Lambiedog

Shooting the shit with Petey

A brave man

 

 The other morning I spent a while barking at a guy I met at the bluffs.

            

    He didn't seem to understand the danger that he was in.  If I had been him, I would have been scared of me.

However, this guy seemed armed with a surfeit of patience. 

    Eventually his waiting game paid off, and he disarmed even the toughest dog on the bluff.

 

    Me.

Shy Abby

Abby is a dog who is even more timid than I am.  

 As soon as she met me she lay down prostrate -- perhaps a response to my overbearing personality?

 But I pursued her.

 

I'm determined to befriend her.

Hard to miss

  

 

    Recently a woman has been coming to the bluff and letting her dog roam free while ignoring his defecation.  

    Yesterday Winnie and Trudie's owner addressed the matter with her.  He pointed out that everyone on the bluff had seen her dog poop a few minutes before, and that if she was going to bring the dog to the bluff she needed to take responsibility for cleaning up its excrement.

    In a breathtakingly original variant on 'I didn't inhale,' the woman responded that, although she had seen her dog squat, she hadn't seen anything come out of him.   

    But then, apparently newly mindful that we were holding her accountable, she rose to the occasion, walked over and picked up the poop.

    We have standards at the bluff.

Savoir-faire at the precipice

 Nene and I met up at the Samulon bench.  

 Nene wanted to move on to the Anna Walker Steere bench, but I remonstrated with him.  It's common knowledge that that bench is located at the edge of a precipice.  Danger is its middle name.

But Nene went down there anyway.

 He parked himself at the bluff edge and dared his owner to do something about it.      

The owner turned to a seasoned diplomat to try to reason with Nene.

     

 Finally I talked him back from the precipice.

Oftentimes diplomacy really amounts to just so much sheep-herding.

Wedding at the bluff

Haiku

 

Poodle gathering

Hair confidences exchanged

Bluff bathed in sunlight. 

    

 

Ziggy's dad performs a trick

 
        We were at the bluffs this morning when Ziggy's dad said he had a good trick to show us.

    I assumed that it would be another piece de resistance from Ziggy -- such an amazing achiever.  But it turned out that the scheduled performer was Ziggy's dad.

First, not to deny us, Ziggy did perform a few tricks --  specifically:

  -'Shake paws' (right and then left)

           

 <----'Bunny' 

'Who's your daddy?'-->
  

 Then his dad took over, demonstrating some impressive Iyengar yoga moves.  

          

Ziggy and I were transfixed; Ziggy perhaps less so than me.

          

    I suppose that when you come from such a talented family, any individual accomplishment can get to seem a bit ho-hum.

  

   

   

Parade blues

 

    So, I see that the Palisades has picked a winning motto for this year's Fourth of July parade:  "Small Town, Big Heart."  

    As these things go, it's okay, but it doesn't seem very Lambie-centric.  "Small Town, Big Poop," would have been better.  Or, "Small Dog, Big Stomach."  Or even,"Nice Bluffs, Many Ground Squirrels."

     Of course, I realize that I have only myself to blame, since I didn't enter the contest.  

    Next year I'm going to enter a slogan.  It's my civic duty, plus I think that I'd really enjoy the victor's reward of riding on the fire truck during the parade.  

My solitary labors

    Things are heating up here in terms of wildlife.  Squirrels and rabbits are present on the bluffs in increasing numbers, offering eager students many promising avenues of inquiry.  

    Yet my research is so often solitary.

    I do try to get other dogs involved. Ziggy, for example, with his great intellect, would be an outstanding research partner.  Mogul, with his boundless enthusiasm, could also doubtless advance our efforts.  Even Tramp could assist when he's in town.  

    If only.

    The problem is that, just as I seem to lack the hail-fellow-well-met gene, these guys do not seem to have the gene for research.   If I propose a wildlife foray, they're willing to follow along with me for a second or two. Then they get caught up in their interactions and forget about fauna that might be hidden in the bushes.

 

    So I straighten my shoulders and head off to find more research subjects.  

    Alone again, of course.