It's that time of year for the Fall school picture. . .

I don't WANT my picture taken.

Seriously, do I look interested?

Wait, we weren't ready!

CHEESE!!

Finding Your North Star

I've got too many restoration projects/repairs going on in the Bungalow right now to head outdoors to camp, but it is one of those activities I genuinely enjoy. When I was an airline pilot based in California, I used to head out to the Sierras every time I got a few days off, in my SUV, with nothing but a sleeping bag, a fishing pole, and a cooler of pop and sandwiches.

I then didn't go for years. A thousand-mile commute from where I was based as a pilot to where I lived took away that urge. Then, later, with another job that had me on the road constantly, the last thing I wanted to do on my time off was be away from my own bed. 

So being free to pack up and go anytime I want now is so liberating. But oh, has the world of camping changed. My first trip was to a small state park, a day’s drive east of home. What I didn't know was that in the last 20 or so years, camping has evolved from the basics—tents, beer, and sandwiches — to the "established campsite".

As I pulled into the park, I could only think of that Joni Mitchell song "They Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot". Instead of sparsely isolated spots of dirt where the remnants of a campfire might be found, there was what appeared to be the parking lot of the Mall of America, except with RVs.

In Campsite #179, a 300-pound man in a bathing suit (my eyes! my eyes!) was trying to adjust his cable antenna (do they still make those?) on top of his $125,000 "camper".  From somewhere in the bowels of this getaway vehicle, his wife and kids were "roughing" it by not having Netflix.

In Campsite #180 just feet away, a couple was arguing about the fact that the wife had left the cappuccino maker at home, while what was either Katy Perry or someone strangling a weasel played loudly enough to disturb anything hibernating within 75 miles. 

I drove further in, hoping for some of the peace and solitude I craved only to about veer off the road as a chipmunk, with a yellow plastic radio transistor collar, sped across the road, followed by about a dozen screaming children and what was either a small scruffy dog or a rat with hyperthyroidism leading the pack, barking in a high pitched tone that would have broken glass.

I turned back and went to the gate where I'd paid my fee to drive through and see a tree, and then I asked the ranger. "Can I just go in deep in here and pitch a tent to stay overnight away from everyone?" And he said, friendly but firm, "No. You must be in one of the designated sites, but there's plenty to do. Here. You can have site # 278," as he handed me what looked to be brochures from a Las Vegas hotel. "The showers are to your left, the recreation hall to your right, don't forget the group nature walks". He smiled and held out his hand. "That will be $32.00, please." "$32 just to throw down a sleeping bag with my dog?", I said. “The website said it was only about $20."

 

Apparently, I didn’t factor in the extra charges if it’s a weekend, if you want a shower, or if you’re breathing or. . . . "

"In a designated pet camping spot only, which is an additional $2, of course," he said, peering with a smile into the back seat at my Labrador retriever who was starting to growl. "And the dog must be on a leash at all times. It's policy".  "Don't you have something for about $10.00? I pleaded.  I'm just here for the night and don't need to use the showers." That's what the 5 gallons of jugged water in the back of my jeep is for. Check for neighbors, have gun handy in case of bear, take off the clothes and pour it over my head. . voila' shower! It worked in the wilds of Alaska and Africa; it'll work in Pennsylvania. 

"I’m sorry, but the pricing is on our website, Ma’am." (Ma’am?!) The dog was growling in earnest now, looking as if he wanted to eat the ranger’s hat . . . to start. I gave up. "Does #278 have a fire pit? I'm looking forward to some hot dogs and campfire chili."

"Fires are not allowed in your  particular campsite, Ma'am," the ranger said (I swear one more "Ma'am and I'm going to smear the Ranger Rick here with peanut butter and let the dog out of the truck)."If you wish, however, you may purchase a burrito at the snack bar.” Burritos? No wonder the only raccoons I saw were in organized groups wearing authentic ski masks.

Granted, I was probably “safe” from four-legged predators. No bear or mountain lion could get through the 12-inch gap between Winnebago’s, though I figured the raccoons would use drones to get any food hoisted up a tree branch at night.

Suddenly, the sky lit up with someone’s leftover fireworks from the 4th of July. Seriously? If I wanted to play with a cannon, I could have stayed home.  

I bid the ranger good day, turned around, and drove until I found some land that didn't look to be privately owned. In the ascending hills, I hiked for a while and pitched my tent. I didn't have a microwave, but I had a small, carefully managed fire, one that burned bright. In its light, my hair was like fire, and points of fire burned in my eyes as I savored all of it, woodsmoke and bug spray, paper plates that got all soggy and fell apart, the sounds of the crickets as the sun set, the sun's dying rays reflected in my drink as Barkey snoozed happily by the fire.

As I drifted off to sleep, the branch of a tree brushed against the tent opening, driving in the forlorn scent of the wild. From a distance, a sound, not civilization, but simply the hoot of an owl, felt more than heard, pressing against the night until nothing was left but a dark impression as it flew away. 

There is no video streaming service, no internet, no phone. There is a watch in my backpack with a compass, but even that is not carried to keep track of the time, but only to put time aside so as not to spend my breath trying to conquer it. There is just me, my dog, and the vast summer sky, languid and empty of geese, news helicopters, or the late evening conga line that is Midway Airport at 9 pm. Above me, just the North Star blinking in that vast and empty gesture that is all promise, even as it remains out of reach. 

This is why I come out here, for those times when I don't wish to sacrifice the wonder of the present moment to work, civilization, or noise. I love a broad margin to my life. And I've always been a loner. I can sit in the faded sunlight of a doorway between two giant trees, from dinner till dark fall, rapt in a revere amidst the forest, in undisturbed stillness and solitude.  As darkness settles on me, I wonder about the lapse of time, the evening seeming like a mere moment, time like a season in which I grew like flowers in the night.

Like flying, time spent in the woods is not subtracted from my life, but is simply over and above my usual allowance. Oriental philosophers talk about contemplation and the forsaking of work, and I realized out here what that means. Out in the woods, I don't care how the hours went; the day advances as light comes into it, it's morning, and now it's evening, and nothing memorable is done. My days are not days of the week, minced into hours and deadlines of a ticking clock or an airline schedule. Let mornings be lazy, afternoons pass by in long walks through the woods, the splash of a paddle in the water, and if the day becomes wasted in the warm rapture of a sunset as nature sings its song in your ear - what's the harm? 

THIS is my North Star.  Unidentifiable sounds in the darkness that make you hold your breath at the bottom of your sleeping bag. A good book read with a dying flashlight until sleep came, shadows dancing on the wall of a small canvas tent, and the musty smell of freedom and adventure. A time when growth may not be on the surface but may be internal, as the days quietly drift by in the warm embrace of the woods. - Brigid

P.S.  The North Star necklace is from Zen Lemon Arts in Alaska - I have several of her handmade pieces. https://zenlemonarts.com/  Available online and on Etsy.

Busted!

 You broke that treat in half, didn't you?

Lady and the Tramp Stamp - a Barkley Memory

Don't I look all soft and adorable?  Please feed me treats.

With this photo memory of Miss Abby(one of the original Blogville Gang from 2014)  when she had her first grooming after adoption, it brought memories of trying to get Barkley bathed, NOT the easiest of tasks.

From the Book of Barkley (Outskirts Press) and some photos of Barkley with my little Point and Shoot that you may not have seen.

CHAPTER 34 - Lady and the Tramp Stamp

I've had some bad haircuts in my time, as with very fine but also curly hair, it happens.  Barkley, however, has been spared getting shaved and groomed but for the occasional bath and nail trim.

Why is it a breed that loves the water and will cannonball into any available pool or pond, hates getting baths?  When he was a puppy he just got his baths in the tub.  He wasn't too happy about it, but I could hold on to him and although I'd end up as wet as he was, we got it done.

When he was older, it didn't go so well.  You know those wildlife clips from Africa that shows the lion running and jumping on the zebra, taking it down in a flurry of legs and hair.

It was something like that.

So I had to take him to a "groomer."  It was a lady recommended by his previous vet where we used to live, the groomer working from her home out in the country.  I asked if she did larger dogs and she assured me she did all the time.

I left him. She was very friendly; the place spotlessly clean, her instruments shining and well cared for, the other dogs there, waiting to get picked up, looking content.

When I came back, she was there, with another girl I did not recognize.   "I had to call for help," she said.  Both of them were drenched, with wet hair, clothes, everything.  There was water on the table, on the floor, several of their tools had been flung across the floor, and the picture on the wall was all askew.  They looked like they'd been in a tornado and flood combined.

 Barkley was in his pen, drying out, with a scarf around his need, looking ALL happy but not liking the scarf much.

 "I'm sooo sorry, I said, please; let me pay you extra for your services."  They declined, but I gave her a huge tip with a second apology.

 As we left, she looked at me and said, "Miss, I appreciate the business, and hope you'll think of me if others ask about pet grooming.  But please do not bring him back."

So baths got less frequent but we managed.  There were no more fashion accessories, though, at least until he came home with a square of fur missing from his lower spine.

 It was some simple veterinary surgery to remove a small, benign fatty growth from that area, as well as four little skin tags on a couple of his legs.  Common enough in older dogs, but if he kept chewing on them, it could do some harm, so off they came.  At the same time, since he would be under anesthesia, his scheduled doggie dental cleaning and care were accomplished.

 Barkley loves Dr. H., and is oh so excited to get in the door and see her. I dropped him off in the early morning and could pick him up after I got off work.  He was not so happy with me when I picked him up.

 He looked at me as if to say - "You told me some pretty girls were going to check my teeth and pet me, and I come home with Brazilian Bikini Butt."

Barkley is a "no fuss dog."  Although he is an AKC purebred and a hunting breed, he's lived a quiet life at home.  It's been a simple life of water and dirt and running amok, not constant grooming and bows in his ears and dog couture.  If I dressed him in a costume as a food object or a cute insect, he would likely steal the clippers and give me a Mohawk in my sleep.

 He was neutered as a youngster; there are lots of good rescue dogs out there, so he wasn't going to reproduce, bloodlines or not, but he'd had a life of only routine fussing over, just enjoying being part of my family.  His not-so-secret canine mission was that of most working dog breeds - to sniff every object in the entire world, peeing on anything that smelled even remotely like another male dog and then having done so, trying to -

(a) eat it

(b) bark at it

(c) carry it around in his mouth

(d) hump it

But his teeth needed attention, so this had seemed like a good time to get it all done. The vet sent me home with some samples of dog treats that help with tartar, as well as a brush and some poultry-flavored dog toothpaste (mmm, for breath that's barnyard fresh!)  The veterinary technician said, "With a little practice, your dog will enjoy his brushing."

 I didn't tell her that the Storming of the Bastille was better received and less bloody than my attempt to apply a few drops of flea medication on his skin between his shoulder blades a couple of years ago.

 I'd be wearing the chicken-flavored toothpaste by the time we were through.  I won't mention the look of disdain I'd get at a pink toothbrush.  But the doctor only has his health in mind and we talked about some alternatives to keep his teeth and gums healthy.

 He did fine, though he whined a little when he did not get a full bowl of food the night before the procedure, by the doctor's orders, and he was in a little discomfort when he came home.  I had pain meds, but I could not give him one until the next morning, so he got much extra care and got to sleep with Mom on her bed, something normally not allowed.

I lay with him while he went to sleep, telling him he was still a handsome boy and even offering to show him the picture of me from the 80's when I had a mullet.  He declined, it appeared, nodding off to sleep, happy that this day was done.

- LB

 Happy Labor-ador Day from Sunny D. Lab

I Believe I can Fly - The Retriever Song

 I believe I can fly

 I believe I can touch the sky

 I think about it every night and day

 Spread my wings and fly away

I believe I can soar

I see me running through that open door

 I believe I can fly

 I believe I can fly

 I believe I can fly

Lyrics by R. Kelly

Thursday Smiles

Click on this picture to enlarge it and then look at the contents of the cubicle.  bwahahaha

Giving Back To Those Who Need a Helping Paw - 4Legz All Natural Dog Treats

Waiting to bark at the mailman - a dog's duty is never done. 

Hi folks - it's Sunny D. Lab.  Today I got a box in the mail from a company a few miles north of where Mom grew up in Washington.

• 4Legz All Natural Dog Treats

Sent courtesy of our friend Shawntel, it was full of the best-smelling, tasty dog treats.

"What's this, Mom? - It's not one of those nasty petrified treats from the grocery store, is it? You know the ones - they taste like packing material and are carbon dated for freshness! Wait - This smells like a Christmas Cookie! A REAL cookie!!!"

That was PAWSOME, Mom. Can I have another one?

So many flavors!  All natural, no corn, no wheat, no chemicals. The gift box we got had Sweet Potato. Peanut Butter Molasses, Pumpkin, Molasses Gingersnap, Chehalis Mint (Chehalis is the little town that's snuggled up against Centralia, where these treats are made. Mom was a Flight Instructor at that airport back during the Mesozoic Era a summer during college.)

Mom said the founder of 4legz, Cynthia Murray, an entrepreneur and author, is deaf, and originally created these allergy-friendly treats for her hearing ear dog who was allergic to everything. Made out of all human-grade non-GMO food (Mom couldn't stop sniffing the peanut butter molasses ones), they were a huge hit. 4legz 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 partners with organizations that share their love of animals and their goals of creating job opportunities for people who are deaf and/or disabled. In addition to the jobs they provide for the deaf and/or disabled in their community of Centralia, WA, they currently have over a dozen partnerships with local and national organizations like schools, employment services, dog rescues, and veterinary offices, and donate thousands of treats to animal rescues for the four-legged ones they care for. 

In these challenging times for small businesses, please consider buying from them next time you need some treats for your furry best friend.  The treats are THE best, and they also have a wonderful collection of dog and cat themed gifts perfect for kids, teens, and adults.  Plus, you help support a business that gives back to the community, both two and four-legged.  https://4legz.com/

Dad, I think you dropped a treat!!

The Calm Before the Storm

Dreaming of Mischief. . . . . .