Don’t know what’s going on, but mom is acting weirder than usual. Piling clothes on the bed, then putting them in weird little boxes with handles. Last time she did that Sally and I ended up staying at that place where there were all those other dogs. As a matter of fact, she just loaded Sal in the car and took her someplace. Wonder why she forgot me?

Mom put my toys and water bowl in the back of the car and told me to get in. Guess we’re going for a walk, but why is there so much stuff in the car I can’t see mom’s head?

This is the longest I have ever been in the car — we stop, stretch, pee, and climb back in. Finally mom says with a sigh “We’re here”. But I’m just not sure where here is — there are way too many strange people, a couple of cool dogs, and some cats. Mom calls it Omaha. I’m tired, hot, hungry, and then I see a great little swimming hole surrounded by plants, so I dive in. Wow! Talk about humans getting excited! Apparently it was for goldfish only — what a waste! So they dry me off and mom says it’s time for bed, only now she takes me to these really scary things called stairs. Hard for a four legged critter like me to negotiate, and we have to go up to the very top of the house, mom says three floors. All I know is that she ends up half carrying my back end up the last few. But at least these humans are dog people, and they have no objection to me sleeping on the bed with mom, just like back home.

Going down the next morning is even more challenging — my rear picks up more speed than my front, and I tumble into the hallway very ungracefully. All these people are confusing me, so every time one of them walks into the room or onto the patio where mom and I already are, I give a warning bark. They sure have funny names, mom is always saying “Jett, it’s Just Robert, or Just Don, or Just Ben…..” But then things get a lot better. I’m loaded up in another car with Ben (I do remember him, he’s mom’s human son), Rachael, and mom, and we go to something called a Farmers Market. There are people everywhere, as well as some dogs. Mom says she’s very proud of me, I was hardly scared at all.

After that we pick up the other dogs, Lola and Judy, and head to a dog park. It is my first time, and I have to say, it rocks! There are dogs everywhere, and places to run, play, drink water, or just sit in the shade. Lola and Judy like to hang out by Rachael, but I’m taking full advantage of meeting all these other dogs. Only one is a little rude, and takes offense to my sniffing, but we are told he is a first timer too.

A few days later, mom piles some of those boxes back in the car — she leaves a lot behind for Ben and Rachael, so it’s easier to see her head now! This drive doesn’t last as long as the first one, and I like that when mom stops for lunch she shares it with me. Next stop is my Aunt Karen’s, in a place called Illinois, and I meet my cousin Rocky. He has a cool, great big yard to run and play in, but mom says Rocky is getting too old to do much playing. Still, I try to get him going, but he lays down in the shade and ignores me. There are lots of neat smells and plants here, but when I lift my leg to pee, Aunt Karen yells “Not in my herb garden!” whatever that is. More stairs to our bedroom, but I’m getting the hang of them now.

Aunt Karen takes us in her car and we visit my Aunt Barb in Wisconsin next. My dog cousins there, Annie and KC, are way smaller than me, but pretty cool. And I really like their food. We all go to a beach and I get some swim time in — finally! Back at Aunt Karen’s we go to another house for a birthday party. People are eating in the house, on something called a deck, or in the yard. To get to the deck, where my mom is talking to people, there are — you guessed it — a lot of stairs. Everything is going good, I’m hanging out with Phoenix, a feisty dog who keeps chasing me and trying to play football. But then a little girl drops her plate of food — hotdog, shrimp, all sorts of goodies, and Phoenix and I go for it. Only Phoenix doesn’t like to share food and she nips me pretty hard. She gobbles it down so fast she ends up throwing it all back up, but I just go find mom and hang out with her the rest of the night. Everybody is petting me and saying what a good dog I am, but I’m pretty much over it. I wanna go home!

We finally pack the car back up and head home. It is hot, mom says 95 degrees, so we stop pretty often for water and stretching whenever she spots a nice shady area. We stop for the night when a storm moves in, but I can’t sleep and keep barking at the thunder. The last day goes on forever. It’s raining, so we don’t stop too often, and mom keeps saying “almost there, almost there…” but almost sure is a long time getting here.

Our final stop before home is to pick up Sally. She is so excited to see us! She keeps jumping and yelping and sniffing me to find out where I’ve been. Home is wonderful — soft beds, normal feeding schedules, my own back yard… and best of all, no stairs! Mom says I did a good job, traveling over 2600 miles without complaining, adapting to all sorts of situations. I admit I had fun, and I loved being with mom, but it’s true what humans say — “There is no place like home!”

Planning to take pictures of said trash for this article, I grabbed my camera and my dog for a walk around Franz Lake. Lo and behold, I am happy to say that it was difficult for me to find any trash to photograph. Aside from a lonely coffee cup cover, a glass bottle, and a piece of stryofoam bobbing in the water, the place was pretty clean. If trash pick up was our only goal, we’d be done and ready for lunch in fifteen minutes.

But alas, the dog waste problem is much more prevalent. (I will spare you any photos of that.) Are dog owners reluctant to pick up because we forget to bring bags for that purpose, are absent minded enough we don’t notice our dogs are doing it, or just plain unconcerned about the health and enjoyment of others? I realize there are no trash containers or bags provided, which would certainly make the task easier, but that does not absolve us of our responsibilities.

If dog owners want a voice in the plans of the city and county, if we want to be welcomed in new parks or other recreational activities as they become available, or if we just want to continue to be allowed in state and county public areas, we need to be responsible. I am talking to all of us! As disgusting and unfair as it may seem to pick up waste because of others’ thoughtlessness, it may be necessary to do so. With enough complaints about noncompliance, all of us dog walkers could be banned from using public land. It was for that very reason that Salida passed the law years ago banning all dogs from city parks.

So let’s make the best of a bad situation. This clean up event will be a fun way to do a good deed, let the community know that we are responsible citizens, get to know fellow dogs lovers, and learn more about the Salida Dog Club. If you are interested in participating, please contact Ann at 539-3676 or Laura at 539-2503 by Thursday, April 23rd.  We ask you bring a dish to share — tell Ann or Laura what you are planning on — and your own table service. Hope to see you there!

Sally at rest

Unfortunately, even the best of dreams sometimes has a rude awakening, and by early 2006, my life took a series of unpredictable turns. I found myself divorced, relocated to a rental house, worried about my ill mother halfway across the country, and suddenly dogless. And to me “doglessness” is true loneliness. So the obvious solution was a call to Ark Valley Humane Society. I decided I wanted a small to medium sized dog, one that would be an easy but eager travel companion for the road trips I had already decided were in my future. I was told they had a new surrender named Sally that might fit the bill, so I jumped in my car and made the trip to the shelter.

I honestly can’t say that it was love at first sight, especially on Sally’s part. She seemed distracted, hyperactive, and very nervous. Sal was labelled by the shelter staff as a “Speagle”, a mix of some type of spaniel and  beagle. She had a glossy black and white coat, was approximately three years old, twenty-five pounds, and appeared to have had a litter of pups sometimes in her past. I took her on a walk to get acquainted away from the bustle of the shelter, and the strong pull on the end of the leash from such a small creature was surprising. All my previous dogs had been purebreds (on the insistence of my husband) and much larger. As I watched her straining forward to sniff the path ahead of us, I chuckled at the way she waddled on skinny little stick legs. They made quite a contrast to her rather stocky hound body. This was no fluffy lap dog, for sure.  The feeling grew that I had found my new companion. On our first evening together, Sal seemed certain that, despite the comfortable doggie bed I had purchased at Walmart, her place was under the covers, where she could thoroughly lick my feet before settling down for the night. I didn’t have the heart or desire to correct her. All I knew was that my world no longer lonely.

Life with Sal was an adventure from the start. I soon learned that she was a runner.  Any opportunity of an open door, a swinging gate, and she was gone. I got plenty of exercise those first few weeks dashing after her, and then carrying her surprisingly heavy little body  back home in my arms. I finally learned to have leashes accessible at all the exits, as well as being very careful with open doors. She also needed some housebreaking work, could be aggressive towards other dogs, and exhibited food guarding behaviors. So she had “issues”. Don’t we all? Events in her background that I will never know probably contributed to her behavior. To me she was nothing but loving. She was sometimes too affectionate, squirming in my lap and licking my face whenever I sat down. And my raised voice was enough to flatten her on the ground. The look on her face was so pitiful I soon learned to be gentle in corrections. Obviously in her past yelling was associated with some pretty scary punishment.

We had barely gotten to know each other and settle into a routine when I got the news that my mom’s health was failing fast. I learned this on Easter Sunday, and by that evening had a flight booked  for the very next day. But what to do with Sally? I had an ingrained fear of boarding kennels, having lost a young Great Pyrenees to heat stroke while being boarded.  But I had no other options. I called Wag-N-Tails and luckily they were able to take her on such short notice. And I have to say, their care of her as well concern for my situation made me a convert.

Two weeks later I arrived back in Colorado. I was a changed woman, a middle-aged orphan, still absorbing the experiences of the final vigil with my sisters, the funeral, and all the necessary paperwork afterwards. I felt truly alone once again. As I drove home from the airport, my thoughts turned to Sal. I had kept in touch with the kennel during my time away, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the sudden change in her life so soon after I had adopted her would affect our relationship. I needn’t have worried. She exuberantly threw herself at me when I arrived at the kennel, and her cuddling and foot licking at bedtime gave me the comfort I needed. I truly believe her presence in my life at that point — the need for walks, feedings, grooming, petting– are what kept me focused and able to move on. I saved Sal by adopting her and she more than returned the favor.

By summer we hit the road for the first of many amazing and hilarious adventures… more on those in future postings.