When I went to the bluff yesterday morning I got involved in an upsetting altercation with a dog by the name of Rambo. It was so upsetting that once I had completed my morning evacuation I left the bluff posthaste to run home, ignoring my friend Pookie who had just pulled up and was getting out of his car.
Here's a photo of Pookie looking for me in vain and being washed over with disappointment as he realizes that we will not have a play date:
The day after the rain ended, the bluff came alive with green sprouts, literally overnight.
Maybe they will eventually mature into foxtails, but for the moment they look innocuous and hopeful. It's a big improvement over the way things looked before the rain.
The end of the rain also saw an improvement in my own appearance.
Finally all systems were 'go' for the ablutions.
I emerged sparkling clean, a true ornament to the verdant bluff.
I was on the bluffs with Harry and Finney when all of a sudden the sky swelled with birds.
It was like an invasion of aliens.
Harry scrambled to get out of the way.
Finney and I stayed frozen in surprise and admiration. Bird flocks don't come our way that often.
The birds circled, then flew off to wherever it is that birds go.
They had not stayed for long, yet when they left the atmosphere was changed.
The sun seemed warmer.
I took a trip over to the bluff at Via de las Olas. It's always interesting to get a different perspective.
My conclusion: Nice view, but the fence looks iffy.
You might want to bring a rope and pistons with you so you're prepared in case disaster should unfold.
As a California coastal dog, I am drawn to the seafaring life.
A prime research source for me has been Margaret Wise Brown's classic book The Sailor Dog, which examines the very satisfying experience of a dog by the name of Scuppers.
Apparently all one needs to get going is a boat and a spyglass. A hat and a can-do attitude are also desirable.
The book also provides a song that I have adjusted so it goes, "I'm Lambie the Sailor Dog..."
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A dog can dream, can't he?
I was not feeling my best yesterday evening. I had had another seizure earlier in the afternoon.
Just being out among other dogs was exhausting.
I retreated to a bench to rest.
The night sky nourished me.
I needed it.
As I was walking along the bluff I saw a woman in the distance.
She looked like someone who would like me and want to pet me. I'm usually pretty good at charming the ladies.
So I hastened toward her winsomely.
To my shock, the lady's step did not slow as I grew closer to her. In fact, she actually stepped to the side to avoid interacting with me.
That never happens to me.
Then she walked right past me.
I was forced to question some long-held assumptions.
How had I read this woman so wrong?
Was my charm on the wane? Was I losing the come-hither that used to draw them in?
What happens to dogs who can no longer get by on personality and good looks?
It's sobering moments like these that cause one to enter into major life re-evaluations.
Portia approached me with a problem of a personal nature.
I can't reveal what it was, but as my friends know, when someone asks me for help I'm on the case immediately.
Initially it was hard to get our other friends' attention, but I had promised Portia that I'd get them involved.
As soon as Henry was available, I took him aside and he agreed to help. That's the kind of guy Henry is.
Portia seemed relieved that we were all there for her.
Would I be a better dog if I tried to engage a little more?
