Lookin' out my front door

We had a good rain last night. Here's what I saw this morning from our living room windows--snow in the higher elevations.

A little bit later, the regular visitors to the neighborhood came by to nibble on Mr. Mac's trees.

Oh, deer!

Our flowering crabapple tree in the back yard put on a beautiful display of color this spring. The blossoms drew lots of bees, and Michele liked to stand under the boughs and listen to the "murmuring of innumerable bees."

Bees weren't the only ones who favored the tree. A band of six deer hangs out in our neighborhood, and one guy came into the yard to have a little nosh.

"Who you lookin' at?"

"I can't eat when I'm under this kind of scrutiny!"

Busman's Holiday, Part 2: Traveling with Frankey

Traveling with Frankey can be fraught with excitement. She's an enthusiastic, bouncing passenger. She can lower the rear windows by stepping on the window buttons, which is a real heart-stopper if you're driving over Glorieta Pass at 75 mph. She can also activate the hazard lights when you drive down Central Avenue; the flashing lights tend to alarm the pedestrians and alert members of the LAPD, who eat downtown to sustain the slender thread of life. And she can knock the car out of gear when you're backing out of the driveway.

However, having finally shed the shackles of reason, we decided that it would be a good idea to take her on the road trip to Utah. To keep her safe in the back seat, I bought her a harness that buckles around her; just feed the seatbelt through a loop on the harness and latch it, and Frankey is confined to the back seat but can still see out the windows and comment on what's going on in the front seat. She rode in it very nicely from the pet store to home, a distance of a good 2 miles.

When we set out for Utah, we didn't use the harness. In Española, she decided that sitting on Michele's lap would afford her a better view, not to mention a closer barking proximity to large trucks and motorcycles, all drivers of which are known to be packing heat. Once we reached highway speeds on the way to Chama, she calmed down, things were peaceful once again, and our ears stopped ringing. Until a motorcyclist appeared behind us and followed us into Abiquiu. Frankey stood on the back seat and barked through the rear window until the cyclist passed us.

Dogs prefer to ride shotgun.

When we got to Chama and switched drivers, I told Michele that for safety's sake and the sake of our sanity and hearing, I was going to put Frankey in the harness. As Michele pulled out of the parking lot at the visitors center and headed west toward Pagosa Springs, Frankey joined me in the front seat. Our little Houdoggi had slipped out of the harness within seconds.

From then on, she was free to move about the cabin. She was pretty quiet on the highways, but whenever we slowed to go through a town, she came into the front seat and sat on the passenger, or stood on the center console, one foot on the driver's shoulder, and peered intently ahead. When we left Cortez, Colorado, on the way home, she fell asleep with her head on Michele's shoulder. That was really cute.

A travel break at Dove Creek, the Bean Capital of Colorado

We took nice walks every morning and evening, and most of the shops we visited were dog friendly. Maria's Bookshop in Durango had cookies for their dog visitors, and Frankey got lots of pets from the staff of The King's English in Salt Lake City.

Frankey enjoyed the broad streets and sidewalks of Salt Lake City and the grassy spots around downtown. She didn't bark at the trucks on the street—unless they were near our hotel, in which case they were intruders and needed to be warned off. She barked at only one person, a street guy who was teasing her.

Frankey liked the pet-friendly accommodations we booked. The Doubletree in Durango provides a water dish, mat, and bag of dog cookies, and the staff of the Hotel Monaco in Salt Lake City always greeted her warmly after our jaunts around town. She didn't seem to be bothered by noises outside and slept peacefully on her blankie every night.

The view from our room in Durango

Ike had always disliked elevators, but Frankey didn't mind them. We were on the 11th floor of the Hotel Monaco, and Frankey always stepped into the "zoom room" with no hesitation. When we got to our floor, she marched right down the hall to our room.

Frankey at the Hotel Monaco after a day of urban hiking

We visited Arches and Mesa Verde National Parks and obeyed the pet rules: dog on leash, clean up wastes, and go only where a car can go. Frankey really liked all the new smells, and we didn't feel constrained at all.

Mom iz not constrained. Mommie Shelbert iz not constrained. I iz constrained.

Now that we all understand how we travel, what we like to do, and where we like to sit, the three of us will take another road trip.

The escape of Prince the Bulldog

When we were kids, a family (let's call them the Smiths) moved into the quad across the street. Rumor had it that they chose the unit because it was next to the canyon, where they could let their vicious German Shepherd dogs run loose. The rumor proved groundless, and the dogs remained in the yard.

There were three kids, all of playmate age, so that was cool. The father was a mostly quiet man. The mother was more flamboyant, wearing a down parka even in the summer, sporting a hairstyle that should have been hanging from an Indian's belt, and favoring virulent shades of lipstick, which she applied by the impasto technique so that her lips always looked like a crimson sectional sofa.

After a few years they got a bulldog, which they named Prince. Prince used the front yard, because, Mrs. Smith said, he would attack the other dogs in the back yard and slaughter them. In addition to his purported killer instinct, Prince had another quirk: he would not, as Mom used to say, "do him's numbers" unless someone were there with him to encourage him while he piddled.

It was no trouble to attend to Prince when the family was home, but what with jobs and school, the family was away from home for six or eight hours at a time. We read the stories of John Wayne and Elvis Presley having 40-60 pounds of impacted fecal matter in their colons at their deaths. Although these stories are only rumors, they are nevertheless cautionary tales: colorectal health is as important to dogs as it is to humans. And so Mrs. Smith's father was enlisted to doggysit Prince during the day and make sure he did him's numbers.

Thus it was that on the afternoon of September 29, 1981, while I was living with Mom and searching for a job, I heard a thin, high voice crying, ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"} Perhaps the grandfather left the gate open. Perhaps the screen didn't close securely. Maybe the grandfather looked the other way. But the truth was inescapable: Prince had hightailed it.

I went outside to pretend to read.

Soon Mrs. Smith roared to the curb in a spray of gravel and raced into the house. From the lawn, where I was "reading," I could hear her muffled sobs. And then the screen door slammed, and Mrs. Smith strode up the service road toward Burnt Mountain, followed by her father, who called, ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"} Mrs. Smith's sobs were no longer muffled but deep, throaty, throbbing, like "Vesti la giubba" sung by a Russian liturgical bass. "We have to find him before nightfall," she wept. "Oh, I feel so helpless!" ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"}

After a brief, fruitless search of the woods, she cantered back down the service road, plunged into the house and called the cops. Then she slammed back outside, and she and her father continued calling the dog. "Here, Baby Bull! Come here, baby!" ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"}

The phone rang! Mrs. Smith hurled herself back into the house. Apparently she had some good tidings from Los Alamos's Finest. She and her father jumped into the car and drove down the street calling the dog. "Here, Baby Bull! Come here, baby!" ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"}

After a few minutes, they pulled onto the parking pad. Prince, who had apparently been visiting a friend down on 47th Street, was in the back seat. From inside the car, the guilt and recrimination began. What if Prince had been hit by a car? What if he were stolen? What if he attacked someone? What if he killed that dog he was playing with? What if Pete from the Pound had caught him? What if, God forbid, the coyotes or bears— No. It was too horrible to contemplate.

Mrs. Smith and her father got out of the car, and she began crying again. "I'm sick about all this! I'm just sick! I could have had a heart attack if anything happened to Baby Bull," she told her father. "Oh, this was a near-terrible tragedy!"

Her father offered a solution to prevent another near-terrible tragedy: ^{"Let's lock Pree-ince in the bedroom whenever I have to leave the house. It's better to have a messy floor than a missing dog."}

Mrs. Smith agreed. But it was time to get Prince back into the house. "Make sure his collar is tight," she told her father. "We don't want it to slip off." The father reached into the back seat to extract the dog. ^{"He won't come out! Pree-ince! Pree-ince! Come out!"}

Mrs. Smith roared, "Well, grab his collar and drag the little son-of-a-bitch out!"

Crasher alert

I liked Shoe's pictures of dinner and BobBIE's boss machine. Somebody kept crashing the party, though.


"I can haz sopaipillas?

I can haz tacos?

Play teh radio!

How to play teh banjo

by

FLICKER!

Oh, hai. Today I tell u how to play teh banjo. First, u must find a comfy place to play teh banjo. Mommie Michele haz left a banjo on teh table. Are u comfy? I am!

Tehn u must get someone to ask, "Iz u in voice, Winstead?" Tehn u say, "I believe Im in voice." LOL!

Tehn u can scrape ur teeth across teh stringz or pat tehm with ur pawz. Oh, how pretteh iz teh banjo music!

Frankey's big adventures

Frankey has had some big adventures this weekend.

On Friday, I wanted to go down to get a pamphlet from the Pajarito Environmental Education Center (PEEC) at the old Little Valley School behind LAHS. As we were crossing Diamond Drive at around 3:30, the latch on Frankey's leash failed, and she was loose with all the high school kids leaving the parking lot. My heart was in my throat. If I run after her, she thinks we're playing and runs faster. So she trotted off into the Denver Steels, with me trotting on her heels, and after about 30 minutes, she heard a motorcycle--motorcycles freak her out--and she finally came to me.

Frankey's path through the Denver Steels

Then as we were just standing in PEEC, the leash failed again. Needless to say I got her a new leash that just cinches.

Frankey's pretty new leash with reflective strands as an added safety feature.

Using the new leash, I took her for a walk Saturday morning, and she staggered along and made strangling sounds with her tongue out, mostly for the benefit of the neighbors, but she quickly became used to it and walked nicely.

On Saturday we went over to Las Vegas for a nice long walk. We started at Carnegie Park, then went down to 911 3rd Street, which has an elliptical trainer in the glassed-in porch. We continued to Baca Avenue, then turned west to the campus of New Mexico Highlands University. The Cowboys were playing football, and one of the banks had free food. I got Frankey a bottle of water, and I snagged a cookie. We had our treats in Melody Park.

We strolled around campus, most of which is covered with Astroturf. The high-rise dorm, Ford Hall, and the lecture hall next to the former SUB have been demolished. There's a lot of construction going on. I tried to feel sentimental about the demolitions and nothing being the same as it was when I was there, but without success.

We drove over to West Las Vegas to Tome on the Range Bookstore. Frankey got many pets and smooches from the patrons, and I got a calendar, a magnet, and a bumper sticker. Then we drove up and down 8th Street and saw three houses where I used to live. The MacFarlands' restored Victorian is for sale.

Frankey's walk

We had a nice time. Frankey sacked out on the front seat and snoozed all the way home.

How to listen to teh concert

by

FLICKER!

Oh, hai. Im FLICKER! Today I show u how to listen to teh concert. First u must find a concert. Mommie Michele plays her guitar, so u haz found a concert.

For teh best view and acoustics, u must sit in teh balcony.

Oh, how pretty is teh music!

If u do not laik teh balcony, tehn u can sit in teh orchestra, right up front.

Do not sit in teh guitar case, even if u are clean from a bath. When teh audience sits in teh guitar case, my tummeh is rigid with disgust.

Some critters

We enjoyed watching the wildlife on our trip. Click on the images to enlarge them.

At breakfast in Sedona, an acorn woodpecker checked us out.

It was also breakfast time for the lesser goldfinches.

Another resident of the Canyon Wren Bed and Breakfast is Frankie, a red-eared slider turtle. She is with turtlets, but the proprietors didn't know how far along she is.

When we hiked in Sedona, we saw a turtle basking on a rock in Oak Creek.

This was as close as we got to a mountain lion at the Grand Canyon.

This cliff chipmunk was on Rim Trail.

One of the highlights of the whole trip was seeing two California condors gliding above us. If you enlarge the [blurry] image, you can see the tags on their left wings.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth . . .

Yesterday at Lunch Buddies, my kindergarten buddy said, "My friends would like us to play with them." So instead of eating lunch first and drawing afterwards, we played "Scary Monster." In this game, which we have played before, I am the scary monster (or the grizzly bear) and try to catch the various bats and werewolves who attack from all angles on the playground equipment. My little pink-and-white, ruffledy-puffledy buddy informed me, "I'm the mom werewolf." In that capacity she gets to make up the rules.

The little folks got all wound up, and I had kids leaping onto my back, grabbing my arms, and tugging at my jacket. I had to remonstrate with a couple kids for head-butts. There was also a little fellow on his tummy with his hands around my ankle; I dragged him around for a bit.

In the midst of the scrum, however, I felt a sharp pain in my calf. "Hey!" I yelled. "Who's biting?" I looked down, and two werewolves had their mouths full of my pant legs. "No biting!" I said. The lunch cop came over and said that my buddy had to go to the nurse's office to get her blood sugar checked, and the game was over.

After lunch I detoured to the house to inspect my calf. My jeans weren't torn, but when I examined my leg, I found that although the werewolf didn't break the skin, but he did pinch a dandy blood blister into my calf. I cleaned it up with alcohol, put antibiotic ointment on it, and covered it with a Band-Aid. I'm watching it closely. And I'm going to keep my eye on those werewolves and bats.

Thanks, Ike

Ike was a smiley dog.

He liked being with kids in the Lunch Buddies Program . . .

. . . and in Reading to Dogs.

Lynn (center) showed him in three shows, and he took best of breed in all three.

He liked to hop on the bed and sit on Michele.

Bobbie and I stepped out in the Dog Jog with our pups.

And for one brief moment at the geographical center of the contiguous United States, he was the center of the country.

Ike. July 2, 1994-January 5, 2010

How to stay warm in teh winter

by
FLICKER!


Oh, hai. Im FLICKER!

I tell u how to stay warm in teh winter. First, u must put u tummeh on 1 radiator. Put u pawz on teh other radiator. See? Itz easy.

Then if u wants to watch teh birdz and still have warm pawz and tummeh, u rests u chin on teh windowsill. U can also haz a nap!

Now u try.

I'd like an elegant Shiraz that would complement a meal of mice, bugs, and a lizard

Yesterday I went into Kelly Liquors on Juan Tabo in Albuquerque to look at the wine selection. As I turned the corner by the beer coolers, I saw a roadrunner calmly marching down the aisle, then stopping and looking with evident interest at the beer. It was very calm and seemed at home, so I asked the guy at the counter if the bird were a pet or a mascot. He misunderstood and said, "Yes, we have Roadrunner wine. Come this way." I said, "No, it's a real roadrunner. He's looking at the beer."

The whole staff surged over to the coolers, and the counter guy started whistling and saying, "Come here, birdie. Come on, let's go. Let's go, birdie." The woman at the counter and I whipped out our cell phones to take pictures. The roadrunner hopped up on the display of mixers. The counter guy asked, "How did he get in?" I said, "Your door is open. He walked in." The guy started whistling again at the roadrunner, which hopped off the display and walked down the aisle toward me. The woman with the cell phone started herding him toward the door, and the roadrunner went home without getting what he came in for.

"I'm not seeing any Shiraz from here."

"The beers look pretty tempting."

"Maybe a nice Chardonnay . . . ."

Suppertime, and the livin' is easy

Earlier I posted images of an English sparrow in the hole in the poplar. Yesterday we watched for a long time as the mother and father fed the nestlings. Click on the images to enlarge them.

Are you in there, Myron? It's time for dinner.

Just be calm. I'm regurgitating as fast as I can.

I'd really like a green chile cheeseburger instead of masticated insects.

What do I have to do to get something to eat around here?

Open wide, Myron.

Let's get it in your mouth. Don't drool.

And a cut of pie for dessert.