The difference an hour makes

Stella and I got a tour of Shelby Bottoms this morning courtesy of our friend Christine and her dog, Aurthur. Getting there in the morning traffic was a little bit of a hurdle but it was definitely worth it.  

Morning Dog Walk

Our everyday walk, the one we take through the neighborhood that is, is about two miles, or seven square suburban blocks. About four times a week I try take Stella somewhere new or different particularly if I'm forced to drive to some other part of town for work. Either way, we do the neighborhood walk, seven days a week. It gets boring sometimes but in the spring it's pretty wonderful and I have Stella to thank for actually getting me out of the house for the last (nearly) four years, rain or shine, whether I like it or not. It's been an education in the natural order of things. For example, we knew that spring was on the way long before the daffodils began to bloom. We know what critters are on the move when, the exact day the trees begin to bud, when the school bus comes, what time the neighbors go to work, who takes care of their dogs and their children and who doesn't, where the shade falls on the streets leaving icy patches, which drainage ditches flood, how much litter can accumulate over a weekend, and where's the best place to find a drink of water in a pinch. We're also blessed to live in a neighborhood with old beautiful trees and a little bit of history in the landscape. The rose bushes, the Iris and the Crepe Myrtle tell a story about what was popular decades ago. I'm sure many of them have died off over the years but it isn't difficult to follow the trail of DIY gardeners even across a few blocks. Having said all that - here are a few shots of our walk this morning. The fire plug is only included because I call it Stella's boyfriend of color.

Mill Creek Greenway

I guess this would qualify as a favorite walk despite the fact that Stella once found a snake there and the only reason it didn't bite her was because I was standing on it's tail. No small drama there. I liked it better before the flood (you can't see the trash in the trees in this photo but trust me, it's all over the place) it's still a nice view though and a big creek to be where it is.  Stella likes it because it ends at the soccer fields and she gets to run (mostly) free when we get there. I think her canvas frisbee is still out there somewhere.

We got a nice report on Diesel the other day, think I'll just post it in it's entirety. Also, we finally got new neighbors in Diesel's old house. They have two dogs, one of whom is named Cactus. That's almost as good as Bacon, the white Lab who lives down the street.

Friend Beverly sent us a video about tagging bears in Canada. It has nothing to do with dogs but it's hilarious. Check it out here.

Newsflash

So, there's a little fox in my neighborhood.
I suspect he's the one looting my tomato plants.
Both dogs spotted him this morning on our walk
at about the same time he spotted us.
It's a wonder there's any skin left on my elbows at all.

Tastes like chicken

You might know that if it's really loud, looks like something from a science fiction novel and it sleeps in the ground for thirteen years her inclination would be to eat it. Right? I loved the look on her face the first time she picked it up and it started buzzing in her mouth. Three or four more times and she finally got the nerve to bite down a little. Then, all bets were off. It was officially a sport.

She snapped up the next seven without looking up or missing a single step. Then one of them landed right on her nose and she launched off bucking like a little pony. (Note to self: Get a camera phone) That was apparently her limit.

The cicadas were strangely quiet this morning. Their smashed bodies lined the streets as if overnight there had been some massive gun fight. It ended up being a good walk though, which is saying something when it's nearly four miles. Not all of our walks are that distance but Stella has taken to lying or sitting down in the middle of the sidewalk or street whenever the mood strikes her. I don't know if it's the humidity or her knees bothering her, only that it disappears magically if another dog or a squirrel happen to walk by. Little boys hanging out of car windows - that's a surefire cure too.

I say it was a good walk because it had all the elements of a good training walk rolled up into it and Stella, despite the breakfast buffet, let all of that stimulation roll right off. It was seven-thirty in the morning so we had: school buses, speeders, speeding school busses, school kids waiting on the speeding bus, man with stroller passing by on the sidewalk, big mean dog barking from across the busy street, charging Chihuahua, lady with a big yellow dog, lady with a garden hose, Bacon and Hombre running us up the fence, construction workers, and last but by no means least, the Great Southern Brood.

It was also a good walk because she is now asleep in the same room with four kittens, all of which are doing great, even the smallest of the bunch which I've suspected for a week would be blind in one eye - but isn't. The litter is eight weeks old today and the other two are 2-3 wks. They're pretty much having their way with Stella. Last night Domino was nuzzling one of her paw pads and finally bit it. She barely raised her head. Whiskey Nick pinned her tail on the ground and then ran out of the room. This morning after the walk her and Gypsy were trading bunny hops through my office. It's pretty easy to get high on kittens. Maybe on cicadas too.

Kong ball sharing. Who knew?

The end of winter walking

Just pictures mostly. I was going to write something about how regularly walking a dog, you get to see an awful lot of things you wouldn't ordinarily have noticed. Whether you're out in the woods or in the heart of the city, if you're there in the same places throughout a season, you see the changes in a much more intimate way.

I wasn't much of a walker before Stella came along. I spent a a lot of time outdoors working but at those times, I was usually focused (literally) on other things. It may sound outlandish to some but I really feel that walking twice a day has reset my circadian rhythm. I sleep better, I have more energy & less anxiety and I've decided that if everyone who has a dog started walking it twice a day, there might be a lot less Ambien in the world (possibly a few less newspapers too).

Stay tuned for The Kitten Report...

Pack Therapy

We've enlisted a few friends to help Stella retrieve her charming social skills. There were featured here a few months back. In order of appearance, they are Linus, Arthur, Opie (way in the back of the group shot) and Fiona Tina (not pictured; who can barely walk these days at sixteen, but still likes to walk the perimeter of the cemetery looking for rabbits. She also manages somehow to get light on her feet when she sees us coming and never fails to sidle up next to me for a little love) Stella seems to know she's elderly and doesn't give her even the slightest bit of guff. I love to hang out with this bunch because they are their own pack. Stella's a guest and she knows it.

The ever lovable Minnie Pearl was finally adopted this week, a mere six months after I liberated her from madness. I hope her new owner gives her the love and respect she deserves.

Thankful

Yes, I am aware. Thanksgiving came and went. I've deprived you my friends, of countless wandering ethnographic tales (tails?) of clever canine adventure long enough. I won't bore you with the details of why we went on our hiatus (unless of course the effort proves fruitful in which case I probably won't shut up about it for months to come) however I do want to pick up where we left off with the general frolic that occurred on Thanksgiving Day and go from there.

We made a return visit to the cemetery with Christine and Professor K.'s dog pack. We parked a short distance away and when we walked through the gate Stella snapped to attention as her nose and eyes went into overdrive. She scanned the area, presumably hoping for movement, a sound, a tail flashing in the distance or a familiar bark. A few minutes later she got her wish and as the six of them (four dogs, two humans) filed through the gate she bucked like a little pony a couple of times before I could get her leash unclipped. There was no foolishness, no vandalism, all good, clean fun (and wild abandon) for the dogs, the humans and some of Nashville's oldest residents. We were thankful and remain so.

Some of you may remember that last time I neglected to include a photo of Linus. Some years back I got a call from Christine when a stray pit mix showed up in their neighborhood. She asked me to stop by and take a photo of him for Petfinders. They had no intention of keeping the dog. When I arrived she had already begun calling him Linus...

Friends & neighbors

Stella and I walk twice a day. One of those walks is usually outside of our neighborhood, I try to schedule it between errands or work so I'm not just burning gas to walk the dog. The second walk is through our neighborhood. Over time, like all dedicated dog walkers, we've learned where all the dogs and cats live. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would know the names and locations of so many dogs. It just isn't something I ever thought of before. About half a mile away from the house, there's a place in one of our walks that I refer to as the cat house. There's a dog that chases us every time we walk by. It comes high-balling up the driveway and out into the street with us, barking like mad. I might actually be frightened by the whole scene were it not for the fact that this dog is the size of a hamster. Stella just stops and stares. When it gets within five or six feet of us it turns and runs and I always think of an episode of the Dog Whisperer where Cesar says (I'm paraphrasing): "If these pit bulls were not well-balanced, this little dog would be an appetizer."

Regarding the photo above, I may have mentioned it once before, but when we go outside first thing in the morning, we ALL go out. It's like a little parade down the street. The pit bull, the tail-free cat and me. Gigi doesn't have a leash of course, she just chooses to follow us out and then back in again for breakfast. Occasionally, she'll get distracted by one thing or another and stop but she always catches up and comes back in for breakfast with us. I may have to get one of the neighbors to videotape it sometime. It makes that first scoop of poop in the morning a lot more tolerable.

p.s. We took possession of a mother cat and three kittens a couple of days ago. The hell they were living in was indescribable without the use of raging epithets. I'll post some pictures but meanwhile, if you all know anyone in or around Nashville who is looking for a new best friend, please don't hesitate to comment below. Me and Stella will deliver it to your door.

Critter Patrol

We walked up on some goats yesterday. It's Tennessee people. Stella knew something was up even though we couldn't get as close to them as I would've liked. I told her they were Irish Setters but seeing as how she can smell the last bite of a nine-day-old corn dog from two miles away, I'm thinking she knew better. Just minutes before that we were attacked by a flock of butterflies. If everyone could get attacked by butterflies on a regular basis I decided, the world would be a much nicer place. Pretty fun but no camera.

This morning we were coming in the house and a fox ran through the yard right past us. I felt a broken wrist coming on but somehow - Stella missed the whole thing.

This article discusses a new law that bans dogs from cemeteries in Concord New Hampshire. I felt conflicted about letting dogs run in the cemetery myself but over the last two years, I've done a complete one-eighty on it. I think off leash they add a joyful quality to a cemetery that not even a mean ghost could resist. What do you all think?

Sunday Morning

We went for a walk downtown this morning at Nashville's, or I suppose I should say Tennessee's Bicentennial Capitol Mall. It's a great place to walk or jog and Stella seems to have a good time whenever we go down there. Unfortunately, the flood in May did some serious damage to the fountains so we were unable to cool off. The signs say no dogs but I have several photos of kids and dogs all playing in the water together. If they're ever repaired, we plan to plead ignorance.

We met a nice man named Ernest who was picking up litter. He really liked Stella although she was a little suspicious of his litter collecting equipment. Eventually she got over herself and they got to be friends but it took a few tries. He had that same sparkly energy that kids do. Next time we're taking his picture.



Here's a different version of the Dennis Leary (has a Labradoodle) meets the bear video. Maybe this time it'll work longer than ten minutes. [LINK]

Flood inspection

Stella and I went downtown on Monday (along with about twenty thousand other people) and shot a few pictures of the flood water. We also went to a couple of other places we normally walk and though the water was gone, the damage was significant. One thing many people tend to overlook in this town is the number of hills and creeks there are before you ever get to the Cumberland River. They're where the trouble started. The river didn't rise until the sun was already out.

One thing that became apparent (and I don't mean to minimize anyone's disaster) after the water receded was how filthy the streets of Nashville usually are. On Monday they were sparkling clean with the exception of the worst areas, which is of course where all the dirt and litter ended up. Once everything is under control I think Nashville should launch a campaign, I mean - one would think a city worthy of a half a billion dollar convention center would also have clean streets, no?


Tricky Treat

About two weeks ago, Stella and I took neighbor Judy to see the doctor. We usually walk the fitness trail around their parking lot (it's a hospital) while Judy sees the doctor and along the route we pass a preschool. When we passed it that day, the kids were all playing in a fenced area and their teacher took this opportunity to teach them the word "dog". Naturally, they all ran over to the fence and waved to Stella. I told Stella to sit and she did and I thought to myself, wouldn't it be great if Stella could wave back?

That night I decided to try teaching her this trick and it took about five tries before she did it perfectly. I expect it'll be a while before she'll do it for strangers out in the world but when she does...it'll be serious fun. On that note, training one dog to do a trick is pretty simple. Training a whole pack of dogs to do synchronized tricks is something altogether different and I'm glad I don't have that on my list of things to do anytime soon. Check out this incredibly fun video sent in by regular visitor, Susan Rose.(Thanks Susan)

Ego bruises v.2.0

I've got good news and I've got bad news.

The bad news is Stella failed the CGC test. She did fine on everything until it came time to walk past the lovely and talented, Glory (isn't that a great name for a dog?) I can't say it was a subtle thing either. It was like being carried on the horseshoe end of a sixty-pound magnet. No amount of sweet talking would sway her. She was given the benefit of a doubt. Excitement overwhelmed her as it almost always does. I had planned on us having a big celebration afterward but instead I crafted a big ol'Miss America-type sash when we got home. It says: LOSER. (I'm wearing it right now.)

Not to worry though, we can take the test again in ten weeks. Meanwhile, we're going to watch this training video (lifted from Terrierman) once a day for inspiration.



On to the good news. And it is good. The day before we took the test, Stella and I met with my friend Christine who is a dog person if there ever was one. She still laughs at the fact that I - a cat person for twenty-five years would ever have a dog, let alone the handful of dog I ended up with. We tagged along on a walk that she regularly does with two of her four dogs: Arthur, a Weimeraner, just a few months older than Stella and Fiona Tina, a senior cancer-surviving Shepherd mix. Not only did Stella get to make two new actual friends but she got to do the walk without a leash. This very nearly blew her mind. Mine too. The only time she's been unleashed in her soon-to-be two years, we've been at the dog park or at the baseball field. Arthur fetched a tennis ball most of the way and Stella fetched Arthur most of the way. As you might expect, this led to much Snoopy dancing and an overall feeling of giddiness on her part. She seemed more contented than usual for the rest of the day.

This morning she and I dropped Barney's clothes off at the Green Street Church of Christ. They have a closet there for people who are living on the street and/or those who are needy. After that we went to a local cemetery and tried the off-leash thing again only this time it was just the two of us. It was also fun but I'm sure Stella missed the other two dogs. (Tip: cemeteries almost always have borders or even fields of undeveloped land; they also generally have paved roads and trash cans at regular intervals) We missed this beautiful weather walking last year. The trees around town bloomed big this time around and it seems they all got going at the same time instead of their usual stagger. I hope Jack Frost has been successfully run out of town.

Devil Woman (kidding)

My living room looks like the dog daycare exploded in it only without all the little tote boxes and the barking. There are leashes, umbrellas and plastic bags, boots, hats, scarves, gloves, towels, tug toys, clickers and all manner of canine bullshit scattered all over the room. You'd think I had three or four dogs. I've only just begun to appreciate the idea of a coat rack but unfortunately there's no place to put one.

Since I'm on the topic of paraphernalia, here is my question for all you dog trainer types out there: Where do you keep your third hand anyway? I mean, I have the leash; I have the clicker and the treat and maybe even an umbrella. At some point, I end up with a big bag of dog poop which I carry along like it's my party favor. If someone honks or says hello, invariably that's the hand I (accidentally) wave with - the one with the loaded bag. I have to steer the dog and keep her focused. I have to watch where we're going and maneuver us past racing, yes I said racing, school buses and FedEx trucks. Let's don't forget that I must also stay relaxed and meditative about the whole thing lest she parlay that teenage nutty streak of hers into a game of "You can't catch me even on a four foot leash." Constantly, I hear people say the dog knows what I'm thinking. I don't mean to contradict this very popular canine (psychic) theory but if the dog knew what I was thinking, there would be no reason for her to lunge at a little kid on a bicycle more than one time. "Jeez, mom's actually thinking about murdering me - maybe I better behave myself."

Check out this (sweet) Pedigree video at Terrierman's Daily Dose

Walking the Walk

Last Friday, Stella and I went walking at a cemetery near the house. We go pretty often because it's close to home and there's a place in the back corner where the fence runs out where you can slide down a retaining wall and end up in the parking lot of PetSmart. It's kind of like dog walking Nirvana. We don't usually buy much when we're there but we do cruise all the aisles and publicly curse the fact that there's never so much as a single piece of dog food on the floor. That day, just by chance I bought some dehydrated beef liver (for class on Saturday, she's doing really well at home and pretty well at class).

We get back to the cemetery and I put Stella on the long leash so we could play ball in a little empty space at the back. We try to be dignified at the cemetery so as not to fire up any grieving family members. Not long after that I hear a dog barking. In the distance I saw what looked to be a good sized dog challenging us from a distance amid the flower arrangements. That's odd I thought. I'd never seen a dog loose in the cemetery before. I wondered if it was lost or just visiting. Then something very strange happened. The one barking dog turned into five dogs. Biggie-sized. All of them scattered about in the corner, all now standing watching us; ready to protect their turf. The first thing I did was open the bag of liver. Unfortunately the camera was at home. I can only describe it as something that might have been in a Stephen King movie.

Stella saw them but didn't seem terribly excited. Once I got her safely in the car I went over and told some gravediggers about the dogs. They looked at me with the same level of enthusiasm that every gravedigger I ever met seems to have. On the way out we drove past the dogs one more time just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating and check them out up close. Again, they all stood up on cue and the five of them got her attention this time.
The above shot is from a different walk in that same cemetery. It's the grave site of Marty Robbins and his wife. Stella and I hunted for it off and on for five months before I finally walked into the office and asked them where it was. The young man I asked - had never heard of Marty Robbins and seeing as I didn't know his real name is Martin Robinson, they had to do a little hunting too. We finally found it but not before Stella launched off barking at a concrete Jesus.

Fair Game

I think this dog could track a french fry from a mile and a half away. I'd put her in search and rescue school in a minute if there was one nearby and I could afford it. Her goal every day is to smell everything we can get to before dark, nothing more. I can hide a thimbleful of peanut butter anywhere in the house and she goes straight to it. She could care less about walking if it doesn't involve her nose on the ground.

One day last week she bolted out the front door when I opened it to speak to a young man selling gutters. It scared the crap out of the guy but of course she meant no harm. Knowing full well that dogs have gotten shot by police officers for less, we had a pretty serious training session right after that and for now anyway, she's got the idea down. Stay means stay (for the 200th time).

As far as walking goes, and french fries for that matter, we try to change up the places we go so it doesn't get too boring or predictable. Occasionally, we even go back to the fairgrounds. It's spacious there when the flea market isn't in town and a good portion of it is fenced in although I don't usually let Stella run free there.

Sooner or later, we end up on the midway side, sitting on a curb watching traffic in the same exact place we met a year and a half ago. She's very attentive to the landscape and I tell myself (anthropomorphizing at length) that she remembers how fun and crazy her life was before me. Whether she does or doesn't is secondary I suppose, to the fact that when we stand up and walk away we're totally in step with one another. That is until her nose drags her to that next Smoky Joe wrapper.

Unfortunately, we won't be able to cruise the Tennessee State Fairgrounds forever. Despite the fact that there's a viable plan to improve it, there's also a group of moneychangers who have managed to convince the Mayor that it costs the city money. The truth is, it's a historic piece of property, one of the very first in Nashville. It has consistently made money for the city for over a hundred years. A commenter on a local blog recently referred to it as a "sh*t pit". This of course, is nothing shy of bigotry. The fairgrounds is a sea of asphalt and grass, like all fairgrounds. He was talking about the people who visit. They aren't his people. I'm guessing he's one of the same guys that wants to pay the poor people in that neighborhood twenty-five thousand dollars for their houses so he can flip it for a hundred and fifty, promising buyers from the start that the rodeo, the fair, the flea market, the race track and the roller derby girls, along with their uncouth clientele will soon be a thing of the past.

Until then, me and Stella are going to sit on that curb like a couple of old drunks and sing love songs to a Skywheel that isn't there.

Radnor Lake

Radnor Lake is just over the hill from our house and no matter what time of year it is, it's a great place to walk the human or the dog in your life. My (personal) dog, who is prey-driven and may have been a Bloodhound in a former life, is frustrated by the olfactory stimulation of it all but we visit occasionally anyway. It's a wildlife refuge and although my own nose isn't so sensitive, I suspect (by her behavior) the scent of deer is overwhelming. In an effort to preserve their habitat, dogs are required to stay on the paved road, which is off-limits to motorized traffic, but the scenery is still pretty spectacular. Three days after we last visited, it became clear there was yet another reason to keep your dog on a leash at all times - not only at Radnor Lake but at any of the parks in Tennessee. You know if there's someone paranoid enough to carry a semi-automatic weapon into a neighborhood park, they wouldn't hesitate to parlay that stupidity onto a loose dog.

Lately, I've been reading a ton of stuff about natural dog training (it focuses more attention on the the direction or redirection of a dog's energy; see links below). A couple of days ago I decided to implement a little regimen of exercises with Stella. This led us immediately, to one of the best walks we've ever had. There was little pulling and her reactivity to squirrels and other dogs was greatly diminished. I was excited by what I considered to be her progress. For once in fifteen months of walking, she was entirely mine.

We have been on walks since that time where I (again) played the part of anchor at the end of Stella's leash. I try not to take it personally (which may in fact, be the real trick). We continue to practice.

Here are a couple of good links to information on natural dog training if anyone is interested in learning more. Kevin Behan, Lee Charles Kelley's Blog and Neil Sattin's Natural Dog Blog. I haven't seen any research on it (if there is any) but the neuropsychologist in me suspects that it's perfectly logical.

Puppy love

Crisp and clean the air this day as we walk your favorite trail. The autumn teases us, the rains have come and gone but this day is thankfully, bright. Perfect. We dodge a hailstorm of black walnuts and I threaten to retrieve both hard hats from the trunk of the car. We walk in unison and you, suddenly remembering your independence dance away from me and back as if I plan to stop you. No longer fearful of the concrete fairies in the grass, you run to greet them now. A flock of birds breathe life into the trees above us, beginning their song, then suddenly stopping over and over again. Forever following your nose, you don't seem to notice them at all.

I sing your praises the entire way, telling you more than once how beautiful you are, how you are ninety nine point three percent a perfect dog and that I will love you forever until one of us is dead. You are thrilled as always to be outside soaking up the sun. I love how you know your way around this place, the first trail on which I ever took you walking. You turn the corner into the woods in just the right place bringing us to where the two creeks join each other and the thirty foot umbilical cord between us gives me room to pass you on the right as you stop to investigate something on the ground. Continuing on, around the bend a short distance, I stop and patiently wait for you behind a tree, imagining the entire time that you can feel my heartbeat trailing down the leash and around your still-soft belly.

Breathing in the sweet, luminous air, I eventually drop the leash to test my theory, firm in the belief that you will sense my departure and come looking for me. Nothing happens. I peek around the tree. I gaze lovingly at your magnificently cute backside with those swirls of hair, and your tail still wagging quietly thirty feet away, you are engrossed. I walk slowly back to where you're standing, only to find my reverie set on fire by the fact that you are busy making lunch of a rather large pile of something expelled from the belly of a big raccoon.

Richland Creek Greenway

Thanks in part to a close personal friend - who might choose to remain anonymous, Nashville has managed, over the last ten years to incorporate a ton of green space into its landscape. Beyond the traditional parks and recreation areas, there are a number of greenways that follow the creeks and rivers in and around the city. They're abundant, well-maintained and logistically convenient to most areas. That said, prior to Stella, I hadn't taken advantage of any of them. Now, it's become something of a challenge to hit every one in town.

Richland Creek Greenway, on the west side of town, is a favorite.
For the most part, it's flat but the scenery changes at regular intervals, there's some built-in historic interest and the creek itself is really beautiful. I usually try to go after a big rain although I don't let Stella go in the creek there since it's surrounded on all sides by commercial businesses, busy streets and neighborhoods. It also runs alongside the edge of a golf course, which fascinates Stella to no end but is more than likely laced with fertilizer and pesticides. Barring that, it's a great walk and well worth the short drive over there. (There's a trail map here) At the moment, the only restroom available to humans is a portable toilet at the White Bridge Rd. trail head. Plan accordingly. If you're visiting or passing through Nashville on I40 this greenway is simple to get to. From the White Bridge Rd. exit go south about one mile, it'll be on the left, just before the intersection at West End Avenue.

Walkin' the dog

I asked my mama for fifteen cents,
see the elephant jump the fence.
He jumped so high, he touched the sky.
Never got back till the Fourth of July.
Walkin' the dog ~Rufus Thomas

Over the last year Stella and I have logged enough walking miles to have gone from Nashville to Detroit. Before she came along, I walked with my neighbor but it never amounted to much because we were undisciplined and only went a couple of times a week. Back then I wasn't carrying a camera or a bag of "accessories" and it was less like being tied to the bumper of a car but I digress. Walking twice a day means looking for new and interesting places to go which in the beginning, I thought would be an impossible task. In this (rookie) year I've learned a lot about dog walking, not the least of which is that Nashville is rich with parks and greenways. They are scattered throughout the city along natural waterways, they're convenient and well-maintained. Before the economy became the primary excuse for mindless cut-backs, they even came stocked with dog poop bags.

Beyond that, we've managed to do about a third of our walking in a variety of urban settings. I find those walks to be some of the most fun we've had. I could see where some dogs might not do so well on busy or otherwise crowded streets but practice and (prior) exercise seems to make all the difference. Someone remarked the other day about how well behaved Stella was to only be sixteen months old and I told them it all hinged on her level of exhaustion.

What I have realized in moments of creative brainstorming on the topic of where to go is that there doesn't have to be an actual place to walk your dog. If there's a sidewalk or some path to avoid traffic, you can basically walk anywhere. Sometimes that's the beauty of it.

That's a lot of hot air just to say that I am planning to post (in upcoming weeks) some of the better places around town to walk a dog, not only for the locals but for those who may be passing through. There's also a good chance Nashville's veteran dog walkers have their own lists of great places to walk so I'm secretly hoping they'll weigh in and give us some new ideas. As for the rest of you - where is your favorite place to walk your dog? Is it the same as your dog's favorite place?

While you're thinking about it, have a listen to Rufus Thomas and the Blues Brothers Band aka Booker T. & the M.G.'s



p.s. I cannot wait - to see Steve Cropper so I can ask him about those boots.

A mile from home

Last week Stella and I were taking one of our regular walks at Ellington Agricultural Center. The landscape looks as if it's been dipped in squash blossoms and Thanksgiving dinner this time of year. Aside from the police horses that live there, an occasional turtle, and one small fox, we've not had as many wildlife encounters there as one might imagine. If we had, I expect the dead cat would've been more of a tip-off.

It had been there for a good long time. Stella's nose was clearly off-duty when we walked up on it and praise Jesus, I was able to steer her away from it before they met. We crossed paths with the coyote shortly thereafter.

I saw it in the distance and thought it was a fox. Stella saw it too. Pretty color, I thought. It matched the tall sandy grass and then it turned in our direction and moving at a steady clip, it began to get a lot bigger. I ordered Stella to stop and sit. Her immediate response confirmed my suspicion that it wasn't a fox at all. When it saw us, it froze. Me and Stella were already frozen.

When the coyote decided to turn back I was relieved and we headed for the big field at the bottom of the hill. The coyote did too but we were paying close attention now and when we walked into the field it stepped out of the tall grass (about 150' feet away) and sized us up again. This time, it was Stella and I that turned back.

I hope that makes us even.

Today we went back again and although we walked with a renewed perspective, the only wild critter we ran upon - used to be a possum. Much like the kitty, it had been professionally killed. Surely there's a hawk or a big owl cutting in on that coyote's gravy train, it's doubtful the coyote would've left enough of the carcass to identify.

To be honest, I hadn't planned on writing about the coyote encounter at all. The idea for this post started with the (profound) observation that Stella was so excited when she got out of the car this afternoon that her butt was moving faster than her head, but I guess I can write that one anytime.