Saturday, March 31, 2007

Life on the 101

THE 101, as S.L.C. said of the Mississippi, is well worth reading about. It is not a commonplace highway, but on the contrary is in all ways remarkable. Considering the reach, from the border with Canada at the north, and the Mexico state of Baja California at the south, it is, as S.L.C. would agree, no slouch of a highway, curving its way through some of the best-smelling landscape you could imagine, and being remarkably free of leash laws, animal control officers, and cats. Were you to compare the 101 with the I-5 which goes in some places where the old 99 used to go, and doesn't at all go where it ought, the 101 would stand out even more than it does among roadways.

I've been traveling a chunk of it for some time now, roughly a hundred miles, from our base camp on Hot Springs Road here in Santa Barbara (next door to the wretched C.s, who are in no position to appreciate dogs) to the University where Boss has been teaching from beyond the time I came to stay.

Once you get Boss out of the house and into the car, there is a five-mile shot to the Summerland offramp at E. Street. You could get off at the previous exit, Sheffield Road, which suits my purposes on an L.A. day because that allows a trek up Ortega Hill, then a quick left for about half a mile to where Kit, the three-legged Aussie lives. I like it better when Kit can't get out onto Greenwell, the road that parallels the Main street of Summerland, curving down through an arroyo with a sharp drop-off on your right, and long stands of oilve and avocado trees on your left. When Kit is stuck behind the fence of where he lives, I can get off some good licks. I never allude to the fact that he only has three legs, saving my invective for his parental culture. When he gets out, he tries to bully me and infer that he is the alpha dog, as though he even knows what alpha means.

I couldn't help it. When I linked to olive trees in the previous paragraph, I came upon a painting by vG. You know, the one with the ear problem.

After we clear Summerland, we are on to the 101, southbound through Ventura, which has a Der Weinerschnitzel, should someone want a snack. Nothing like the Surf Dog out of Carpinteria, where I am appreciated and have an account. But I digress.

Soon after we are past Ventura, then the dregs of Oxnard and a westward turn on Rice Road, past some agriculture, but no hot dog stands or restaurants. Maybe a taco/burrito truck for the field workers, on occasion, should anyone be hungry. At this point, I try to nap, but it is no easy task because soon we hit 1, which has its own personality and scent, which reminds me as we pass Mugu Rock that we are fast approaching my favored spot in the world.

Deer Creek.

Deer fucking Creek.

I mean!

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Affirmative Action Sucks!

As you may recall, I've been spotting gophers on the grounds, digging into their burrows and otherwise giving them a bad time. There were two places along the front path where they'd made inroads and by digging down to the point where I could get my head pretty far down, I furthered my intimidation.

This morning I noticed new mounds of dirt and new signs of digging, which I promptly addressed. So what if my nose got a caking of dirt! It was all part of the teamwork I try to engage around here.

So what do I discover when Boss and I are headed out to lunch at the Xanadu Bakery? There in the driveway is that dreadful white truck belonging to R. The Gopher Man, lettered on the sides and oh, please, lettered on the back: Let The Gopher Man Bust Their Furry Buns. Gimme a break!

And sure enough, there is R. with his apparatus, messing with my digging, taking credit for the discovery, no doubt slathering at the thought of the bill he's going to send for services rendered.

I know, I know; he needs to get established in the marketplace, too, and I should be more tolerant.

But I'm not.

He wears one of those duck-billed caps and, now that you mention it, walks with a bit of a waddle.

I know, I know: argument ad hominem.

I'll get over it.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Progress Report

Crashed early last night. The bed Boss had purchased from Orvis looking pretty good. Up came a wind, which brought scents of raccoons and, down the block, either a coyote or worse.

Wind wrenched one of the side doors open, allowing a dog an opportunity to check the area. In a moment or two, I'm on to something. Something powerful. Couldn't help it, I sounded my hunting call. I know, I know. It's early morning and I should be more circumspect. The C's who live next door are particularly grouchy about hunting. They don't mind power saws or leaf blowers, but that is another matter.

I soon catch a flashing light down the drive toward Hot Springs Road, then the crunch of movement through the wind-blown leaves. Then I get a whiff. Oh,man! It is Boss. He is not particularly well dressed for two thirty of a cold, windy morning. He appears to be--oh, oh--he's in his sleepy suit, which is to say undies and his UCLA Basketball t-shirt. You know, old school tie, Final Four and all. No boots or even shoes. Not like him.

I head over to greet him, and I think he is beginning to learn. "Dragons, right?" he says.

Just to be sure, I brush against him to let him know this really was work, not some excuse to get out on the town and raise hell.

"Dragons for sure," he says, starting back toward the house

I have the distinct impression it is a good thing for me to follow him. Screw the new gopher hole and the fresh gopher scent.

We are homeward bound. I didn't really smell any dragons, but if Boss wants to think dragons, what's the harm?

Monday, March 26, 2007

Making Do

No coyotes today. It may be that I drove them off this morning with some serious barking and swearing. About four a.m.

Never look back.

I was appalled to learn how much they pay R., the so-called Gopher Man. Can you imagine driving about in a truck with Gopher Man stenciled on it? He has to use gas bombs and traps. I, for part, dig. Send the little monsters a message.

A sign up in Toro Canyon warned of bib cat, but I got no scent, and I do not bark at signs.

And so I made do with gophers.

Tomorrow is the promise of Deer Creek and an afternoon at campus. More suited to an accomplished dog.

Making do sucks.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

On a Photo Shoot with a Control Freak

I have a first-rate nose. When we are out hunting, Fido recognizes this. When I sound the hunting call--"Hey, kid; over here!"--he comes without question. Even Boss seems to correctly interpret my hunting call as meaning that we are in danger from coyotes or dragons.

Yesterday, I had the rare opportunity to be out on a photo shoot with L. We were investigating the ripe, smelly part of town known as The Industrial Tract or Lower East. When L. points her Canon 5D, something like a sense of smell begins to take over; she becomes a different person. You can see it in her stature, the way she appears to be drawing an entire scene into her being.

The story really starts here, as Boss is fond of noting in his classes and workshops. It starts with my being out on a photo shoot with L. and having taken in the scent of a six-year-old male Lab, having peed on the wheel of a tractor, a fact I immediately called to L.'s attention.

Did she come trotting over to see the way Fido might? Yeah, yeah. She continued her focus on a small, shack-like building, seeming to like the windows and over-all symmetry, completely ignoring what could have been a true find, something that would have done C.-B. or S.proud or even that lady who shot the migrant workers up in Nipomo.

Well, okay. Laissez faire and let laissez faire, I always say, and so I let her have her building, which I proceeded to check out for trances of possible rodents, of which family a gopher is a member. You guessed it. Zip. Nada. Not a trace of rodents. No dog pee, not even a cat. C'mon! You want to shoot pee-less buildings--go for it.

I tried one more time. It was a large trash container adjacent a large, squarish building with an extended eave. Two dogs and one human had peed toward the rear. L. seemed to get the point, and I was pleased when she stood back to get a perspective, but then she began shooting some stenciling on the side of the container, completely
missing the drama.

I barked. Not there! There!

Good Sally she said, and went on bracketing the stenciled lettering instead of the pee-sites. Good dog.

Please!

Good dog. Gimme a break.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

You Can Scam Republicans But You Can't Scam Working Dogs

FROM THE DESK OF BARR. ASHAARI ANWAR
SENIOR PARTNER O HASSAN & CO
228, HERBERT MACAULAY STREET
FESTAC-LAGOS.

Honourable Ms. Sally Lowenkopf, ACD:

Permit me to introduce myself as Ashaari Anwar, a solicitor at law. I represented the legal interests of a LATE national of your country, who until his untimely death was an expatriate with an Oil Firm in West Africa.

Unfortunately, during the month of May 2003, my late client was involved in a fatal auto accident in the western part of Africa and immediately lost his life on the spot. Since the unfortunate occurrence I have made several enquiries
through your country's embassy to locate any of my clients extended relatives, which has proved to be abortive.

After several unsuccessful attempts, I decided to trace his last name over the Internet, to locate any member of his family hence my contacting you this day. I initiated contact with you to inform you of the above and also to seek
your assistance in claiming the huge financial 'security' deposits left behind by my late client before they get confiscated or declared unserviceable by the bank where these huge deposits were lodged.

Particularly, the Financial Trust Bank where the deceased had an account valued at US$4.8 million has issued me a notice to provide the next of kin or have the account confiscated within the next ten official working days. Since I
have been unsuccessful in locating the relatives for over 2 years now I seek your consent to present you as the next of kin of the deceased since you have the same last name so that the proceeds of this account valued at US$4.8 million
(Four Million, Eight Hundred Thousand United States Dollars only) can be paid to you and used for our mutual benefit.


Oh, please! It is bad enough having to put up with humans who have leashes without having to suffer this. What must they think to send this to a working dog?

BTW: I got into it with a gopher this afternoon. Little freaker tried to bite my nose. I won

Friday, March 23, 2007

More Q & A:

Q: You've made your preference clear for sandwiches from Art's Deli in Studio City. What is your second favorite food?

A: Anything stolen from a cat.

Q: Where is your favorite place to throw up?

A: The new carpeting in the Community Room of the Montecito, CA library.

Q: You've been up early these past few mornings, barking at coyotes. Any reason?

A: Listen, someone has to look out for them.

Q: There are those at the hot tub of the Montecito Y who think you use Donald Trump as a role model.

A: You're fired.

Q: Do you have a role model?

A: Should have fired you last week. I'm an Australian Cattle Dog-Aussie Shepherd mix. I don't need no stinking role model.