Oh My, The River

Sometimes the smallest events are the biggest productions. Zephyr and I went to the river tonight and this is what happened:

1. It’s helpful when going walking to REMEMBER YOUR WALKING SHOES.

2. Flip flops are not walking shoes, but you make the best of it.

3. We saw the COYOTE! It was good to see her. I miss her. I decided to grab Zephyr although he whined and barked to get to her. Reasons: A) Zephyr is older now and I don’t know how she will react as they haven’t “seen” each other in nearly a year. B) Although it is the same place we have always seen her and it looks like her, I don’t absolutely know it is her. Z doesn’t need another coyote chomping. We watched, whimpered and smiled from 10 yards. She was hunting lizards, completely unfazed.

This isn’t her, but she looks like this, more browns, skinnier, long snout.

4. The riparian forest has grown so high you can barely see the river from the dirt road now. Maybe, come winter when the leaves fall.

5. My feet are so going to hurt after walking the rocks.

6. I went to the fig tree and it was swollen with fruit! I did remember by tote, so I picked as many as I could carry, ate a few more, then all sticky fingered started back.  (Back home I called my dad, “We have more figs.” Tomorrow, food swap.)

7. We walked back along the river. Zephyr swam, I soaked my feet and dragged my toes through the cold mud. Quieting.

8. Walking back, Zephyr ate something I don’t even want to say, it was that gross. I was so pissed.  Damn, dog!

9. Back in the jeep all harnessed up Zephyr threw-up  all over the back. Jeep smells gross. Good news: it was on a blanket. Good news two: better there than on the carpet at home, which is where he usually pukes.

10. Pass on trip to Trader Joes for goat cheese and eggs, as suddenly those things don’t sound appetizing anymore.

11. Home: washing figs, running washer, cooking pasta. Zephyr put himself to bed. He’s kicking his feet against the hardwood floor. Maybe, he’s dreaming of the coyote. It was good to see her.

d.

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Personal Space

I hate the conversations that begin with “Does your dog bite?”

Especially when he/she is holding a squirmy, sticky toddler. There is no good out that I have yet figured. If I say no, she will ask “Can Bitsy pet it?”–it’s always “it” like I’m walking a table.

If I say yes, they draw back in horror, though I am 10 feet away and Zephyr, turned askew, is busy grazing the lawn like a cow. Today I said “No, he doesn’t” and the above question ensued. Except, I smiled and said “No, not right now.” She was upset and pulled back her child. I can’t win.

Here’s the thing: I am not your petting zoo. And I am not going to let your sticky little kid grab at Zephyr’s ears, nose, whatever. It’s invasive. I don’t ask to run my fingers thru juniors hair. Sigh.

But, here’s thing,  I DO like the quiet, singular shy kid who is drawn to Zephyr from afar. They creep closer and closer, with very small steps, wanting SO badly to pet him, like they are witnessing this grand being, a mythical lion.

They never, ever ask to pet him. And with their parents permission I almost always let them. i encourage them too. They reach out their hands with such trepidation. Zephyr will reach out his nose and they jump, goosebumps  from head to toe, beaming. Often I have to show them how to pet a dog, like they have never done this before. They are always so gentle.

Beyond Zephyr, it is my own personality that likes a wide arc of comfort space. Come near me slowly, talk softly and don’t be too pushy or demanding about it. Don’t drown me in personal questions. Don’t lecture me or take up debate. Keep it simple, let me reveal myself to you in my own time.

Zephyr is the same way. I guess we are a true pair.

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