The grim poker of justice
February 25, 2023 Comments Off on The grim poker of justice
Do you talk to your dog like an imbecile? I do. “Oh, shweet Shnykes, you such a goodie-woodie ol’ doggie-woggie!”
Yeah. Fucking imbecile.
Research shows that behaving like a sappy moron to your pooch makes you feel better, enhances your bond, and draws ol’ Fleabag closer into the family.
Research also shows that your mutt dgaf. For one, the dog’s commitment is already at 11; he’s a dog, fer fuxake. For another, he has already assumed you are incurably stupid. And finally, he knows that imbe-speak leads to pets and snacks.
Since we tend to relate to our dogs as if they were children, both in our speech mannerisms and our behavior, it stands to reason that we become defensive when they are threatened. By raccoons, for example.
Snykes’s paw pad is improving, but I now hate raccoons. Like, really hate. I used to think they were cute little rascals. Now I see them as vicious, bullying, rabies-carrying varmints.
Last night the nasty little motherfuckers came back, this time to the front door. Snykes and I heard them chittering on the front porch, but like Shaggy and Scoob we pretended not to hear as my knees knocked and his little tail hung between his legs. “Raccoons? What raccoons? I don’t hear no raccoons. Nuh-uh. Nope. Nuttin’.”
The chittering got louder and then they started scratching at the front door. I went from fear to rage. One hand on the doorknob and the other on the fireplace poker, I cracked the door and stuck half the poker through the crack, about four feet off the ground.
Sensing success, the vicious, fat little marauder jammed his snout through the crack as he pressed his body against the door, trying to force it further.
Like a blunt guillotine, I lowered the poker on his back and head, the steel rod resounding with a solid crack. He jerked his head away and dashed off with his buddies, screeching insults. Unfortunately there was no carcass around the house, or even any blood. The only thing the snow showed was the footprints of a most hasty retreat.
I went back in and closed the door. Snykes hadn’t budged.
“How’s my schweet wittle doggie-woggie Schnyky-schnookums?” I crooned. He thumped his tail and we celebrated our victory with a treat.
February 24, 2023 Comments Off on Fake snow
Growing up in Houston, it snowed twice. Tiny flurries, half-an-inch on the ground, just enough to make a mud snowman. It was amazing. Some of the very best memories of my childhood happened in a few hours. Our dog Fletcher discovering snow. Snowmudball fights for the better part of an entire day, later degenerating simply into fights.
After that first snow in the winter of ’72-’73 I lay awake every cold winter night, hoping against hope for snow. Sometimes I’d wake up and see the white ground bathed in moonlight. “It snowed! It snowed!” I’d tell myself, hoping against hope. But as they say, hope is not a plan.
Snow meant more than missing school, which was incredibly meaningful for someone who never did his homework. It also meant that everything changed. Houston’s semi-sub-sorta tropical climate became a winter wonderland, or at least a winter mildly credible land.
I’ve often wondered why those two snows were such a big deal. Today I think I cracked the code.
Up here in the low Sierras it snows every year, though global warming has greatly diminished frequency and quantity. We’re at 3,000 feet, but the backyard goes up to about 6,500, and across the way, over the river and up into the Domeland Wilderness the peaks strike out at 8,000-9,000 feet. That’s still lowdown compared to many places, but you’re most certainly not in Kansas anymore.
The snow pattern here at the cabin is heavy snow up top and a couple of inches down below, where it melts the same day. As I write this, yesterday’s snow, mostly melted, got covered with last night’s snow, mostly melted, which is now getting repaved with this afternoon’s snow. For this low down it’s a lot of snow. Suddenly outdoors seems a lot less inviting than in.
People who live where it really snows might consider this a late spring dusting, if that, although the seven feet or so about to be dumped up higher would get your attention pretty much anywhere. But the snow snobs still wouldn’t consider this anything. How can it be snow if you don’t need a plow, salt, chains, and a survival kit in case you don’t make it from the front door to the car?
I get it, but fuck off anyway. We used to be heat-humidity snobs in Houston. People would touch down in March and choke on the heat as their hair flopped straight down as if magically treated with motor oil. “This? This ain’t nothin’,” we’d say. And we were right. March is to July in Houston as September is to February in North Dakota.
In other words, our little fake snowstorm here wouldn’t cause a Mainer to even consider gloves, but for us it’s show-stopping. The shelves are bare. People are afraid to drive. Fireplaces that haven’t seen action since Ma was a teenager are roaring with well-seasoned walnut and oak. Me? I’m curled up next to Snykes enjoying a hot cup of tea as winter swirls outside. It’s cozy in here, beautiful out there.
I took Snykes outside for his first taste of snow. He was ambivalent. When he came inside after less than a minute he looked at me like, “Call me when you get some warm snow.”
On the other hand, we’ve taken a couple of walks, and once out in it, he’s fine. It’s easier on his torn footpad than asphalt or dirt. Plus, he got to see a big fat coyote that had come down due to the snow. Snykes pointed, then strained at the leash. “Snykes,” I said. “If you had trouble with a raccoon, that coyote might tear off more than part of your paw.” He growled to make his point, peed on a bush, and we headed back.
I threw out extra rations for the birds. The snow has brought them in droves, along with fellows who never come to the feeders: chipping sparrows, fox sparrows, and California towhees are hungry enough to stand beak-to-wing with the quail, doves, white-crowned sparrows, jays, spotted towhees, and the innumerable juncoes. Even the acorn woodpeckers aren’t too proud to get on the ground and peck for seeds.
The four Anna’s hummingbirds were miffed at the snow covering their feeder, but it thawed and they were able to get back to the usual business of fighting over food supplies that were enough for ten families.
It’s by looking at all the usual friends covered in snow, the trees, dirt, rocks, roofs, streets, and steps, that I cracked the code. Snow for us hotlanders transforms. Boring old water, which is scarce even in good years, becomes powdery, white, and cold at first, virgin pure, and quickly turns muddy, mucky. Everything changes in an instant and then changes again.
When I was a kid I thirsted after that change. I hungered for that moment when the world shifts shape overnight, when the thing I saw yesterday was no longer the thing I see today.
I still do.
Vicious attack of the scurrilous raccoon scum
February 22, 2023 Comments Off on Vicious attack of the scurrilous raccoon scum
I was sitting on the floor reading, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something move.
“Fuck!” I thought, remembering that I’d left the back door open. It was 9:00 pm, prime raccoon time.
The hallway was dark, so I grabbed the flashlight. “C’mon, Snykes!”
He bounded up and led the way into the back room. I switched on the light. The raccoon was on the threshold but when he saw Snykes he came back in and attacked. It appeared to be the same raccoon that Snykes had tangled with a couple of days before.
The fight was horrible and lasted for over two minutes. A couple of times, Snykes had him by the throat, but he doesn’t have the killer instinct, and at the last minute he’d let him go. “Can’t you see I’m gonna win? Why don’t you just leave?”
Each reprieve led the raccoon to redouble his attacks, at one point climbing up on Snykes’s back. Eventually the raccoon had had enough, and retreated outside. Snykes went into the yard to make sure the raccoon’s exit was permanent. It had climbed over the fence but even so it charged the fence a couple of times, though it didn’t dare come back into the yard. Snykes didn’t budge until the coast was clear, no matter how much I called him.
Anyone who thinks wild raccoons are cute little critters is crazy. They are not afraid of anything.
Snykes came back into the house, and he was limping. That’s when I noticed blood all over the floor. The raccoon had gotten his teeth into Snykes’s foot, and torn away half of one of his foot pads. Now that the battle was over, the pain from his wound hit him. He could barely walk.
In a couple of minutes the bleeding stopped, but he has been unable to walk for three days now. The wound is getting better but it’s still incredibly painful. Since he can only hobble, he’s been spending most of his time in a sunbeam.
Dastardly home break-in!!!!
February 17, 2023 Comments Off on Dastardly home break-in!!!!
Yesterday I opened the back door to let Snykes into the small fenced yard. He spent a few minutes out there and then came in through the doggie door. The back door is in the back bedroom, so when he came back in I closed the bedroom door.
Late that night at 2:00 AM I awakened to the deep growling of my guard doggie. I listened intently and heard footsteps on the porch. We quietly sneaked over to the window and looked out. Two very fat, hideously ugly, despicable raccoons were searching the porch for food. They looked inside my shoes, which was a good bet but yielded nothing.
Snykes barked and I turned on the porch light. The two cowardly marauders with their ugly little bandit masks ran off. Snykes and I curled back up on the floor and were about to drift off … or so we thought. Suddenly we heard the tell-tale snap and flap of the doggie door.
Those little motherfuckers! We leaped up and ran to the back bedroom, where we could hear the noisy little shits running around in the room. I shouted and Snykes barked. I cracked the door and one of their ugly little masked snouts poked out. I yelled at it, and it disappeared. Raccoons make horrible, ghoulish little clicking, squeaking noises. They scurried out the pet door, which flapped shut.
Snykes and I fearfully dashed into the room and switched on the light. I opened the back door to see the two nasty little miscreants climb the back fence and disappear in the dark. My flashlight scanned. Nothing.
Snykes ran out to investigate. At that moment I heard a sound. Turning the beam I saw that the biggest, fattest, meanest little bastard was climbing over the fence to attack Snykes! They rushed at each other and a horrible battle began. The raccoon, shrieking like a ghoul, and Snykes, snapping and barking and growling, joined combat with the wail of Mordor. And worst of all, the other little motherfucker raccoon was standing on the other side of the fence scowling, hissing, and egging them on!
They fought and battled for at least two minutes. I was terrified for Snykes. Surely he’d be clawed to pieces by that nasty, filthy little antisocial rodent. But then they separated! The raccoon’s coat had numerous bite marks on the back but no blood. Snykes was panting. They stared at each other, the raccoon hissing, and his piece of shit buddy screeching on the other side of the fence. Snykes snapped again the fight resumed. Surely one or the other would be torn to shreds! I was rooted to the spot in horror.
Snykes cornered the fat and vicious little bastard against the fence and pulled back for a second, assessing his final attack. The scurrilous rat grabbed the chain links in the fence and hoisted himself to safety. Then, he and his rascal brother stood at the fence and hurled insults at Snykes! They didn’t even run away!
I called my little doggie and he came inside, panting and clearly terrified and traumatized by the vicious attack. I calmed him down with a pork chop and cuddled him. But he was bleeding. The filthy, rabies-infected rat had scratched my little doggie’s paws. Two tiny cuts bled onto our bed. He licked his paws and I gave him another piece of pork chop.
Frightened and shivering, we both went to bed and slept fitfully, dreaming of attacks by waves of nasty, stinky, killer, rabid raccoons with ugly snouts that were obese and rude.
The next day I read up on rabies and determined that Snykes’s risk was real, so I called the SPCA. Great news! He was fully vaccinated! Those dastardly rabies germs would have to go infect another animal, hopefully those nasty little raccoons’ own brood. We celebrated with another pork chop and a nap.
And I made sure to lock the doggie door shut. No more midnight burglaries for us, thanks very much.
Hoppy little doggie
February 16, 2023 Comments Off on Hoppy little doggie
The sun did not shine. It was too cold to play. So we sat by the fire on that cold, frigid day. I sat there with Snykes, we sat there, we two, and I said “How I wish we had something to do! Too cold to go out, too much wind to play ball,” so we sat in the house, we did nothing at all. And all we could do was to sit, sit, sit, sit. And we did not like it. Not one little bit.
I checked my laptop and it said “Enjoy your empty inbox.” I think what it means is “Email is a horrible affliction that ruins your life, and every moment you don’t have to devote to it is a check in the win column.” This little message used to say “Enjoy your day!” until they realized that email means your day sucks, and the overlords at Microsoft didn’t want to re-emphasize what you already know. But it begs the question how you’re supposed to enjoy something that’s empty? Stare at it with relish? Give it the finger? Stick out your tongue?
The best way is to turn off the computer, which is the last thing the overlords want. So I turned it off.
Snykes and I headed up the road. The sky had cleared and it was even colder, but so beautiful.
Snykes stood in the middle of the road to check on my progress. He always does this. “Hurry up! You’ll miss things!” Snykes was wearing his pink sweater.A couple more lovely vistas unfolded. On the hillside a small herd of deer looked down on us, then nimbly disappeared. Snykes smelled their trail and dashed away. I walked up the switchbacks and he was waiting for me. He bounded over. He has the biggest and happiest hops. He is a very hoppy little doggie. Look at the little dust cloud he kicks up!
We walked farther. Further? Shortly past the 2.5-mile mark, with 1,134 feet of elevation gain, we decided to turn back. It was so cold. The wind cut through my wool jacket, wool shirt, undershirt, and through my wool gloves. My toes were even cold. Snykes wasn’t cold at all. He much prefers cold to hot. He bounded along and didn’t seem especially eager to get home. We saw some more pretty views. Finally, he stood at the edge of the road and surveyed his dominions. It is nice to have dominions so vast. Especially when you are a little doggie in a pink sweater.
February 14, 2023 Comments Off on Foot conditioning
Winter is a time when everything gets out of shape, especially my feet. In summer they are rough and callused. I can walk most anywhere, and do. Last summer I did the bulk of a 16-mile hike unshod over rough terrain.
It doesn’t take long for foot fitness to go away, like any other fitness. The mDNA get instructions that no more extra foot skin is needed when you start wearing shoes and bam, the mDNA stops producing it. So now my feet are soft and tender and they hurt when I walk on sharp gravel. There is a lot of sharp gravel in the yard. It’s either a perfect training ground or hell.
Walking barefoot is great for your brain. It improves cognition and memory. It also improves sensory awareness of eyes and ears, especially eyes. When you are getting started with your calluses you can hear your brain analyzing everything beneath your feet. Is it sharp? Is it soft? Hard? Warm? Cold? Cool? Hot? Rough? Smooth? Spiky? Bendy? These are all crucial things your brain has to sort out as you walk barefoot.
As your brain catalogues things as pain-inducing or not, you then lose awareness of them. It’s synapse building-as-you-go.
Calluses don’t take away feeling. They protect the skin from cuts and punctures. Studies comparing the feet of flabby-footed Westerners with villagers who never wear shoes show that the villagers’ feet are every bit as sensitive as the flabby-footed folks. But the villagers’ feet aren’t damaged by walking, a novel idea, and the habitually barefoot have a much more sophisticated ability to discriminate between painful and non-painful sensations.
It’s almost as if people evolved to walk without shoes, almost.
Once you’ve spent the better part of a year walking shoeless, it doesn’t take long for the calluses to build back up. Like other kinds of fitness, having done it in the past makes it easier to do it in the future as long as too much time hasn’t gone by.
It is a very nice feeling, getting in touch with Mother Earth this way. You feel so much more, literally and figuratively, when your skin is in contact with the unpaved surface of the world. And since you stare at the ground a lot, you notice more. You notice little things fighting for life, just the same as you. Little flowers. Tiny shoots of green. Extra-tiny bugs scurrying here and there on important missions, just as important as yours.
We can learn a lot from bugs, none of whom wear shoes, and from dogs for that matter, who generally go bare-pawed. Snykes has extraordinary proprioception. He rarely misplaces a paw, and his rear paws never hit sharp things. How does he do that? His rear paws are behind him. Maybe he memorizes everything in front and then his brain calculates where his rear paws need to land to avoid the ouchies.
It has to be more complicated than it looks, and it looks darned complicated.
By the time April rolls around my calluses should be back, along with my foot muscles. I have told people that walking barefoot is easier than walking shod because in fact your foot muscles do all the work when you walk, not the calves/thighs/glutes. It seems counterintuitive but it isn’t. Your feet are evolved to make you walk with maximal efficiency, and barefoot walking builds up the arches, ankles, and the hundred-plus ligaments/tendons/muscles in the foot itself. The larger muscles in your leg evolved to stabilize and support the weight of the upper limbs and body.
Cover the foot up with a shoe and the foot muscles atrophy, and since they’re constricted and can’t flex, the work shifts to the bigger, less efficient muscles in the legs. Shoes are the reason that even runners can have fat feet with weak connective tissue. And people who don’t even run, like most cyclists and the population at large, simply have flabby and inert feet.
It takes a long time to build up your feet, but when they finally get strong they start to look fundamentally different. The muscles and tendons become pronounced and the foot itself gets skinny and elongated. Your arches start to raise and your toes splay out. And you find that you can walk so much farther with so much less effort.
We still have some cold, therefore shoe weather ahead, but spring foot training has begun.
February 13, 2023 Comments Off on Super weekend
On Friday morning, Snykes and I hiked up the 5 Hills, then up to the big lookout. It was a 6-mile walk with 1,316 feet of climbing. At the bottom of the Big Hill, Snykes let me know that he was tired by lying upside down in a ditch.
But I knew he was just taking a break, so we continued on to the lookout, looked out, than tramped the 3+ miles home. He was super tired. He is a little doggie with short legs. Running up steep hills is hard. He does it anyway.
After a few hours I decided to go on a bicycle ride up Old State Road. It took me an hour and fifty-two minutes to go just over thirteen miles. The sand was deep. The road was steep. The melted snow made everything muddy. The road above Wagy Flat was washed out from the the snowmelt. Cars couldn’t go on it and they hadn’t, it months. There was a downed tree in the middle of the road. I pedaled very slowly but it was hard as fuck.
Finally I got to the snow. I tried to ride it for a few yards. I couldn’t. It was only going to get deeper, so I turned around. But dog it was beautiful. When you are high in the mountains it is so quiet. You can hear rushing water from the creeks and freshets below. An occasional scrub jay squawks; that’s about it.
That night Kristie arrived. We got up early on Saturday and went to Lake Isabella for groceries and bird seed. Snykes loves the car because he thinks we are going to McDonald’s. He also thinks he is a lap dog. He sits in my lap in the passenger seat, usually crushing my thighs and occasionally my nuts. I don’t mind. He is happy with his nose out the window. Snykes’s approach is good. He thinks we have to do everything together because we are pals. Pals are like that.
Next, we decided to enjoy the pre-game show, not the one that everybody else saw, but rather our own private one along the M-99 en route to the Johnsondale Bridge. I think we saw less than a dozen cars in three-and-a-half hours.
We decided to ride heart rate and I averaged 121 bpm for the whole ride, which although that’s only the top of my Zone 2, ended up being a really hard 52 miles with 3,100 feet of elevation. It’s the same ride I’d done earlier in the week but I felt great and rode faster, finished faster, and ended much less tired. It’s almost as if training works. And when you’re on a 30-lb. aluminum bike with fat tires, it almost feels like you accomplished more. Almost.
On the way back we stopped at Brush Creek to marvel at the little falls. Usually there’s hardly any water in it. We also stopped to check out a downed power line. The cliff fell over on it and buried it. SCE had better things to do on Super Bowl weekend than repair downed lines.
We got home and were really tired, but we both had that satisfied feeling of having done a hard ride. Coming into town I pretended I’d gotten clear on the Poggio and had made it alone to the Via Roma, only to be chased down at the last second by Merckx, Zabel, de Vlaeminck, Cavendish, and Kelly. Catching my breath I dropped back, then swung wide and hit out early, catching them by surprise and taking the first classic of the season by a tire width, right there in front of the adoring toothless lady standing in front of Charlie’s Grocery Mart.
On Super Sunday we were super tired. Snykes was not happy because he’d been excluded from the bike ride. He has always wanted to win Milan-San Remo, too. We decided to do a ten-mile hike up Cannell Meadow Trail.
There were two other people with dogs but we soon passed them and had the trail to ourselves. We made a detour before turning around, scrambling a half-mile up a crazy steep wall that ended atop a peak looking down into the river valley. Snykes loved it so much. He is a good little doggie and such a strong little hiker.
We climbed over 3,100 feet in five miles of ascending. It felt steeper than it was because of the hard ride on Saturday. The air was crisp and chilly but not cold. At times the sky cleared and at others it looked stern and wintry. Snowy Sierra peaks cut the skyline. We had the whole million acres to ourselves.
Back at home we all three collapsed for a long winter’s nap. During that time someone threw a football somewhere and lots of drunk people got drunker and half of them got happier and half of them sadder. I hope it all worked out for everyone in the end.
I know it did for us.
January 31, 2023 Comments Off on Freedog
When I got Snykes I had a romantic vision of taking him to the mountains where we would take long, rambling walks together. He would bound ahead, sniffing out quail and dove and squirrels, and I would stride along behind. He’d look back at me from time to time but I’d never need to call, wouldn’t need a leash. Snykes would be a freedog, rescued from the pound by a benevolent me who gave him the freedom to simply be a dog.
It was a geriatric version of “A Boy and His Dog,” retitled “An Old Fart and His Dog.”
But Snykes had other ideas.
The first thing he did was to bleed all over my shoe. Life in the pound had meant little to no walking, so his pads were tender as a puppy’s. Simply jumping around in the “get acquainted” pen for a few minutes, walking out on the SPCA grounds, and bounding around in the parking lot shredded his feet. When we got home he could barely walk.
The pads healed but Snykes appeared to be more of a sleeper than a walker. He’d eagerly jump up to go outside and was always happy to walk for longer distances, but his status quo was asleep. And then when we brought him up to the cabin it got even more complicated.
Even though we’re flush up against the Sequoia National Forest, you can’t just let your dog run off leash until you’re a pretty long way from town. There are occasionally other dog walkers, and of course some people simply let their dogs run wild all day. The dogs are aggressive and Snykes has a certain street dog air to him; the one time in LA that he got attacked by two large dogs off leash, the attackers quickly thought better of it. Snykes deftly got to the large shepherd’s throat, and if Snykes hadn’t been on his leash, it would have ended badly. For the shepherd.
Moreover, Snykes loves to meet and greet people, and it’s not always mutual. So we would take long walks every morning with him on the leash. He strained a bit in the beginning, but as long as I let him sniff and pee where he wanted, it was okay. I wanted to let him off his leash but I also feared he’d run away. So we walked together, tethered.
Yesterday, after we’d gotten a solid two miles up the road, I decided to give it a try. I’d never seen another person that far up the road, and I mean, “A Boy and His Dog,” right?
I unsnapped the leash and he trotted a few steps, waiting for some other type of control to be asserted. None came. He glanced back at me, confirmed that he was in fact off the leash, and sprinted away. I had no idea he could run that fast. In a few seconds, kicking up dust like a car, he was fifty yards away, and then, without stopping, he wheeled, skidded backwards, and going even faster made a beeline back towards me.
He was running downhill so fast that his rear legs couldn’t keep up with his front, sending him in a full sidewise, barely-in-control run, his tongue flapping like a sail until he got within a foot of me and instead of crashing and sending me sprawling, he sheared off and continued sprinting down the hill, turning again and racing back to me at breakneck speed.
I’ve seen happy dogs before but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one as happy as Snykes being freed from the leash. We walked another couple of miles up the road, or rather I did. Snykes ran ten steps or more for every one of mine. He sniffed, he checked, the galloped, he loped, he trotted, he dashed down the road embankments, he explored and leaped and bounded as only a free person can. I mean dog.
No, actually, I don’t.