Going to the Dogs

This post comes in two parts, but both parts come from rummaging through old files and finding old slides not converted to digital. Both also refer to our Dog Time, the 14 years of the 70s and early 80s when we owned a kennel of Siberian huskies. First, an article I wrote which was published in the late 80s.

Elke: The Lessons of a Beach Dog

Oregon Coast Magazine, January, 1988

Without the slight breeze blowing in off the ocean the day would have been uncomfortably hot. The sun had finally burned away the accumulation of gray that is the usual morning on the Oregon Coast. Kids were splashing in the incoming tide and parents were enjoying the sand and surf of Neskowin as much as their children. Frisbees were as thick as sea gulls and almost as graceful as they floated, dipped, and dived on the breezes and currents.

Anne and I were enjoying this beautiful day from a blanket about halfway between the tideline and the beach grass. We had owned a kennel of Siberian huskies for several years, and found it an interesting diversion from our books and the sand fleas to watch the beach dogs interact with one another. Rituals of tail-sniffing were performed with medieval aplomb. Dogs would approach each other, circle, sniff, and then trot about their business. This pattern held for all manner of dogs—from the pampered poodle getting sand in her ribbon and still smelling of foo-foo to the Heinz 57 mutt whose last bath was a dip in the creek. 

One dog, however, didn’t fit this pattern. A small female elkhound made her way up the beach avoiding other dogs as much as possible. While the other dogs seemed to lack purpose in their meanderings, little Elke showed marked determination. Her beach wanderings were punctuated by stops at all human beach-toweled encampments. As she approached our enclave, she got a whiff of our tuna sandwiches. Instead of circling us at a distance and then moving on, she circled once and then lay down looking directly at us. With head up and ears erect, she watched us eat our lunch. After a couple of minutes she moved to our left and lay down not more than twenty feet from us. She watched us as we discussed the obvious ploy she was making to join our picnic. She continued to move closer until Anne could have stretched out and petted her.

Elke was a pretty thing. She had no collar and lacked the fat look of many pampered pet elkhounds I’ve seen. At the same time she didn’t look particularly hungry. She seemed healthy, bright-eyed, bouncy. When she realized we weren’t going to be taken in by her act, as cute as it was, she headed off to find some easier mark. Before she abandoned us completely, she gave it one last shot. Elke stopped about twenty feet away with her ears pointed back as far as she could get them. She was giving us a final chance to call her back to join in some potato chip munching. When her last effort failed to elicit the desired effect, she trotted off, checking each beach blanket picnic in turn.

I spent a delightful hour enjoying the creative, purposeful antics of Elke. If she belonged to someone, she had certainly found an effective method of supplementing her meals—not everyone could have been as hardhearted as we were. If she were a stray, her physical condition gave a good account of the effectiveness of her begging behavior.

Elke also helped me realize something about my own pets. She pointed out the manipulative behavior of which most of our pets are capable. I thought of our oldest husky, Myko, who knows the surest way to get all the petting he wants is to jump up, lick my face, and bounce down to be chased. No matter how hurried I am, Myko knows that this routine will turn me into putty in his paws. Our 14-year old cat knows that lifting a paw that was once hurt will get some extra snack—or at least a sympathy pet. And if the “hurt paw” doesn’t get our attention, he puts it down and lifts the other one.

Much that has been written about human psychology probably applies to pets as well. Elke had a purpose to her manipulative behavior—she wanted food. Our pets have purpose in their behaviors. By being aware of these purposes we can better care for the emotional health of our dogs and cats. 

I may have resisted Elke’s advances the first time we met, but after I realized what she had shown me about my own animals, you can bet that the next time I’ll invite her to join our picnic as an honored guest.

 Dog Days

 

The second find was a large set of slides from our sled dog running days. Now converted to digital, the pictures are of our dogs, pictures I took of other racing teams, and some extra doggy photos. Most of these photos were slides taken by a fairly ancient Petri fixed-lens rangefinder camera or my first Ricoh interchangeable lens 35mm camera. Captions will help fill in the details. Hope you enjoy.

The Dogs

Our second husky, Gromyko of Kolyma Creek, a great wheel dog and companion.

Myko, a good backpacker dog, carried as much as 15 pounds (about a third of his weight). He's resting at our camp spot at Green Lakes.

We'd take the team out for runs near Hoodoo Ski Bowl.  Mt Washington in the background.

When we lived in Brookings (1980-84), we'd often take the team out for run at Pistol River and stop for coffee break. We had eight dogs much of the time and as many as 14 with puppies. 

Racing

Lee Muller, Albany, racing at Sisters with his team of Siberian and Alaskan huskies.

Anne raced a few times. Her best race was this one at Beaver Marsh.

I raced in 3-dog, 5-dog and 7-dog classes (3, 5, and 7 miles). This was at Sisters. I don't remember the photographer.

Art Christensen, Turner, always had a fast team of Chilkoot hounds, his own mixed breed. They were fast and strong, but got cold quickly.

Me with a five-dog team at a Sisters race. In a normal year we'd attend 7 or 8 races in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and California. Photo by Mally Hilands, Canby.

Not all our races were on snow. This is a photo of Darell Stewart, Canby, at a cart races at the Painted Hills in Mitchell, OR. Most of us would train our teams on gravel roads with wheeled carts. In racing season I'd try to get two days of training during the week and go to the snow on weekends to race or train.

I was much younger then and had hair.

Anne, seated on the left, was head timer for most of the Oregon races.

Running the Dunes

The Oregon Dunes Mail Run was a non-competitive event that I ran in from 1978-1983. The run was 72 miles in 2 days over and through the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area from North Bend to Florence. This is Phil Armstrong of Eastacada negotiating one of the tall dunes.

This photo of Linda Robertson, Bandon, has won numerous awards in photo competitions.

The first year of the Mail Run we booted up to run into Lakeside at noon on the first day. The boots were to protect the dog's feet from the rough pavement. Most teams lost their boots in the first couple of hundred yards, littering the roadway. Anne had had to handmake all our boots. We found that the dog's feet were tougher than we thought. My team front to back, left to right: Waveet in lead, Malenski  and Attica in point, Tamarmick and Laca in swing, and Myko and Amorak in wheel.

It was difficult and expensive to own and work the kennel of Siberians, but it was worth every penny and ounce of effort. Some of the best years we ever had. And yes, the dogs absolutely loved to run.

We tried Tigger in lead, but he was too independent.

NEXT: Happy holidays

  

 

A Travel Blog about No Travel

Anne and I had a trip planned to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas for the middle of March—it was one of the trips we postponed because Anne couldn’t fly for a while after her ear surgery (which went fine). The Canyon would be cold, but we’d get some golf in Vegas. Then, along comes the coronavirus COVID-19. And if what’s happening worldwide isn’t enough for concern, the cases in Kirkland, WA, and in Lake Oswego, OR, brought the disease much closer to home. At first we weren’t panicked, and we still aren’t, but being in the group that gets hit the hardest by this virus—over 70 with underlying health conditions—made us take a longer look at our two planned spring trips: Grand Canyon/Vegas in March and Scotland in late April and May. There’s nothing saying we have to cancel or change either trip, but we are firm in our resolve not to jeopardize the Scotland trip. Our final decision came down to how safe is was or wasn’t to be in Vegas with millions of other tourists from all over the world carrying who knows what bugs with them. 

We got all reservations for the Las Vegas trip cancelled without losing anything except what we paid for upgrade economy on Southwest Airlines. We know others who are wrestling with the same kinds of dilemmas. Deciding to cut our last fall southwest trip short because I was so sick was a no brainer. This current decision, though, was much more difficult. Were we giving in to media hysterics or would the planned trip be overly risking. From my position on the sled behind my sled dog team, I had great hindsight, but I doubt I’ll ever really know if we are making the correct choice of travel plans to not travel to Vegas.

With no trip to Grand Canyon, Red Rocks, Valley of Fire, and Vegas, that leaves me searching for a new post for the blog. I think I found one that has several benefits for me and will I hope be interesting to you. As a part of my photography workflow I store what I consider to be my best or most useful photos in categorized albums (castles, churches, landscapes, seascapes, street photos, etc.). This post will include two photos with comments not previously used for the blog from twelve different categories. For me this exercise first, gets me back in touch with some neglected photo gems. Second, it shows me how much improvement I’ve made from earlier photos. Third, it tells me how much improvement (a lot) I still need to be making in my images. And lastly, it is great fun looking back at photos from trips ten or more years ago. I hope you get some fun out of seeing these previously unseen images. Nothing here will be very significant, but I had fun putting it together—and after cancelling travel plans and worrying about health issues, fun is what I needed.

 Castles - lived in or ruins

Aughuanure Castle in Oughterard, Co. Galway, Ireland. The castle was owned by the  Chieftan of the O'Flahertys, but the guide, an O'Toole, kept referring to the castle as his castle.

Balmoral Castle in the Scottish Highlands is the summer residence of the royal family. The castle  was a very special place for Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. It can be toured in the spring, when the Queen isn't in residence.

Domestic Animals

I have no idea why this Scottish sheep is this color, but there was a whole flock of them. I wouldn't mind a sweater of that color though.

This ewe and lamb look lost, but then we saw them when we were lost in the fog in Dartmoor National Park.

Signs

Poor advertising in the Scottish highlands. The next year this sign was replaced with one which read,  "Dull, Twinned with Boring, Oregon."

We're trying to live by this.

Buildings

The Bothy on our club, St Fillans Golf Course, voted the Best 9-Hole Course in Scotland 2019. A bothy is a basic shelter usually used by farmers and shepherds. In Scotland many bothies also served for making illicit whisky.

The village of Culross in central Scotland is a National Trust of Scotland village maintained as it was in the 1700s.

Bugs, Insects, Small Critters

I saw this vicious looking thing on my fence one day. I have no idea what it is, but I'm glad I had long range macro lens.

This mantis crawled or hopped up on my golf club bag one day at our course. He stayed with me for about two holes and then tired of my poor swing.

Arches National Park

At Arches National Park in Moab, Utah, are many interesting rock formations. I don't know if this one has a name, but "Balance Rock" sounds good.

This formation is called Courthouse Rock and it's particularly nice at sunset.

Lighthouses

Trwyn Du lighthouse or Penmon lighthouse is on black Point peninsula on Anglesey, Wales. At low tide you can often walk out to the lighthouse, but it's a tough walk over or through tidepools.

Anne got a picture of me putting on a hole at New Moray GC and Moray Firth in Scotland. It's one of our favorite places to play golf. I probably missed the putt.

Dogs, Cats

We had sled dogs (Siberian Huskies) for 15 years and raced them for about twelve. Gromyko of Kolema Creek (Myko) was our second dog and my favorite--always a hard worker, a lover, and a great backpacking companion.

Queenie was queen of the B&B we lived in Scotland until it was sold. She was known for wrapping up in our blankets, crawling into our suitcases, and her lady-like manners.

Churches, Cathedrals, Religious Sites

Clonmacnoise (Cluain Mhic Nois in Irish) is an ancient religious complex in Co. Offaly, Ireland on the Shannon River. The complex's stone structures are as old as the 9th century. Clonmacnoise is known for it Irish High Crosses and round towers.

I love this view of the cloisters at Fountains Abbey three miles from Ripon in North Yorkshire. Founded in 1132 this Cistercian abbey was used until dissolution by Henry VIII in 1539.

Meals, Food

On Sept. 12, 2001, the day after the 9/11 attacks, we visited the Myrtle Inn in Callander, Scotland, for a bite of lunch. There we met this nice lady having her one meal a day out. She was extremely concerned for us and kept asking if there was anything she could do for us. Little did she realize that her concern was one of the best things anyone could have done.

On the way to golf in Blairgowrie, Scotland, we stopped at a Scottish version of a drive-thru for a cup of coffee. We'd seen it at this farm before, but the next time we came by it was gone.

Shops, Shopping

This fishmonger set up at Nairn Harbour had some interesting items for sale. The real hit for dinner was brown crap claws with pasta. I guess the closest we have now to this kind of shopping is Swan's home delivery.

Here I am wishing and dreaming outside a watch shop in the Shambles area of York. Just think about having to change all those watches on Daylight Savings Day.

Street Photos

Street photos are grab shots which daily life in towns or villages. Here I had Anne pretend to focus on me, when I really wanted a shot of this interesting couple outside a tearoom in St Ives, southern England.

I thought I'd stick with the coffee shop/tearoom theme and show another grab of a couple in an English coffee shop. It seemed like an interesting first date where I got the feeling there wouldn't be a second.

CRASS COMMERCIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: My third update of Golf in Scotland: The Hidden Gems has just been finished and is on sale on Amazon. I would show you a picture of the cover, but I haven't even received my copies yet. 

NEXT: We are taking a short hop to the coast for a couple of days and flowers should be nice soon, so maybe I'll have someone interesting for next time.

Something Different

Training my team on the beach at Pistol River.

This post is indeed “something different”—an indulgence, an experiment. A few days ago I was looking in my file of past published writing (I keep a copy of everything that gets published and usually a copy of everything I thought should have been published) and I found a series of poems about sled dogs and racing published in various sled dog journals (International Siberian Husky News, Northern Dog News, Mushing, Oregon Outdoors, 
Cascades East). As background, Anne and I raced a sled dog team of AKC registered Siberian huskies throughout the northwest for twelve years in the 1970s and 80s. Our kennel was as large as 14 dogs, but I raced in the three, five, or seven-dog classes and Anne raced in the three dog class.

The poems don’t pretend to be of high literary merit, but they were good enough to contribute to my writing being nominated for a national award from the Dog Writers’ Association. Nominated is the operative word. Since these poems have only been seen by a limited audience in the 1970s, I thought it was time to allow them a fresh viewing.

I’m sorry to say my library of dog photos is quite limited. For this post I’ve tried to use what images I have from those days and to fill in with others that will fit the poems. As this post is such a departure from my usual travel blog, comments on the poems, the photos, the concept, or for that matter any other subject (except the current American political scene) would be highly appreciated. 

PRECIPICE

Running through the dunes near Florence.

My leader looks back

from the brink of the dune

like a small child

about to cross a road:

apprehensive, 

excitement moving him nearer and nearer the edge.

I tell him, “Okay,”

and he leaps down the face. 

My voice echos

my own trepidation: 

fearful

of when I am unable to

provide the needed reassurance.

Tired dogs, Amorak and Myko.

SHEEP RUNNER

for Pete and Keno

Evil Eyes

The husky lays, eyes shut,

on his side at my feet. 

The rancher caught him, 

laid him down with a single shot

as he toyed with the freightened sheep.

“No, no,” I tell him, 

“It’s okay. You did

the right thing.

He was where he shouldn’t be.”

I hold inside the scream.

How he got out I haven’t figured.

That he did

his cold body attests.

I can’t say how long he was free,

but he paid dearly

whatever roaming he did.

It’s natural for a husky to run.

It’s natural for a husky to run

sheep.

He was shot.

Civilization seeks its pound of flesh.

“No, no, it’s okay.

If it happens again

do the same thing. 

Shoot.”

THE TRAIL

Waiting for our turn to run.

My team starting a seven mile race at Beaver Marsh.

The trail, 

packed hard by teams

that had passed before 

is crossed by myriad paths 

never covered by 

dog team or driver.

In a long flat meadow

the trail is crossed by

the tracks of a field mouse

which ends in a patch of snow

ruffled by the wings of an owl.

Around the bend

the packed trail

bisect dots and dashes

left by a coyote

with a hare fleeing before it:

the end must be guessed at.

On a ridge

the highway is

almost bare,

swept by the track 

of wind going south.

When the trail turns to dust

the sled tracks will have melted

and been blown away.

Only the occasional tracks

of mouse, owl, coyote, and hare 

will disturb the sweep of wind.

Darrell Stewart racing at Painted Hills.

Anne with the team at Beaver Marsh with Mt Thielsen in the background.

B-RRRR!

My team running across the lake at the Diamond Lake race.

get out of the truck

icy winds slap at me

ripping away warmth of the truck heater

hat pulled down gloves put on

get the dogs out of the truck

they like the cold

least they don’t mind

harnesses stiff from yesterday

struggle to get them on

ganglines unkink with static-like staccato

dogs harnessed hooked high on cold

team starts cold intensifies with speed

numbing cold

too cold

enjoy

SQUIRREL: After Being Run Over by a Dog Team in Training

Dave Hoiland (brother-in-law) runs one of my teams in Medford summer race.

“I was scuffling, shuffling in the forest duff

hunting for delectable edibles.

I was warm in my fine winter pelt;

dapper in the damp.

I knew the day was fine for frolic

with Jay and Junco.

I had a great game of car dodge going; 

could see a good ways away.

I heard the wheels a long way off;

could see it coming slowly.

I flit from behind tree to under bush,

from stump to ditch.

I waited until the last moment possible —

the thing across from me.

I dashed out to do the difficult ‘complete under’

so slowly was it going. 

I was in the road leaping to get under

just past the front. 

I was in mid-stride when the thing stopped,

started snarling and snapping.

I dodged teeth, feet, heavy boots, 

fled from fangs and flailing ropes.

I twirled and jumped, twisted and flew;

finally free to run.

I hid in a tree, heart in throat,

wet from mouthings.

I saw in the road masses of mouths, tails,

feet, hands, and boots, too.

I left them there, stomping and swearing;

trying to put it back together.

I think that next time I’ll look more carefully

at what comes down the road.

MEADOW

for Ian and Meadow

She lay in my arms; 

a quivering, frightened bundle,

hot as an August afternoon in Barstow, 

her breathing shallow and irregular, 

eyes glazed, fluttery, and caked at the edges.

It was only days ago

she ran hard in her traces

while the sickness raged unknown.

It was only weeks ago

she romped in summer fields

chasing tails and butterflies.

It was only months ago

she marched mile after mile, hill after hill,

pulling steady at my behest.

I cried
when winter came early this year
to the Meadow.

NEXT: Most likely something from Scotland.