Surprisingly, my plan passed muster from all sides. Not a single objection. No one raised an eyebrow or whispered a protestation. Interestingly, I never heard the words “You’re leaving the puppy with her?”. Quite frankly, I’ve had a harder time wrestling a stuffed animal away from a small child than I did this cute little puppy from it’s owners.

They handed him over willingly, along with all his belongings. I hid my shock and disbelief and quietly loaded his stuff into my car. Have a nice trip – see you when you get back. HA. If you can find me when you return. Then, smooth as ice, I was granted full, total custody of an adorable puppy. For ten days. Let the spoiling begin.

Animals are instinctive creatures. They already know what you are thinking and act accordingly. No one said, that leather chair is yours to sit in, but this puppy knew it was OK. Go ahead, make yourself at home. As long as you are comfortable. He just knew he was on vacation – a super-size vacation. Everything around here with regards to dogs is double extra- large.

Now, I know he’s never been on a cruise, but the activity and food and accommodations resemble what I recall on my last cruise. Full course buffets, lounging outside drinking by the pool, light nap in the afternoon, and then eating again. Repeat. No rules, too. You’re on vacation – do whatever you want. Sleep where ever you want and eat what ever you want.

Toughen up a bit too. Tug of war with a dog who weighs 140 to your 12 pounds? Dragging his toys around, which isn’t easy and running away when he thinks you’re eating his food? It’s a little bit of boot camp too. Sissy boot camp because that what most boot camps are anyway. Made for sissy’s. In order to get tough you have to hang out with the big dogs – it’ll come natural then. Oh well, am I worried that they will read this and come rushing back? Of course not – They’re on vacation! They are having fun while I am also having a great time spoiling this little dog of theirs. Free of charge.

No vacation goes unpunished.

Karl A. Hakkarainen

It seemed like a bona fide rendition of  the charming Dr. Seuss book “Are You My Mother?”. Little creatures in places least expected. The box turtle found wandering unhurriedly through the middle of the yard where he was met head-on by Mr. Camp Curiosity. Poor guy hunkered down as if a typhoon was imminent.

Reluctantly, the love struck dog was dragged inside and I went to check on the turtle. Time elapsed? Two or three minutes.  So how does this deliberately dawdling turtle vanish in a matter of minutes? It’s true – he was gone.

Under that tough shell was sheer determination. I suppose, in certain instances the tempo of a turtle may be changed by trauma. No chance of a reunion here.

Surprisingly, right around the corner in a matter of minutes another episode. From just inside the rose bush, crying and carrying on were three baby birds. Even I had to ask them – where is your mother – you poor babies. They’re hungry. Where is that mother bird? I’m not your mother. Where is she? Of course, checking on them every hour day and night was now essential. Those tiny beaks screaming for a morsel of food. I was ready to go digging for a few worms myself. (Not really but…) And yet, in the course of a day what the heck.

And finally, to show I have a changed attitude, a renewed interest in the creatures around me, who else but my “friend” the snake showed up to test me. We were both having a quite relaxing morning. Coffee (me), sunshine (him), calm weather (us), and then we met. Again. I don’t want to speak for this fellow but I presume we are both tired of this relationship. I run, he runs, etc. It’s exhausting. Then I had a small revelation.I found out that I have complete control over this guy. I can whisper one word and he slips into obscurity. Boo. And he’s gone. Then, I felt sorry for him and decided, we can co-exist. Just keep your distance and ditto for me and its a happy arrangement. For now – how about that!

And the turtles, of course… All the turtles are free- As turtles and, maybe, all creatures should be.
Dr. Seuss
American Writer and Cartoonist, b. 1904-1991

How did that Frank Sinatra song go? I want to be a part of it, New York….New York. What exactly did he mean by that? Part of what? I like NY although occasionally it exasperates me.  And I have an abundance of patience so it takes a lot to aggravate me.

I don’t think Frank was referring to the traffic. Although driving in midtown and beyond doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I understand traffic patterns, I know how to drive, and I do it diligently. For example, merging traffic– everyone knows what this means. In the real world, it means you go, I go, we take turns. Customarily, it’s very civilized. In NY, there’s some minor adjustments. Merging in midtown means — you cut me off, I cut you off, you give me the finger, I curse you under my breath and we fight to the finish. It’s very simple.

So, recently after a brief weekend in the city, we got in the car and began the trek back home. There were roughly 30 blocks between where we parked and the Lincoln Tunnel. No problem. Except, for some reason this particular Sunday was extraordinarily busy. Every block had an excruciatingly long traffic light with the added burden of, don’t block the box, no honking, miss the cab driver by a hair. All the normal stuff.

I remained very calm for the duration. Even as four lanes merged into one. I didn’t exhibit any signs of impatience. I could literally see the tunnel entrance. I’d been waiting patiently for this merger for just under an hour. The tunnel was ONE BLOCK AWAY. I breathed a sigh a relief. Finally.

Out of the blue, yes – the NYPD traffic cop blue, came the whistle.  I was in the far right lane carefully merging to the left. Suddenly, before me I heard the shrill, high pitched sound, a searingly loud, obnoxious whistle. Manning the intersection was a NYPD traffic cop pointing his finger at me. Inches before my merger into the tunnel – this giant fellow is pointing me to the outside lane. I was incredulous, beyond annoyed, exceptionally exasperated.

I looked at him and looked at the traffic entering the tunnel and was like – YOU ARE CRAZY. I continued creeping forward carefully considering my options – even though they appeared limited.  With his left hand he pointed me to the outside lane again - as if I missed it the first time.  Seemed he sensed the flicker of resistance and stepped towards the car and mouthed the words – I DARE YOU while casually reaching for the ticket booklet inside his jacket.

Now, had I taken him up on his offer I might likely be writing this from a NYPD traffic cop jail. Three seconds later, not even, he said it again – of course with more meaning. I DARE YOU.  (He double dared me?) Cautiously I put my window down and asked – what exactly do you want me to do? His answer – Go ’round the block.  (????)

So this traffic cop thinks by taking one little car out of the tunnel traffic his issues are over? My patience was o-v-e-r. I admit, I wimped out – I did what I was told, unhappily. Quickly, the conversation in the car turned to why this guy was so cranky. A rationalization was imperative. What was his problem?

Sunday duty, tunnel traffic, bad attitude, – he must have been at least on probation or something…..missed his coffee & doughnut stop this morning….whatever….

A Car is useless in New York, essential everywhere else. The same with good manners.

Mignon McLaughlin, American Journalist 1913-1983

Almost any other creature would be welcome. I acknowledge it’s an unfair assumption but I draw the long, skinny line against this fellow. I don’t know him but still I don’t like him. No reason. And I’m not budging on the issue. Imagine, a beautiful afternoon, mulching, mowing and playing with the puppy.

I took a short five minute intermission from where I’d been kneeling in the dirt pushing the mulch around. Then the question….

Hey, did you see the snake? Me: NO, what snake and where? Exactly where you were just mulching.

I looked and sure enough, all curled up, nestled comfortably is the snake. IN MY GARDEN. IN MY MULCH. IN MY SPACE. Needless to say my interest in this activity was effectively terminated. I rip off the gloves and the knee pads and declare my status. FINISHED.

But still, something obviously needs to be done about this creature. What shall WE do with it?

I challenge anyone to deny they haven’t used the “we” word in this context. Simply, it means we — but not me. I may watch but I will not help. “We” should put him someplace. WE. You get my point. In certain circumstances, “we” just does not exist. (Such as, what time are we getting up today?, or What time did we get in last night….)

Anyway, my plan was not executed. Snake catching is a slippery business. I’ve never caught a snake so I was blissfully unaware of the SOP. The standard operating procedure in this situation involves a series of steps, of course. Apparently, they must go in order also.

Put the dog inside. Let’s (which is just another form of the “we”) find something to put the snake in. Let’s find something to catch it with….meanwhile, I swear there was a committee/coffee meeting on how to corral this fellow and relocate him to a new home.

Of course what happened was he slipped away, back into his private estate where he is most likely procreating smaller snakes to torment me. I heard it myself, before the snake catcher could get to him – HE GOT AWAY. DARN. Yeah, darn I said. I will not elaborate on what I was thinking….

No matter what happens with snakes, DO NOT google the word snake to find out what it was or was not……the pictures are not worth it………….

Snakes, why did it have to be snakes?

Raiders of the Lost Ark

Most of my day dreaming and musings transpire while I’m standing in front of the kitchen sink. On this particular evening the window is cracked open to flaunt a beautiful spring night and I find myself gazing over a container of smiling yellow pansies with dark brown dimples which are sitting on the back patio. It’s quite peaceful.

My eyes wander aimlessly across the backyard. And back. Hopscotching between the yellow pansies and the back yard grill where my very specially marinated chicken is simmering. (I am anticipating dinner in less than ten minutes. Yum.)

Back and forth like an intense ping-pong game. I watch. It escalates to an all star tennis match. I am watching closer. Faster as the action changes. They are just an arms length apart. These pansies and the grill.

Now, I notice, dancing from the grill are flames. I am usually NOT the grill person so my commentary is generally unwelcome. “It’s fine. Just a little char-grilled.” (I fear for my chicken and my life and the life of my dog.)

I make my point in one short sentence. Very calmly, I exclaim, excuse me I meant explain — without shouting hysterically or acting crazy — without screaming or evacuating the area, I say (perhaps tersely, or nervously, or tensely)….maybe I shouted but probably not…..

I think, THE GRILL IS ON FIRE. I will omit the !!!!!! because I realistically could not put as many !!!!!!! into this as need be. Remember, I am a calm observer. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Over the next several minutes (as the fire turns into an inferno – granted, my opinion…) we watch and believe me when I say, it was on fire. I was mourning the loss of my fantastically marinated chicken, (I wasn’t ready to answer any questions about my recipe…) but I was quite concerned about the situation.

The ensuing, somewhat (un) civilized discussion went….close the lid! no, open the lid, no! definitely close it. It was a smoke signal to the surrounding five square miles of neighbors.

In my defense, I did what any sensible person would do. I ran around the house three times looking for the twenty year old fire extinguisher which I knew existed, (where was it???) all the while racking my brain for a solution to this situation. Finally, in one hand the phone with the numbers 911 almost dialed and in the other hand a fire extinguisher – I said – grease fires need powder, or something. I said – “Throw this on there.” It was a white powdery substance from the cabinet – OK – it wasn’t what the fire dept. would have used but hey……..I tried.  It may have aggravated the situation a tiny bit – oh well……the fire went out after twenty minutes, no harm done but no chicken for dinner that night……….

I don’t even butter my bread; I consider that cooking.

Katherine Cebrian

Smuggled between two gorgeous sun splashed days last weekend was Saturday. It was the evil stepchild. Friday was the younger, energetic, happy child. Sunday was the older, cooler, medium-tempered child. Gusty but not turbulent.

Saturday lashed out with buckets of rain, sulking with chilly temperatures, moping in springtime mud. It was a broadcast to the world. A hostile warning – stay inside today. Drink hot drinks and eat chocolate croissants or bacon-stuffed waffles or anything else accessible.

This weather is the very reason why I do not like to plan ahead for outdoor activities that need prepayment. Unsympathetic, unfriendly rain. Without that paid-up commitment, there’s no guilt when I wander to the coffee machine instead of the car. I’ll just make a pot of grumpy-monkey coffee and bag the race. Not today. Not in the rain.

But now – it’s done and I just wasted money if I don’t go. (Let’s not wander into the den of why did I pay in the first place.) Mentally, I’m handcuffed to this thing. Just like the winds, so many prevailing thoughts.

Watching the pounding rain on the drive there created a dire sense of urgency. Hurry, get home and bring all my baby pansies inside. They were going to drown. More guilt.

Upon arrival I looked frantically for a place to hide. It is pouring rain. It’s cold and wet. All the extra clothing in the car I am now wearing – hence, nothing dry for the ride home. If there is a ride home.

It was the infamous Mt. Penn Mudfest. What I know now – it’s not a good idea to chat with anyone at the starting line. Ignore everyone because the information is coming from crazy people and you begin to wonder if you are one of “them”. A 15-k trek thru hill and dale and mud and muck. Four early spring water crossings. And of all things – the 15th anniversary of the race. The race director describes it as “unmatched by anything other than Full Contact Backgammon.”  ???

The logo on the shirt said- “15 Years of Dirt, Debris and Despair”. What I saw was — get in the car and get out of here. Now. That did not happen. All this so I could consume a couple of chocolate bunny’s? On Easter?

Eternal gratitude goes to the runner behind me who acted as a lifeline across each water crossing. Plus a push up the muddy embankment, and after the third time said “since we’ve been holding hands so often – I should know your name…”

The finish line was exactly what I wanted to see when it eventually arrived!

Perhaps one day this too will be pleasant to remember.

Virgil

Ah, the test. All he must do is demonstrate his ability with ten basic commands. (TEN!). With my assistance…hmmm.

In front of a couple of instructors. Throw in a few distractions which included one cranky beagle and a frisky little puppy.

With the added directives — Ignore them, if you want to pass.

And of course, the vacuum cleaner and some other noisy stuff. {Are they just trying to push him over the edge?}

OK, let’s just get this thing over with.

Final exam time – let’s see what you’ve got. Granted, he is a dog and does not care if the instructor doesn’t like him or pass him. But me? I think it would be a reflection on both of us – mostly me, but does he know this? I don’t think so.

Rightfully, there is no comparison but somehow each time he completed an exercise I felt like the partner of an Olympic Ice-skater – Yes! A triple, triple double whatever – landed!

I agree, there’s no way it would ever be that difficult.

The last five minutes of class went like this:

Instructor: He’s very, very good. He did very well. And he’s very, very handsome. (OK, I added several extra very’s.)

Me: Thank you – We try. (Extra hard)

2nd Instructor: What kind of pills do you have him on this evening?

Me: He had a little red wine with dinner. Ha, ha.

Instructor: It’s amazing. He passed.

Me: What? Are you sure?

Instructor: Yes, he’s very smart and very handsome and very….(shall I finish?)

On his way to a career in therapy dog training…..

Shall I rent the hall and have the party? Nah, I’ll wait……….

Have an aim in life — then don’t forget to pull the trigger.

ps. Happy Birthday Martha & Lorenzo!

This week is what you’d generally consider the mid-term. Halfway to the exam.

The big test. The time to realize that it’s “get ready” or the class may go into the tank.

But…is my partner up for the challenge? Can he dig deep and find it in himself to pass? I myself am feeling a bit anxious – even though I don’t see any of these symptoms in the puppy. It seems like he could care less….?!

His behavior last week at class looked a lot like a weather chart in early March.

Warming, with periods of cold and ice. Some fog and a bit unpredictable. A little cloudy with signs of spring but also mud. Yes, a mixed bag.

I’m considering the possible reasons behind this apparent lapse in behavior. Let’s be clear – I’m absolutely not making excuses for this perfect little puppy. Just trying to imagine what is running through that pint-sized brain of his at times. I use that term very loosely. A pint is extremely generous I agree.

I acknowledge that he would rather be sleeping at 8:15 p.m. (Class time). Plus, I can see he’s not thrilled with the ride in the car. Also, he hates that the other dogs are afraid of him. I try to help out by saying – “He’s very nice and will not eat your schnauzer in one bite….” as the little schnauzer runs into the corner with the owners schrieking.

He loves other dogs to the same degree that they run and hide from him. It is heartbreaking. He’s a baby and who wants to see their baby with hurt feelings??? He’s just a puppy. Larger than life, but still….

Plus, there are rules. I’ve never been a “rules” person so he doesn’t like them either. I’ll take full blame for that. Although, I believe  most rules are made to be broken and I did not teach him this – he picked it up on his own.

So, he breaks all the rules.  Geez, how’s that test gonna happen? Ok – I’ll take full responsibility if he fails, which he’d better not!

If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.

Katharine Hepburn
- American Actress, Writer

That’s what the guys t-shirt said at the start of the race and I immediately decided to adopt the philosophy as my own.

Mostly because it’s true, so far. And in small print beneath – it said, “Tapering since 1982″. Which is perfect.

This was at the starting line of the recent trail run last Sunday while standing around waiting for the torture to begin.

It’s also the time you’re eyeing up the crowd and wondering, what’s wrong with them? Why are they out here in the rain and snow on a cold February morning?

Them? Or me? hmmm…

Driving there I was equally distracted between the car’s thermostat and the windshield wipers. I was desperately waiting for the temperature to go up past 35 degrees and for the rain to quit so I could to turn the wipers to: OFF. I would have been very satisfied with intermittent.

The run was only a little over 7 miles but I had a feeling that anyone who designs a trail run in mid-February and calls it the “Ugly Mudder” was going to be absolutely thrilled with this weather. And this I found to be correct.

And ‘Ugly’ was a very important part of the race description. Actually, it was the only word necessary. Conditions, footing, hills, downed trees, rocks and including what you look like at the finish, and on and on. And “Mudder”? You guessed it. That’s the way these runs pan out.

If you ever begin to wonder if you’re a little crazy I’d suggest staying away from trail runs. Because it’ll confirm everything one way or the other. Immediately.

Generally, I find it very relaxing to listen to music when I run. But not during the trail runs. It’s too much work to run, listen to music and cope with the terrain and the surroundings all at the same time.

Anyway, I must pay attention. I’ve discovered that I start to hear things and see things on the trail. It’s true.

I hear voices. And then I hear footsteps. I also hear heavy breathing. I even see things. Then I ask myself – am I nuts or what? Then if I stop and turn around and to see who’s back there — there’s no one. Frankly, it’s a little creepy. I fail to understand how this occurs.

I started with 762 people and within an hour or less they’re gone. The second largest rustic trail run east of the Rockies and they all vanish? How does that happen? It’s a mystery. Like I said, you will think you’re crazy. And maybe you are but the goal is to get the heck out of the woods. And the final 500 feet are just confirmation of what drives these nutty runners. A muddy, dirty, steep, rocky embankment which goes straight up – the perfect opportunity to see if you can claw your way out.

What fun. And my new philosophy is working just fine – not fast but not last. Yes!

My psychiatrist told me I’m going crazy. I told him …. If you don’t mind I’d like a second opinion. He said …. Alright…. you’re ugly too!

Rodney Dangerfield

From what I’ve heard lately, any animal that resembles a small horse may need a JOB – something to do besides sleep and eat. I’ve been told many times over – DO NOT let him lay around sleeping all day.

Do not be an enabler. As cute as that is – he should be working. Doing something to help out. Everyday. Anything besides dragging his eight pound toys around because that doesn’t really count. Nor does digging holes.

OK, fine. I can agree to that. I can see the logic – kind of…I guess. So, he is back in class. This time with a goal in mind. Believe me when I say the class time could have been a little earlier than 8:15 p.m. It’s not the easiest thing to wake him, get him in the car and request that he remain awake for the next hour during a class that starts during his sleepy  time.

Stop that yawning please – it’s embarrassing. And stop rolling around like that.

Dog therapy class. He only needs to go to five classes, pay attention and take a final exam – in front of an evaluator. Test? Oh God – the test. Is it only him being tested? Or do we both fail if he does something stupid?? Damn, Damn, Damn. BUT, should he ace the test – he can have a job right away. That’s a relief. Another working member of the household. Yee ha.

No need to panic but the whole premise behind the class is to test the tolerance of your dog. See if he has what it takes. The dog is supposed to be going out into the working world and he may run into things that he likes or that he totally hates. This class is intended to prepare him for all of this. He needs to remain cool, calm and collected while he’s working.

So when the instructor got the vacuum cleaner out I did not feel it was the appropriate time to reveal that just two days prior Atlas knocked over a piece of furniture, two candle holders and a glass vase when he saw our vacuum cleaner. Uh oh.

I myself almost had an anxiety attack when I saw this thing – need I say more???? Let’s just say, I hope the vacuum cleaner is not on the final exam.

The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.

Samuel Butler
1612-1680, British Poet, Satirist