Relaxed evening stroll along quiet sidewalks. Gordon, a thick string of slobber dangling from his chin, intently sniffs at a bush. I stoop to marvel at the artistry of the spiders’ webs, and he tries to lick my face. “I’m not gonna kiss you! Gross!” just as we pass the honky-tonk. Sideways glance from the urban cowboys drinking and yukking it up on the patio. Duck behind a monster pickup and scurry away.
I sure seem to talk to my dogs an awful lot.
This is not a cry for help.
Gordon and Maddy were recently invited to a birthday party for the lovely lady Trinity– hats, cake, the whole shebang for this shindig. Well, I backed myself up against a deadline and couldn’t be bothered to fetch them for the fete, but the generous hostess Kim forgave my party poopiness and insisted on doggie-bagging some cake for me to take home. Pedestrian Saga Presents Let Them Eat Cake! (more…)
Personally, I’m raising the fear-and-danger level to chartreuse as I prepare to walk with my dogs this morning. I mean, news like this is enough to strike terror in the heart of any decent dog-walking citizen of so. California!
This weekend was very Christopher Robin flooded in the Hundred Acre Wood with Piglet and Tigger… at least until a little while ago when an especially wild wind blew through my living room and– Abunai! It’s Gordzilla vs. Madthra! Jolly good fun, but where’s a camera crew when you need one? For “it wasn’t very much good having anything exciting like floods [or epic clashes of canine monsters] if you couldn’t share them with somebody.” cavecanem
This morning I flaked and left Maddy’s crate door open. She was left free to roam the entire apartment unsupervised for six hours straight. I had been enjoying my third generally very good day in a row, but my spirits sank as I reported home for a late lunch and she greeted me enthusiastically at the front door. I let out a moan and cringed in anticipation of the disasters awaiting inside– puddles of pee trickling into furniture legs or soaking into rugs and upholstery, disemboweled pillows, shattered glass, shredded underwear, gnawed linoleum, upturned trash cans, chewed remote controls, shoes, electrical wires, books and CDs…
But she had left everything intact! She’d even held her pee. I was so disbelieving I spent 10 minutes crawling around, squinting, sniffing and feeling about for what I thought to be the inevitable puddle.
So I rewarded her with a vigorous session of wrestling, fetching and dancing, vowed not to press my luck and to latch the crate next time, and resolved to approach our first training class together Monday with optimism instead of anxiety.
I’d like to officially introduce Miss Madeleine Ferguson whose graceful insanity completes my Brat Pack. Maddy’s companionship fulfills a psychological (a little psycho, not very logical) need deeply rooted in my childhood full of dogs, when Mum and Dad also taught runty little me that good things come in small packages. In this case, good things come in a compact, outrageously furry and slightly maniacal package. Thanks to Sylva (who helped get Maddy off the mean streets of downtown L.A.) and Auntie Em for the photos.
By this morning it was already late in the workweek and so I was of course late to start the day. I walked with the pups along one of our regular routes, one of the deep ruts we’ve cut in our corner of East Hollywood. Just past the library I had to steer them around a dead kitten lying in the parkway. They licked their greedy little chops and tugged at their leash, but the will of this pack leader prevailed. No scavenging. No, thank you.
At the end of my Very Long Day, I threw myself into the car and started for home through Griffith Park, the slow steady scenic route I usually take to avoid the unpredictable snarls of the I-5 freeway. For a minute I scolded myself for not bucking the rut and taking the fast road home to the dogs – it was almost 9:00 and so rush hour was probably over. Then suddenly my headlights revealed a coyote in all its splendor, casually standing watch in the picnic grass beside the road! I slowed to savor the encounter as much as I could from within my giant steel cage. I felt a little more human… and a little more animal.
This morning, dear little Fred Milton completely disarmed the rabid dog in me with his moving poetry. Now, I know I shouldn’t make unfair comparisons, but Gordon has never written poems about me (nor has he shown any mutual interest in Kurt Vonnegut, for that matter!) If only he could channel all that spasmodicity into a loving tribute to his lady. Or something. Oh, well. I can dream.
Utne’s been consistently feeding my fascination with pedestrian loco-motion. Last month there was this article exploring the social meaning of walking and the state of pedestrianism in a car’s world. Then along came a great introduction to the arts of psychogeography in the current issue. I’m discovering that psychogeographical games are a potentially riveting way to connect my mental spaces with everyday places around me, to find new meaning and beauty there.
So, in the infectious spirit of playfulness and following through with good intentions, I turned my morning walk with Gordon into an experiment in "generative psychogeography" – I tried to find that twilight zone between goal-oriented and completely random travel by following this spontaneously-decided algorithm: take the second right, second left, first right, then repeat. I tried not to fuss too much over further elaborating the rules ("should I make my turn before or after crossing the intersection?") and to focus instead on the world around me. We cycled through the algorithm just over 3 times in the allotted 45 minutes (think long LA blocks and lots of pausing to sniff and pee on all sorts of upright objects). Here are some of my favorite moments:
For the first time I noticed a "Share the Road" sign struggling among the visual clutter of Sunset Boulevard. I guess I usually drive by too fast to take it in.
There are two hourglass Marilyn Monroe palm trees in a line of standard tall and ultra-thin Twiggy ones.
Gordon sniffed the whole length of the hedge lining the back of KCET studios while I admired the old brick building and peeked into the windows of the ground level offices.
A Little Rascals -esque dog draped his paws out of a second-story window and barked as we passed.
Gordon’s crooked little piggy tail wiggled as he touched noses with two new big dogs through their gates. Across the street a frumpy little Maltese yipped a greeting.
100 teenagers streamed between buildings on the Thomas Starr King Middle School campus. It was their second-to-last day of school. I heard some squeals along the lines of "ohmygod – that is such a cah-UTE dog!"
Two big men speaking Spanish prepared to pour cement in a neighbor’s driveway. Four big men were installing roofing tiles on a little house on Virgil. I thought of my mum working with Grandpa on his roof in Indianapolis.
I made eye contact and said "Good morning!" to three of the people I passed. Two of them responded in richly accented English, including the funny little man I sometimes see jogging baby steps around the neighborhood.
I can’t wait to try another algorithm soon, or the same algorithm starting from a different location! I’m also excited to have found a reference point for some of the street art I’ve occasionally seen around town.
I would like to make it official.
Gordon has learned to roll over on demand. I have waited a long time for this moment. Inspired by Sadie and Baxter of the Aldermans and their synchronized and very lively sit/down/roll-over pre-meal routine, I have been patiently bribing this macho hulk of a Boston Terrier to perform the same for nearly 7 months! Now it merely takes his empty stomach, a simple biscuit, and a gentle verbal command to induce the silly trick. I see agility training in this pup’s future!