It's the day after Thanksgiving, and we just got back from a brisk walk, Maggie, Geordie, and I. A relatively dry day although the collage of fallen leaves beneath our feet was glazed with remnants of the Oregon mist has moistened the air for the past few days. The sky is late-afternoon gray as we approach the Winter Solstice.
I avoid facing the crowds on the roads and in the shopping center, preferring instead to treat this day segue way from a Thanksgiving Day feast at our friends' Paula and Brian's house to "relative normalcy." (Doesn't that term have an oxymoronic skew? Just ask my kids. . . )
Dinner was festive and delicious and other dogs were running about-- Louie and Pixie-- the current full-time residents-- and also two Chihuahuas named Amber and Izzy and a large mixed breed named Porter, who was velcroed-almost-to-the-point-of-conjoined to his human "mother" Traci. Paula and I discussed bringing Maggie and Geordie, but we wisely decided that leaving them home was best for all.
1) The dynamics among the canines were interesting, Cairn terrier Louie seemed a bit confounded by the bookend Chihuahuas and felt compelled to assert dominance not only on the other dogs, but also upon any furniture that "could take it like a man" and on an assortment of guests' legs.
2) Traci sat in the kitchen lovingly alternated spoon-feeding both Louie and Porter from a plate heaped high with an assortment of foodstuffs including elaborate fruit and nut dominated Brian
-created stuffings, turkey, and other tasties. Both Maggie and Geordie would have loved the indulgence, but:
a) I am a stickler for weight control and retain a general control-
freakishness about what Maggie and Geordie ingest.
b) Geordie does "not share well with others" and he would be the only
one who would get to eat lest he "eat" his competition-- even
gentle Porter who probably weighs about five or six times what
Geordie does.
c) Without a doubt, someone would have offered Maggie a roll and
inquired whether she wanted butter with it. She would have
indicated her preference for eating all the bread and chasing
it down with a stick of butter.
d) Surfaces such as tables and counters and sideboards are no
obstacle for Geordie. They are merely "fun challenges."
"The Look"
and finally. . .
e) Maggie and Geordie would opt out of coming back home with us
after they realized what horrid food misers we were.
Larry and his Best Girl, "Maggedy Ann"
Some good news is that my human sons, Alan and Noah are in from Ann Arbor, MI and Eugene, OR, respectively. Accompanying Noah is his delightful girlfriend, Reiko. Noah and Reiko
are University of Oregon Duck alumni, so they're not so thrilled with the game. Neither is Alan, the ever loyal brother and Michigan Wolverine (Law School). We all had Thanksgiving dinner with Paula and Brian. . .
The outcome of the game sucked: Beavers 30, Ducks, 28. 
Maggie is giving me that "what next?" stare from the carpet beside me, and Geordie lies on the double-blanketed futon/sofa behind me. Maggie arose and wagged her tail briefly. Perhaps she thinks victuals are forthcoming.
Dinner is raw turkey necks, the Charleston Chew and dentifrice of dog foods. Perfect balance of calcium and protein and plaque attacker in one!
Tomorrow we hit the road en route to Seattle. Alan
is running in the marathon on Sunday. The forecast calls for rain mixed with snow. Maggie and Geordie are having a sleepover at Louie and Pixie's until we return to Portland on Sunday. Geordie will get to play with Sweetie the cat, who is among the few felines that can match him as a formidable adversary. Don't let her name deceive. She knows how to taunt him in style.More later. Also, I will be adding some photos from the weekend, none of which are processed. Today also included, for me, a nice apres-gorge swim at the Oregon City Swimming Pool, and -- of course, the invigorating walk for me and the canids.
Until next time,
Jill
, Mag, GeordAll thankful for each other and our family and our friends.
Tis the season. . .
Visit Holy Terrier Dog Designs
for your holiday shopping. You don't have to move your but from your computer desk to order online. Saves gas.
Sleetless in Seattle
Obligatory Dog Photo: "Marathon Man" Alan with GeordieThis unabashed brag has nothing to do with anything *I* accomplished-- unless you count my having given birth to Alan 25 years ago, which was hardly a stroll in the park (bearing perhaps some oblique analogy to running a HALF marathon). So it's kind of a one-degree-of-separation-type brag.
CHRONOLOGY. . .
Northbound
We left Maggie and Geordie with their buddies Pixie and Louie at the Resort at Rue (NE) Russell. Noah drove Reiko's car (the only one with Hawaiian license plates for miles). Alan sat in front. I was flanked by Reiko and Larry, who busily studied the lay of the land of the Seattle Marathon. I read a copy of Mad Magazine Larry had received as a birthday present from his son, Willie, who currently lives on Kauai. Reiks dozed off a bit. Coffee at Dupont. And that was in addition to two bottles of water I'd drunk until the sheer unbearableness of it forced us to stop at a rest area near Olympia. (Rarely do I get to a place where I literally have to waddle to the lavatory to prevent leakage.)
We arrived in chilly Seattle and parked in a lot across the street from the Marathon's official check-in hotel. Alan picked up his bag 'o goodies, signed up, and took a quick survey of the vendors with the others. I toured the booths on my own, picking up samples of Gu and energy bars, etc. that Alan might need. Even the mother of an adult son has this persistent compulsion to make sure he gets enough to eat, and I don't see that tendency abating any time soon.
Next we headed to the Holiday Inn. Reiks and No would share Alan's room; Larry and I were two doors down. After an interlude, we headed toward a very carb-y dinner at Buca di Beppo, a popular restaurant with walls generously festooned with kitchy Vatican and bizarre parochial school ephemera. An Italian-themed pop song loop offered Doris Day singing "Que Sera, Sera" at least five times during the course of our meal mixed in with smatterings of the the song stylings of the ever-likeable Perry Como, the legendary Tony Bennett, and others. Generous portions of Spaghetti Marinara and Linguine Frutti Di Mare and bread and artichoke spinach dip and olive oil nourished our favorite runner and the rest of us. I probably added about a kilo of fat to my own body.
After the brrrrrrrrrr-acing walk several blocks to the hotel for the night, I checked my email on Larry's laptop. Yes, I am that compulsive. I showered and dried my hair to avoid having it freeze and break off as we rushed to the Space Needle early Sunday morning. Larry and I settled in. After reading a few chapters of a mildly interesting but very weird book to Larry's softish rhythmic snoring, I dropped off to sleep.
It wasn't so bad that Alan et al. had banished us to a different room. We missed the GOOD LUCK text messages blasting from Alan's cell phone that Noah blamed on Reiko's phone since both she and Alan have similar Verizon ringtones. However, someone dialed our room at 12:45 am. Wrong number. Great timing.
We awoke, washed, and dressed. I arranged just about every garment I'd brought along on my body. I looked and probably felt like the StayPuft Marshmallow (wo)Man-- only more rotund. We drank some Tahitian Noni Juice® and headed down the hall, where a groggy Reiko opened the door.
Revived Reiko extracts Noah from the hotel room.
As the runners spilled from the starting gate, I flashed my camera desperately hoping to snag a picture of Alan heading out. No such luck. Meanwhile, the three of us met up with Lynn and Larry and headed to the car, where Reiko would retrieve some socks from the trunk, and we'd drive down for a breakfast at Pike Street Market. Noah and Reiko would go their own way until we met at the finish line.
"It's a Wrap"Alan Space-Blanketed at the Space Needle w/ Noah, ever supportive brother.
During the race the weather was cold, at times snowing, and raining-- hardly an easy race to run, what with an incline that was "worse than stairs." Next day, he was headed back to Ann Arbor to continue his studies at University of Michigan Law. What a trouper!
The dusting of snow that had landed on Oregon City's hilltop in the morning had long disappeared. I'd walk Maggie and Geordie briefly through the foggy neighborhood. It was just the three of us again. Larry was back at the radio station. Routine had set in once again and after unleashing them and after Maggie nudged the front door open, I closed it and embarked my own pathetically wimpy set of balance ball exercises.
Jill. . . figuratively flanked by her most cherished Mag and Geord.
Resort on Rue (NE) Russell
Kismet has bestowed upon me the role of "parent" of the canine equivalent of the class clown. He's the one who's as charming as he is disruptive, the one who has the teacher laughing, too, in spite of herself. But not until our Sunday evening return would I receive the full progress report.
The motivation for my Saturday night phone call to Brian and Paula from Seattle arose from my concern for their welfare as well as for that of all the denizens (feline, especially) of their home cum B & B. At the time I called, Brian, Paula, Maggie, Pixie, Louie and Geordie were in bed or on the bed--depending upon the dog-- watching a show about dinosaurs and that is how they first learned of Geordie's lifelong interest in paleontology.
SUNDAY, SEATTLE. . . after the race.
We are enjoying two large pizzas after Alan's marathon finish when I check in with Paula again. Their house is still standing. Maggie and Geordie lapped up their morning quaff of Tahitian Noni Canine Essentials Senior. Every creature is still breathing. But the stories must wait until I arrive to hear them all.
After a surprisingly uncomplicated drive home to Oregon City, Noah and Reiko, who had to head home to Eugene for a good night's sleep. Larry unwinds after having driven for more than three hours. Alan basks in his glory, looks forward to a soothing bath, and prepares for his return trip to Ann Arbor and fat law books.
After barely catching my breath, I get into my car and head back to Northeast Portland. Paula answers the door. She's the only human there because Brian and his daughter, Miranda, caught a movie and were probably following it with dinner.
1) Mr. Jinx is the alpha tomcat, black as onyx. Too tempting, thinks Geordie, maybe even a formidable adversary. Paula reads his mind, observes his body language, interprets his ambiguous vocalizations.
Geordie is in solitary confinement. For his own good, insists Paula.
Geordie returns to solitary. (For his own good.)
3) Geordie contemplates mixing it up with Sweetie. Bad idea.
Time out. Alone. In his crate. For his own good.
Brian's son, Shawn and his girlfriend Traci stop by with Porter, the meekest large dog ever.
This elicits a growlish greeting from Geordie, the ambiguity of which earn him yet another solitary stint.
(In his crate. For his own good.)
By canine consensus, Pixie is 100% hot babe & proverbial queen of all she surveys & she who must be obeyed & revered. She's in charge and is only one able to make Geordie toe the line. Unfortunately she can only be one place at a time and is unable to save him from himself.
Maggie, usually the perfect guest forgets her manners. She dabbles in macrobiotics after Miranda leaves some Chinese food within her reach. Uninvited, she tries a few mouthfuls of rice but ignores the chow mein. Miranda and Maggie mesh anyhow. Both are gentle souls.
Geordie amuses Miranda by modeling his array of Barb Schuster-designed cummerbunds. Barb, Edith Head to the canine set, worked with fabric patterns that included sushi, Canadian, and Judaica motifs. No need for stealth marking when you've got a Poise Pad-lined fashion statement!
Louie acts noticeably relieved that things are somewhat back to normal. He knows his kind-- and these two extra Cairns are okay with him.
Maggie is a perfect foil to her brother. They're the perfect good cop/bad cop duo. Exploiting this to the max at home. Maggie often feigns outrage and gloats as Geordie receives reprimands. It's worth the alpha rolls and the ablutions from her bratty brother. She readies herself for the sympathetic pets and maledictions directed toward Geordie. Maggie spends precious little involutary confinement in her crate.
is clueless about this game but not about the squirrels that walk the tightrope of power lines above the yard. Although he usually appears to register on the negative scale of predatory propensities, this pursuit perks him up.Surely there are squirrels in dog heaven, but undoubtedly there are no dogs in squirrel heaven-- or if there are, the roles are reversed.
Geordie is high maintenance, but everyone, excluding the cats, finds him an engaging comedian. Imagine Robin Williams as a guest in your house for a whole day.
Paula insists wryly, "A good time was had by all."
I have no idea what we'd have done without The Resort on Rue (NE) Russell. The innkeepers ensured that their guests felt welcome and included-- five-star accommodation just a micron short of the perfection of a Godiva chocolate on their pillow.
Maggie and Geordie were in no rush to leave these friends who have become family. I thanked Paula and The Trolls eagerly lept into the car because they were hungry and luscious green tripe awaited them at home.
Not so fast! A stop at Freddy's for milk, bread, some arnica creme for Alan's aching muscles-- and an impulse buy of satsumas. I'd have to prevent an overzealous Geordie from helping himself to the fruit before it was time for dessert.
On my "to-do" list: write Pope to propose pre-death canonization of Paula and Brian for having the patience of saints!
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