November 20, 2008
Carousing with Gilligan
It happened again. Gilligan and Ozzy made a mad dash for freedom the other night. I was a little surprised they took off because I was throwing a big, bone-shaped floating toy into the cove for Gilligan. An engaged Gilligan is generally a good Gilligan. But he took off, clenching that goofy fuzzyellowbone and oblivious to my fading shouts. Ozzy was close at his heels, charging into a night of debauchery.
I found the toy up by the road. Gilligan and Ozzy were nowhere in sight, but dogs where barking all over in the surrounding neighborhood. A party was brewing. A full-out dog kegger.
At 11 p.m. I'd resigned myself to the fact they weren't coming back and that they'd be spending a 20-some degree night outside. At Lara's insistence, we cracked the garage so they could get in there if they returned.
Next morning I went straight to the garage to see if they were there. Ozzy scampered for the driveway to escape my wrath. But then I heard a noise in the back corner of the garage. I looked up just in time to see Gilligan stretching in the front seat of my Lexus convertible, which was parked with the top down. He hopped out as if he'd just driven up in it and I was the valet he was tossing the keys to.
Needless to say, that's not the reception he received ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 6:39 PM | Comments (0)
November 3, 2008
The beast
gilligan.jpg
Originally uploaded by Suffering the Benz
Gilligan, up close and personal, after chasing sticks in the cove for an hour on an autumn afternoon.
Posted by Bob Benz at 12:51 PM | Comments (0)
September 13, 2008
Gilligan in action
Gilligan in action
Originally uploaded by Suffering the Benz
After ruining my aging Nikon when I dumped the kayak, I decided a waterproof camera was in order. This is one of the first shots I took with my new Olympus 1030SW. Pretty cool. I pulled i out and shot this as Gilligan was retrieving a stick in the cove.
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:17 PM | Comments (1)
Swimming with hounds ...
gilligan_swim2.jpg
Originally uploaded by Suffering the Benz
After ruining my aging Nikon when I dumped the kayak, I decided a waterproof camera was in order. This is one of the first shots I took with my new Olympus 1030SW. Pretty cool. I pulled i out and shot this as Gilligan was retrieving a stick in the cove. It pretty much captures the sound and fury that is Gilligan in the water ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:13 PM | Comments (0)
August 23, 2008
Doggedly digging up info on kayaking
My paddling obsession had me Googling "kayak gps" earlier, and up came this guy's page. Very cool.
Posted by Bob Benz at 6:47 PM | Comments (2)
July 24, 2008
Dog days in Crested Butte
gunther.jpg
Originally uploaded by Suffering the Benz
I went to the land of the Mountain Hippie last week and learned the ZenDog ways of Crested Butte.
During a cold, early morning hike on a trail in the shadow of Mt. Crested Butte, I saw some sort of cattle-dog cross maniacally yapping and circling a mountain biker while the dog's owner tried in vain to recall the mutt. The cyclist calmly dismounted, putting the bike between him and the frenetic canine until it drew tired of the game and ran back to its owner of its own volition.
As I approached the cyclist, I fully expected a rant on idiots who let their dogs run loose and don't control them. It's what I was thinking. But he calmly looked at me while he fiddled with the earbuds of his iPod and beamed "Good morning."
"Without a doubt," I replied.
"Do you go far up the mountain."
"Only about 45 minutes walk. I'm still getting acclimated to this 9,000 foot stuff."
"Where are you from?"
It continued like that for a few more minutes and I was on my way. In a short encounter, I'd learned the way of the Mountain Hippie and the effect the incredible beauty of Crested Butte has on everyone touched by it.
And any town this nuts about dogs has to be OK. Witness Gunther (pictured), the coolest dog in Crested Butte. In this photo, he's frolicking in a stream at Oh Be Joyful Campground just outside of town. Gunther is known to sleep in the street in front of his house. He's so well known and people are so dog friendly, they just slowly steer around him ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 10:29 AM | Comments (0)
May 14, 2008
Like a Hurricane ...
At dawn after a fierce Friday night storm, Xena and I went down to the dock, where I nursed a go-cup of coffee and tortured worms while she pondered Zen dog thoughts. The water was muddy and strewn with leaves, branches and other detritus from the previous night’s fury. Crappie and minnows churned and swirled in the diarrhea shallows. This was a very tenuous calm after the storm. The two hounds were still missing, having run off the previous evening before the full fury cut loose. As I fished, I wondered where they were, alternately seething at their insolence and worrying that they were crumpled on the side of the road somewhere.
Then something amazing happened. A gang of blue herons, maybe 10 or 12 in all, invaded the cove in a cacophonous squawking, flapping stormfront of their own. I’ve never seen more than two of them at once, and usually there is just one heron who reins supreme over the cove. But this morning, there was an army, fighting, feeding and presumably mating all around us. It was sublime, causing even Xena to sit up and take notice.
After we settled back in to a becalmed morning punctuated by the herons all around us, Xena and I were startled to hear a splash and rattle on the shore not 20 feet from where we sat on the dock. A heron had approached stealthily, spotted swirling prey, struck and was now gobbling a crappie pelican-like. The Newfy and I exchanged a startled look. The heron paid us no mind, even as Xena rose to her feet to warn him against approaching her dock, and after he was done devouring the fish, he took flight with a hop and a croak.
The sound of leaf blowers and chainsaws rings through the cove as frantic suburban barons try to cleanse their fiefdoms of last night’s blow. And I find myself growing progressively more annoyed at the noise pollution destroying an otherwise supreme spring evening. Moving into suburbia has taken some adjustment on my part. While it’s hard to tell for all the isolating trees and water, we’re nestled in a series of subdivisions, each with that burning desire to impose order on nature that subdivision life seems to breed.
In Hardin Valley, our previous home, the noise nemesis came almost entirely from the road, which was slowly being overrun by the area’s rapacious growth. But subdivisions had yet to strangle our rural stretch of Hardin Valley Road so lawn mowers, weed eaters and leaf blowers were a fairly uncommon annoyance.
Not so now. It seems as if someone somewhere is always running a whining, sputtering, two-stroke gas engine, and as much as I abhor the government-run-amok edicts that seem to emerge from places like California on a regular basis, I’m starting to wonder if bans on leaf blowers and restrictions on noise are such a bad thing …
Tonight, the leaf blowers are out in full flail.
But something more melodious rises up and grabs my ear, pulling me away from thoughts of legislative tyranny against landscaping.
Sitting in a dead poplar, a cardinal sings with the passion of Amy Winehouse right after she’s inhaled crackpipe inspiration.
Cardinals are one of those birds that, despite their brilliant red feathers and regal crests, often go unnoticed. They’re fairly common. But this guy wouldn’t be ignored. Framed in the dead poplar branches with a riotous green background from the canopy of trees covering the hill, he pops up like an instant message from a long lost friend. He’s looking for love, and he’s arrogant enough to believe he can out-wail the moronic drone of the leaf blowers across the cove. What he lacks in decibels he overcomes with finesse.
The leaf blowers disappear. And all I hear is his song.
The prodigal hounds returned, but not without a little help. Someone a subdivision or two away found them and managed to coax Gilligan close enough with an offering of dog food to get a look at his 2006 rabies tag, which prompted a call to Hardin Valley Animal Hospital, which triggered a call to my cell phone. The final domino fell when I called the guy who found the hounds.
Yes. I’ll be right over to get them. Relieved. And angry.
There they were. Standing in the middle of the street, disheveled, hoping for more food. They approached my truck cautiously, wondering if they were going to get kind words or a slap upside the head. I opted for a stern order to get in the back of the F-150. They obliged and spent the rest of the day sleeping off their all-night party and steering clear of me whenever I entered the room. The storm clearly had taken a toll. They were soaked and weary. But they were unscathed.
Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for poor Hurricane, the basset hound Leanne rescued from Katrina’s aftermath in New Orleans. Apparently, the weekend wind brought down tree limbs that compromised her fence. Hurricane stormed out of the safe harbor of the yard and into the path of a car, where he was killed instantly.
In trying to offer condolences to Leanne, and perhaps feeling a bit guilty that my hounds had returned home safely after their illicit sojourn, I feebly offered that while it was sad poor Hurricane was spared from Katrina only to be killed by a car, he had lived his bonus time on the planet to its fullest. What basset wouldn’t want to be part of Leanne’s pack? He was already in doggy heaven …
But what I really wanted to say, and couldn’t quite conjure the words at the time, is that somewhere a cardinal is sitting in a dead poplar tree, singing with all his might, searching for a mate.
Posted by Bob Benz at 2:11 PM | Comments (2)
April 20, 2008
An ode to Otis ...
Condolences to Howard Owens, who lost a friend this weekend. Howard had to put down his rottweiler, Otis, after he discovered the dog had bone cancer. I've had to say goodbye to a lot of dogs over the years, and it's always difficult. Hang in their, Howard, and remember the good times ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 9:14 AM | Comments (1)
April 12, 2008
The Ninja Dognapper
During a recent business trip to Atlanta, I met the Ninja Dognapper. She's a gorgeous blonde who can't stand to see a dog in distress. It bothers her so much, in fact, that she goes out in the dark of night, dressed in black and armed with hotdogs, to liberate canines who are living lonely lives at the end of chains.
As we were driving around Atlanta in her dogmobile (complete with a dashboard that has been chewed by one of her grateful pooches), she detailed how she can't resist the temptation to sneak into some half-wit's yard to liberate a dog who is being abused or neglected.
I asked her if she was afraid of getting shot by some pissed off weasel, and she didn't even flinch. The dog's welfare is just too important to pause at such peril. She's not even worried the dog might turn on her. Enough hot dogs will appease even the most savage of beasts.
I left Atlanta with a newfound faith in humanity and wishing I had the balls and bravery to do the same, especially after reading the plight of the forlorn St. Bernard that some piece of shit redneck had on a chain in Tennessee. The poor thing got tangled in its chain and chewed its own leg off to escape. Thank god the Ninja Dognapper is out there, moving stealthily through the night, saving Man's best friend from Man.
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:13 PM | Comments (4)
August 12, 2007
Xena the cone head ...
I took Xena to the vet Thursday for what I thought was going to be minor surgery to remove a golf-ball size tumor from her ear. Not quite. Apparently, the tumor was solidly connected to the ear , not hanging by a thread, as I'd thought.
When I went to pick her up, she was pretty doped up and wearing a large cone made of hard plastic.
"She'll get used to it," the vet tech said as he helped me load her into the truck. "My lab learned to use his as a weapon."
Poor Xena cried through the night Thursday, keeping me up and prompting me to lie on the floor next to her for a while to comfort her. She must have been in a good bit of pain. And she's a schemer. Apparently, Lara did the same thing a few times during the night, too.
It's now been a few days of life with the cone. The pain appears to be gone but not the indignation at having to wear a giant white hood. But as the vet tech predicted, she's learned to use the cone as a battering ram, sweeping aside me and the other dogs as she barges through the house. So far, though, it's doing a great job of keeping her away from the wound, which is healing nicely. We'll find out whether the tumor was benign or malignant this week ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 11:07 AM | Comments (2)
May 12, 2007
Perros de Peru
While I was traveling in Peru, I was astounded by the number of dogs I saw. Perhaps even more astounded by the fact that most of them were in pretty good shape, even the ones that obviously were strays. Peruvians apparently love their dogs, and that's just another reason to love Peruvians. Here are a few pictures I took of dogs I encountered during my travels, including the hairless dog of Peru in this photo, which was taken at the pre-Incan pyramid of Huaca Huallamarca in the San Isidro section of Lima. Apparently, this forlorn creature is Peru's national pooch.
Posted by Bob Benz at 6:50 PM | Comments (0)
April 25, 2007
Who's yer dog's daddy?
I came across a cool service in one of the dog magazines I read. For $65, Metamorphix claims it can run a DNA test that will reveal your dog's breed composition. It apparently uses a cheek swab to sniff out the dog's heritage from among 38 breeds. I've always been curious about Ozzy's 57 varieties, and I'm thinking about giving it a shot. Even if this will only find 38 ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 7:36 PM | Comments (2)
April 20, 2007
Basset hound savior
Leanne made an appearance on a local TV program called Style to promote her basset rescue group. Even though I'm still tweaked that the TV geeks can't spell basset, I'd urge you to check it out. Or better yet, help Leanne in her efforts to save these noble critters. (I particularly recommend you take a look at Bogie and Rembrandt if you're in an adopting mood. I was almost in tears when Lee told me their tale.)
Posted by Bob Benz at 10:32 PM | Comments (0)
February 18, 2007
The happy hound
Gilligan waits impatiently in the truck while I gas up after taking the pack to the lake this morning. It was another incredible, crisp morning with a dusting of snow on the trails. As we walked into the rising sun, thousands of tiny sparkling snow flecks danced around in the wind like a swarm of brilliant insects. The snow must have been blowing up off the ground since there wasn't a cloud in the sky at the time. The effect was pretty amazing. Maybe I shouldn't spend so much time gazing into the sun ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 6:31 PM | Comments (0)
Best in show ...
A Portland art gallery celebrated the Westminster Dog Show with its own take on canines, asking artists to do their interpretations of various breeds in what it is calling the Wurstminster Dog Show.
I liked Driscoll Reid's Newfoundland so much that I purchased it. And I almost bought a really, really strange take on the Maltese by Jason Vivona. When I e-mailed the link to Lara, she responded with a terse: "I don't want that." Hmm. Maybe I need to reconsider. It certainly captures the psychedelic nature of Mully the Maltese ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 6:23 PM | Comments (0)
January 20, 2007
Frosty sunrise
The dogs and I got to witness an amazing sunrise at Melton Hill Lake this morning. Xena had ice clinging to her from her frosty dip in the lake and Gilligan and Ozzy where running around like maniacs. There's something about the cold silence of a January morning, pierced by the occasional shriek of birds as they awaken, that is totally sublime. Steam rises up off the water. My mind's as crisp as the dawn. The day can only go downhill from here ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:39 PM | Comments (2)
January 7, 2007
Dreaming of a white trash Christmas ...
So while I was at the park yesterday morning, watching to dogs loop wide orbits through the wet grass, a pickup pulling a trailer full of Christmas trees sputtered in. A redneck hopped out, dumped the trees and went on his merry way. Clearly, the world is his trash can. I didn't get a look at the license plate (it was hidden by the trailer, which had no plate), but It was hard to miss the Jesus/fish license plate on the front of the truck.
I guess that's one way to put the Christ back in Christmas ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 11:30 AM | Comments (0)
December 9, 2006
Foxy frosty morning
As we pulled into the park this morning, my headlines caught a fox trotting across the hoary grass. The dogs started bouncing around in the truck while I slowed to watch. He was big with a magnificent tail held high in the 17-degree air. After casting a quick look at me, he continued on with his business, nosing the bushes and looking for something to pounce on.
It's the first time I've seen a live fox at Melton Hill. We did come across a dead one a few years ago. It was badly mangled, probably by a coyote or two from the looks of it. It was a real treat to get a good look of one on the prowl.
Posted by Bob Benz at 7:12 PM | Comments (0)
November 12, 2006
Hunting season ...
I took the dogs to the lake yesterday and today, but the two hikes were strangely different.
Hunting season appears to be in full swing. As we walked yesterday, what sounded like shotgun blasts rang out and rolled through the valley like ball bearings careening around a metal bowl. Some sounded so close it unnerved me a bit. I don't know what's in season or what they're hunting, but they were definitely firing away.
After the shots died away, I could hear geese rising in the distance. I kept watching for them to come into view, and finally they emerged in the gray sky, but the flock was disheveled and splintered into several staggering groups. They clearly were rattled by the gunshots. Maybe they were the target of the gunshots.
And this morning, it was eerily quiet. The gun blasts were distant, muffled, and even the birds weren't making noise. I looked up to see a flock of geese in perfect V formation floating silently overhead. Not a single honk to be heard.
Posted by Bob Benz at 6:12 PM | Comments (1)
October 14, 2006
Haunted hike ...
Xena and I were lumbering behind the hounds this morning when I heard a preternatural wailing rise among the cawing and honking sounds that welcome sunrise.
At first, I thought it was just me. But Xena had stopped dead in her tracks and was looking in the same direction. I was trying to figure out what was going on in the wooded hills across Melton Hill Lake. We cast a glance at each other, then back at the water, where thick columns of fog were rising up into the cold morning air. All we needed was a chainsaw-wielding maniac wearing a hockey mask.
Then it hit me. Coyotes. I've heard them caterwauling in Hardin Valley in the evening, but this was the first time I'd heard them at the lake in the morning. From the sound of it, there were two groups of them over there, maybe a half-mile apart, calling out to each other.
The effect was amazing. Xena and I listened for a while, then continued walking toward the hounds and the indignant protests of a turkey they'd rousted.
Posted by Bob Benz at 9:29 AM | Comments (0)
October 7, 2006
Autumn swoops into Tennessee
I've been traveling a lot lately and haven't run the dogs at the lake for several weeks. Perhaps the wait made this morning one of our best jaunts to Melton Hill in a while.
After several foggy mornings this week, today broke clear and brisk. It was 48 degrees and a full moon cast an incredible pre-sunrise glow on our walk.
As they always do, Ozzy and Gilligan tore off into a field atop the hill, disappearing over a rise to chase rabbits or whatever else caught their fancy. The eastern sky was easing toward dawn, but the sun wasn't up yet. And as I always do, I stood whistling the dogs back to me, faithful Xena panting at my side.
I heard the jangling of Gilligan's tags before I saw the two wayward hounds come over the rise, dew popping off their churning paws like glistening drops of mercury bouncing out of a broken thermometer.
But they weren't alone.
In the sky only a few yards above them, slicing through autumn moonlight, was a small hawk. At first I thought it was an angry crow, rousted by the two hounds. But as it (and they) came closer, I realized it was a hawk, sizing them up as possible breakfast. It followed them all the way in, soaring up to perch in a nearby tree when it realized they were too big to haul off. It apparently didn't see me standing there until after it had alighted, and upon noticing me, it soared off into the morning.
Incredible.
It reminded me of another hawk-dog encounter a few decades ago, when a beautiful, massive red-tail swooped at my little cocker spaniel pup while we were frolicking in the piney Jemez Mountains of New Mexico. That hawk probably could have made off with the dog, but it saw me as it swooped and veered away.
Can't wait till tomorrow morning ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:19 PM | Comments (1)
August 5, 2006
Playing possum ...
I've heard this expression often. Last weekend was the first time I saw it firsthand.
As we were wading through the morning mist at Melton Hill Park, I saw something ambling in the tall grass a few hundred yards away. It was white and moving slowly with an awkward gate.
Unfortunately, Ozzy saw it too.
He bolted after it, with Gilligan close on his heels. About halfway there, I realized it was a possum. Nothing to be done from where I stood, so I just watched as Ozzy grabbed it by the neck and gave it a hard, violent shake before dropping it.
Ozzy is a mighty hunter, but I've always suspected his hunts were more a zen-like enjoyment of the chase rather than an obsession with the kill. He never seems to capture his prey. But apparently I was wrong about Zen master Ozzy. He was very proud of himself, and by the time I came up on the scene, it seemed pretty clear he'd killed the possum. It's teeth, much sharper and more menacing than I'd imagined a possum would have, were contorted in a grimace and it looked stone dead.
I herded the dogs away from it and we continued on. But when we returned that way, about 20 minutes later, there was no sign of the possum. It was long gone, and the dogs seemed completely befuddled at its absence. Seems playing possum can be a useful strategy after all ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 10:00 AM | Comments (2)
The beagle man ...
"I like all dogs, but I'm a beagle man," he said, pausing to spit out the window of his pickup. In the truck's bed, there was a dog crate that I'm pretty sure had a beagle or two bumbling around in it. They were quiet, but my dogs were freaking out and seemed to sense something was in there.
I've run into the beagle man before at the park, but this was the first time I'd stopped to talk to him. Usually, he and his pack drift by in a howling storm, tormenting every rabbit within a mile or two.
He's lived in East Tennessee all his life and immediately recognized our house as "one of the old Gallaher places" when I told him where we live. Apparently there were two or three of their houses clustered on our stretch of Hardin Valley. Ours, from the best we can tell, was build in the 1890s and extensively renovated about 20 or 30 years ago.
The beagle man was looking for one of his pack, a timid female who apparently split off during a rabbit chase yesterday. I'd seen her when I arrived with Xena, Ozzy and Gilligan about 30 minutes earlier, but she trotted off into the woods when we drove past. She clearly was wearing a collar and tags so I wasn't too worried about her.
It brought to mind an image last winter as I was pulling into the park. It was early, even by my standards, probably about 5:30 a.m., and freezing cold. As I rounded the turn at the park entrance, the beagle man's truck materialized in my headlights and I saw him standing back by the tailgate, lifting a shivering beagle into the crate in back. Apparently, this was another escapee who had spent a frigid night outside before being rescued by her female. I wonder now if it was the same dog he was looking for this morning.
The beagle man went on at length about hunting (not much sport to deer hunting ... "it would be like shooting one of them dogs standing there"), changes in the valley and other things he's seen over the years. But he was adamant about beagles and hunting with beagles. He says once you learn how the pack works, you can tell exactly where a rabbit will emerge from the brush when it's being pursued by a braying pack.
The beagle man is easily in his 60s and has the easy-going, direct manner that I've really come to admire in East Tennesseans. They're great people, and it's fun to run into them in situations like this and get their take on things.
After talking for about a half-hour, he drove off, looking for his lost dog. I finished running my dogs, and on the way home, as we passed the beagle man's farm, we could hear cacophony of beagles in the cage outside his house. I'm assuming it was some sort of celebration for the prodigal pack-mate's return ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 9:21 AM | Comments (0)
April 23, 2006
Sunrise swim ...
Gilligan retrieves a stick out of Melton Hill Lake at daybreak on a beautiful spring morning. Gilligan has turned out to be even more of a water dog than Xena. She prefers to wait for him to return with the stick, then she jumps him in shallow water and takes it off him. Bully.
Posted by Bob Benz at 12:04 PM | Comments (2)
March 19, 2006
For folks with creaky old dogs ...
After reading an article in the most-excellent Tuft's publication, Your Dog, I decided to put Xena on a new food that's designed to help dogs with arthritis. It's called Hill's Prescription Diet Canine J/D.
Xena had gotten to the point where she really was hobbling after our weekend walks at the lake. It appeared to be arthritis setting in, and it was really painful to watch. Rimadyl was helping, but it really didn't seem like the right long-term fix.
Then I read the Your Dog article, where a letter writer claimed she moved her dog to the J/D food and saw a miraculous improvement. Though dubious, I decided to give it a shot, and it's working. Xena's on her third bag, and she has improved considerably. But it's not cheap.
That's my main complaint. Hill's has set this up as a prescription food, which means you can only get it from a veterinarian. The only reason I can see for this is so they can mark it up considerably, which is pretty cheesy. But it does seem to work so I'm paying the price.
Also, I highly recommend the Your Dog newsletter. Lots of great tips in there for dog owners, and it's put out by a veterinary school, so it's not full of fluff.
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:02 PM | Comments (1)
January 3, 2006
Partners in crime ...
Xena and Ozzy hang out on the back deck, looking for trouble to get into. Based on the debris strewn across the backyard, I'd say they found it. They love to do hit and run missions on the garbage can, taking whatever they can pull out to the backyard to much on.
Posted by Bob Benz at 9:00 AM | Comments (0)
December 18, 2005
Mully and his mortal enemy ...
Poor Mully suffers not only the indiginity of being bathed in a sink, but also knowing that his worthy nemesis, Sydney the Cockatoo, is just a few feet away, leering at the whole process. Syndey and Mully hate each other with a vengeance that is truly amusing. Syd has been known to hop down off his cage and chase poor Mully around the couch. They are but too tiny white creatures in a quest for Lara's affections.
Posted by Bob Benz at 6:58 PM | Comments (0)
A dog's life
Gilligan dozes after a morning of running amok.
Posted by Bob Benz at 1:31 PM | Comments (0)
October 22, 2005
Patron saints of dogs ...
A few friends of ours, Gary and Elaine, have been working to help pets who were separated from their owners in Hurricane Katrina. The dynamic duo left Pittsburgh last Saturday en route to Mississippi and stopped at our place in Knoxville for a rest before continuing on to Mississippi.
They had a pair of dogs with them -- Taz and Pokey -- who had been taken to Pittsburgh after the storm and were going to be returned to their owners. After returning the dogs, Gary and Elaine stayed in Mississippi this week to help with other animal rescues. We're expecting them to come back through tomorrow night on their way back to Pittsburgh, perhaps with more refugee dogs in tow. Great stuff. It's pretty heart-warming to know that at least a few animals are being reunited with their people after the storm ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:20 PM | Comments (0)
Mr. Mully's brush with death ...
While I was on the West Coast for a business trip, our resident yappy dog, Mully, apparently decided to run headlong down the driveway and throw himself in front of a car. Somehow, miraculously, he survived. It's the first time one of my dogs has been hit by a car. Hope it's the last.
Here's Lara's description of what happened:
When I went out to get the paper -- a routine that involves taking our littlest dog, Mully out, too -- Mully went berserk and ran, I mean RAN, right out into the street and was run over by a car. When I scooped him from underneath the car I thought for sure he was a goner. Ran him to the vet in my jammies and waited an agonizing two hours before the vet came out and said he was going to be fine. No internal injuries, no broken bones. Just cuts and bruises. He looks like hell, but he's fine.
"The poor guy who hit him felt bad and kept apologizing, but I told him it wasn't his fault. Tonight I posted a sign on the road, saying "My dog is fine :)" in case he rides by here again (most folks on this road live around here). So I hope he sees it. If I were him, I would want to know."
Now playing: It Makes No Difference from the album "The Last Waltz Disc 1" by Band, The
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:08 PM | Comments (1)
The sound and the fury ...
I tried shooting some video that captures the frenzy that is Gilligan when he's running amok at the lake. Thanks to the wonders of my Mac's video editing, here's my first cut. It's three shots edited together. Pretty cool and easy. I shot it with a Dimage Xg camera in video mode. It's a Quicktime file, about 1mb.
Now playing: Coyote from the album "The Last Waltz Disc 1" by Band, The
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:00 PM | Comments (0)
September 10, 2005
Killing dogs in New Orleans
I know it seems trivial compared to what the people of New Orleans are going through, but this Dallas Morning News video of a redneck cop shooting people's pets in New Orleans is about as disturbing as disturbing gets.
Posted by Bob Benz at 5:28 PM | Comments (1)
Gilligan is dead; long live Gilligan
Doing my best imitation of the psychic hotline, I named the latest stray I found at Melton Hill Lake "Gilligan" a mere two days before Bob Denver went off to that deserted island in the sky.
We took the whole pack up to the park on Saturday, including Mully. While we were walking around, a timid dog was lying under a tree near the entrance. But when we approached, he ran off.
I didn't think much of it until Sunday, when Xena, Ozzy and I went back to the park. There he was again, under the same tree. He was terrified of us, but Ozzy managed to run him down and make friends. He growled meekly when I tried to pet him, so I left him alone and he started following us, frolicking with Xena and Ozzy along the way.
By the time we got back to the end of the truck at the end of the walk, he was letting me pet him and being very friendly. The poor thing was pretty emaciated, so I decided to put him in the truck and take him to the pound later that morning.
But it was a holiday. No one was answering at the pound. And although I've been holding steady at three dogs for fear of divorce court, I started calling this guy Gilligan because he's such a goof. Once he had a name, he was part of the pack. Forget the pound.
So we've taken him to the vet. He's mostly hound, and actually looks a lot like Smokey, the University of Tennessee mascot. He's about two years old and has a skin rash and hookworms, but he's OK otherwise. Just underweight. He's very sweet, but he's also very horny. He's been following poor Xena everywhere, and she's not impressed. Ozzy isn't, either. There's been a little scuffling, but nothing serious.
On Tuesday, he's going to get neutered, so I'm hoping that after that everything will be much better. The longer he's around, the more his personality comes out. Definite Gilligan.
I posted some photos of him on my Flickr site. Click here to see them ...Posted by Bob Benz at 3:01 PM | Comments (6)
July 24, 2005
Dog days ...
A haze hangs over Melton Hill Lake as the summer heat begins to settle in for the day. It's been so hot recently that Xena spends her days moving from one air conditioning vent to another, trying to stay cool. A few more photos of this morning's trip to the lake are here.
Posted by Bob Benz at 11:02 AM | Comments (0)
May 21, 2005
Flower children
Joy's puppy, Buster, came to visit this week. This is one of the few shots I was able to take of him that isn't blurred. He got along great with Ozzy and Xena. Very cool pooch. I've posted more photos to a Flickr account that I'm testing. Check them out here
Posted by Bob Benz at 12:33 PM | Comments (0)
February 19, 2005
God on the wings of geese ...
So I'm doing my usual Saturday morning walk with Xena and Ozzy at Melton Hill Park, but it just isn't working.
Usually, this clears my head, purges work problems and exorcises all those demons that chase me during the week. But no matter how hard I try to move on, my mind keeps cramping with clutter, swollen with technical impotence and my inability to get anything done. Servers and code and content management systems clutter my consciousness.
And suddenly, I hear honking. Four geese fly into the rising sun, gracefully following the contour of the Clinch River as it flows into Melton Hill Lake.
Honk.
Honk ... honk ... honk.
Honk.
Silence.
I stop.
The dogs stop.
No panting. No crunching frozen grass. No honking
The only sound is the Earth gently inhaling a new day as the geese stream into the horizon.
I am of the moment. All else disappears.
So this is Zen ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:50 PM | Comments (0)
January 8, 2005
Another reason to hate business travel ...
As if there weren't enough reasons to hate being on the road, I now have a new one: I miss all the cool chaos that erupts at home. I'd have given anything to see this one ...
Lara was sitting on the couch watching TV Thursday night when our fearless cockatoo from hell, Sydney, hopped down off his cage and ambled into the living room. The two big dogs were out in the backyard, and only little yappy Mully was around.
Apparently, Syd was on a mission. He made a beeline for Mully, who initially stood his ground, yapping bravely. But Sydney is a big bird, and Mully is a big coward. The cockatoo proceeded to chase the yappy dog around the ottoman, past the couch and through the living room until Lara intervened, saving poor Mully's measly life.
I would have given anything to have witnessed this. I was afraid it was a once in a lifetime thing, but as I was eating breakfast this morning, I heard the familiar clopping of Sydney's feet on the tile floor. I looked over to see him peeking into the living room, presumably looking for Mully. But he spied Xena and Ozzy in the room, too, and beat a retreat back to his cage.
This could get interesting ....
Now Playing: Angel of Lyon from the album "Switchblades of Love" by Steve Young
Posted by Bob Benz at 10:46 AM | Comments (5)
January 1, 2005
A perfect start to the new year ...
During my recent time off, I've been venturing farther than Melton Hill Lake for hikes. For our New Year's Day hike, Lara, Xena, Ozzy and I drove up to Frozen Head State Park and hiked to the waterfalls. It was fantastic. Sunny. Warm. We had a great, relaxing start to 2005. Here are a few photos that I took while I was up there.
Our only incident was when I was letting the dogs run off their leashes, and they went charging toward a trio of rednecks, scaring the poor folks pretty badly. I tend to forget how big Xena is, and when she comes charging down a trail at you and you don't know for sure if she's friendly, it can cause alarm. The woman, clutching a little yappy dog and sporting a magnificent bouffant 'do, was clearly perturbed, but the kid and husband survived their encounter with the wild dogs of Frozen Head, so no harm was done. I promptly leashed the dogs and we continued on our way.
On Thursday, I took the dogs up there and the place was deserted. It was wonderful. About five minutes after we entered the woods, we saw two white-tail deer loping up the hillside, and later that day, we saw an entire herd, maybe 6 or 8 of them, crashing through the woods to get away from us. Watching those white tails bounce through the woods was truly sublime.
It's going to be tough returning to the work grind on Monday ...
Now Playing: I Shall Be Released from the album "Music from Big Pink" by The Band
Posted by Bob Benz at 7:38 PM | Comments (3)
December 8, 2004
Goodbye to a loyal cocker spaniel
Crystal has been sliding downhill for the past year or so, doggedly clinging to her old food-seeking routines and spending her afternoons snoozing in the slivers of sunlight that spill into the house as the days tick by. But during the past few weeks, it became clear that she'd had enough. She's been suffering from cancer and an assortment of heart maladies, and I knew it was time to let her go. But it wasn't easy, and I wanted to do it as comfortably as possible. So we called our vet and arranged for them to come here to the house to put her down. She went quietly, at home, with me and Lara and Xena and Ozzy and Mully shedding tears nearby.
My mind has been drifting back, tracing the wonderful times we've shared during the past 15 years, to that moment a few days before Thanksgiving when I helped her mother, Brandi, give birth to a litter of yapping, yelping cockers ...
To Crystal's first walk, in an unlikely Birmingham snow, when she was so small I had to pick her up to get her over the curbs ...
To that crazy trip across country, through Mississippi, Lousiania, Texas and finally to our new home in Albuquerque, that poor 1986 Ford Escort bristling with assorted possessions, a hyper cocker puppy and a demented lovebird named Gonzo ...
To watching her and her best friend, PigPen, six months her junior, curled up in the New Mexico winter sunshine on our back porch ...
To hot high-desert hikes when she and PigPen would run from one shady spot to the next, panting and ecstatic among the cactus and pinon ...
To romps through Denver's Washington Park, leaving contrails of dog prints in freshly fallen midnight snow ...
To frenetically chasing sqeaky toys through our odd duplex-turned-single apartment in Austin, Texas, while barking PigPen egged her on, encouraging her to make another orbit of the room ...
To the calmer days of old age in Tennessee when she lay her head on dying PigPen's emaciated body, saying goodbye to her friend and partner in crime ...
To all the joy she brought me for 15 years. Rest in peace, Little Chris. Rest in peace.
Posted by Bob Benz at 4:49 PM | Comments (8)
October 29, 2004
Getting a dog's eye view ...
Gotta get one of these. I'm sure what it reveals will be horrifying.
Posted by Bob Benz at 12:57 PM | Comments (2)
October 16, 2004
Poodlefish whistles Dixie
I put an ad in the paper this week, hoping to find the owner of the dog I found in Melton Hill Lake last week. To no avail.
So this morning when I took Xena and Ozzy to the lake, I took Poodlefish posters and tacked them on every phone pole from here to the lake. At about 2 this afternoon, Poodlefish's owner called. Turns out her name is Dixie and she wandered away from home last week. Their property abuts the lake. They were afraid she had drifted off into the woods and died since she's so old.
So Poodlefish ... er, Dixie ... is back with her owners and my pack is reduced to four again.
Posted by Bob Benz at 3:08 PM | Comments (2)
October 10, 2004
The poodlefish
When we arrived at the lake before sunrise Saturday, I heard a dog barking in the distance while Xena and Ozzy barreled out of the truck. I thought it was coming from across the water, maybe up on the cliffs that crowd the western shoreline.
Xena knew better.
She charged straight down to the water and jumped in, followed closely by Ozzy. When I got there, I saw a soaked, shivering white dog standing in the water under the dock. I waded out, grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and reeled it in.
The poor thing was shivering uncontrollably, and I was afraid it might have hypothermia. So I canceled the hike, much to Xena and Ozzy's lament, and took the little dog to the emergency vet clinic, where I learned it's a female toy poodle, probably about 13 years old, blind and deaf.
At first, I thought some total piece of shit had thrown the little dog in the lake to get rid of it. But after watching it wander aimlessly around the house for a few hours, I'm starting to think it was either abandoned or drifted away from home and stumbled into the lake by accident. Once there, it wasn't able to climb out.
Not sure yet what I'm going to do with it. This would be Dog No. 5, and it seems to be in pretty bad shape. I'm going to try to find the owner via lost-and-found ads, but deep down, I know better. This dog is my problem. It's definitely not adoptable. And I'm not sure how much quality there is to its life. I might need to put it down if I can't locate the owner. It's definitely not a decision I'm in a hurry to make. I'm going to give her a little while to see how she adjusts to the house ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 4:06 PM | Comments (5)
Truckin'
Posted by Bob Benz at 3:55 PM | Comments (4)
September 25, 2004
Choking the chicken ...
Ozzy, the dog who gives chase constantly but never nabs his prey, finally caught up with what he was after. It was a rooster that apparently wandered away from the safety of its home. I looked up and saw Ozzy chasing it along the shore of Melton Hill Lake until he finally nabbed it, prompting me to charge after him, telling him to let it go. By then, Xena was on the case, too.
The whole thing ended up looking like that scene from Gilligan's Island when the mars rover lands on the island and the castaways get ready to broadcast their images back to "earth." But they end up covered in chicken feathers, thanks to a goof-up by Gilligan, prompting NASA to think Mars is populated by strange chicken people.
Ozzy and Xena, each with a mouth full of feathers, are chasing the rooster. I'm chasing Ozzy and Xena. And somewhere in the commotion, the roster limps off into the woods. I don't think he was too badly hurt. Just winged.
Posted by Bob Benz at 10:53 PM | Comments (2)
April 27, 2004
And then there were four ...
I had to take Kesey to the vet today to have him put down. He's been going downhill for the past several months. He kept falling down and often wasn't able to get to his feet. His hips were in horrible shape. When he stopped eating, I knew it was time.
But that didn't make it any easier.
The folks at the vet must have thought I was nuts. This 6-4, 260 pound guy bawling his eyes out over a poor old collie. They were very kind, offering to send me the bill rather than make me stand at the front counter with tears in my eyes as they ran my credit card. He went peacefully, and before I took him in, I drove him around for about 45 minutes with all the windows down. He even managed to get to his feet for a short while, sticking his long narrow muzzle out the window and reveling in the cool April morning.
Kesey was a great dog. We only had him for two years. I brought him home after someone dumped him up at Melton Hill Park. But they were two good years. He fit in well with the rest of the pack and filled Bubba's role as the elder male. I'll miss the old guy.
Goodbye, old man. And thanks for being a loyal, devoted friend.
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:47 PM | Comments (4)
April 20, 2004
A day at church
Xena, Ozzy and I headed to the park extra early on Sunday. It was still dark, but as soon as we drove into the park I knew something was up.
It was infested with boy scouts from Oak Ridge.
But they were all still sleeping soundly. Xena and Ozzy ran up to sniff a bundle of blankets and a sleeping bag, but it didn't even stir.
We set off on a path that was thick with honeysuckle and the occasional stumbumbling bees lumbering to life in the first light of day, trying to shake off a treacly hangover. It made me think of Yeats' incredible lines in The Lake Isle of Innisfree:
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
I remember once trying to explain this walk that is my church. The two youngsters who were dogging my steps as surely as Xena and Ozzy that day looked perplexed. Church to them involved walls and a roof, preachers and a congregation. But after a moment, they smiled and understood.
Thoreau would be proud.
Posted by Bob Benz at 7:35 AM
February 28, 2004
Curse of the bloodsucking ticks
I took the dogs to the lake this morning for the first time in several weeks. It felt great. I don't realize how much I miss those early jaunts until I've skipped a few weeks.
We couldn't go last week because Xena had Lyme's disease. After I returned from a trip to San Antonio, she was crying and whining every time she got to her feet. One vet visit, a blood test and $250 later, we found out she had Lyme's. This is the second time a tick-borne disease has hit one of my dogs. Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever almost killed poor Bubba 8 or so years ago.
Thanks to antibiotics, Xena has recovered, as terrified rabbits at Melton Hill Lake can attest ...
Posted by Bob Benz at 9:17 AM | Comments (2)
February 11, 2004
Good dog ...
Great to see a Newfie beat all those annoying yappy dogs at Westminster. Xena was up all night partying to celebrate.
Posted by Bob Benz at 8:52 AM | Comments (4)
January 31, 2004
Chilling out
I took the dogs up to the lake this morning, despite the 15 degree temperature. I know it sounds completely insane, but I love weather like this -- the dogs darting back and forth across the crunchy ground, the heatless sun yellow on the horizon, each icy breath a mix of pain and exhilaration. Once we were walking for 20 minutes or so, it really wasn't too bad. Good enough, in fact, for Xena to plunge into the lake in pursuit of a flock of geese. Within minutes after she emerged dripping from the water, she turned into the ice Newf.
Now Playing: Nietzche from the album Thirteen Tales From Urban Bohemia by The Dandy Warhols
Posted by Bob Benz at 10:09 AM | Comments (0)