Bad Dog, Good Food

Hi, everyone. Muzzy is glad to be home. Me, not so much. Chicago in summer is pretty excellent. For one whole week, my friend Maria and I ate fantastic food, saw plenty of sites, drank plenty of drinks, and lived a carefree (read: dog free) life of hotels, cafes, museums, lake-side views, and breezy summer weather. That said, if a dog walked down the street, I would turn away from whatever architectural wonder I was gazing at so that I could dogle. (Note to self: Walking a dog in Chicago in summer is great; in winter probably not.)

Maria and I made a special trip to have lunch at the Bad Dog Tavern in the Lincoln Square section of town. On Fridays, salads are only $6! A bargain. And delicious. Also, dogs are always welcome. We saw a big friendly Lab there. He was not a bad dog at all. No begging. Even the dogs in Chicago have manners.

One of the things I forget, living in Austin, is that summer is the time when people elsewhere in the world eat outside. We ate al fresco at every opportunity. What a pleasure to eat a good meal while not being eaten by mosquitos or scorched by the sun. 

Here is Maria.

See you at the Park. -z

Spring Break: Oklahoma Style

I think we can add these bad boys to Muzzy's list of mortal enemies. The interesting thing was that she didn't even notice them until they moved or mooed. Then she charged and barked at them like an idiot. She had no concept that each of these beasts weighs as much as a car and could squish her like a bug—not to mention that they were the source of the patties that she found so delish. These enormous animals are amazingly stealthy. They could vanish in an instant and suddenly appear on the other side of the field--without anyone seeing or hearing them move. 

Here's our Roma grazing in a field of young wheat. As you can see, our Dog Park seems puny in comparison. 

Here is Muzzy at the edge of a field of clover. Behind her is the creek, the source of those pesky ticks. I have yet to find a tick on either of the dogs. I put their flea & tick prevention stuff on them before our trip, just by chance. 

That stuff really works. I wish I had had some for myself.  Instead, I found myself jumping around like a marionette in a little tea shop in town after discovering ticks crawling up my neck and pant leg. Sorry, there is no photographic evidence of the ticks. Imagine lentils with legs.

The girls and Gracie, age 4, are heading down the driveway to check the mail and also the squished rabbit. A lot things can get squished on a ranch, but we managed to remain intact on this trip, thanks in great part to well made fences.

This visit to Oklahoma was Roma's first road trip in almost seven years—since I moved back to Texas in 2002. I really thought that at 13 she would have trouble with the long hours in the car and the unfamiliar surroundings. As you can see, I was wrong. The Old Girl had a great time.

--zia

Greetings from Oklahoma

Hi, everyone! Today is the last day of our trip to rural, north-central Oklahoma. (Pictures to come.) Let me tell you that a cattle ranch in Oklahoma, from the dogs' point of view, is better than Dog Park--it has wide open spaces, birds to chase, cattle to bark at, stock tanks to splash around in, cow patties to roll in, and small children to herd. Plus, it's an official leash-free zone. Bonus (for me): Someone does not have to pick up the poop! Drawback: It's tick season already (although I seem to be the only one picking the creepy little buggers off my neck).

Every day we wander around the young wheat fields and ogle the cattle--Angus, which are big, black, and without horns. We also have helped plant spring gardens, cleared brush (take that George Bush), and hung laundry to let the famous Oklahoma winds dry our jeans so stiff that we can barely walk in them.

Oklahoma is Muzzy's homeland, and although she has become citified, she has reverted to being quite the ranch dog. She barks at the cattle and at anyone who sets foot on the property--and not in her puppy voice, but in a new, deep confident grown-up dog voice. Instead of letting Roma take the lead (Roma would rather be asleep under the dining table in the ranch house), Muzzy is the one at the front of the pack. At one point, I was lying the grass dozing (it was an experiment; I wanted to see what the big deal is--why do dogs and cows love to lie around in the grass? Answer: The grass is warm and sof, and the wind billows over you, and all you want to do is sleep in the sun), and I realized that I didn't know where Roma was. (Roma is pretty much deaf now, so the problem is that if she runs off too far, no amount of yelling will bring her home.) I sat up from my slumber and saw Roma way out in a field. Muzzy picked up on my concern, and, without a word from me, took off to herd Roma back. Then, just as she was about to pounce on Roma, Roma squatted in a business-like way, and, mid-leap, Muzzy changed course and avoided crashing into the old pooper. It was a strange little moment in which Muzzy read both my mind and also Roma's body language. I marveled at her perceptiveness. I wondered, Who is this dog?

We end our pastoral tomorrow. Then it's nine hours in the car and back to Austin and Dog Park, which will seem puny in comparison, I'm afraid. But it also will be filled with friends (canine) who will probably sniff my boots and (human) who can provide treats and all the news we've missed. We'll see how Muzzy fits back in to the pecking (or rather, barking) order.
--zia