From an elderly gentleman I stopped to chat with while we were both walking our dogs—his a bouncy, white toy poodle named Abby—on Ralston Creek Trail, which winds through our neighborhood:

Watching the dogs excitedly sniffing each other and the fascinating-to-dogs-only smells around them, he gestured at the trail and said, "Yup, this is Abby's Information Highway."

Saturday afternoon, we headed back down to the National Western Stock Show to watch the "Stock Dog Trials (Intermediate Sheep)." We'd never seen herding dogs in action, except for one late fall afternoon when a young Merlin, our first Bouvier des Flandres, tried to round up a flock of Canadian geese.

"Intermediate" was a gentle overstatement of the herding capabilities of most of the border collies in this round of trials, which involved three sheep, one dog, and one dog owner in a large arena. Each dog had to herd the sheep through a gate, around a post, and into a pen in four minutes or less, following the voice, whistle, and/or hand commands of its owner.

We watched the competition for two hours, and perhaps two dogs made it through the entire sequence. Many more were DQ'd for biting the sheep; as the announcer commented, it's pretty hard to claim innocence with a hunk of wool hanging out of your dog's mouth. To be fair, though, some of the sheep trios sent into the arena were more sheeplike than others, i.e., they huddled and ran together as a 12-legged unit, making them easier to herd. One collie drew a group of sheep that included an animal with an independent streak. This particular sheep kept running off in an entirely different direction than the other two, leaving the young collie clearly flummoxed.

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On this final weekend of the show, the traditional ranchers had departed with their cattle, leaving the stockyards to specialty stock: Miniature Herefords, Texas Longhorns, Scottish Highland cattle, and Tibetan yaks.

The Miniature Herefords looked just like their full-size counterparts. The Texas Longhorns were impressive, but ill-tempered: One stuck his head through a slat in his pen and butted me with one of his horns while I was taking pictures. (I couldn't help but wonder, as Carrie Bradshaw would say, if that was karmic payback for all the mean things I've said about a certain Texan over the past eight years.)

The Scottish Highland cattle (affectionately known as "Highland coos", "shaggy coos", "toffee coos", or "hairy coos" in parts of Scotland*) appropriately bore the red hair of their native countrymen.


But it was the Tibetan yaks that I fell in love with. Smaller than wild yaks, these domesticated animals are, one owner told me, mellow and friendly. They're so sweet, in fact, that many people keep them as "pasture pets." The adults are imposing and exotic looking.


If I had the space and the money for a "pasture pet," I would have adopted the four-month-old yak on the right, who had the curly, shaggy coat and shoe-button eyes of my Bouviers, and the calm, cheerful demeanor of the Dalai Lama.

* Wikipedia

My brain finally clicked on why this pair in the shelter look so familiar. Rascal and Semoran are living, breathing, snuffling versions of Snowy, companion to Tintin, the most beloved of Belgian comic strip characters. 2007 was the 100th anniversary of the birth of Hergé, Tintin's creator, and images of the boy and his faithful dog were even more ubiquitous in Brussels than usual.

Mark Doty
from Dog Years

At 12 years and 2 months, Hana passed her "senior dog check-up" today with flying colors. The worrisome lump above her ribs proved to be a benign tumor when aspirated. The vet fully expects Hana to live well beyond the average lifespan for Labs, which happens to be (gulp) 12.

In an attempt to curb my election anxiety ("They've stolen it before, they can steal it again"), I'm planning to spend part of the day with the pit bulls at the shelter where I volunteer. My job there is "dog enrichment," which means taking individual dogs outside to run, chase balls, and exchange love--I give them belly rubs, they give me kisses.

Although Sarah Palin has given pit bulls an even worse rep than they already had, most of them are terrific dogs--highly intelligent, athletic, and, unlike, say, some of the herding breeds, really attuned to humans. I have a huge crush on one of the pits, Jenkins, who possesses a temperament that can only be described as merry ("cheerful, joyous, uninhibited enjoyment of frolic or festivity").

With luck, by the time the election results come rolling in, I'll be feeling merry, too.

Photo: TMAC

August 16, I-25 between Denver and Loveland:
Two days of precipitation and falling temperatures
led to fresh snow in the Rockies.

This little pug mix has the worst underbite I've ever seen--
he looks this way even with his mouth closed.
Because he's a dog, his looks don't get in the way of his stellar personality.
Humans should be so lucky.
(Photo: TMAC)

A new puppy recently moved in next door. Izzie is a goldendoodle (Golden Retriever/Poodle mix), whose bright blue, intelligent eyes and tousled, pale coat distract you from the fact that she's shredding your shoelaces while you're chatting with Tom and Melissa, her owners.

Having a puppy nearby really brings home how old Hana is (12 in September). I can't remember the last time I saw her run; she doesn't even chase the backyard squirrels, preferring to just watch them run up and down the fence. Getting to a standing position in the morning is a struggle that 500 mg of glucosamine a day doesn't make any easier. Other than her twice daily walks, which we take at her slow pace, she now spends most of her life sleeping.

Although some days (including a couple of scary ones last week) it seems as though walking around the block is too much for her, Hana loves to go hiking in the mountains, as we did Saturday near Golden. She insists on being at the head of our little group. When we stop for a water break, she quickly slurps the water in her little metal bowl and then stands impatiently waiting for us to finish drinking. Hana hates to be picked up, but when the trail became more of a boulder field than a path, she accepted tush boosts from me and let Jim lift her from a boulder that was too steep for her to scramble down.


After the hike, she joined us for a beer on the patio of the Golden City Brewery, snoozing in the shade before the bar's 4 p.m. dog curfew. We're trying to treasure such moments with this lovely animal, because we know that there may not be many more.


And on an unrelated, Wolverine-centric note:

As we were approaching Golden, we spotted a huge, block "M" on a hillside near town.


"Wow, look at that, another UM fan lives out here," we said to each other, adding, "Go Blue!" It took us a few hours to realize that the "M" was for the Colorado School of Mines, which is located in Golden. Thank God Kevin and Anne, who are Mines alumni, were far away in Brussels and couldn't knock our Maize and Blue heads together . . .

BTW, the yellow (Maize?) and white specks in the picture are parasailors.

After yesterday, though, I'm feeling very tentative about Colorado canines. On our afternoon walk, Hana was attacked by a huge Rottweiler. The dog, whose leash was held by a small girl, was in its owner's front yard as we passed by on our evening walk. When the dog saw Hana, he pulled over the little girl (fortunately, she was on the grass). She let go of his leash, and the dog charged Hana with fangs bared and grabbed her. It was like a horror movie; I couldn't get her away from him.

After what felt like five minutes, but was probably a lot less, the owner came out and collared the Rottweiler. He offered to pay the vet bill for any injuries, but didn't apologize. In shock, I said that I'd have to take Hana home to look for puncture wounds.

When we stopped back at the Rottweiler's house on the way to the vet--Hana had a deep puncture wound on her spine--the owner still didn't apologize, but went on and on about how this had never happened before, how his dog always got along with people and other dogs, blah, blah, blah.

I can never walk that route again. For the first time in my life, I'm scared of a dog.