plus she's super model. She keeps cranking the videos out. Thanks Mary, for sending that.

So maybe my island isn't enchanted and it's not an island. And sometimes at that beach, you have to walk by a sleeping drunk guy on the stairs. But you know. Could be a lot worse.

In this episode, we are all relieved that we own no firearms.

I'm teaching Gustavo to be a super stealth hunter in his own backyard. Who needs deer hunting when, right here, without leaving our own property, we can stalk all kinds of wildlife. Like the guy who plays the same Radiohead cd over and over and over and over. The guy who talks on his celphone on his deck and takes forever to decide if they are going to meet downtown or at his house. Super old Richard clear his throat, spit and tap tap tap on his old school typerwriter while watching a show about WWII on the History Channel. Turned up for max volume for the super old.

Maybe our yard exactly why we need deer chasing in the forest that we drive to. Just realized was 2 whole years ago we got outbid in the eleventh hour on buying the dream ranch. Which was really just a crappy house on a few acres of flat field with a good well. On the exact road we dreamed of our whole lives, with trail access out to the most beauty of it all and thousands of acres of deer forests. Our biggest reality check of the whole We Are Buying a Ranch phase of our lives. Which has turned into We Are So Living in an 800sf House With No Yard Forever phase of our lives.

Recall training-a primer.

Today we took the dogs hiking in the forest. You're not supposed to have dogs in the forest, but you know me and my lawbreaking ways when I want to walk my dogs. It's the forest that you get to by parking your car at the No Dogs Allowed University, then hiking through the No Dogs Allowed cattle pastures, then down a hill to the river, then up a hill to where the trails get more narrow and the terrain darker and more redwoody and far from everyone else. Where still No Dogs Allowed but no one around in there to really care.

We used to take Timmy there a lot. Gary remembers hiking in there with him in the pouring rain once, but I don't. You cross the river over a narrow log way high up over the water, although in the summer it's a trickle of a creek and we just hopped on rocks through it so the dogs could drink and splash around some.

So you remember I had some dog chasing deer problems up in Boonenville. Ending in Ruby getting kicked by the deer after it had enough of being ambushed by dogs the size of loaves of bread made of gentle forest gnomes. Bad dogs. Never had livestock or deer chasing dogs before. Skimboarders, yes. Deer? Sure they might go off on a short dash for a second, then good dogs always come back when they're called. I have trained dogs. I think. Right? They know how to get up on that table and lay still for 5 seconds, that counts for something doesn't it?


So while hiking, we saw this. Or heard it first. A scenic deer family quietly munching lichen or twigs or whatever it is deer eat in the dark forest.


And when the deer heard us, off they went. Up a vertical, steep slope that looks like it went on forever. Because we are deep in the forest here. If there were hobbits or enchanted woodcutter cottages or witches covens, this is the part of the forest they would be in.


And two bad dogs went off in pursuit. Straight up the forest cliff wall, like bolts of tiny lightning.


One dog was a good dog. Ruby seems to recall the deer kick incident as being somewhat of a negative experience and decided to not go off on the hunt.

The two bad dogs, seem to recall the last deer incident as the funnest thing in the world. More fun than joining the whole Love Boat gang on the Love Boat reunion tour with Isaac's bar open the whole time and free tattoos by acclaimed tattooers all night. More fun than any activity planned by Cruise Director Julie, even on Dog Agility Casino Nite. And in a flash, just like that, they were gone. Tiny little dots of black running up the redwood cliff and away.


I was not happy. I sat there and waited a long time, whistling so they would find the sound and head back. And they did. Maybe not even gone that long. Come flying down this cliff through logs and trees and brush and stickers, straight down the mountainside they did run. Roped 'em up and marched 'em out of the dark forest. When got back up to the meadow, let them loose again to get some more running done. Good dogs for a while, then heard another deer. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. Same exact scenario, two bad dogs I believe chased them all the way back down to the river before running back up to us.

So I now have 2 confirmed deer chasing dogs. I believe I read things on the internet and in dog books about how good dogs, meaning trained dogs, always come when called. Even when there are deer or skunks or lions or elephants or goblins, pick your poison. I think my dogs used to do this. And now they don't. We don't visit the forest too often, so it's not like they chase goats and I have pet goats and I can implement a carefully planned, step by step training program about goat chasing. Shock collars likely take care of this but I couldn't bear the thought. So maybe I don't have forest hiking dogs anymore. So much for good dog training skills.

In this episode, we attend a civilized dinner party that involves zero barking.

Last night, we had dinner over at our friends' house. They are good friends, their world is dogless by choice, but they have things like handmade cloth napkins. Unscratched up wood floors. Furniture not covered up with polar fleece blankets. No nose prints on windows. Easy to walk on floorplan unlittered with stuffed squirrel carcasses and contraband sticks snuck in from the yard.

Naturally, the dinner table conversation turned to dog agility. Naturally, if by natural you mean I hadn't had a buncha glasses of wine and just started blabbing about dog agility. Because EVERYONE always wants to know about dog agility. It's the new black. Or brown. Or something. Actually, I think they had been mightily amused by the dog agility videos from the other day including my floundering around in a skort shreiking and pointing at my dogs and at things with pointy finger six shooter mitt. I thought perhaps my foibles would have amused you, over here on this side of the fence, dog agility friends, but what I have found is that they are most amusing to you guys over on the other side of the fence, non dog agility friends.

So Maia, who I believe could become a dog agility convert very easily, if we could just get her to get a dog, (did you know I have you specced out here Maia?) asked the very good question, "So you get the dogs to just do stuff out there and go over the stuff by pointing at it?" Actually, she likely did not say stuff. I don't remember what exactly she said. This involved wine. Does blog have same rules as personal memoir? Not trying to James Frey you guys here, I swear.

Anyways, Yes! You guys, you non agility friends, yes! I know. I get all technical here and I am talking about systems and crossing and this and that but really. If you just run, like the wind, like you are chased through the alleys of an abandoned amusement park at in the pitch black by alligator weilding zombie rapists-oh wait, wrong movie-and you point at stuff in the nick of time, you are getting the basic idea here. Maybe we have to practice some, like I watched the Tour de France guys on the new channel which has been discovered our tv has, which is a biking channel to add on to the Giants channel and mistakenly assume, well all you guys you bikers, you could do that! And everyone laughs heartily at the non biker in the room and talk of spokes and chain rings and sprinting ensues which now in my mind I possibly am switching movies again and thinking about underground gopher caves and tunnels and what they would look like to me if I was as tiny as a thumbnail wart and could tour them on a miniaturized racing motorcycle and would this be as popular a ride at Disneyland as I believe it to be right now?

This whole dog thing, just for fun, I think, right?

The entries just went up for the big dog show called the Regionals. Five rings, five judges, sure to be mayhem. This is the one that many, many giant motorhomes come to full of fancy winner type dog agility people. You know them. They win and make videos and write books and maybe are sort of hard to beat. Maybe wear little spandex pants. Is a dog show that maybe seems a little bit more like a horse show than a dog show. Maybe a little bit stressy and people get a little bit worked up over stuff. Little bit hot and bothered. Soon we need to start bringing our golf carts and walkie talkies and look out for the Big Fight with the gate steward. Knock-down drag-out at the warmup jump. Catty, hushed yet not hushed conversations about who sold her that dog. Horse. Dog. Horse. Wait a minute. Is this my work or is this hobby?

I am not sure what days I'll go. Ruby is on limited runs now to keep her sound, Otterpop sort of just trucking along currently but I don't think she needs to do a lot at this show because the mayhem of it all it might blow her little cork right off her gourd. Like let's just say no to DAM team. Let the dogs rest and be a nice helper around the ring. Fluff some chutes. Set some bars. Are going to be a lot of bars to set. Don't need a motorhome because not too far from my house. A huge plus is it's close to my work so maybe I can enter Saturday Grand Prix and no horses suffer in the name of dog agility hobby. Grand Prix judged by a team small dog reader! Wow! A small world, dog agility is.

Maybe attending Regionals based on timing of classes times drive real fast down the bumpy farm roads from my ranch out to the park in time to maybe walk the course but maybe not, sort of weird way to base your Regionals dog agility experience. Maybe not good use of mental management techniques. But any other way, maybe not the Team Small Dog way. Just am hoping, this year, if I mess up in the Steeplechase Finals, the snitty ladies, you keep your snitty comments sort of low and more quiet whispery so I they don't burn up my sensitive little ears on my sheepish shuffle out the ring.

America's funniest dog agility videos and they are me.

Here's some videos from last weekend. They are humbling. I sound like a dork, I look like a dork and I handle like a dork. I guess it's official. Now I am seeing why all my friends steer clear of this whole agility thing. I am going backwards in the making it cool department.

Watch Ruby almost get stepped on, have me do the lamest crackhead thing I've ever done to pull her out of the poles under the guise of "Front Cross" and just handle like a weirdo maniac. Poor Ruby. Why, why, why, do I do weird shit to her in the show ring? And I wonder why we just can't get it together. She is MORTIFIED by me is the problem.

Then watch Otterpop sort of lope around her Steeplechase course, with me going Pop! POp! POP! like every second. Shriekzilla. Just shriek a little louder lady. She must think I am the biggest freak. I think, someday, she will figure out it's just not that bad in the show ring. Until then, enjoy some amusing dog video.

Quit laughing. I can hear you all the way over here.

I am not kidding about the dirt.

Dirt night takes on a whole new level of dirt in the summer.

On hot days, I spend all day at work sweating, and getting coated with layers of dust and dirt. It goes along with the job. On Wednesday nights though, I run straight over to another barn to teach agility class then run my dogs once it's dark and cool at the end of the night. So this barn is a dressage barn. The dressage people, they see dirt different than us hunter people do. Instead of good old fashioned water to keep their dust down in their arena, they use this Stuff.

The Stuff gets sprayed down over the arenas and the dirt road. I guess it's a polymer, it feels like oil. Like salad dressing, is a good way to think about it. Spray down salad dressing over your black dirt that already has nice black and oily tire particles in it. The dressage people, they don't have to walk around in it setting jumps, they just sit up on the deck to teach their lessons and for the most part don't have to walk in the dirt. Must scrub the heck out of their horses' legs every day. So don't have to deal with sprinklers and water all summer because of the miracle Stuff.

So when us dog people show up on Wednesday, first thing we have to drag the stuff out of the trailer and set up in the dirt. I teach class in the dirt. Beginners have dropped out because of the dirt, now salad dressing coated black tire dirt. We're used to it now, just slog through it, clumping on boots and coating pants legs. White legged dogs? Black by the end of their class.

Last night, it was muggy. We don't really have muggy as a season usually. Was kind of muggy all day. Ran my dogs at the beach on the way to work, in the muggy. Got nice and sweaty before work. Rode too many horses at work in the muggy and dragged too many jumps around in the muggy and got nice and sweaty and coated with dirt layer number one. Regular dirt though. Went to agility in the muggy and did the fun begin. By the time I was ready to run my dogs and Hobbes, you could barely see who I was through the dirt coat. All clothing now dirt colored. Ran 3 dogs on a bunch of runs, they were all nice and fast so I was running nice and fast in the muggy and sweating up a storm. Getting coated with more and more dirt by the minute. Every inch of skin somehow now coated, every inch of clothing sticking and dirt coated.

Topped off the evening by tearing down the course and dragging the black salad dressing tire dirt coated equipment back into the trailer in the nice muggy evening, now turning foggy so a cooling version of muggy. You've torn down a course. You've made salad. Imagine tearing down the course inside a salad bowl which is black ooze while you're standing in the black ooze and dragging your heavy stuff through the black ooze.

Salad dressing coated dirt stays nice and oily like this for months. Gustavo ran around in it for a few minutes between classes, ran a few steps, clumps attached to him like velcro within seconds, he has some nice dirt attracting fur apparently. Doesn't clump up on the other dogs. He's so little and the dirt oh so close. Sort of what happens to him in burrs and stickers. He kind of ran, clumped, sat down, declumped, ran, clumped, like that.

We all drive home like that. Dirty and clumpy and it's dark so you can't see. Considered taking off dirty sweaty work ensemble in car to drive in underwear then can't bear the pain of this thought. All options equally bad. Walk in the back door and black, oily footprints immediately dancing everywhere on the laundry room floor where I don't even care because all I can do is tear off the dirt clothes and consider burning them then just try to forget about it until next Wednesday night.

In this episode, we relive one of the lesser fun moments of the dog show.

Masters Gamblers is our albatross bird hanging off our earlobes. Neither dog got the gamble this weekend. Non agility friends, go draw a line in the dirt. Now go stand behind your line. Then look out about 100 miles across the horizon to some things like jumps and tunnels. You will have to squint to see them glimmering, miragelike in the distance. Now just tell your dog to go out there and do this jump and then do this one the other direction then run into that end of the tunnel over there and then when you come out of it go over that jump that is 100 miles even farther away and then bring me a cocktail and don't forget a pineapple slice on the edge of the glass.

Yeah.

So I went to practice this morning before work and set up the exact gamble from the weekend. Was the first thing we did. Let me just see if they can just get out of the car and do that gamble from 100 miles away.

Yep. No problem. They are like, what's the big?

So I make some harder ones. With the dreaded weave poles. Weirdo turns. Coming in from weirdo angles. Throw a dogwalk in. Yep. No problem. That all you got for us?

You wacky little dogs.

When one of them just vanishes.

Someone asked me today, do the other dogs know Timmy is gone? I wonder that too. He was such a big part of our life, and really, so much of our life revolved around taking care of him. He was our clock. Not that they did anything to help, but they could only eat or walk at certain times based on Timmy being awake or asleep or up or down. None of them had a life with me that was a life without Timmy. We were a package deal. They never got asked, "You want fries with that?" No choice. You got what you got. That's how it goes when you're a dog.

So I made sure they all saw him that day. They were in the next room, locked in crates with chewies, the whole time the vet was over. I wanted it calm and quiet and no spontaneous howling events or frantic chases after stuffed squirrels. The other dogs, the vet, they all were subjected to my endless loop of slideshow on the computer that I made for Timmy. Come to my house, you will be sat down and perhaps tied to your chair through this parade of the endless photos I have of him while a special song loops over and over. It's sort of high tech moody teenager with a mix tape and photo wall, but you know. I may have sort of stunted developmental personality disorders.

Afterwards, his little chest no longer rising and falling, not moving in my arms, Gary let everyone out and they all came and saw him. Don't know what they thought. Actually, probably they thought, where did my chewie go? I got them really god chewies.

Gustavo? Um. His little world didn't much revolve around Timmy. The Timmy he knew was always old and sick and not a whole lot of fun to play with. Timmy was no Otterpop when it comes to bitey face and chasing and attack missions. He was just the dog that had the slimey food and the best food bowl to lick clean is maybe what he misses. Is the dog that got cheese for treats! Is the dog that walked so slow! Is the dog we needed to jump over because blocking where I would like to be running! Is what Gustavo knows of Timmy. Which is ok. Gustavo was my birthday present last year when I was worried I'd be losing Timmy sooner rather than later. Gustavo was got as a friend for me, not for Timmy.

Otterpop seems crabbier and a little meaner. A little quicker to trigger at stuff that bugs her. It's hard to tell with her though. She's always like that. But did have one helluva dog show over the weekend. I asked her at one point, "Are you doing this for Timmy?" Not sure if she comprehends sentences that don't have the word FRISBEE in them so I'll never find out. Maybe there's a secret competition going on I don't know about for someone to fill the position of Best Dog? Like going to be like Hilary vs. Obama, making Gustavo a John Edwards? Do I have to go through a year of dog primaries? Timmy was important to Otterpop, she could guard him against evil. I hope she's not mad because she thinks she failed him and he vanished. I didn't really get Otterpop to be anyone's friend especially, found her and kept her because was afraid to unleash her on anyone else. She became Ruby's evil other half, if a dominatrix loudmouth who won't let you have the tennis ball counts as that. But ended up as Timmy's protector, the one who was ready to kick some ass at a moment's notice if anything threatened her fragile charge.

Ruby is different. She is definitely acting weird. OK, she always acts weird, but it's different weird. She spent the longest with him after, sniffing and noticing that he wasn't really there anymore. Before running off to go look for her chewie again. She was with Timmy the longest, she is 7, almost 8 years old and had Timmy in her life all those years since I found her. I brought her home with the specific intent of a friend for Timmy and got that and so much more. This whole Team Small Dog stuff, we can blame that on Ruby. My introduction to dog training and aggression and prey drive and agility. She has never been a snuggly wuggly dog. Doesn't need a spot right by me on the couch, rarely wants a lap. Kind of does her own thing, is aloof, likes to sleep in a dog crate and not up on the bed. So ever since, she's up with us on the couch. On my lap. A better friend for me. She is the one I feel a difference from. Sticking closer. Knows he is gone, maybe that she could be gone too?

I have this video a friend took, of the one actual dog show Timmy went to with Gary to watch me and Ruby. One dog show forever was enough for Gary, and Timmy didn't need to sit in an xpen all day, could be at home with Gary on dog show days, eating pancakes. In this video, every time I call "Ruby!", you hear Timmy off camera start wild barking. Then you see Ruby start to run over towards the wild barking. Then you hear me holler "Ruby!" again. And she comes back over and does a jump or whatever as you hear Timmy start barking again, and you see Ruby start to run over there again. And so on and so forth, as we sort of stagger our way around a Starters course. Halfway through the course I was laughing so hard almost peed my pants out there.

A couple of days at the USDAA.

Since I had paid a bucket of money, and orchestrated the mission control project known as making a Saturday off of work possible, I decided life goes on and just go to the dog show. So off we went, for 2 of the 3 days of the Bayteam USDAA Fourth of July Fiesta. Am glad I did. Lots of kind words from you all about my Timmy, and lots of people who know exactly the way you feel when you lose the best dog. And with my attitude of just enjoy the dogs because they won't be here forever.

So where do I begin? Since our theme this week has been heartbreak, can I tell you a new tale of heartbreak? Perhaps not scrawled with tattoo guns and thick needles, or a fiery cowboy brand seared across my heart, but maybe a Sharpie writing in medium bold strokes. The thick kind of Sharpie. Total tagger graf kind. Not a skinny sharpie, my friend Hobbes. Who was knocking out a stunning standard run, tight turns and speeding along when the rest of his day was maybe a little slow. And we came to the Table. The dreaded. The evil. And for the first time, Hobbes, with the beautiful tail and bellowing woof, brown gold lizard eyes and big chomping teeth, didn't even blow me a kiss. Not a peck on the cheek. Considered for a second, teaser, then stood there. Eyes staring straight at me, then diverted, and just said, No.

Not sure if he wants to break up, dear diary. I don't think it's someone else. I missed his next standard run from a holdup in the Gambler's ring with Otterpop, and a highly qualified ringer took my place and he just danced around up there like she was shooting a six gun at his toes. Is it him, not me? Is that what he would have told Rob had they gone to counseling? Old patterns hard to break and replicating themselves? I'm just the rebound person and I'll just have to accept groveling at his feet while they stand up straight on that table from now on if we don't break up? But I told him I loved him. We always have a great time on Wednesday nights, where he runs like rocket and flies into his table down in a heartbeat. I guess he just thinks it's some casual thing. Did I get too serious on him? He needs his space? I just can't deal with this right now, Hobbes.

And Ruby. Talk about couples counseling. She's my steady and true dog at home, watches me, listens to me, sets an example. With me on every walk. Plays and runs like the wind when we practice, and has been knocking out the stellar dogwalk contacts. So we had 2 runs that I loved, she loved, we both loved. Was like running a tiny bullet around. I have to be one of those screamy handlers with her and it just makes her fly faster. And I made an error at the very end of each that cost a Q, or in the snookers, a Super Q. A little handler screw up from my giddiness of a kick ass run. But it was ok. Because it's about the joy and the dog and the fun and I am trying to let go of ADCh envy. Learn to love the lifetime achievement points perhaps we rack up with useless, extra Q's in things.

But on some runs, we just disconnected. Is she trying to tell me something? She didn't seem sore, I think she was as sound as she gets. The weather, was nice. The running surface, within her realm of acceptable. But something just didn't click with us, ships passing in the night, and we had some weirdo runs with offbeat timing that threw me for a loop. A bar in the gamble. Dogwalk contact here, slow startline there. I went off course in the Grand Prix I was so rattled. A horrible jumpers.

I dunno, Ruby. I have never been quite able to figure you out. We got you through the fireworks and everything with our booming Classic Rock party in every room of the house fireworks night, we do that for you. I thought we were tight. I thought we were through this phase in our lives. The patterns repeat. What would they tell us in couples counseling? We need better communication skills, us both? I know there are tiny witches that talk to you in there, they tell you weirdo obsessive things, but I thought they weren't coming with us this weekend. Maybe they didn't, I offended you somewhere? Front crossed too close? Let Otterpop play with your chewie? I dunno, I dunno.

So, ok, anything nice happen at the trial? Maybe won a dog toy in the workers raffle? Got a good parking place? Got to the porta potty right after the suction truck sucked it clean and added fluffy new toilet paper?

Well, let me tell you about my Otterpop. I'm calling her Otterpop 4.0. I can't believe it's my Otterpop who couldn't be near a truck. Or a man. Or couldn't take a step without a frisbee glued into her mouth to keep her from going postal on all of the above. With a hair trigger temper and no self control. Otterpop 3.0 got over that stuff from Otterpop 2.0, but creepy creeped around the agility field, feeling naked maybe without her frisbee. And exposed to all the prying eyes that could shoot poison darts through her heart. Otterpop 4.0, maybe not the fastest 12" dog out there, but maybe not the slowest. Maybe starts off the start line a little shakey, scopes the venue for judges, zombies, you name it, then settles in, focuses, and makes up time best she can. Didn't put a foot wrong. Had some bobbles here and there, one ring had a scarier judge and a dreaded loudspeaker system actually attached to the judge so she could call out gamblers points which would have sent Otterpop 3.0 right into a tizzy then and there, but this Otterpop just trucked along, maybe didn't get the gamble, but still.

Did you hear me out there? About all I could ever exclaim was, "Otterpop I am So Proud of You!" Over and over, run after run. I am so not a screamer when I run Pop. More like a chatterer of words of love. She has to feel the love when she runs. Lots of Q's, her first super Q, second in the Grand Prix. Won a standard. Flew around the Steeplechase finals, even though Jack the sheltie beat her by a good chunk of seconds. But hello. Otterpop in Steeplechase Finals? Right? Yep, because it's Otterpop 4.0. Never got tired, always happy to go out and run. Maybe is like how you feel when you win a Pulitzer Prize. Your kid graduates medical school and moves to Africa to stop aids. David Lee Roth picks you out of the groupie lineup. Whichever. How I felt after every time Otterpop tried her hardest and told me she never wants to stop.

Sincerely yours.

Thanks everyone, who sent kind emails and put in comments, and who had a kind word to say about Timmy at the dog show this weekend. You guys are a class act.

Yeah, I forgot to tell you we had a dog show, even did all the scheduling to have a free Saturday to go to 2 of the 3 days. Sort of forgot about it this week, but it was nice to go and do something with the other dogs. Maybe would be more useful to like, help stop global warming or something, but whatever. I'll tell you all about it later. Honestly, Q's and Super Q's sort of seem not so important right now. Just spending time with my dogs, a fine and valuable thing. Dogs don't have enough days in their lives.

Hypothetical conversation that you could have when your dog dies.

Husband is puttering around the kitchen shuffling stacks of paper about perhaps. Putter, putter, putter. Wife enters house.

Wife opens up refrigerator for a nice cold beer refreshing glass of anti-oxidant health juice.

Wife: Boo hoo hoo hoo blubberyglubbery sobsob a weepy sobsob huhhuh huhhuhhuhhuh.

Husband: What? What? What happened??

Wife: The dogfood glubblubsnifflewhiffle I see his Dooooggfooooodd snifflegliffleglubhuhuhuhuhuhuhhh.

Husband: Whaat??

Wife: The dooogfooood blubberysobsobsobsob I can see his Dooooggfooooodd huhuhuhuhuhuhhhsniffsniffsniff waaaaaaaaaah.

Husband: Huh? What the hell??

Wife grabs a can of dog food out. The special expensive senior kind that her voodoo belief thought perhaps would keep dog alive longer and give strong teeth and bones, etc. and also that dog would actually eat.

Holds up. Tears streaming, running, eyes a-red, sniffling, glubbering, making noises very unpleasant to hear and also make.

Then everyone is crying for a moment. The dog food even makes the husband cry! Or perhaps is just rubbing off of from wife. Weeping all around. Then everyone looks at the dog food can. Goddamnit. This is a dog food can and dog food should not make one cry and weep and so forth.

Wife: Oh my GOD! Dog Food. Dog food! Weeping caused by dog food! (Note to actors playing this part, assuming role of wife played by Courtney Love here, have to make sure to use correct inflection which mixes sort of SoCal surfer accent with ranch lady voice ala Luz Benedict from the movie Giant. Not really sure how to explain that accent in writing. I think you have to actually hear. Is an accent inflected with random and useless "likes" and "totallys" and I think you go, like, UP, at the end of the word when you say it? But also sound a teensy bit mean like you can kick some serious bad horse ass.)

Then everyone starts sort of giggling for a moment. Goddamn it. Nothing is funny about dog food and nothing is funny about the best dog in the whole world dying. On cue, add howling starting sort of quiet then all of a sudden, the sound of 3 tiny and loud jackals or perhaps coyotes swells up like in a sort of orchestral way if orchestral can involve tiny, piercing banshee sounds which are pretty funny for a while until Wife goes over and starts yelling at all the bad dogs to shut up and can't you guys be more like. Oh shit. Like Timmy.

Husband: I'll throw it away.

Wife: Like hell.

Now I'm like a CIA conspiracy ranter.

I had a dream. I won't tell you all the details because it was, you know, crazyland.

But long story short, Timmy had made it back home. So I woke up explaining to Gary either angels or zombies delivered him home to me or could he have woke up at the vet's office and escaped and walked home even though he could barely walk?

Also I was slightly worried in the dream, besides the possibility of all of the above, a terrorist plot had organized his safe delivery home and then Timmy and I were embarking on some kind of new adventure as CIA covert special agents and we were going to have to go on the lam. That is exactly the kind of mess Timmy would get me into. So in the dream part, I couldn't tell anyone he was home.

You never know. CIA, zombies, angels, miracles, everyone says those are all real and actually exist, even though you never meet them. As far as you know. Like this lady I saw 3 times walking around my neighborhood yesterday, I'd never seen before. My first thought is she's lost. My next thought is she's shifty. But like, maybe a zombie? Or miracle granter? Or CIA agent? And like, the whole zombie angle, bummer man. Flesh-eaters.

Gary says it's just a dream. Because I miss him. I still had to look for him all over the house. But he wasn't there.

Timmy Best Dog

I got Timmy when I was 26 years old. Kurt Cobain and Princess Diana were both alive, and I wished they were my friends. I ended up with Timmy instead. Walked into a dog pound out on some country road identified with only a number, and picked him out. Scrawny and unsocialized and shivery in the back of the cage, I crouched down there and he slowly came forward and sniffed my finger. Was probably wearing paint splattered cut offs with black Converse one stars, same shoes they found Kurt dead in when shot himself in the head a couple years later. Opened the chain link door on the big dog cage holding a little dog, and that was that. Was the kind of dog pound that didn't care I was a grad student without an address, didn't need to know I lived on the sly in an old metal building that was supposed to just be a painting studio. Walked Timmy out of there and never looked back. Who knows you're having a day when you just picked out the best friend you will ever have?


After that, never went anywhere without Timmy. Maybe never really trained him, he just stuck with me. Rode in a crate on the back of my bike, next to me on the seat of my old truck, and if I needed to go somewhere no dogs allowed, just shoved him in a duffle bag and in he came. That's just how it was with me and Timmy.


Was Timmy perfect? Far from it. He would bark with the best of them. Sort of his signature. Bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark and then some. Could sniff out a rotten burrito in the street a mile away then scurry away with it and could never catch him til it was scarfed down his little garbage swilling gullet. Sometimes walked slower than everyone else just because he wanted to, creeping like a turtle. And had a wandering gene. But pretty minor things and his real name was always Timmy Best Dog.


Timmy didn't go in dog shows, didn't have fancy toys and accessories. Liked to chew on pens and little sticks for a hobby. Once I had to duke it out with an old homeless dude on Market Street who grabbed Timmy up from the sidewalk and started running with him, screaming at me that I stole his dog. I did, man. I pounced on that old guy and grabbed him back into my arms so tight and ran with him running after me, lunatic screaming I was stealing his dog. Ran fast and far away from him. Once was walking him down some other street in San Francisco, late at night, and a drunk got throw right out the door of a bar, right into me. Timmy went shutzhund on him, barking and lunging and biting and all 20 some pounds of him keeping that drunk guy at bay. Guy never knew what hit him. Me and Timmy, we did stuff like that for eachother.


Don't really know what else to tell you. Timmy has been everywhere I have in the last almost 16 years. Been through a slew of careers and back again. Lived in cities and forests and ranches and by the beach. Ate a bunch of pancakes and tacos and burger and fries the last few days. I know he needed to be all done with this life but doesn't make it any easier yet. I hope he finds Princess Di and Kurt and my sister and Anthony whose triple expensive Italian couch he peed on once and they all hang out together sometimes, walking up a long beach somewhere at low tide, watching him run in the water and chase birds, barking like a maniac, waiting til I get there too someday. That's what I need to believe.

RIP Timmy. Our Beloved. Best Dog
February 14, 1993-July 2, 2008

In his world, we are the ghosts and he is trying to be.