70 lbs of velcro

Isis the velcro Rottie

 Yesterday was our first obedience class, and while Isis wasn't the best student in the class, she certainly wasn't the worst! It seems that I have adopted a dog who will do almost anything for food! The problem, however, is that she puts her nose to it (in my hand or in a bowl, it doesn't matter) and glues it in place.

With a bit of a treat in hand, it's easy to get her to sit and stand (without voice command). But with a bowl full of food, her nose gets stuck to the bowl and her rear end never hits the ground. Her head goes up and down like a yoyo when I try to get her to wait until she's given permission to move toward the bowl. (And then she works me with her eyes . . . "Why are you such a tease? I'm so hungry. Stop being so mean. What have I ever done to you?") For now, if she even hesitates or turns her head away, I'm giving her the bowl.

Hopefully, this has more to do with all the weight she has lost and needs to regain after having her pups . . . We'll work on increasing that wait time with every bowl, and maybe, by next week's class, she'll have it down.

Her most interesting trait is following me around the house as if she were velcroed to my knees: Sit on the couch, her head appears in my lap. Bend down to tie my shoe, her head is in my hands. Roll over in bed, her nose is in my face. 

The first night at home, she went into her crate and stayed there most of the night; second night, last night, she came in around 3:30 and glued herself to the side of the bed and kept sticking her nose in my face. I took her outside because I had gone to bed early and thought, well, maybe it was my fault that she couldn't wait; but that didn't stop her. When the paw began appearing on the bed just inches from my face, and it looked as if she thought she should be up there with me, we walked to the crate and there she stayed, with the door closed, for the rest of the night. She settled quickly and slept soundly until I woke her a couple hours later.

This morning that velcro habit was ingratiating, as she walked extremely well on a loose leash, wearing a harness, for almost a mile. She kept her body by my side, her gait was quick and mostly steady, and her head went down only on occasion, when we got close enough to the grass swale for her to catch a scent. She trotted past a pair of snarly nasty furry mutts on leashes without a hesitation and with barely a glance in their direction. What a pleasure for me and embarassment for their owner.

In fact, Isis is so good, I think she's on her way to earning a "Canine Good Citizen" award. Hope so. Rottweilers need some ambassadors out there to help people learn just how good natured they really are!

Isis

Diane, Isis, and Caden

Last night I brought home a Rottweiler incarnation of the goddess Isis. Having recently whelped a litter of puppies, she was abandoned for reasons unknown at the local animal shelter. She and her pups had only been in the pound for a day and a half when she was offered for adoption. A Rottweiler was not on my short list of dogs I was looking to adopt; in fact, it wasn't even on my long list! (I admit . . . I have listened to the fearmongers among us over the years and have always been a bit fearful of the larger breed dogs with "the bad reputation." It was a large Rottie male, in fact, that first injured my last dog, Joey the Chow, and turned her into a lifelong dog-agressive bitch.) But there she was, beautiful and as laid back as any dog I've ever met, gazing calmly up at us with that big blocky head and those beautiful brown eyes. A short walk later, she lay her head in my lap, and a match was made.

Last night she withdrew quietly to her crate shortly before I went to bed; and there she stayed for the entire night. In fact, I wonder just how much freedom she's had over the past three years of her life because if she's not glued to my side or getting some petting, she prefers to be sound asleep in her crate. Of course, I may discover that this is just some temporary soporific state caused by post-puppy hormones, and she may turn into a bouncy happy-go-lucky wild child, but I doubt it. Something in her eyes says, "I just want to be adored." (That could be a problem, too, but I'd rather deal with a diva who requires adoring than a bitch who wants to dominate everything and everyone in sight.)

Anyway, since she's obviously had little-to-no training, we're off to adult obedience school this afternoon. . . check back later for some results . . . this should be interesting because all I've gotten from repeated "sit" commands so far is a sad look and an "OK, but only if you insist and only for as long as it takes for you to blink."

Postmarked: West Melbourne, FL

Solitube (or Frogs in the Windchimes)

A couple of weeks ago I made a deal with the next door neighbor's mowing service: I would take care of the strip between our houses, which does not allow for a commercial sized mower to transgress without damage to the sod and drainage slope, and he would edge my sidewalk and driveway. I noticed that because it is winter (during which time I rarely mow, but lawn services pretend to mow in order to justify their monthly fees), I was getting the better part of the deal.

So, today I spent the day working in the yard: weeding the space between our houses (there isn't enough grass growth to justify mowing, but I wanted it to look like I was keeping up my end of the bargain the next time he shows up to "scalp" my neighbor's lawn), trimming back and pulling up some dead perennials, and relocating some of the pups from the aloes.

When a gentle breeze (it's supposed to get less than gentle in the next 24 hours) moved the wind chimes hanging in the arbor, I noticed that a couple of the chimes sounded a little flat. . . when I investigated, this is what I found:

Cuban tree frog making itself "at home" in windchime tube

Apparently, my wind chimes make a perfect home for young Cuban tree frogs . . . which got me to thinking about how easy it is to find "solitude" right in our own back yards . . . (also, that I have to do a better job of patroling against this invasive species, which I thought I'd gotten rid of last year . . .)

So, as the crowds of birders swarm into Brevard County this week, I think I'll be staying close to home and enjoying my own back yard . . . see you next week with a look at what I find hanging out back there . . .

Postmarked: West Melbourne, FL

Good Morning Mr. Kroegel!

 Monday morning I went seeking solitude, once again, on the shores of the Indian River Lagoon and was not disappointed. Arriving at Riverview Park during twilight, I had time before the sun rose to walk out into the lagoon on the end of one of the twin fishing piers of the park, where I found myself in the company of a fish crow, a seagull, and a lone cormorant beginning his morning dives.

Paul Kroegel, first National Wildlife Refuge warden in U.S.

Standing watch over the lagoon from the shoreline of the park is a statue of Paul Kroegel, the first warden of Pelican Island National Wildlife Refuge (actually, the first warden of any National Wildlife Refuge) and one of the earliest inhabitants of the area. You can read more about Kroegel and his efforts to protect the brown pelicans who still nest on an island just off shore here.

Absolute peace and calm lay on the water this morning; not even the diving of the cormorant caused more than a few very small but quickly dissipating concentric ripples on the surface. Two pelicans sailed smoothly into view, passed the docks, and glided to a landing without a sound behind me. The pelicans seem to be appearing in twos everywhere I go, these days . . . I've read that they do not mate for life but will stay together for an entire nesting season. 

 Distracted for a moment by a gentleman who came out onto the pier to pick up some litter that had been left behind during the night, I noticed that a ring-billed gull had landed on the pier behind me; how long it had been there, I have no idea, but it was amenable to having its portrait made with the sun rising behind it, even giving me a little bit of attitude with a stretch and a nod.

Turning my back on the gull, I wandered back out onto the end of the pier, watched the sun break above that low bank of clouds, finished a morning salute to the sun, and headed back towards the shore. With the sun now high enough in the sky to lighten the lagoon and expose the fish just below the surface and the fishing cormorant just below the gull, I realized, with a chuckle, that it wasn't the woman with the camera that had brought in the gull; no, it was intent on watching the cormorant and attempting to steal its breakfast, a nice sized mullet (I think . . .)

"Mine!"

 With poached mullet on the menu for the gull, there wasn't much serenity left out there in the lagoon. Soon there was a chorus of crows urging on the gull. The cormorant won, however, diving beneath the surface and holding the mullet firmly in its grip until the gull turned away. The cormorant resurfaced with the fish already 1/2 way down its gullet, and the gull had to admit defeat.

As I walked back to the car, I realized that I was not alone in that park, there were at least a dozen other people there, jogging, walking dogs, sitting on the park benches or in  cars watching the sun rise, eating breakfast, meditating, reading their papers (yes, printed papers!), and working puzzles.

Then, one of the pelicans that had flown in through my lens during the sunrise swam past me near the shore, seemingly gave a nod, and slowly paddled away . . .

Just another moment of solitude, right smack dab in the middle of somewhere.

Postmarked: Sebastian, FL

In Search of Solitude

I was driving along the Indian River Lagoon, looking for a place to stop and watch the sun rise, when I spotted a pair of kayakers getting ready to launch from the shore. I almost passed them up, but the further I drove away from them, the more I felt the pull to turn around and "get that shot!' So, back I went. We exchanged pleasant morning greetings, they agreed to let me photograph them paddling into the sunrise, and off they went.

As they quickly and silently paddled out of range, I found a place to sit and enjoy the rest of the sunrise, watching pelicans cruise just above the surface of the water, terns dive headlong into the water, and islands slowly appear from out of the fog.

I was sitting only 50 feet from a major U.S. Highway, but for solitude, it was as good a place as a cabin in the deep north woods of New York. (At least it was at 7:00 a.m. on a Friday morning in January . . .) One half hour of quiet, calm, and thoughtfulness found right smack dab in the middle of somewhere!

It wasn't until the sun had risen completely, the fog had lifted, and I was leaving and backtracking along the shore that I noticed how littered it was, how busy a place this must usually be. But for one 1/2 hour, it had been all mine.  

And so my journey begins . . . for the next 12 months, I'll be looking for ways and places to experience moments of solitude in our crowded world. I hope to be as pleasantly surprised by some of them as I was by this place and these men this morning . . .

I mean, c'mon . . . a fishing pole and that hat? I couldn't have hired a better model for this picture!

Postmarked: Rocky Point, FL