Crazy Driver

Have you ever been cruising along, just enjoying your day, when suddenly some crazy-in-too-big-of-a-hurry is running up your backside? You speed up; they speed up. You slow down; they get pissed. And you wonder, Why don't they just go ahead and pass me?

It happens to me daily. Only that crazy "person" is my dog! Keep in mind that many of the trails I hike are wide enough for a car and most are wide enough for two large humans to walk side by side (Much less a large human and a skinny dog!).

But daily, the little witch will breathe down the back of my legs, audibly groaning at my pace, and yet she will not pass me unless, I step aside! Once I step off the main trail, she dashes ahead, happy as can be....until I catch up and suddenly, she's behind me, huffing her displeasure.

Kinda makes me miss rush hour traffic!

*#%^(-@$ Leash-walkers!

After reading the follow comment by Carmon on my previous post, I wanted to write a clearer explanation of my favorite curse word, leash-walker. Here is what Carmon wrote:

"As one of the loathed 'leash walkers' I thought I would explain that in some cases, like with sight hounds and greyhounds in particular, they must be on leash in open areas for their own safety. After thousands of years of genetic programming to chase, any running animal will turn off all reason with the only focus being on chasing. They will run until they are exhausted and have no idea where they are. They will run right through barb wire fences and directly into traffic. There are a few rare ones who can be trusted, Duffy, Vannie and Mikey were safe in our own history. But ones like Ellie proved over and over again that no amount of training would bring her back if she got out of the yard on a chase."

I'm starting to realize that Mabel's Greyhound roots are probably what sends her on such chases and makes it necessary for me to have a leash with me. I've never written about Mabel's deer incident. We've had several encounters in the creek with wild deer. But there was one in March of '05 that really stands out...mainly due to a nagging pain in my shoulder from that day.

I had just rounded the levee and heard a strange splashing / moving rocks kind of noise. I looked upstream and at first thought it was a really large rabbit coming downstream. Then I realized it was a deer with huge ears. Not having a leash on me and knowing it was too late to get Mabel out of there, I took her down to the shoreline and made a lot of noise. I started singing really loud and waving one arm to alert the doe to my presence while holding onto Mabel's collar with my right hand.

My actions worked to a degree. The doe took the lower channel which was blocked from our view thanks to an island in the stream. Mabel could only see the island and not the other stream, but she knew something big was over there. The doe took off up onto the land but kept heading downstream at a gallop. Fifty yards down, she decided to enter the water again. And then my girl spotted her.

I was screaming "NO!" and holding onto Mabel with everything in me. She pulled me down, ripping something in my shoulder (don't know what...crappy health insurance. I never went to the doc but my shoulder hurts all the time!). I ended up flat on my back and when I put my foot down, I was in the cold water. I made it up to my knees and saw that Mabel was gaining on the doe. I screamed and called for her...It made no impact. It was as if I wasn't even there.

They rounded the bend in the creek and I could see they were side by side. Mabel had caught up with the doe and they were having the best run! And all I could imagine was that they were about a third of the way to the freeway. I really thought I didn't have a dog anymore...which is when I learned another thing about Mabel. She loves me...and is somehow aware when I'm not around anymore...even when chasing.

I was hurt and sobbing and convinced I would never see my dog again. I headed back to my car. I had barely made the second bend in the trail when I heard her collar. Another 30 seconds and she was by my side.

This incident was one of the events that led me to carry a leash. The other, as mentioned before was a run - in with leash walkers.

A leash walker is not someone who leashes their dog to protect the animal from his / her own habit of running off into the wilderness. It is not someone who lives in a city environment and leashes to keep the dog out of traffic. A leash walker is one who is so afraid of everything and has no idea how to train a dog much less socialize one. They don't even get the dynamics of socializing an on-leash animal with one off-leash.

There are women who come to the creek, terrified of danger around every corner. They are terrified of snakes, water, homeless people, cacti, teenagers, and coyotes. They hold their leashes so tight, I'm afraid they are going to choke their pup! They are mortified of an off leash dog coming up to them or their dog. They start screaming the minute they see you. With a world full of safe sidewalks where dogs must walk on leash, I wonder what the heck they are even doing out at the creek!

One such woman saw me descending the mountain opposite the levee one Saturday. She and her friend had big white shepherds on leash. And even though we were a good 100 yards away across two creeks, they both started screaming, "Get your dog, get your dog."

Why?

"Our dogs aren't friendly."

Then why did you come here?....everyone here has friendly off leash dogs.

"Well that's not the law."

I proceeded to explain my law...that would be the middle digit... and hiked upstream away from them.

The fact is, I've so rarely encountered dogs off-leash that can't work out their differences as long as the humans stay out of it. But more likely, the humans hear a growl and take it for aggression, when often, the dogs are just boisterous.

When an on-leash dog meets an off-leashed one, the on-leash dog can feel threatened and become aggressive. The "flight option" is taken away, so fight is the only choice. But this can be avoided if the person holding the leash is a calming force. But so often, in the creek, I encounter people who are so terrified of other dogs, they tighten the rein on their dog, thus making him show aggression.

There is another dog at the creek, Dolly, who is outright aggressive. We've begged her owner repeatedly to keep her on a leash. I've seen / heard of several of Dolly's fights at the creek and she has attacked Mabel at least five times. My leash has proved vital in these fights... I've actually kept Dolly at bay by swinging it! (Her owner offers no assistance in these skirmishes!)

I firmly believe that Dolly's owner should have spent the time socializing her so that she doesn't see every dog she meets as something she wants to kill. And Dolly was an off-leash dog and only recently has her owner started leashing her.

So I guess what I mean by the term "leash-walker" is someone who doesn't take the time to socialize their dogs and teach them how to have fun with other dogs.

And that dear Carmon is certainly not you!

Running Scared

Last night, wanting to enjoy the almost fall-like July in recent memory, I decided to take the girl for an extra evening hike. But I was running about 20 minutes late, arriving at the creek at 7:50. There were no cars in the parking lot... a rarity on a cool night.

Feeling certain I wouldn't see anyone, I made a critical mistake. I chose the leave the leash in the car. I hate carrying a leash! Ninety-five percent of the time, I wear it bandolier style across my right shoulder drooping down to my left waist. It stays there until we return to the car. For years, I never carried one at all but after one too many encounters with "leash-walkers" (My favorite cuss word and greatest insult to a dog person I can think of!) I started wearing the leash myself... just to have it handy.

The other reason for my evening hike has to do with our broke state's water gouging laws. California now tells us when we have to water our lawns and mandated that we all cut back. Because they are gouging our water prices, I stopped watering all but one section of my back yard in March. When driving through my town, you can easily spot my house. It's the one with pretty roses on the dead lawn! And my dog longs for a nice expanse of green.

The golf course when the sod was going in 2003

Couple that with our local golf course upping it's day rate to nearly $200 a game which means, there aren't as many golfers. Since the golf course was built in the middle of my favorite trails, many dog owners sneak onto the course just before sunset for a good run.

It's heaven to see the dogs running on the that lovely, open green area and with runny babbits dashing in the distance.

Just as we neared the end of the trail and the beginning of the green, I noticed Mabel was tracking but I misread her excitement and thought it was bunnies. I looked up and saw a large male and smaller female coyote topping the hill on the green. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them headed for a trail newbie - a border collie mix named Attila (such an inappropriate name!). I yelled out to his dad, "Attila! Coyotes coming up on your 8!"

Attila and his dad reversed course and came towards us and the coyotes went on their way...or so we thought. Mabel played with the puppy a bit and then we noticed the big male was sitting on the other end of the golf course from us...watching.

Mabel saw him and took off. He retreated as she chased while we along with Attila tried to keep up. We came out on a really wide golf hole...several acres of green. The female coyote stopped at the far end but the sneaky male hid behind a hill with only his big ears sticking up.

We all caught our breath for a second when Mabel saw the female - but not the male in hiding. She charged the female...me screaming the whole time. As she passed the male, he started chasing Mabel and she quickly turned on him.

But some part of me thinks Mabel sees them as "dogs" to play with and run with. I really don't think she means them harm but I don't like her charging off because who knows how many coyotes are out there? I've witnessed coyotes gang up on a older dog and I've seen a female try to lure a male dog sexually, while the pack watches close by!

The two wild ones took off in the distance and I saw Mabel headed back to us. She was full of herself. She was strutting for Attila! And then, through the brush, the male coyote appeared. He matched Mabel's stride about 10 feet behind her. He was closing in on her and she was clueless!

I was shouting, "On your 6! Turn around!" (Mabel knows "left" and "right" and since I never taught her those commands, I figured it's just the way we communicate. This girl astounds me with her understanding.)

She didn't get it and the male was getting closer. I started screaming at him. "NO! LEAVE HER ALONE!"

But some part of me was paralyzed! Luckily Attila's dad sprang into action. He, along with his pup, started charging toward Mabel and coyote. It somehow registered with me, RUN! I charged them too, yelling the whole way.

Mabel finally realized I wasn't yelling at her and turned around. The girl turned on a dime and went straight for the male and he took off. Knowing I would never get her back standing in that field, I said my thank yous and goodbyes to Attila and company and headed toward the last hole.

I could hear Attila's dad charging the male, yelling at him and I knew Mabel was in trouble again. I just kept walking away and calling to her, knowing she would come eventually. Within a few minutes, I heard Attila's dad yelling his name. I knew Mabel was headed toward me and that the puppy had gotten away from dad and was following. Within seconds they both topped the hill behind me. I stepped on Attila's leash and got him back to his dad.



This whole event has left me shaken. Just because I hike somewhere every day, I cannot take for granted it is safe. It's NOT my backyard, even if I think of it that way.

So many - especially the leash walkers - don't get why so many of us hike here. It gives our house bound dogs a taste of freedom. We can both explore without being tethered to each other. Mabel has a lift in her body as she roams that vast valley and I have a lift in my heart.

Regardless of how others see it, to me it is one of the most beautiful places on earth. But with Mabel getting older - she's seven now - I'm going to have to keep a closer reign on her. I know I can't take the golf course trail at night without a larger pack to back us up ever again.

Another Crappy Product: Sony icfipmk2 ipod Player

When I come across a product that is so poorly made AND I get NO results from the company, I feel it is my duty to warn my friends! And this Sony Ipod player is one such piece of steaming doody!



Model number icfipmk2. The problem is fairly simple: they are selling a clock radio that is incapable of keeping time. I was given this at Christmas. It has never kept the correct time, ever! I have phoned and e-chatted with Sony tech support at least four times in six months. Each time, I am referred to this web page explaining that the clock doesn't keep time. That page doesn't really explain what to do about it...

Tech support has walked me through resetting the battery... and the clock got slower. And that battery is pricey! I really don't get why I need a battery in my clock if it's plugged into the wall... So what if the power goes off?

After six months of this, I'm done. Sony wants me to pay $20 bucks to get a refurbished exchange model. Gee, when the new one didn't work? NOT!

Instead, the manager at Sam's Club is going to allow us to exchange it! Good riddance! And if you need a clock radio for your ipod, go with another brand!

You KNOW Where That Is, Don't You?

Welcome To Hickville.

I come from a small area that many would consider a hick town - although McComb is quite large as towns in Mississippi go. And I guess it's no wonder that I settled in what could be called the most hick part of Los Angeles. I don't think anyone has ever taken a census on this but it wouldn't surprise me to learn we have more horses than people here.

And while this town wouldn't look like anything more than a grouping of nail salons and auto repair shops to someone passing through, this place suits me. I love that it's size is limited by three mountains and a freeway. And most of the people here work hard at their jobs, come home and work on their yard or some artistic pursuit, hit the hay at a decent hour and do it all again.

But if there is one thing that gets my dander up, regardless of how small and unsophisticated a town is, it is poor writing. Even when growing up in my Mississippi hick town, it was impressed upon me that we were expected to write well. Every poster on campus required the signature of three English teachers.

If only Sunland had such a rule. The subject of my ire is these posters appearing around town:

All good advertising is like a hard news story. You need the basics: Who, What, Where, When, Why and sometimes, How? And these posters seem to missing some of those details.

It reminds me of being on location in Argentina. It is customary, when a crew is on location and not filming at a studio, to include a map with the next day's call sheet. Whenever we phoned our location manager to inquire as to the whereabouts of tomorrow's map, the answer was always the same: "Everybody knows where that is!" And I would reply, "I don't."

I'm sure the group that is sponsoring the fireworks would say, "Oh, everyone knows." But what about newcomers? Or heaven forbid, give us locals a time to show up!

And really, if you're not going to give passersby all the details, wouldn't the advertising money that Bank of America and the myriad of other sponsors paid be better spent on - um... MORE fireworks?

See ya at the fireworks show... It's after the parade... You DO know about the parade, don't you?

I Don't Think My Prince Is Coming...

"Eh, tear 'er up and buy ya a new one."

These are the first words my father said to my mother, thus beginning their 18 year love affair. He was strolling through her breezeway on the way to her guest house where his construction foreman was renting.

She was bent over her lawnmower, sweating and cursing. The damn thing wouldn't start. Funny thing about my mother...she's never had a lawnmower that would start right.

Of all of my mother's journeys that I fear to tread, it is the cursing of lawn equipment that nears the top of the list.

I've been lucky of sorts. Shortly after moving here, my feet quit working about the time my godson decided to start. He was the almost perfect lawn boy. Sure, sometimes he would forget the shop yard or to weed whack the driveway, but it mostly got done. But now, said boy is way too busy.

And so yesterday, I cut my own grass for the first time since early 2003. All by myself. Since I stopped watering all but 1/2 of the back yard because of our water shortage and gouged water prices, it really was no big deal. The worst part was emptying the dried grass from when the boy's friends showed up to do my yard a few weeks ago. It took the two friends twice as long to do 1/2 the job my godson did. And they didn't even empty the grass bag. In no time, I was covered in dried grass and dirt and my sinus' are still paying the price. But the actual cutting was easy peasy.

And then it was time to weed whack. I pumped; I pulled; I yanked; I cursed; I grabbed my aching back and wiped the sweat from my brow; Repeat again and again. Out of breath and sweating, it occurred to me I bought this piece of crap (McCulloch MT300 Easy Start {yeah, right!} trimmer) and handed it over to the boy. I had never used it myself. I dug through my stack of manuals. The thing came with all kinds of parts info but no actual operating manual. Argh!

I phoned the boy. He walked me through it. I did as he instructed and it started! I got half the back yard whacked when it quit. Out of cord. I restrung and spent the next 45 minutes of daylight trying to crank my "Easy Start."

Tonight, I was out there again, cursing and screaming at the damn thing. In my anger, I threw the monster across the yard! And if you notice below, I broke it... at least now there is a reason it won't start!

When I find myself yelling at lawn equipment, I often stop and wonder what on earth made my mother so attractive to my father as he strolled across her lawn that day?

The Score, Seven Years Ago

Seven years ago today, it was a bright and sunny, perfect California Sunday afternoon. All was right with the world. From where I sat on my sofa, I could hear families barbecuing, laughing and swimming. I could hear dogs barking. And each bark made me cry. I was so sad and so lonely; My Maggie May had died suddenly from cancer about six weeks earlier.

So, I decided I would drive down to the North Valley Animal Shelter, "just to look" I told myself. Yeah right!

As I walked through looking at all the dogs in need of a home, I knew I couldn't get an older dog again. My last two girls were not with me nearly long enough. My eyes settled on a four month old who had been returned to the shelter many times. Most who adopted her returned her the next day or two. I should've known better. This girl was cute and she knew it.

I had the shelter worker take her to the playground. All of that focused attention she had shown me when she was behind bars had vanished and was now solely pointed toward a tennis ball.
Trying hard to ignore my inner voice, my irrational brain took over, "Hey, she's on sale! Eight bucks! Micro chip and hysterectomy included!"

What is it they say? A man will spend twice as much for an item he wants. A woman will spend half as much to buy something she doesn't want because it is on sale...

But deep in my heart, I wanted a puppy. Even if her nickname was Hell-on-Paws!

It was a rough start. And now, like all of my girls before her, she has ensconced herself so deep in my heart that I know I will never be the same when it's time for us to part.

And right now, that same girl is spinning my desk chair around... Her way of saying I've been on the computer too long and surely, it's time for a hike at the creek!

The score, seven years ago: I gave a dog a home (and a bone) and she rescued me.