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Ozzy, 2002-2016

Hiking with Ozzy at Stroud's Run in Athens, OH. This is one of the last long hikes we went on ...
Hiking with Ozzy at Stroud’s Run in Athens, OH. This is one of the last long hikes we went on …

He was a good dog.

No, really. A great dog. The last time I sat with tears soaking my keyboard like this, I was writing about the demise of Gilligan, the black-and-tan coonhound from hell.

But Ozzy was different. When he was bounding toward the woods, high on whatever scent had seized his canine brain, he would actually pause when I barked his name. After a moment of indecision, he’d lope back, tail wagging broadly, lazily, as he sidled up to me to see what adventure was next and why I had demanded his presence.

Not Gilly. When Gilly caught the scent of freedom, he was gone like a crack addict after a single hit. No looking back. That proved his demise in the end. And maybe it’s why Ozzy lived to the ripe old age of 14 before Lara and I made that most difficult of decisions and said goodbye to him at a vet clinic in brooding, overcast Athens, Ohio, on Nov. 19, 2016. The cancer had withered him away, leaving bones and fur where his hips had once been.

Ozzy and Gilly hanging out on our porch at the lake house in Knoxville.
Ozzy and Gilly hanging out on our porch at the lake house in Knoxville.

Ozzy was the sole survivor of my dog dynasty. After Gilly and Xena died in Knoxville, he and Mully joined us for the adventure to D.C., where Mully finally succumbed to his 18+ years of annoying everyone around him, particularly our umbrella cockatoo, Sydney.

I found Ozzy on a freezing New Year’s Eve in Knoxville, TN. Some piece of shit had dumped him in the parking lot of Melton Hill Park, and as I walked back to my truck with faithful Xena plodding along beside me, I thought Ozzy was a fox pacing the parking lot, until I saw him bound up to each car that pulled in, his tail wagging, hoping his human had returned.

Ozzy and Xena wrestle at our Hardin Valley House on the night that I found him at Melton Hill Park in Knoxville.
Ozzy and Xena wrestle at our Hardin Valley House on the night that I found him at Melton Hill Park in Knoxville.

When Xena and I reached him, the two of them hit it off immediately, playing and frolicking as I tried to load Xena into the back of my truck. I knew that I was already at my dog quota … Xena, Kesey, Crystal. It seemed unlikely I’d be able to convince Lara to up it to four.

Until she met Ozzy. Like me and Xena, she was smitten instantly. She even came up with his name, a tribute to The Osbournes reality show that was all the rage on MTV at the time.

Some of my fondest memories of Ozzy are from Melton Hill Lake, roaming those rolling, grassy hills in a pack, he and Gilligan the advance guard, Xena and I lumbering along behind. When I’d stop at one of the boat ramps to toss a stick out into the fog-shrouded water, Ozzy would drift off, searching for rabbits, possums, whatever. He’d leave the lake to the water dogs, keeping his paws planted firmly on dry land. Occasionally, out of the corner of my eye, I’d see Ozzy hitting the afterburners in pursuit of a rabbit.

Ozzy slices through the fields at Melton Hill Lake, in search of something to chase.
Ozzy slices through the fields at Melton Hill Lake, in search of something to chase.

As I scrolled through endless rows of my digital photo collection, embedded in Apple’s granite Photo app like coruscated memories, I started plucking out random images of Osbourne. More often that not, he is looking directly at me and my camera, always eager to win my attention and earn my praise, waiting for instructions on what to do next. He was one of the best-behaved, well-mannered dogs I’ve ever encountered. A true gentleman.

Ozzy and Lara at Frozen Head State Park in Tennessee.
Ozzy and Lara at Frozen Head State Park in Tennessee.

I’ll take his ashes back to Melton Hill this summer. Maybe sooner. And I’ll probably save some to spread at Rock Creek Park in D.C. next time I’m in town. After Gilly and Xena died, Lara, Mully, Sydney, Ozzy and I moved to D.C., where we lived for four fabulous years. Ozzy and I took epic hikes in Rock Creek Park on weekends, and we even strolled down to the National Mall one sunny afternoon, where he was more obsessed with the squirrels than monuments to America.

Ozzy wasn’t a natural alpha dog. It wasn’t until the pack had dwindled and disappeared that it was his turn. But he wore it well. He was my best bud and constant companion while we were in D.C. and after we moved to Athens. He was a damned good dog. One of the best. I’ll never forget him.

An exhausted Ozzy sleeps on the morning after Gilly's death. The two of them ran all night, with GIlly getting hit by a car and Ozzy returning home alone with bloody feet.
An exhausted Ozzy sleeps on the morning after Gilly’s death. The two of them ran all night, with Gilly getting hit by a car and Ozzy returning home alone with bloody feet.
Ozzy on our front porch in Athens. This was taken just a week or so before he died.
Ozzy on our front porch in Athens. This was taken just a week or so before he died.
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Paddle Bob

Autumn paddle on Melton Hill Lake

Melton Hill LakeI took advantage of a shimmering autumn afternoon yesterday to paddle Melton Hill Lake. I put in at the dam and headed upstream, pausing to paddle up Hope Creek. Fall colors still were clinging to a few trees along the shoreline, but for the most part the woods had receded into their winter attire. This is part of the Pellissippi Blueway, which I’ve been paddling a section at a time. I saw a lot of blue herons and kingfishers along the way. The highlight was a glimpse of a pilated woodpecker as he flitted from one dead tree to another. I paddled to the rhythm of his thumping as I continued upstream

I really like this stretch of the lake. Much of it is TVA land and isn’t developed. I saw only a few clusters of homes and docks as I made my way upstream. It’s very different from Loudon, which is a sprawling suburb of a lake, bristling with lawns and houses and other attempts to impose order on nature.

I also took a side trip up Hope Creek, where I saw a great crumbling dock. I’ve been thinking about embarking on a mission next summer to start photographing these artifacts of lakeside bliss.

Today, I’m paying the price. I got carried away and put in almost 13 miles of paddling yesterday. It didn’t help that a  headwind came up while I was paddling back toward the dam. The final few miles were a slog. But it was worth it.

Here’s a GPS image of the route I paddled. More images are here.

GPS image of Melton Hill Lake paddle

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Paddle Bob

Return to Melton Hill Lake

melton_hill_06_02_2009
Now that I can strap my kayak to my truck, I’m striking out and paddling new places. My first trip was Fontana Lake in North Carolina. Next up was Melton Hill Lake, much closer to home.

I’ve wanted to paddle Melton Hill for a while. It’s a special place to me. For years when we lived in Hardin Valley, I took the dogs up there every weekend morning to stretch there legs and harass rabbits. That’s where I found the abandoned Ozzy, Gilligan and the late, great Kesey. That park conjures a lot of great, soul cleansing moments.

I decided to put in at Solway Park, which is near Oak Ridge, and paddle downstream to Melton Hill Park. It was a great trip, and it turned out to be one of the longest I’ve done at almost 14 miles. Melton Hill Lake is much different from Loudon or Fontana. The main channel gets very narrow in several spots, and even the bass boats where obeying the channel markers, which leads me to believe there are some nasty shallow spots in there. The water was murkier, too.

When I reached Melton Hill Park, I landed on a sandy beach where I used to toss tennis balls in the water for Xena and Gilligan. To my surprise, there was a tennis ball sitting there. But I doubt it was a relic from our days at the park.

After taking a break, I got back in the kayak and paddled over to Bull Bluff, which I’d seen numerous times from the opposite shoreline. It’s an impressive cliff. From there, I paddled back. I got caught out