Cameron and Harper

The Underground – a group I call my ‘treehouse club’ – has about two handfuls of members….using the treehouse club analogy. Started by my friend Melissa, at first we met every month or two for dinner. Dinner involving a theme. Frank Sinatra night. Southern BBQ. Kentucky Derby. The theme determined the food and drink. Mint Juleps for the Kentucky Derby. You get the idea. Generally, our political, religious and philosophical beliefs are compatible. (There was the time I came right out of my chair when told to shut up about a woman’s right to make decisions about her own body.)

A couple of years ago Melissa invited Mitch, a ‘close’ neighbor. I put ‘close’ in quotes because Mitch lives a mile and a half up a private one-way road with ??? 15 switchbacks. The view is stunning from his house. The drive there is not for the meek…particularly when it’s snowing. The first night as Mitch talked about his military experience, I silently wondered about him fitting in with The Underground. Rick and I were on the tail-end of the Vietnam War protests, but remain influenced by our zeitgeist. Mitch is a Gulf War veteran. As time and more theme dinners passed, along with spontaneous plans (is that an oxymoron?) I realized the wisdom in Melissa’s choice. Mitch is very bright, well-traveled, well-read and loves dogs. Ah! Dogs!

Along with several dogs of his own, Mitch fosters young dogs for Freedom Service Dogs. I’ve watched him work quietly with these dogs, turning them back over to FSD when the time is right. He was taught to train using only operant conditioning. Curious about the arrangement, Mitch lined up a personal tour for me a couple of Fridays ago. As we parked in the back of the facility, this soldier and his dog were outside having a smoke. Well, the dog wasn’t smoking!

Freedom Service Dogs was founded in the 80s. While Mitch’s particular interest has to do with veterans, the dogs serve all kinds of people, including children with autism.

Mitch goes down to Denver every Monday for training class. Mitch and Bella, his current FSD trainee, along with others at the same stage, go on outings…for example, to Target. All of them! I cannot wait to see this! On our way back up the hill, Mitch stopped at a small market, a favorite of his. Into the store the three of us went. Me, Mitch and Bella. Bella wore her service vest and was expected to lie down quietly every time he stopped, whether he was examining produce or talking to a clerk. An 8-month old Labrador Retriever, Bella is well on her way to mastering this much-needed skill for her future as a service dog. The hardest part for her was continuing to lie down as she was given a treat for performing this skill.

I came away from that experience excited about dogs and human beings. FSD gets lots of requests for hearing dogs, but that’s not the type of dogs they train. The dogs they train need to be big enough to assist someone with physical disabilities. But! What if I started a little dog, say…a Lhasa Apso…and see where it leads. I’m betting FSD would let me tag along with Mitch and his current trainee.

Who would have thought The Underground would open the door to an unexplored area of dogdom for me.

Good Thursday Morning

Just droppin’ by for an instant. Lots to say, including responses to Susan’s questions. Between working 5 days this week and my son’s graduation on Saturday, I won’t have extended computer time until Sunday. Is anybody else staying in bed longer than usual, with these increasingly long dark days? Never mind the frigid temperatures the past few days!

Sunday morning services..

With do apologies to those who attend their church of choice… Sunday morning services. A familiar saying between Rick and his long-time friends.

Last Sunday, awaking to snow, snow, embracing snow, I took  photos of my Sunday morning ritual. Hot coffee in a favorite cup (purchased at the Guggenheim Museum the year Rick and I met Tim and Julie in New York City for C’est La Vie’s debut at the Westminster Dog Show). Vegetables ready to chop for Dog Soup, added to kibble and raw meat.

In the pot…

The furnace is set to come on early in the morning, but there’s nothing roasty, toasty like the warm heat produced by the wood stove. Sometimes I sit in front of it, sipping coffee, watching it catch.

Still life of Smelly Things from Mitch…

From one cozy wood fire to the next, last Sunday Rick and I spent the day on top of a mountain with a 360 degree view. Melissa and I soaked in the hot tub while the guys watched football. After the game we ate steaks and salad and asparagus. I love having nearby friends! Ten minutes and we’re home again, home again lickety split.

It has been a year of transition. It has been a year of letting go. And grabbing on. It is not the Same As It Ever Was. Things – old and new – to be embraced. Or embrace me. The snow. Kelly. Producing and editing. Old friends. Photography. New friends. The dogs. Carpe Diem! 

Flawed Dogs

Last night I woke up in the wee hours and finished this book. This morning I had to clean the dried tears from my glasses. Tears of laughter. Tears of joy. And a few tears of… ?? regret ??

From the inside book jacket of Flawed Dogs, The Novel, The Shocking Raid on Westminster:

Keep it quiet, but the world’s most famous dog show is about to be attacked. Who are the daring but atrociously bred commandos led by a suspiciously beautiful dachshund?

Not at all what they seem, that’s for certain.

You may not know it by looking at him – what with his scars and soup ladle for a leg – but Sam was once a stunning dachshund with a girl who loved him and a destiny to dog show glory. That is until Cassius, an ambitious and jealous poodle, sent his life into a wild descent of calamity and sorrow.

Now Sam wants revenge. And what better way to get it than to sabotage Cassius’s chances at winning best in show at Westminster? Sam recruits a ragtrag team of dogs whose flaws are perfect for mischief making, among them gargantuan Tusk, pint-sized Wee Will, and Pooft, whose gastric eruptions flare to the fiery disadvantage of anyone unfortunate enough to be on his wrong side. Westminster has never seen a show like this.

In this heartfelt novel, both tragic and hilarious, from the mind of Pulitzer Prize-winning comic strip creator Berkely Breathed, young readers will be rooting for the underdog. Literally.

My friends RAWK!

Last Saturday night, Halloween night, with trepidation I ventured to Cactus Jack’s Saloon. Alone. Rick was in Fort Collins. I’m not exactly a social butterfly. Or a barfly. Or a night person. But I wanted to see Cort and Dean play a night gig. Dean is an architect, owner of EV Studios. The studio right above my grooming shop, he’s also my landlord. Cort’s business, Relish Studio, was two doors down from the grooming shop. He also lives within ’bout shoutin’ distance from my house. Both musicians, several years ago they started jamming weekly in Dean’s office. Using the shop as refuge while waiting to pick up a kid from whatever keeps kids busy, Carol often heard their music. I didn’t hear them until their first gig one beautiful afternoon this summer, on the deck at Cactus Jack’s, next to Bear Creek. 

They were darn good then. They were great last Saturday night. My friends RAWK! And pick. And sing the blues…

So rock me mama like a wagon wheel
Rock me mama anyway you feel
Hey mama rock me

Rock me mama like the wind and the rain
Rock me mama like a south-bound train
Hey mama rock me

Like the wind and the rain
Like a south-bound train