Dwarfed by the Landscape

"I used to swim here?" were the first words that ran through my mind when I briefly stopped by the lake. Not only was the water iced and snowed over for as far as the eye could see, but there were also several brave souls, both human and canine, far away from the beach skiing over what were once deep and, at times, turbulent glacial waters.

Last February, I went dog-sledding on a different lake in this area. Even though I felt uncertain about being on ice that late in the winter, I trusted the guide.

Perhaps it's my Russianness, but I often display excessive obedience in the face of authority: there were no signs here, so I felt like I was breaking the law just walking around!  

The basset felt otherwise:

He tracked his canine friends (or future enemies!):

And generally seemed quite triumphant. Whereas I was awe-stricken by how tiny he appeared against the mountains covered over by the brooding winter clouds, he was just happy not to be thrown into the lake by his at-times crazy water-loving human mom (i.e., yours truly).

Roediger's Birthday

My little ray of sunshine in a sea of darkness, my slobbering, deer-chasing polyglot, my perpetually howling Russo-Germanic aristocrat, my wrinkly stress relief turns two years old today! 

To celebrate, we went to a local pet shop to select a new squeaky toy destined for annihilation (naturally, it had to be the abominable snowman of the Northwest!) and delicious treats. (I settled for some chocolate.)

The festivities were slightly dampened by the fact that Roediger got smacked in the face by a devious cat (aren't they all?) perched up on a bench in the store. Yet all was quickly forgotten when we found several deer on a long walk that followed.

And now--well-deserved sleep while cuddling with the green yeti. 

Sans Titre

One particularly worthwhile aspect of travel involves the realization of what you miss the most when you're away. Family? Friends? Your own bed? 

Sometimes, it is things.

Funny, surprising things.

Today, I ran into Harrods here in London to get...SOUR GREEN APPLES (and tea)!  

And, of course, for me, it is dogs--those adorable parasitic creatures that share our homes (more like, let us live there), paying us back with humor and stress relief. And love.

It takes about two days to begin approaching every single canine in my vicinity (naturally, ignoring their owners--all "dog people" do this!). Since large cities primarily have smaller breeds, let's just say that no itty-bitty dachshund was safe! ;)

 

Where Wolf Howls Can be Heard

Earlier in the week, Roediger, the aristocratic basset (despite the drool!), and I climbed to the top of the world, though it wasn't even the top of the mountain. The valley below--in baby-blue pastels--along with shorter peaks creates that impression, as does the sheer feeling of ascent. 

And it is where the basset stands that we heard afternoon wolf howls on a number of occasions, but only in the winter. They'd come from all directions, north and south, above and below, eerie and awe-inspiring. Unable to differentiate between responses and echoes, we felt disoriented and, for once, I was glad not to be concealed in the blue snow shadows cast by the Moon.

And on a different (inappropriately dressed!) hike, I stand not too far from a deer carcass, that very "natural vanitas," which I photographed a few weeks ago. The wolves were here too, as the deer was dismembered by them, tossing its skull several feet away.

 

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The latter now rests surrounded by Autumn's unchallenged advance.

And I?  I secretly hope that no one takes it, so that I could photograph it again, at a different turn of Nature's cycle.

Soccer Polly

This afternoon, I played a strange mix of soccer, handball (more like hand-and-dog's-mouth-ball), and fetch with Polly in the rain.

It felt like autumn. 

Tongue out, and basset ears flapping, Polly was quite resilient. As the game continued, the following rhyme manifested itself in my mind:

Polly plays soccer really slowly.
At times, she's a striker, at times--a goalie.
Her basset howl is loudest of all,
As she runs chasing that tennis ball!

This is not the first time the clumsy and lovable red beast inspired spontaneous (kids') poetry or stories in me. I just hope that some day, out of this collection emerges enough decent material for a children's book. 

Writing and illustrating one of my own has been a dream for about ten years. But, you know, work, college, work, Master's, work, work, work, PhD, work, work...

Daisies, Daisies Everywhere!

The daisy season is almost over in the greater Pacific Northwest, so the basset and I were having a field day--pardon the pun!--tonight on our walk.

When Daisies Attack! That's not the basset's purse, by the way. 

They really look like countless little white lights guiding the way, especially during the golden hour. 

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