Gratitude. Giving back. Slow mo holidays. Happy Thanksgiving week.

‘Tis the season to take stock of all that we have - all that we are.

‘Tis the season of gratitude.

Sunday morning                                         Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

For the simple joys of life.

Sleeping in.

Snuggling up.

No politics. 

No agenda.

Slo mo Sundays.

Be fragile.

Be human.

Be dog-like.

Say “I love you.”

Better yet, show it.

Curl up.

Burrow under the covers.

Breath the same air.

Are we lucky to have each other, or what?

Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

In Oregon, we are thankful for the majesty of nature around us.

Grounding us.

Sharing forest secrets.      

River currents.

The journey.

Mountain hikes to panoramic views.

Elk, bear, eagle and quail commuting through the yard.

Though it's a big, busy, loud world out there, life begins and ends in moments like these -- quiet moments.

Moments between moments.

If we slow down and stop rushing from A to B.

If we listen to the quiet.

The call of the quail in the yard.

Fall hike in the Pacific NW. Doodle hunting for sticks!                      Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

We don't all speak the same language - or live in the same neighborhood. Some of us eat meat – some of us, seed.

Tia and Doodle - lion and lamb.          Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

But wherever in the world we are, we are neighbors.

Maybe even relatives - whatever our species.

We are all on this planet together.

We are here to blaze a trail – to help – to give what we can.

To share.

To help each other find our way.

To find the meaning of life.

Sometimes we get lost - and in being lost, we find a whole new journey.

Give thanks. Give back. It's that time of year.

Whatever causes are important to you, help them.  

Whatever lives you can touch – please do so.

Here are a few of the causes we give to - believe in. 

Hood River Rotary service project at Hood River Middle School 2016 - cleaning up the track. That's me, Barb, on the right - the girl.         Photo: Michael McElwee

Snow will be closing in soon.

There’s a turkey, giving his all for us.

There’s a moment- in the quiet-  when we feel completely alone – and that’s when we know how much we need each other.

It will be a long time before the renewal of spring.

There’s a guy in a red suit coming to town at some point.

I think he has a list...

Doodle's Saturday selfie                        Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Happy holidays!

Barb Ayers and fur friends.

The secret surf dog handshake. By 4th generation surf dog, doxie Doodle.

Dear Dog Diary:

Every single thing I’m gonna tell you really happened. Nothing’s made up. You couldn’t make this stuff up. What I didn’t see or live myself, I learned from my dog bro’s, my mom, my kitty sis or some other animal relative.  

I am Doodle, fourth generation Ayers family surf dog. The surf dog thing started long before me – almost 30 years ago - before dog surfing was even a sport – at Dog Beach in San Diego. Before surf dog contests were even invented.

Doxie Doodle here - Gen X of the Surf Dog Diaries. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

My dog mom Barb Ayers and my basset bro’s made that scene in So Cal and came home with prizes for dog surfing.

Our family surf dog hang 20 legacy was handed down, dog to dog – from Howdy to Elvis to Dude and to me. I came along in January 2012, the first doxie of the pack. I did my first surf dog contest a year later.

These are our Surf Dog Diaries, memoir stories - all real life, not fiction, not a novel - but totally novel. We are a pack of rescue dogs who found our way from sadness to surfing.

But Diary - you need to overlook my writing skills. Typing skills.

My toes are too pointy and hairy for typing. Lip flapping - talking - is for you dog people. I’m not a verbal guy. 

Cat threatens to take over the Dog Blog. HELP!!!! Photo (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

I speak with body. My spine. My nose. My actions. My heart.

I had a little help with the writing part.

Our surf dog story is about finding your way in a world that has totally changed.

About being changed.

Big, blaring cities with wall-to-wall houses, where no one knows each other any more.  That’s why we escaped to a dinky dog town in the Pacific Northwest.

Me on one of my favorite dog beaches in the Gorge. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

We moved from Dog Beach, California to Dog River, Oregon a decade ago.

Back in Cali, beaches crowded with too many towels and tourists. Houses three feet apart sell for a million bucks. The 3-feet-apart part is why everyone hangs at Dog Beach. It’s like San Diego’s national park for surfers, dogs and dog people. Home of Mother Ocean - our old friend.

Our other old friend, San Diego River, the first river of California, is now penned in, paved over - just a glinty tinkle along the I-8 freeway, with a trolley on top, on the way to the mall. River - she floods each year, stealing back parking spaces from Fashion Valley, on her way to Dog Beach. In San Diego, being one with nature meant watching River overflow in big rains – dumping yucky stuff into Ocean at our favorite beach.

Or going to that famous zoo or safari park my mom worked for. Or camping in the desert. Or escaping across the Mexico border, surfing in Baja – which is still sleepy and old school, how US beaches used to look.

Hang 70 - Surf Dog Diaries riders - and writers. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

That's when our pack started taking surfing safaris. And ended up in the Columbia Gorge National Scenic Area.

We love life in small town America - Hood River, Oregon. Mosier, White Salmon, Parkdale, Stevenson, and other dixky-doxie-sized towns in the Gorge.

So Cali’s - we love you guys, but there were just too many of you any more.

Along the way, by hanging 20 toes on the nose of a surfboard, we found love and joy and and home and family and meaning.

We are living proof that dogs and people rescue each other every day. Together, we ride the ups and downs, the waves of life. Together, we surf.

These are the secret Surf Dog Diaries. Moments between moments.

Melting hearts of grownups, who've outgrown the magic of life. That’s our #1 job as rescue dogs. As kids.

Inside all of that grownup human species tough talk, is a little puppy. Sometimes with all the talk, you people just miss out on the best parts of life. I’m pretty convinced that’s exactly why dogs don’t talk.

Copy editor Tia takes over. Things could get weird. Photo (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

We need each other - extroverts and introverts. People and puppies. Parents and kids. Windsurfers, surfers and SUPpers (stand up paddleboarders.) Grand dogs and seniors. “Domesticated” dogs, feral and wild child friends. People in small towns and big cities all over the world.

My thing is body language - not human blah blah blah words in the air.

Meaningful looks. Heavy sighs. Toes touching mom's on a surfboard ride.  A gentle lick on the hand when you need it most. Long leaners - your whole bod smashed against hers, solid and reliable. Thoughtful butt sniffing. Wild bunny chasing dreams on hardwood floors on a cold winter night. Camping snores in the middle of nowhere. Farts. Big dog hearts.

Somehow in our fam, that magically evolved into dogs hanging 20 toes on a surfboard together.

For years, I rode with my mom and my two dog bro’s - all four of us on board. Hang 70!

I am a carry on bag dog - flying through air - something none of my brothers could do.

I even tried surfing with a cat once. Well, that was just weird.

These are our stories.

Come on inside.

Circle around a couple of times - find just the right spot and plop down on the rug.  

Sit. Stay.

For the secret surf dog handshake.



Doodle