Part II: Day 57: Summer with Zoe

The first official calender day of summer was on June 20, and on that day Zoe watched my friends and me do yoga on a boat launch deck at Lake Findley, New York.  She thought it looked like a lot of work for such a hot day, so she napped in the shade. 

Zoe is back to watching the house, barking at the wandering hound who just roamed past the house as I began this post, swimming in the Grass River, and enduring my endless photo shoots on the lawn.

In the past week Zoe has:

eaten barbeque at a picnic for writers at Chautauqua, where she was cooed over by poets and memoirists and novelists and fed bites of pie by an essayist and literary festival director;

attended a literary reading for which she was the subject;

watched a wedding procession accompanied by Scottish bagpipes at the Anthanaeum Hotel;

strolled through pre-season Chautauqua paths and bridges and grasses;

met six women who spent time with her person in elementary school, junior high, and high school in Cleveland, were well-acquainted with her predecessor, Ginger, the family collie/shepherd mix, and know where all the bones and bodies are buried, what books were read, which teacher had eyebrows like caterpillars, which ones were in the closet, which ones made sexist remarks, which ones made us want to learn, how weekends were spent and what music was playing--think Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young--and who kissed which boys and when, where, but not always why, definitely not always why;

dipped her paws into two Western New York lakes;

witnessed the dare-devilry of flying squirrels;

dined out at in the outdoor seating area of a restaurant, reliving her glory days in France when she was served water before her people got their drinks;

illegally entered a rest stop in the Finger Lakes because her person had to pee and thought they both should get ice cream and was not going to leave her in the car in 93-degree weather;

was discussed, petted and admired by many.

The stories and blog posts continue tomorrow . . .

Part II, Day 25: Zoe and Friends in Vermont, a Genre-Bending Thriller

Maybe it all started with the toy helicopter.  My husband, a child at heart when it comes to gadgets, and a secret reader of thrillers, startled us one night with the sound.

What was it?

We were in the living room thinking about nothing much at all and suddenly we heard the blades, the sound not of a rescue operation, as we three witnessed once happening in the South of France, but of an army of flies invading our North Country home.

Gold star if you can find the helicopter in this picture

The next day we were packing up, Zoe and I, seeking adventure in the neighboring state of Vermont.

First, as I posted about yesterday, she assisted in minor surgery at the vet's office.  That the patient was herself was no obstacle for her.

Later, we piled into the dog-mobile with our friends Milo, the speed racer, sometimes known as Roller Dog, and Emily, who is Queen Alpha of all Curly Golden-haired Dogs of the Universe.

Zoe and Emily tried to help drive, but their services were not needed.  Glenn had matters firmly in hand.

On the walk, Zoe offered to race Milo, but Roller Dog was not interested in competing.  He follows to the beat of his own drum.  It's the the heartbeat of his human companion, and that person has treats.

Cold was coming, and Zoe said, Bring it on.

There's something about the two of us that seems to attract winter, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Back at the house, Zoe and Tad squared off.  The cat refused to cower and refused to climb down from his perch.  He stared Zoe down and told her not to get any closer.  The stand-off was recorded on film, but only the two characters can tell you what genre their story could be categorized as: domestic comedy, or Western.

We woke the next morning to snow.  Zoe was delighted.

Emily and Milo wondered if they were in a remake of that movie, Groundhog Day.  This was exactly how it went the last time we came to Vermont to visit.  They have visitors from the West, and it snows.  Why?

(For details of that story, the prequel to today's events, go to Thanksgiving in Spring, here.)

Off we went with James, and Zoe and I watched the tender way James lifted the Roller Derby star from the car.  He and Glenn make it all look so easy.

Milo was deprived of one of his two favorite morning games because of all the clouds.  This dog likes to chase sunlight.  He finds a watchband glinting, or sunbeams having a parade, and he follows them and barks.

His second favorite activity is to roll in smooth moss.  It was coated in snow today, but he didn't care.

Zoe has three legs, but she doesn't defer to her only other three-legged associate.  When she saw her chance, she leapt first into the poochmobile and claimed the best four-wheel real estate for herself.

When Milo asked why, she said Ours is not to reason why.

But then the three dogs rode happily back to the house where the cat was hiding in wait.

Zoe and Emily, two top dogs, attempt to commandeer the steering wheel

Zoe is considering the script for Riding in Cars With Boys (and Girls)

Have you ever seen a cuter Golden face?

Glenn helps Milo down.

Milo, Speed Racer, a.k.a Roller Dog, is almost ready, and Coach Emily looks on

Is that really snow?

Don't worry, Emily.  You'll always be Top Girl.

Milo and Zoe agree to the terms of the race.

Glenn and Emily, Milo and Zoe

Whoops, where'd they go?

Milo would rather keep the humans company today

Make me!

This is the closest Zoe has ever gotten to a cat

Zoe shows off her tripod sit formation

With no sunbeams to chase, Milo proceeds to roll in moss

Without the fourth leg as momentum, it took him a while to get up, but he did

Zoe doesn't understand why the others aren't grinning as the snow goes horizontal

First in the prime seat--ha!

Are you talking to me?

Part II, Day Four: Sadie and Zoe, the Love Story

Is there anything more euphoria-inducing than coming home and seeing your dog run toward you with joy? 

For me, the closest thing to that rush is to watch Zoe greet others in that ecstatic way: to witness her reaction when family comes to the door, or when we arrive at her home away from home.

Sadie waits patiently to get her toy fox back

She's been whining for the last hour. When I rolled down her window, she smelled the air and said, Hey, I know that smell.  I know those burnished leaves, that river, that lake, those road signs, that tint of sky.

Are we there yet?

We pull up to the house, and out comes Sadie, the saucy herding dog cousin with her big, pointy ears, and Sadie's people: my sister, Mira Bartok, and her husband, Dougie Pee.

Zoe charges into the house and finds the Amish basket I gave Mira for her birthday one year, where Sadie's plush toys live.  Out comes the octopus, the piglet, the chirping little fox, the black and white polar bear, but not plush burger, who is carefully hidden from Zoe when she comes, or perhaps it's not there because Zoe demolished it on another visit and I've conveniently forgotten.

Zoe runs around the house showing her cousin that she can help herself to what she wants, and Sadie promptly bites her in the butt, or tries to trip her.  Now that Zoe has three legs, Sadie finds new advantages where she can.

Zoe in front of the barn

Sadie has a great smil

Then they submit to their people's immature games.  We like to get them to wrestle.  Not, like, for money.  They don't have stage names.  They don't wear tights or capes.  And they don't hurt each other.  But for our version of pup pile-up, we get them to kiss (touch snouts), roll on their backs, mouth, and growl and grunt like wild beasts.  We could watch this all day and never be bored.

And then it's time for the afternoon walk.  First Zoe takes one of Sadie's indoor toys, the plush volleyball, and tries to get Sadie to chase her into the barn, the infamous barn where the music played on Mira and Doug's wedding day, and in front of which Zoe had to be bathed by her person, in a story that has become legend in these parts.  (See "Squeamish No More: Dog Bath at my Sister's Wedding.)  They swoop around the yard, circling each other, peeing competitively.

Then down the driveway, up the road a little, and into the woods.  For a short while Zoe has to be watched, because there's no guarantee she won't run down to the nearby farm to kill the chickens.  (Zoe has never killed a chicken, but dogs can turn into chicken-killers just like that, and we don't want to give her the taste for blood.  And now that I know, as of yesterday's visit to the integrative vet in Vermont, that chicken makes her too yang, well, there's an extra incentive, beyond being neighborly.)

They look most alike when they are begging for treats.

I love the companionable stroll

Who will shake more water on us, faster?

Sadie could herd horses, if she needed employment

We pass that patch of woods without trouble, and then head further along, to the stream.  Both dogs go down for a swim and a drink, then bound up again.  It's a beautiful spring day, but not very warm.  I'm just glad that it's too early for tick season.

Zoe waits several yards away for the horse visit to end

And eventually we visit the horse farm.  Sadie is excited to meet more four-legged creatures, and she runs over to tell the horses that she is queen of the hill.  Zoe, for all her alpha behavior with her cousin, hits the road.  She sees a lot of Amish horses where we live, and was once charged by a group of irate horses and donkeys who didn't appreciate the way Zoe had herded their friends, the migrating ducks, so she keeps her distance.

What I love most about these visits is how easily these dogs fall into their routines together, and how their routines become the structure for our days.  Meals.  Walks.  Dogs outside.  Dogs back in.  Dogs chasing each other for plush toys.  Dogs submitting to pup pile-up rituals, which means every creature on the floor to a sound track of wolfy grunting and sometimes keening.  We know the dogs love each other, and long to be close: they mouth and nip, and are wolf pups together.  And we know they compete for love, although there is no limit to the love we have on tap.  The dogs structure our days, and when we focus on them completely, time stops.

The story continues tomorrow.

Namaste.

Day 101: Dogs at Play and at Rest

On Topsail Island, dogs can run free.

The only dogs on leads are the ones that would run away otherwise, or the ones that have muzzles too, because they don't play well with others, or the ones that are new around here and can't believe their good luck.

This is my utopia.  The only place that comes close is France, where you can bring dogs inside restaurants.

Zoe with Sadie, the puppy in the room next door

These dogs of Dixie tired the old girl out

But on our last day of the vacation, we did bring Zoe to the wine bar outside the bookstore we love, and she took time to smell the flowers.  The new guy there, Jonathan, brought her out a couple milkbones.  Beth told her she was welcome any time.

If you come to this wonderful island with your dog, tell the dogs you meet that Zoe and Natalia say hello.

It was jacket weather at first, but by the end of the week, it was warm

This dog is named for a famous photographer.  His person is an anthropologist.

The anthropologist is dating a woman much younger, and her dog is much younger too.

Young dogs can always get Zoe to swim.

This wolfy dog would prefer to be pulling a sled in snow, and his person is a skier who had a hard time deciding between a beach week and the last week to ski of the season

This is Zoe most of the day on Topsail, but sometimes she is sitting.

I was afraid these dogs would run off with the fish the people had caught, or the tackle boxes.

At the bookstore/wine bar

Flowers!  in March!

Sitting outside in March after buying too many books: perfect end to a perfect week