Almost ran home today because every sign pointed toward an imminent deluge. Tree-bending wind, darkling shadows on the horizon. Turns out, it was wasted energy, and I should have walked for longer. It’s not raining yet, an hour later, but it will be, and for the next several days. Living in Alberta, I still have drought brain, even after the soggy mess of last summer, so rain is always welcome. Sounds nice, smells nice, and everything looks green and healthy. There are still trees with residual die-off from years of drought, but the view is predominately lush. I’ll take the rain, as Michael Stipe says.
You are correct in your assessment of me, I am a dog lover. And apropos to this situation, I not only welcome the opportunity to pet dogs in the river valley, I encourage it. Sometimes I do this with a gesture…an open palm for instance. Other times, I psychically transmit my receptivity to physical contact, which may or may not develop into full-on fondling, if appropriate.
Such was the case today. A beautiful walk in the woods, the sun warm on my back, my thoughts firmly cast in the moment, as opposed to where they usually hang out~in the disappointed past or the fretful future. Carefree in other words, and happy to be outside on such a lovely, late-spring day.
And then you came along.
I’m not a huge fan of poodles, but I have to say, you looked very jolly indeed in your black bouffant wig, sporting an ear to ear grin. When you came bounding over the hill, your master off in the distance, I knew you were coming for me, and so I did what I always do: I held out my hand, palm side down so as to not appear hostile. Milliseconds before my hand made contact with your face, I noticed the white outline of spit foaming around your mouth. But, it was too late to do anything about it, and so I got slimed. Clearly, you had been exerting yourself, because this was not a normal amount of gob bubbling over your shining lips, now slathered up my arm and dripping off my fingers. Images of Old Yeller minutes before young Travis blows his head off comes to mind. Of course, you do not have rabies, it’s just spit. Thick, glutenous strings of dog spit. I have been up to my elbow in a dog’s mouth plenty of times, either shoving medicine in or pulling something out, and getting frenched by the family pet is a weekly occurrence. It’s not that I’m squeamish, it was just the sheer volume of slobber spraying from your mouth. By the time your oblivious owner called you back, after several failed attempts to wipe my hand on your head (disguised as petting, of course), I was drenched. When he waved at me, I waved back, gobs of spit cobwebbing between my fingers. Next time dog, how about a courtesy wipe in the grass, or better yet, on your companion’s body parts?
The man and his perilously friendly poodle were just a few feet from me, so I carried on, as if nothing traumatic had just happened. Maybe it’s the Canadian in me, but even in my distress, I could not rub my hand on my shorts. It would have seemed…I don’t know, unfriendly, like his dog was diseased. Clearly this dog was far from sick, and was in fact in possession of a pair of superior salivary glands. I picked up my pace, the spit drying to a sheen on my
Running the stairs moments after 'the incident'
arm, gluing all the little hairs in place. Finally, when I could no longer hear the poodle prancing in the bushes behind me, I bent down in the tall grass and wiped my hand, arm, and parts of my thigh on the leaves. And then I rubbed them on my shorts. And then I did it again.
In spite of the ‘poodle incident’, it was a lovely walk through south Mill Creek. After drying myself with grass, I felt energized to the point where I ran the set of stairs near the mill house (with the rooster) a few times. Maybe some of the dog’s exuberance was present in molecular form in the gob, and it transferred into me via every pore in my body from my shoulder to my knee. With that kind of quantity, if not quality, anything is possible.
My walk ended in a trip to the grocery store, and I confess that yes, I did touch fruit with my be-slobbered hand, some of which I purchased. Wash your fruit kids, you never know where my hand has been.
Nothing much to say, other than man…what a beautiful day. Warm, sunny, and best of all, after arming myself with a can of OFF, very few mosquitoes. Oh yes, they were there, but they bounced off the chemical soup slathered on my arms and legs. No harm, no foul. Thank you Deet.
Or very near. A great walk up 105st, through downtown and into McKinney but then…Mill Creek Ravine, where all the mosquitoes meet to eat, or so I discovered. And I learned something. Keep your mouth shut, because one flew into my mouth as I was snapping this picture. I have now armed myself with a can of F-Off.
Prior to this, the trip home was quiet and uneventful. A bit cool and overcast, but no rain. Yet. The deeply sweet scent of the grey-green Russian Olive trees that line the staircases in Louise McKinney Park is so strong it almost pulls you down the stairs, like a siren luring ships into the rocks. Or something like that. Must be all that blood loss…I need to take a nap.
Rain these last two days but today, Sunday, it’s lovely. Occasionally overcast, but mostly bright and sun-filled. Unbelievably gorgeous smells wafting out of the river valley, and so lush. Hard to believe the land is still puffing out and greening up, but it is, and a couple of days of rain made everything leap forward. Terribly cold yesterday, and Friday. Hovering between 4 and 8, which incidentally, is the same temperature I experienced for 6 hours straight in my capris jammies last week at the Relay for Life. Not warm today, but humid enough to warrant a tank top and shorts. Did some stairs and a loop around north Mill Creek and McKinney. Still no leaf-roller caterpillars, but I haven’t been walking in the areas with the infestations, like Rossdale. Tomorrow, my first day back at work, I’ll look for worm-sign, or as Jurgen Prochnow says in Dune, verm-zine. With the exception of Friday and Saturday, my week of holidays has been grand. And two rain days to read, de-clutter my closets, and plant stuff in my flower pots is not such a bad thing. Glad to be back in the woods though…
Another perfect day. Kept this walk to an hour…got stuff to do and my shoulders could use a little less up close and personal with the sun. Just a half loop around Mill Creek Ravine. Enough to feel rejuvenated but not exhausted. I think if I wasn’t a walker, I would still try to escape into the ravine just to get away from the construction noises on 99th and Scona Road. Even in the thickest part of the woods, the constant pounding can be heard, but happily, the birds drown out most of it. Lots of singing today, sweetening an already heartbreakingly lovely landscape.
Saw my first ever Pine Grosbeak, on my birdfeeder, not in the woods. Had no idea what it was…had to consult my local bird book. Unlike the orangy red breast of the Robin, the male Pine Grosbeak is scarlet red, from his tiny head to his tiny feet. Just the wings have a bit of brown and white. Really something. Glad I keep my binoculars by the chair. Man, I am starting to sound old. Thank god I don’t knit.
