Swimming with Team Small Dog for peak agility performance if by performance you mean like if the clowns declare fiasco day in tiny car land?

So we're a few days off from the Bayteam Regionals. Great big dog show fiesta extravaganza, and I want the team at their peak performance level. Stopped at the practice field on the way out to work, and just did a little bit of practicing, quick, due to the whole part about actually going to work. You know the drill. Train don't complain, practice makes perfect, and pancakes are delicious but don't eat like a man.

Then the dogs slept away the day while I worked. Was another hot one, so on the way home I decided to stop at Nisene Marks again, the redwood forest conveniently located halfway between my house and my barn. Deep dark forest, with carbon emission laden free parking down the hill by the yoga place. A state park, yet in our crappily governated, financially decrepit state, no rangers down there. Perfect spot for some dog running.

I like to go to The Swimming Hole by the Abandoned Car. Perhaps you've been there. More of a stroll than a mountain hike to get there. You walk up the park road, in the shade of the big trees, past the yurt and the hairpin turn where the guys that ride big clanky mountain bikes with motocycle helmets almost try to KILL YOU. Geez, motorcycle helmet on bikes guys. Downhillers, I think that's what they're called. Look out for those guys. They wear bullet proof vests and tin cans on their legs so they don't mangle themselves when they hit people or rocks or tree trunks, I guess.

Anyways, take the trail off to the left and let the dogs go and hope there's no joggers and the dogs know the way down to the swimming hole. We all run fast to get there. I like running through the forest, still in my work clothes which are also dog walking clothes which are also party clothes which are also exercise gear. You get those makeover Stacey and Clintons to figure that kind of shopping out.

Recently, my friend Kelsey told me my style of running has a name. Fartlicking. So there. Peak performance at the Regionals, here we come. Thanks to fartlicking. In skinny jeans.

Run down to where the trees get darker and taller and past the old abandoned car with everbody's names all scripty wrote on it, vines climbing through it's rusty black orifices. How a car got there, we'll never know, but it tells you you're on the way down to the high wall gulch swimming hole.

Swimming hole, maybe a stretch. It's down deep in a little gulch and I never see anyone down there. And actually, the word swimming may be a stretch. Not sure if the way Team Small Dog swims is what people mean when they take their dogs swimming. I hear people say, Oh, we took the border collies swimming. And I wonder, could they mean THIS? Is what me and Team Small Dog do when I take them swimming what most dog people do? Because, frankly. Team Small Dog swimming, just plain wierd.

I have no photos to show you because I just can't master the taking action photos with a point and shoot down in the deep, dark forest. Maybe you have some hints. You will just have to imagine the rest.

The swimming hole is maybe 3 or so feet deep at the deepest, darkest, slimiest part. Any water over about 10" high is swimming water for my short little pets. Ruby is a toe wader. She can't swim for shit, that one. Sinks. Only in emergencies or mistake entrances into bodies of water over 10" deep. Remember Water Hyacinth Goose? At the swimming hole, she busies herself digging holes in the mud and dropping her sticks in, and wading through the shallows, dragging things around on the slopey bank. Running around and with projects only Ruby understands.

Those other two though, sort of swim. Sort of like I sort of sing. You heard me sing? I do a mean Sean McGowan of the Pogues if I'm locked in a car for too long. Lots of spitting. Shouty. Carry a tune like I carry around those agility sandbags. By dropping them. Hard. On someone's foot. In flip flops.

So Otterpop, who usually swims in the forest swimming hole, obsesses on one stick. In a forest of millions and trillions and gazillions of sticks, she only has eyes for one, which is the one I throw in the deepest part of the swim hole. No other stick will do and she becomes this frantic, whiney, shaking, shivering chihuahua of a thing when that stick goes to where she thinks it's too deep until she LAUNCHES herself out to get it and swims back in with it and drops it for me to throw again. That stick. Only. Although she seems to not love the swimming, she will do it if it means she can GET THAT STICK. Many sound effects ensue. Special sounds that are totally reserved for this completely macked out, obsession over the stick in the water. Like sounds I think sound like a wheezing pitbull who can also hum but not hum in a happy way. In a shrill way. Shrill, wheezy, hummy sounding.

Gustavo's swim method involves running like some kind of freaked out meth head maniac up and down the banks until frantically LAUNCHING himself after Otterpop to get to the stick first. Although he usually misses the actual stick part and swims out and grabs any other floating object instead. A leaf. A slime moss. Brings it back to me and then takes off for a few mysterious minutes up the steep banks into the forest. Before flying back down like a machine gun bullet and relaunching as needed. Over and over and over again. Frankly, his behavior in the forest is completely insane and sometimes I wonder what goes on in his head. Like we are talking jacked up circus freak on a danger motorcycle just let out of prison during the hooker parade insane. I let him do his thing, as if there were any other options, and keep throwing Otterpop's stick out for her so I can hear her weird soundsand watch her go into obsessive compulsive repetitive motion hell until finally LAUNCHING herself out and swimming out to get it. I am thinking, this is the peak performance part?

Gustavo seems to hate swimming, yet can't stop himself from it. Otterpop seems afraid to swim, yet can't stop herself from it. They are more speed waders, but you get that stick in the mix and the swimming just happens. Inevitably, frighteningly, entertainingly. For some of us.

So this goes on until I throw a new stick into the other part of the swimming hole, down the river a bit, where the big log is. Off they go, another round of swim freak, until somehow Otterpop has wrenched her shivering, soaked chihuahua body up and onto that log. So Gustavo goes across too. The log is on the other side of the creek, I might hasten to add. Involved a short swim to it and then they are both up and running up and down that log. Otterpop because she can see the stick floating away before her very eyes and Gustavo because Otterpop is running around on the log and the whole circus freak just let out of prison thing.

An important fact to add emphasize at this point in the story is that they both swam over there. Swam little dog bodies across the river. A very small river, but still a river. You see where I might be getting here?

Because all of a sudden, they are both stuck on the other side. Me and Ruby are over here and they are over there and Ruby all of a sudden is like PARTY ON DUUUUDE and racing around on her own private dog beach while pitbull heaving hum whistling and monkey whinging meth running are full blast weirding out on the log on the far away side of the creek and they cannot figure out how the hell did we get stuck here?

I'm a nice dog lady, I'm calling and telling them what super swimmers they are, which is a total lie, but isn't that what you do to get your dogs out of a pickle? Lie through your teeth about their fantastic swimming skills because it's possibly going to get dark soon and maybe there are skunks in this forest?

Running up and down the log and then finally Otterpop LAUNCHES herself back into the water and swims across and like that was so hard Otterpop?

Gustavo however, is not using the same skills of reasoning that Otterpop did. Being that if you swim one way, you can swim back again. He is crying and whining and leaping around and flailing but not going to throw himself off that log into the water. And like hell am I wading across to go get him. Me and bodies of water that are not chlorinated and can feature sharks, snakes, frogs and slime, we don't mix. Never the two shall meet. He's on his own.

He's being creative. Can get out onto this other little branch that's lower in, standing like a 4 legged parrot there, screaming at us to come get him. I feel sort of bad, he looks REALLY upset. He's sensitive. Teeter totters make him cry and he's afraid of stumps. Now he's stuck on a mossy old log and everyone else is either having a private beach party or barking at a stick or shouting lies across the water. Life is pretty sucky right now if you are Gustavo.

I throw Otterpop's stick in so she'll swim over near him and he can see how easy it is. And I do that again. And again. And again. And again. Little buddy is just on an endless loop and is not rebooting. Frantic. I'm beginning to wonder. Has he just lost his mind now? Forest creature going to be stuck in the forest? Maybe where there's wilder animals than skunks that would eat him. And he'd get cold and hungry out there, on his creek log. Come ON Little Buddy!

Finally, with Otterpop out there, flailing around after her stick, he climbs as low as he can on that log, looks like a skinny little cat now, drenched and not the most athletic little dog out there. Fast, yes. Agile? Let's just say his talent at agility involves the fast running part. Not the most coordinated one in the bunch. Would possibly be the last one picked for any team that doesn't need super speedy running. But he does it, gets low, parrot stance on a branch and then FLINGS his skinny little self in and swims the very short distance back to Otterpop and runs away up the bank, back into the forest and the poison oak patch. Always poison oak patches in our forests. We just deal with it.

Back we fartlick, me and the whole team, along the trail, Otterpop stopping now and then to throw herself down into the dust and roll around and take off, and Gustavo happy to be on dry land again, and back out of the forest we go.

So this is what you guys mean by dog swimming? Just for clarification? Super exercise for peak fitness? I sort of have this feeling, Team Small Dog swimming, might be sort of, kind of, not.

Hiking the Suburbia Sewage Trail.

There's another forest near my house, that runs through the neighborhood known as Suburbia. There's not much going on up there in Suburbia, other than it connects the lower Westside to the upper Westside, which is near the University, which is the Gateway to the Forest. The path starts down on the lower Westside. Just look for the chain link fence next to the subsidized apartments. Ends up at the Upper Westside, by the super big houses built on old ranches and the park with the tennis courts by the Jewish cemetary. Suburbia, sandwiched in between.


This forest is sort of different than the real forest. For one thing, it's just a big canyon for suburbia to look down on. A bunch of it is paved. Right? In suburbia, they pave the forests. The foilage is limited to Eucalyptus trees, blackberry bramble and poison oak. And a sewer runs underneath it. It's a convenient location for teenage rebellion drinking. Dude. It's Suburbia.


The sewers flow deep underground. But not so deep you can't hear rushing water. Is that the sound of Suburbia flushing? Suburbia, you all up there taking showers right now? We can hear you, down here in Suburbia Canyon.


Or maybe we can smell you. Sure smells good to Otterpop. Smells so good she's going to roll it all on her. Every manhole cover, like a gateway to fragrant sewer smell. We just do things different in this forest.


There's some brackish swimming holes too. The convenient location to Suburbia somehow means every single person we saw down there was a lady in a jogging costume. And every single lady had exactly 2 labs or exactly 2 goldens, and one of every single lab or golden pair was also mean. And every single one of them had a personal brackish swimming hold staked out for tennis ball throwing dog swimming. They must have good dog washing tubs up there in Suburbia.


He's brackish. I think this is right after they had to all run away from the mean black lab. And you'll never believe this. It belonged to a lady in a jogging costume, and her other one was nice. She makes a point to tell us this after she lets the mean one go after the team. Hey lady. I didn't get a chance to tell you those labs make your ass look fat.


On the forest scale, this one is pretty lame. But it's another chunk of land that I've found, somewhere near my house, where no one cares if my dogs aren't tied up on leashes. So it might stink like shit, but actually, the dogs sort of like that.

Team Small Dog is not now and has never been, manic.

The lady looks like me, but with black hair. She has a little tan dog, sort of Otterpop and Ruby type. He's running wild with Gustavo and I'm keeping my distance. She looks nice enough, probably not crazy, but I'm just standing over there and squinting at the horizon line across the Pacific. Gustavo and her dog are ripping up and down the beach. She inches her way closer to my way and I know it's inevitable.

GodDAMN, doesn't KILL you to talk to humans sometimes.

"What kind of dog is that?" Her hair is in one braid, mine's in two. She has on shorts and a blue men's jacket like the one I always wear. We're the same height and probably wear the same pants size. Clearly the same taste in dogs.

"I dunno. Just a little fast black dog." Usual answer. Short, simple sentences. A lot of words with strangers makes everything way too complicated. By the end of the day, I already spent my talking to humans coupons.

"Maybe he's a schipperke? Or chihuahua. Definitely chihuahua. Or border collie? Look at him run! Definitely chihuahua. Or border collie. Runs like a chihuahua. And a border collie. Could he be a Boston terrier? My dog's from Merced. They pull the small dogs out of those shelters out there and bring them here. Got him at the shelter. Border collie, hey he runs like a border collie. What is he?"

She's not exactly, just chatty. More like posessed. I sort of nod and smile and mumble my usual answers when she stops. My answers are boring and dumb. "I dunno. Just a dog."

"I got my dog when I was manic. I used to be manic and I was in an emotional state, and you know, that's not a good time to get a dog. Because when I got my old dog I didn't even know and I didn't think to check his teeth and his teeth were so bad he died in 3 weeks. I had the dog 3 weeks and the teeth made him die and so I learned when you're in an emotional state to not get a dog and even though I got him I made sure to check his teeth. You checked his teeth right?

The dogs have run in now, to where she's crouched on the filthy sand. Mitchell's. The beach that smells like sewage. Shit beach. Covered in rotten seaweed.

Gustavo loves all people, and has no shyness about climbing on to a perfect stranger's chest to lick them in the face. She holds on to him, and looks in his skinny little mouth.

"You checked his teeth right? Have you seen his teeth? I went to the VCA and it was $285 for the whole teeth cleaning and I have pet insurance and you better take a look at his teeth because you know, it can kill them. The pet insurance makes it not so bad. I think the premiums are $25 and there's coverage for wellness and (something something all these numbers she's rattling off and I'm watching the pelican) It's expensive though, but you don't want them to die. You know, I get this newsletter from this Boston terrier lady and she was just recommending this supplement. You know, to build calcium for their teeth? I forget what it is. Like vitamins? It would probably help him. I just heard about it. You might like that newsletter."

I'm exhausted from listening to her. I thank her, without really opening my mouth. Then smile. Goddamn. You're supposed to smile at people. Can she see my fake tooth? She's still talking.

I start to explain the thing about he probably had distemper as a puppy. Crappy, rotten teeth with no enamel. But all of a sudden, it seems really complicated and too hard to explain. So I stop.

She has a moustache. I think she's still talking.


Me and the dogs prefer to walk around in the closed off parts of the day. Land of the lost. No one around. Not that I especially want to be invisible, but it's preferable to be where things are abandoned, the people erased. The part of the day where the sky is gray, and maybe you see the one legged guy emptying aluminum into his hefty bag, or a beanie guy with ragged face on his cruiser, wearing ugg boots and riding by slowly, drinking a beer. There's some houses around that are empty, and some days I like to walk by and look in their windows. Just to see the spaces filled with air.

My mom is reading a book that explains the difference between introverts and extroverts. She's learning what everybody is now.

So I'm telling this to Gary, who has like, no friends. Because he just might be an introvert.

"My mom says I'm an introvert. You too. And her."

He's all, "How does she know this?"

"She's reading this book that tells you. Right? Doesn't that make sense? Remember how I was just wishing that the whole population of Santa Cruz County just vanished?*"

He's all, "Uh, I think that's different than introvert. Doesn't that count as anti-social behavior?"

"Oh." I have to think for a minute. Yeah, it's possible sometimes I'm anti-social.

But also part of the time, I am like super nice! Bubbly! Friendly and helpful! Glinda the good witch floating in her magic bubble.

I don't want anyone dead. I'm pretty sure that would be anti-social. Don't want anyone messed up. Just invisible. And I'm not going to, like, DO this. Not a unibomber. Not a columbine. I just like to imagine the landscape how it looked before there were houses on every spot. When it was just land, with dirt and brush and trees here and there. When it was quiet. I like people just fine, but a lot of the time I don't want to see them. Like at work, and at dog agility, I'm totally ok with people. I like all my friends. Just sometimes, I need breaks where no one's around.


I was in the forest this morning, walking around by the spring on the side of the hill. It was cold, and damp, and a good day to just stay a little longer in the woods. From up top, above us, we heard the voices of a couple of hiker guys. I ducked down behind an old, burned out redwood stump, to see if they were coming down or continuing on the trail above us. Me and the dogs had crossed the creek on a skinny log, and were just walking around where it's ferns and mud, looking for sinkholes and slugs. Not really looking hard, mostly meandering to give Otterpop and Gustavo time to run up and down the slope.

The guys had walking sticks and little backpacks and were carrying water bottles. I could see them good, and I hoped they couldn't see me, down the hill, behind the stump. They have on gear. I was wearing navy blue slip on vans and a skirt and my legs were all covered in dirt. The dogs heard them, and we all stood very still for a little bit. All of us, behind that stump, staring up the hill and watching.

We're eavesdropping, and the hikers had never been up there, and they hadn't seen the spring box that has the fish in it. It's a big stone box that the spring fills and it's full of forest gold fish. People must dump them there and they grow to the size of slices of ham, in that cold spring water under the redwoods. Gustavo fell in already this morning, running too fast and didn't make it to the edge for a landing in time and just skimmed right in and had to swim out. He does that sometimes. Usually, no one else is up there. They're just a couple guys, talking too loud.

When their voices faded, we all hiked back up the slope to where they'd been. I sent the dogs up ahead of me with their, "Go Go Go" words from agility, which means run fast out in front of me as far as you can. It works in the forest too. I figured, the guys still up there, they could just see the trio of forest creatures go ripping by. I'd be way in the back, still behind the trees. Gustavo, he's all wet and covered in slime and redwood tree sticks, the other dogs are just dirty. They look like a pack of mud foxes. As they fly up the slope, the only sound they make now is the sound of thundering, tiny paw prints, pounding on the dirt. The hikers, they were gone, coast was clear. So I just let the dogs keep running as fast as they needed to and we made our way back out to the meadow.

Just another morning in the forest.

I took my camera out to the forest the other morning, hoping to try and get a picture of our spirit animals/people/joggers/fierce german shepherds. Would have been a huge bonus if there were any border collies and monkeys too, but didn't have as high hopes for them

Guess who we didn't see? I think I ruined it by telling. I guess spirit animals are like birthday cake wishes. You tell someone, and you just kiss that ranch goodbye. No spirit animals of any kind.


It's hard to get a photo of Gustavo in the forest. He doesn't really take breaks.


They all mostly look like this. Nice. I think you need special cameras and focusing and shutter speeds to take his picture. I just have my little spy cam. Which wasn't that great at spying because I didn't get the spirit animals photo, and by the time I whipped it out of my pocket to get a shot of the creepy guy toting giant plastic bags on his back and his dog, they scurried off into the bushes. He was a forest dweller. He was about as happy to see me as I was to see him. It was dark and foggy in the redwoods, and it is hard to get those action shots. Especially since I'm trying to have action too. We all run up and down the spring box slope a bunch of times before we walk run out of the forest.


I did catch him on one quick break at the spring box. An instant later, dove off and back down the hill.


This was cheating. I had treats.


Which was a good thing, because this was a new stump and guess who was afraid of it? So the powers of a cookie and the peer pressure of non stump fearers got him up there and standing still and everything. I did lure and not shape. Which you are not supposed to do with fear. I mean, but come on, Gustavo. The stump says Izzy loves Hopi. It's a luv stump.


Can I tell you who my favorite forest dog is? It's fun to watch Gustavo and Otterpop go, but they're completely loose cannons. Otterpop makes me nervous when we encounter those forest dweller guys or spirit animals. Gustavo is just such a blur, it's not really like we're hiking together. It's sort of like he is running a constant 50 yard radius around my path and rarely comes in for landing. But Ruby, she's sensible. I don't worry about Ruby if we encounter animals (today's animals included bunny, mole, unidentified tan dog sized unknown animal up ahead on a path, and a whole class of ladies with exercise bands doing squats). She's the one I trust not to chase a mountain lion. Dive off of a cliff. Chase down the yellow shorts shirtless guy that sprints along the path. Freak out at the old lady at the trail head doing tai chi in gardening boots.

But all of them, definitely true forest creatures.

Spirit animal visions in the forest.

I took the dogs up to the forest yesterday. Mondays are always my day off, and always a million things to do, like build a patio. Paint the house. Rehab a teeter totter. Which really means I end up attaching the mailbox to an old wooden horse body instead because, I don't even know what I was thinking. I get easily distracted and overwhelmed, and usually head up to the forest so I can let loose the forest creatures and sit in the mud ferns, under the redwoods, and just listen to the spring. While 2 of the forest creatures run up and down and up and down the steep slopes and exhaust themselves, and Ruby putters around under the giant old tree roots and in the spring box. I am way better at stuff like that than house craft. I can really APPLY myself up there, just sitting there and thinking about important topics like how do your draw fringey gloves on a monkey?

No matter what time I go to the forest, I always see the German Shepherd ladies. I've drawn their picture once or twice. Someone bought them on etsy. Two big, ferocious shepherd dogs, each with a big, tall lady in weather appropriate jogging clothes. See them up there, rain or shine, at different times of day. Saw them yesterday, and like they always do, carefully yank their dogs into downs on the side of the trail, stand over them, and yank them, murmuring, "Leave It", as I walk by with the small dogs. We always walk by fast, and Ruby always comes in close to me. I almost always pass them on the part of the path where I still have Gustavo and Otterpop leashed up. They kind of freak me out, the German Shepherd ladies and those big dogs. I always liked German Shepherds, but I get a creepy feeling from these 2 because of the way the ladies manage those downs and stand on top of them. Like maybe they've eaten small dogs before.


Last Monday, didn't go to the forest. I had to take my car to get fancy new, expensive brakes. Poor car. Getting old. It is outside crying for me to vacuum it, right now. I dropped off the car real early, and walked home by way of the river levee and through Beach Hill. Was a nice city hike, the dogs had to stay on leashes but it was a long walk and we saw a bunch of stuff we don't usually see in the forest. Buses. Different homeless guys, with shopping carts instead of backpacks. A lot of older, Latino gentlemen strolling along in polished cowboy boots and smart looking hats. Who always love Gustavo. Always impressed he came from Juarez. Those guys, never walk in the forest, but were out in droves on the levee. Way fewer moms with giant strollers and fancy jogging kicks and pastel baseball caps. Actually, none of those on the levee.

The levee has little beaches down on the river, but I'm always afraid of the dogs playing in needles and condoms and broken glass, which is maybe what you find on those little beaches. So we just stay up on the path, on leashes, and enjoy the scenery from the levee path. It's actually a pretty cool walk, my Santa Cruz friends. The river has a trickle of water in it you see through the willows, and you can see down into the backyards of the funny little mobile home park on River Street. You see cooler, more thought out graffiti on the backs of all the downtown buildings. Meet a different morning population of people. Sometimes who you don't find out are crazy people best kept at a distance until they're already petting your dogs. And then all those cool old houses and motels up on Beach Hill, above the Boardwalk on a quiet, foggy morning before the summer tourists take over. Maybe you walk there sometime, if you don't already.

And then they appear. The German Shepherd ladies.


I'm not kidding. They came running by me, at a steady trot, looking straight ahead, and on they go, fading off in the distance at their steady clip. The dogs on short, thick leashes, with prong collars and heavy black studded leather collars too. I'm all, WHOA! Because it's a Monday, and even though I'm not in the forest, I have to see them. This is a cosmicly, weird thing. But how did they know?

Clearly, only 2 possibilities.

One is, they don't exist and I just imagine them, like they are zombie figments of my imagination and I am THE ONLY ONE TO SEE THE GERMAN SHEPHERD LADIES so maybe they're ghosts?

Or two, somehow they have access to my most inner thoughts. Like which also, I think is a zombie power, the power of mind reading even if it's just once per week.


I'm not sure which it is. I think on this issue for a while. Because if I don't, I have to think about teeter totters and my bank account and where is the drill. Obviously, they are not zombies because they have never tried to eat any of our flesh, and actually go to great lengths to ensure our safety. Ghosts? Possible.

But then I realize, there's 4 of them, and there's 4 of us, if you count ladies and dogs both. Dogs and ladies, a simple math equation.

It's like a vision quest!

According to native american traditions that I am just making up right now, each one of us gets one free spirit animal per lifetime, and this weekly Monday sighting, and Monday being my most favorite day of the week, we get either a lady or a German Shepherd. Like what kind of rip off is that? No magestic squirrel. Proud monkey of the redwoods. Bison. I either have a the taller blonde lady that yanks her dog with a prong collar, the shorter, stouter one that yanks her dog down with a prong collar, or a big, probably mean German Shepherd for a spirit animal.

And which one is Otterpop's? Ruby's? Gustavo's? Isn't one of us supposed to be having a vision to sort it out? Does that mean I'm supposed to build a sweat lodge or use yarn to make a dream catcher and get a wolf painting?


When I saw them yesterday, I slowed down for a moment as we walked past on the far edge of the trail. Almost thinking, I should be asking them about this. Are they real, are they our spirit animals, or we all just have Mondays off and maybe their car had worn out brakes last week too? But they were so intent on their Leave Its, and holding down their dogs with their special German Shepherd leashes, that I just figured, maybe these are questions that best go left unsaid.

The story about the sun hats.

Yesterday morning we went up to the forest. Been keeping Ruby from running, so no one has been to the forest for a while. But since she looks fine right now, on her meds, took them up to the easy forest where usually only those other 2 run anyways. Ruby trots alongside me there. She's never liked this forest much. Not sure why. There's pesky joggers in there, and she always gets this paranoid, over the shoulder look when she senses people in tight pants running up behind her. Like the British are coming! if the British wear shiny black skin tight bottoms or little skimpy nylon shorts that flap over running legs. Whatever it is, she keeps her cool in this forest and no manic running. This is the forest though, where I have to keep Gustavo and Ottepop on leashes until we get up to the trail to the springs, where I let them run. So they're impatient.

It's spring break for a bunch of schools around here, so the other people using the forest today, besides homeless guys, the super scarey German Shepherd ladies and runners were moms with packs of kids in floppy sun hats. Like every single kid had a floppy cloth sun hat on. I guess global warming totally trying to fry baby skin on baby faces and that's what you do to your kids. But right? Isn't it weird to see these packs of kids and they're not related packs and EVERY SINGLE ONE, floppy cloth hat, held on by a string?

I have the forest runners out ahead of me, pulling me along with their combined 25lbs because they know the running part of this forest comes later and it's best to get there really fast. Like NOW, slow lady. Ruby doesn't ever wear a leash, and she's sort of lolly gagging along behind so we're not making very good time as we head out through the meadow to the woods. Team Small Dog manages to stay spread out sometimes, even when 2/3 of them leashed up to me. So one of the floppy hat kid gangs sort of making time on us, and I can hear the conversation with the mom and the 2 little shortie boys she has with her.

"Yes, the lady has THREE dogs."

"Can you count them, there's three"

I hear this a lot. The way parents talk to their kids who can barely talk, have to hold up pretty much both ends of the conversation since the shorter end basically just mumbles and can say meow and moo and woof.

"Yes, and they're all BLACK. Three BLACK dogs."

"I wonder what the doggies names are. Do you want to know the dogs' names?"

This lady, has a particularly grating kidspeak voice. I have blackboard fingernail of irritation walking behind me. The British are coming. I get it Ruby. I like kids. I probably talk to them weird too. But this lady's voice, already grating on me. Maybe it's the matching sun hats bugging me. I dunno.

"I don't know what their names are. Maybe the lady knows."

"Maybe the lady will tell you their names."

"I bet the lady will tell you their names."

So this is my cue, right? But it's like, Ms. Lady in your Oprah wear, drove your Hybrid Hylander up to the trail head and somehow got these floppy hats on your moppets and got them out of the car seats and onto the path, and hats off to you - no offense meant here, not trying to fry your skin - for getting them out of the house and this far. But it's like weird and almost passive aggressive, to keep kid speaking in a loud voice behind me, when I think you are asking me, actually, Adult, the question.

Your kids can't talk hardly, right? Maybe that kid mumble meow moo was them asking. But I'm pretty sure not. So Ms. Parent, with your frazzled look yet still well cut hair, how about you just ask me? Use your outside voice if you want. But hey lady, talk to me.

She's right up on me now, the kids sort of in tow, sort of under their own steam. Possibly problematic, if 2 kids dive on my dogs at once. Gustavo and Ruby, pretty darn bombproof but probably not perfect. Otterpop, never done a darn thing to a kid or anyone. But she's unpredictable and weird and doesn't like kids if they don't have a stick or a tennis ball. Would just prefer to not be near them and unknown kids launching themselves potentially on top of her, not a good thing.

So I stop. Gather up dogs.

"You want to pet a doggy?" I ask the kids.

"Look, it's the doggies! You can find out the doggys' names!"

Kids are fast approaching.

"Pet the red leash dog."

This is Gustavo. He's the best one. He likes everybody. Ruby will let kids pet her, but sometimes more interested in what they got. Crackers? Kids always have crackers. Or maybe ice cream. Useful to have different color leashes on everyone for this whole reason, because we walk in the neighborhood a lot and everyone always wants to pet doggies.

I line up Ruby in kid firing range. "Pet this one too. You guys - don't pet black leash dog."

Otterpop knows her cue. She's got a black leash, and she knows how to step behind me and just move herself away from kids. She's no dummy. If they're handing out food, she'll get in there, but otherwise, she just gets behind me, and frequently, lays down.

Goddamn lady still not talking to me. Talking to her kids. I'm right HERE lady.

"Careful petting the doggy. Do you like it? Only pet this one."

Gustavo, so cute with kids. They can hug him, squeeze him, and he licks them in his face. Ruby allows petting and will just quietly stand there and even let you poke her in the eye if you want. Because of that possiblity of crackers. Gustavo, he just likes people. Loves the attention. He has way more friends than me. Within 5 minutes hitting the beach on a busy weekend evening, he's made friends with 8 sets of picnics. People take their picture with him. Everyone loves Gustavo.

"This is Gustavo you guys, with the red leash. This one is Ruby. Otterpop doesn't like petting. Don't pet her."

Invariably, this sends all the kids over to Otterpop to stare at her. She lays down and looks away. I love this about Otterpop. She's very, very clear.

One of the kids steps on Gustavo and he kind of squeaks in pain, that small dog sound you hear when you step on one when they're milling about the kitchen floor while you're preparing cocktails or meat based snacks. The mom grabs the kids.

"CAREFUL! Oh my god! Are you ok?"

Lest you think she's saying this to my tiny dog with tiny feet, it's to the kid. She pulls them away.

"Are you OK? Did it hurt you?" She's grabbing the tinier kid's hand and checking. The kid is like, Huh? He has on tiny little orange sneakers.

Also, by the way, the mom has never once acknowledged me. I tell her, "He stepped on the dog. That was the dog."

She looks at me, finally. "What?" She has a pointy little nose like a beak.

"The dog. He stepped on the dog and he squeaked. He's ok. It happens to him a lot. He's little."

"You have to be careful with dogs. They can bite." She is sort of grabbing the kids back and away.

I'm irritated. That's a registered Pet Assisted Therapy dog there. That you're kind of insinuating possibly bit your kid, who's voice you can't tell from my dog's voice. I mean, whatever. But still.

I sort of stand there for a second. She has the kids backed up at a safe distance, like I'm showing them a nice, hungry snake. All I can think of is, damn, irritating lady. Good luck with this whole kid thing.

"Bye you guys." I'm off. Why bother. Give your kids your nervous dog phobia. I'm out of it.

We keep going. Passing other packs of kids in identical hats. Gap Kids had a sale? They pass these out now as regulation equipment?

We finally get up to the Spring Box trail. That's where running starts. No kids around. They don't walk out this far. German shepherd ladies, they took another route. Today they just ran by and one of the dogs, barking as she yanked and jerked it by us. Whoa. I let my dogs off, and for a while, it's just us up there on the forest trail, running up, to the top, down the side, back up and we do the trail a few times. Until I'm out of breath, Otterpop and Ruby out of breath, and Gustavo covered in redwood tree pieces and mud from running through the spring. But him, never out of breath.

We finally come back down to the main trail. Those 2 go back on leashes, Ruby goes back to her trot with me, and we walk back out to where it's going to be mini vans and floppy hats and more kids petting the doggies.

Team Small Dog fixes everything for Laura by just running around until she is smiling again.

Been a lot of ups and downs for me all having to do with land lately. Where I live, so beautiful with my ocean hooked to my mountains by my meadows, but less and less land for our horses and dogs. And I guess if you have camels and llamas and donkeys and huge, fanged cats, less for them too.


Unless you can buy it. But even for some folks that bought it a long time ago, or have some extra buckets, the biggest size, to buy it now, a lot of problems sharing the space with other people who are not neccessarily fans of dogs and horses. Or strawberries or apples or cows. They are mostly fans of their own houses.


Been going out to the forest more. Where indeed, not supposed to take the dogs. But still go out, find the paths that not frequented by the rangers, and be happy that it's a big forest, hundreds and hundreds of acres, where the paths are narrow and the redwoods shade the weird 70 degree January hot sun. And that I can still find ways to let my dogs run and run and run and run.

The perfect hybrid, which is a little like the perfect storm but not as wet.

I figured out Gustavo's perfect thing. We all should be so lucky to have so perfect of a thing. Forest Agility.

We went to an agility party at the beautiful agility house in the forest the other day. Thanks Kathleen and Stan! We only made it for a few minutes of the actual agility part, since I had to go to actual work that day too. But we got to run around a little bit. When the jumps out on the field went down to 12", took each member of Team Small Dog out for a spin. Had been a doozy of a work day. Just wanted to run around and have some fun, and so did the dogs. They were so happy to hang out, tied to a log, for a few minutes of barking and agility.

When it was Gustavo's turn, was a little nervous. All the agility people are there with their super trained dogs, and one of my agility friends who is also an agility super star. With her 12" dog. Who always beats Otterpop. She's never seen Gustavo yet. And you never know what Gustavo is going to do, especially in a forest. I guess being publicly humbled always good for personal growth if you are happy to be growing into something that lives under a rock. I want to be fancy and make a good impression. Not shameful and not worthy. Ha, HA look out Jack! Maybe someday, we could beat you! Or maybe not!

Put him at the startline, led out a couple jumps, and he was OFF. He has this funny go kart takeoff where he rears his head back and then blasts forward. It's like someone behind him powers up his tiny little motor with a string, and lets it loose in perhaps a somewhat unsafe manner that could take someone's eye out with that thing. KABLOOEY and YER OFF!

Holy moly, he loves to run. However, we are faced with a pardox, my friends. It is agility, yet it is forest. Forest is where there is no dog training and is for running amuck. So he sees a-frames, yet he also sees forest. The good dog trainers, their dogs just see the agility. The lazy dog trainers, their dogs also see forest. So his course sort of went like jump, jump, run around towards the forest. Jump, a-frame, run around towards the forest. Jump, jump, try to get him in the weave poles but instead run around in the forest.

Everyone is watching. I am mortified beyond belief by my bad training skills displayed in front of the world team coach and other accomplished and important members of the agility community yet also totally cracking up and also almost hyperventilating from having to run so fast. I KNOW Silvia Trkman says her secret weapon is forest running with the dogs but I think my forest running just creates forest running dogs. The Goo Show just keeps going on and I'm doing some laps around the field. HOWEVER, was basically a perfect hybrid of agility and insane forest running. So I believe this adds style points. As agility goes, let's just say really super wide turns if a quick jaunt towards the treeline between jumps counts as a turn and never did get through those weave poles. As forest running goes, fine job, Gustavo and thanks for not diving into any creeks.

I dunno. Was pretty fun. What can I say. I'm easily amused. Remember that Susan Garrett question, what separates you from World Class Competitors? Yeah.

One thing I want to work on this year is better editing skills in my writing.

On Monday, I was supposed to be cleaning out the artist studio garage and working on my exciting, upcoming work move that will squelch our agility career as we know it, I decided it was a good idea to take the dogs on another mad dash on a muddy path in the rain wearing totally unsuitable clothing walk in the forest to waste some time build our championship relationship. Before Oprah started.

This day we went to the more Starters Level Forest, because it offers convenient parking which is part of our city's greenbelt. This forest is sort of different because of the convenient parking for super fast sporty runners nice flat walking path for leathery old homeless guys to walk to their secret camping spots people who might not be able to do much clambering and bushwalking and crossing streams on suspended air logs.


Done editing now. I give up. I talk like this too. Since EVERYONE forgot to nominate me for this, no more editing. Ha, take THAT, reader.

And also, ladies with labs and now unseasonal holiday sweatshirts to enjoy the forest. Sorry holiday sweatshirt lady. We didn't mean to scare you. We use the Starters Level Forest a little different than the more Advanced Level big meadow forest. Because of the sporty runners, Otterpop stays on a leash until we get to the more foresty section, off the main path. And because lots of people walking around in there who don't neccessarily want an 11lb missile blasting into them, Gustavo stays on his leash until we get to the foresty section. Ruby can do whatever she wants in the whole forest, because she's a good dog.

And holiday sweatshirt lady, with her friendly yellow lab, she didn't know we were coming up through the foresty section. And also didn't know that I was going to be imitating monkey calls out there. I don't know what we were hearing at first, me and the dogs. Sounded like monkeys to me. And the dogs were so funny, stopping in their tracks every time they heard it. So when they would go running off, off and away, and I would make the monkey calls too. Except mine were like flying monkey calls. Just to freak the dogs out. Because that's how we build our relationship, out there in the forest. Freaking out the dogs with fake monkey calls.


Poor lady in her holiday sweatshirt. Who is smartly vacating the forest in time for the rain. And also planned for the rain with smart rain walking outfit. Me, just out there making monkey calls, dripping wet in cashmere and muddy slip on vans. While those dog missiles just keep flying around. Running on the foresty path til we get to the goldfish box, and just sit up there for a while, getting rained on and listening for monkeys.

In today's episode, we find some dogs that wear backpacks in the forest.

So we went for a walk in the forest today. Monday's my day off, mostly out walking in the forest on a Monday morning are gray haired ladies in capri pants with fanny packs that hold water bottles. At least in this forest. Do you ever see ladies like this? Maybe your forest different. Some of them hike with ski poles. They travel in packs for safety. Since sometimes other forest walkers can be on the creepy side. No Not Me! I fall somewhere between gray haired ladies and creepy forest dwellers.


I kept the dogs on leashes until we got to the part of the forest where there are fewer ladies out on their lady hikes. Once we get to the more foresty part, yeah, there might be deer to chase but less chance of running amuck into a gray haired lady posse. Do not want to be responsible for tipping over a gray haired lady in a fanny pack, ski pole propping her up or not.

So we get to the running amuck trail, and off they go, up and down the trail ahead of me then behind me then ahead of me then behind me then ahead of me to the side of me and ahead of me. Through poison oak, ferns, mud and redwood bramble. They are fast. At the top of the hill, near the spring box full of goldfish (it's a weird kind of forest, guys) I hear a loud voice command, "DOWN." Like Wow. Super commandy. Dog trainer?

I call my dogs. Something about that commandy voice is a danger will robinson business meaning voice. "DOGS!" Don't see anything yet, but small dogs are really happy to run back to me, and I see why as I make it up to the clearing. There's a lady with 2 german shepherds, on leashes, in downs. They look like maybe not regular pet german shepherds. They both have on backpacks, and big prong collars plus some other kind of chain collar plus those big heavy leather leashes that have a bunch of extra buckles. European perhaps? Europia?

Lady looks at me, and goes,"Whoa. I thought those were a bunch of forest creatures." She is tall and has nicely arranged blonde hair and is like if you were to commission an aryan statue of a lady german shepherd trainer, use her as the model.


For a second I think, Yes! My dogs have just been mistaken for forest creatures! This is a pleasant thought. Not sure why. Forest creatures! Like squirrels! Gnomes! Fruit bats!

But then I'm like, "Dogs come HERE!" Because her europia shepherds may be on a down, but there are definite snarling noises coming form somewhat snarly looking mouths. I should add here, I LOVE german shepherds. If I could have unlimited dogs, I would include a german shepherd. Charlie's old dog, Jake, was one of my favorite dogs ever. But he also did bite work with the cop guys, and I have seen some intense german shepherd bitey action in my time and take growling german shepherds with multiple leashes and collars and backpacks super serious.

She goes, "I'm staying here. Don't let them near these dogs." She is super calm and looks like she has perfect control of her 2 giant dogs but her 2 giant dogs look like they thought maybe perhaps were going to have a forest creature snack not 10 seconds ago. I am like oh my god. Total Heidi Klum moment. The statuesque blonde Europia lady with snarling backpack dogs directing traffic in the forest clearing.


I'm attaching leashes licketdy split going, "Okie dokie, this is their usual running place, I'm going to just grab 'em here and go down over there and let 'em go again?" I sort of say this questiony because I want to make sure she doesn't say something like I AM ABOUT TO LET MY GERMAN SHEPHERDS GO TOO AND LET'S SEE WHO WINS THAT ONE. Also this lady is sort of like the boss here of the forest clearing all of a sudden. I will do whatever she says. I just am trying to keep forest creatures from being snacks.

They all just stay there, motionless, as we fast walk by until out of sight and I snap off my little thin, non chainy leashes and off they go, back down the forest hill. Running amuck forest creatures again, through the redwoods, no german shepherds in pursuit. Never saw the Europia lady again.

But what was weird was later on, back in the more capri pant section of the forest, I have them back on leashes and here comes another lady with dogs wearing backpacks. And one is a pitbull type and the pitbull type one is clearly what we in the dog training world like to call Reactive.

I know reactive, because Ruby was reactive. Did you know that? A reactive 12 lb dog. I spent years training Ruby to look at the thing that bugged her (any other dog that existed in the universe) then at me then have a treat until that became the thing she did until she could walk somewhat near another dog then eventually walk on a leash among all dogs until she one day became a normal dog. She is 8 now. That took a long time. Was a long time I thought she would never be a dog who could go for a walk amongst other dogs. Be at an agility show, all those other dogs? Still amazes me how far she's come. Like can't get too upset when she melts down in Snookers when I think about how I never even was sure she'd be able to just go on a walk around my block. Sit near another dog. Go to the beach. Is hard and sad to have a dog like that.

I think that's what this lady thinks with her dog. Except she is trying to train a big pitbull that weighs WAY more than 12 lbs with the same problem and she has another big black dog and they are both wearing backpacks but she is no Heidi Klum. She is small and wears a bandana on her head and she is having a helluva time controlling the now totally freaking out dog. Who is freaking out in a pretty scarey way.

We're on a dirt path in a forest I should add. One side a cliff down, one side a steep hill up. I know when I was desensitizing Ruby, the best thing was other dog just marched by us ignoring us and was gone in a flash. Didn't stop, pause, backup, just walks on. So I am super cheerful, Lindsey Lohan checking out of Malibu rehab on a sunny day with new Louis Vuitton on her arm, "Come on dogs! YAY!" You guys, my agility friends, know that YAY! We say it all the time. YAY! Good dogs!


Bandana head girl at this point is wrestling pitbull on the cliff side of trail. Like it is making frantic screaming noises and she is sort of on top of it, trying to keep it from launching ballistic into small dog group trotting by. Big black dog sort of standing there, looking more baffled than anything. At least she has one good dog. My dogs definitely getting the whole forest creature snack potential opportunity vibe again and marching right by not even looking at pitbull listening to the YAY! and Otterpop does the hand target she is trained to do when she sees something that scares her, and Ruby bless her feral little heart, acts like she was born to do this and has her whole life.

So hey. Not sure what Cesar would say about this. German shepherd lady, not sure what your dogs' trip is, but you seem to have a system to handle it.

Pitbull lady, your hair all cute in the bandana. Here's what I did.
Dog Training Jargon Starts Now!

• Started with Ruby all by herself on a walk, with a pocket full of super treats. 
  
• Let her look at a dog, then back at me and used a clicker and clicked her for picking to watch me and get a treat. 
  
• When she could do it far from other dogs, got her closer and closer and just kept doing it. 
  
• Everywhere, all the time. 
  
• For like a year. Or two. Or more. Was kind of a huge project. 
  
• I know there's a book, Control Unleashed by Leslie McDevitt, that has way better tactics and exercises. 
  

And I know my evil, snarling attacking tasmanian devil on the end of the leash only weighed 12lbs. And maybe some dogs never snap out of it, or maybe not enough. I know Ruby turned into a Sister Mary Ruby finally and is on her way to being Ruby Best Dog someday. But I feel your pain. And thanks for being a damn good dog wrestler.

It is the season of the picky.

What's the team pulling?

Well, you mighta find out iffen yer on my Xmas card list. If you aren't, email me privately your postal address and get yer own official Team Small Dog card of Xmas, with a theme of Nice-ness this year. In the interest of Good Customer Service!

I keep thinking it might be time to get into some holiday spirit. We don't have room in our tiny house for a tree of Xmas. We did have a moment of Hanukah one night. I have some Xmas decorations in the garage, and some holiday lights. But it's that whole thing of, then first I'd have to clean the house. And I still need to plaster the office and finish the roof painting (hey square dancing roofer, you still have the gutters to FINISH!!!).

Tony across the street waits for me to do my lights then he does his because we have the Christmas light challenge! Although neither me nor Tony's lights are really all that impressive but it gets both of us putting up our lights. But I need to go out and have a chat with Tony re. global warming and what we should do about that this year? And then if I actually put up the Xmas decorations (my favorite is the sparkle pine cone with 4th of july flags and tiny little presents from an estate sale in a weird 70's house in Bernal Heights!) then there would have to be the Xmas shopping.

Which would involve selecting a gift for a husband who is a very, very, very picky person. The category of hobby, forgetta bout it. He has many bikes, of which he is very picky about each and every thing that involves bikes or bike outfit or bike accessory. The category of clothing or house, we have no more room in our house for an article of clothing or a house thing. Well, ok, unless it is a thing for Collections, of which we have deer, taxidermy, horse, forest animal, antler, small black dog, old guns made of wood, paint by number of any of the above or weird old paintings by insane people or mad aunties of any of the above, or pottery that holds plants in the shape of animals, or generic historical item that does not exactly fit any of the above. Then we have room for it. Do you see how easy it is to Xmas shop for ME, versus a picky, picky husband?

Usually he likes the gift of art. But this year I did not have time to make him a personal art. So any and all gift ideas for a picky, picky, husband are hugely appreciated. He doesn't read my blog. It scares him. So you can comment them to me since you all seem to be very, very quiet lately of the comments.