Dog’s Life

22 03 2011

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

 

You really can’t complain if you’re Charlie…





Commencement of Camping Season

23 06 2010

Camping Kick-Off, Trip #1 to Davis Lake for the summer, was fabulous.  I missed my boys, though; this was my first camping trip without Carbon by my side since I’ve known him, and Jason is off with his crew this week.

Charlie, however, got right to business, terrorizing the little ground squirrel things twice as fiercely as usual in Carbon’s absence.  Here he is, trying to track one down that escaped into the rocks around our fire pit:

No worries, the rodent was perfectly safe, and laughing at Charlie from across the clearing.

We were mostly left to ourselves, with the exception of the ranger, to whom I was polite; and some yahoo geezer who drove into my camp, parked, and strode right past me to take in the view with hardly a word to me, to whom I was as rude as his silence allowed me to be.  No serial killers on this trip, which is good in the overall scheme of things, but my near-demise probably would have made a better post than benign pictures of a great sunset:

We got our favorite spot, the sun was out (except for a brief thunder shower), the mosquitoes… well, they were biting.  But not enough to chase us away.

All in all, the trip was short, but oh-so-sweet.  And the shower when I got home was almost as good.





Not A Dog Fight

31 05 2010

I have been spending weekends here at the new house for over a month now, and have developed a morning routine.  I make my coffee (on the camp stove, on the grill, on the temporary stove in the deconstructed kitchen), bundle up, and take a walk around the property.

The dogs, of course, love to follow.  Inevitably, the two dogs, who mostly ignore each other, commence our stroll with thirty seconds of exuberant playfulness.  During the half-minute revelry, they pounce on each other, chase each other, and crash into my knees at bone-cracking velocities.

As inevitable as this brief interaction is, just as inevitable is it’s abrupt end.  The two dogs each find something more interesting than the other dog, and off they go in different directions.

But here is a piece of the action:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.





My Dog Doesn’t Know His Own Name

9 05 2010

I held a freshly grilled cheeseburger in my hand.  “Charlie!” I called.  He continued to wander away from me.  “Charlie.  Charlie!”  Nothing.  “Refrigerator!”  For some reason, this caught his attention, and he ran over to me.  My dog, who was apparently named Refrigerator in a previous life, accepted the proffered hunk of beef.

Boy, I love that dog.  But at nearly 12 years old, it seems unlikely that he’ll ever learn my language.

Temptation








%d bloggers like this: