Feeling wistful. Sentimental. About life with dogs.

I’ve been feeling sentimental lately. Windsurfing season is back in the Gorge.

All those years - and trips - and dogs, starting in 1987. Then, my dogs and I took the plunge, and moved here, 12 years ago.

Sum- sum - summertime. Here it is, all over again! Time for windsurfing, BBQ’s, hiking, stand up paddle boarding and camping. As if for the first time, only way better. Because you have memories and moments. Like this one. And that one.

Then….

Howdy was Number One. My first surf dog. Circa 1998 on San Diego’s Mission Bay. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Two dog jibe - surf bassets #2 and #3 at Hood River Event Site, circa 2009. Photo (c): Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

And now….

Big Wind day at Mosier’s Rock Creek beach. Sailing over powered on a 3.2 last weekend. Wind is too big for Doodle, so he’s hanging on shore. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

My 4th surf dog, doxie Doodle, on a parade float honoring his windsurfing basset brothers. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Same place (Hood River.)

Different dog. Different day, different year.

Different rig - now, a Honda Element named Gidget, parks in the driveway. For decades, old Silver the Nissan Pathfinder took us all on so many grand adventures.

It’s not that moment after we came out of the frost and snow of winter into the joy and light of spring.

Now, after that annual rite, came a series of sun-drenched endless summer days. Days we windsurfers, standup paddle boarders, OC-6’ers and other outdoor dogs, live for - all year.

This season, and sun, make me thankful. For every moment and friendship and family moment along the way. Every life adventure - massive, or minuscule; glad or sad.

These moments between moments along the way.

Like going back home to San Diego and seeing mom and dad, now married nearly 65 years!!!

I love my folks. With Doodle, June 2019. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Dad had a rough year last year. We all did. Whatever life brings, we’re in it together.

Yep… older, greyer. This was 2 weeks ago. Still family. Always family. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Like old friends with old photo albums - like my old bestie, weather woman Pat Brown, back in San Diego.

Albums, you say? What the heck are those? With actual printed photos?

1991 - Howdy, my first basset, and my first tandem surf partner. Photo: (c) Pat Brown, DogDiary.org

Like this one….

Pat had a photo in her album of my first surf basset, Howdy Doody, back in Ocean Beach’s Dog Beach, right after I rescued him.

Of course we were both smiling.

Howdy went on to become Co-Chair of Ocean Beach Town Council’s Dog Beach Committee. We spent every moment at Dog Beach. Like all San Diego dog lovers!

Top pic: Howdy was a rogue runaway for years. He finally found himself through surfing. Bottom pic: Pat and I get photo bombed by Howdy. Photo: (c) Pat Brown, DogDiary.org

I’ll never forget the day my kitty adopted me, at San Diego County Animal Control. Of course, Pat was there, too.

Kihei and me, 1991. Photo: (c) Pat Brown, DogDiary.org

After that first shoulder mount by Kihei at the shelter, this became our normal way of hanging out.

Here’s a cat blog she later “wrote" about life with dogs in OB.

One dog and one cat later, Elvis, Howdy’s step son, picked out our next kitty. Of course, she wrote about life with dogs, too.

Three dogs later, Elvis and Dude picked out Doodle, a doxie at the shelter in Oregon.

He was destined to become a surf dog. He learned from the best - the basset brothers. He worked his way from the back of the board to the nose in record time.

Today, Doodle carries the name, and the heart, of Dude, basset #3 and Howdy Doody, numero uno.

My 3 sons sidewalk surf, after Doodle came to town in 2012. Photo (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Nature renews - every day. We can, too.

Sunrise - sunset. Here’s a look at the remarkable syncline on our front porch today in Mosier:

And here’s that view on a day that seemed so terribly soft-focus: the morning after Elvis crossed the rainbow bridge.

One month later, here in Mosier we had the Oil Train derailment. That winter was Snowmeggadon. Then Dude died. A year later, the Eagle Creek Fire torched out beautiful Columbia River Gorge. What a crappy year.

I remember when we first moved here to the Gorge - building the dog run was my first home improvement project. Elvis and Dude cemented the deal, with their paws - to make this new place feel like home:

Elvis’ paw prints on the left ; Dude’s on the right. This morning. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

This morning, sprinklers in the yard filled up those empty paws on the porch - of my dearly departed basset sons.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, I am a little teary. My face is happy/sad - I look just like a basset hound.

Wistful moments add depth to life - and brightness to sunny days.

Those are big shoes to fill - Elvis, surf basset #2. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

These are moments and memories I’d never give back.

These are paw prints on our souls. Of those, the few, who help us through the tougher times.

Of those who sometimes make life tough, when they go away.

Hold close to those, to them, to these.

MosierFest was yesterday in our tiny town - an all-day celebration. As renowned blues performer Curtis Salgado sang, “I Want My Dog To Live Longer."

Oh yes I do.

Funny that he sang that song the same day I was already feeling it.

Then again, all of us who love dogs, feel it.

OK, OK - all you kitties - I’m sure he was singing for you, too.

Together, forever.

People and pets. One family. One species.

Sharing the ups and downs - the ride of life.

- Barb and Doodle Ayers

It's Groundhog Day! No more shadow hanging over my doxie. After surgery, the elephant in the room is gone! Part 2

A miniseries, part 2

In part 1, last week: After that year of loss, I had one dog left. My doxie, Doodle. Next thing you know, an elephant grew on his head. A fast-growing tumor. At Christmas.

So, after some denial and procrastination…

knowing full well I had to be a grown up - and actually grow up….

I had the elephant in the room surgically removed.

From my doxie’s head.

It was last January and the vet cut it off of, and out of - my dinky doxie.

My snicker doodle poodle.

Doodle with a head zipper, post surgery. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

My punkin’.

My nugget.

My long, low wiener with the thin, glossy red carpet on his back.

Glistening, expressive eyes.

The only dog I have left this year, after the worst of all my 50+ years on Planet Earth. 

Doodle is the only dog to wrap his paws around my neck, and lean in close as if to whisper some secret-something as I’m propped up in bed. I’m sipping coffee and fiddling around on the laptop, trying to wake up, trying to write our dog blog.

And then, BOOM! The magical moment – the dog kid hug!

The most wonderful way to start your day.

Life begins again.

Doxification!

The cat should be in charge.

Tia stands guard over Doodle, post surgery. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Tia presides over the bed and sees those hugs – “so un couth – so un-catty! “

But she’s cool. And warm. She’s a soft and fuzzy presence in our lives.

She does the full-body crush – “just a little pressure,” but in a good way.

Her bone-shaking bass audio, the kitty vibro-purr leaf blower- passing- snow- blower- in- the- night.

She is our anchor. She took over that role after Elvis passed away.

What happened to the scaredy cat, so terrified when I brought her home from the rescue place? It took her two full years to get used to our house.

Now she’s head dudette of the family.

Maybe she would have booked the doxie brain surgery much sooner that I did.

Not, like me, bag him up and take him on a plane under the seat back to our old hometown at Christmas to visit the human family, like nothing was wrong with his head – or mine.

What am I, the middle-aged, middle child here? Non-Alpha in my own home?

Step away from the doxie.

The cat of the house is in charge.

Doodle and the cone. Looking ahead…. Photo:(c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

The second elephant in the room - was mine

The other elephant, the biopsy of the first, took its toll on me while we waited to hear if that grey tough-skinned hard knob of a growth on his head – the brain elephant - was malignant.

Or had grown through his tiny skull and thin skin… into his actual grey matter.

They say, always, ALWAYS get growths removed from the head of your dog quickly – since it can so easily grow into the skull and all the good stuff beyond. I read it on the Internet, so it must be true.

I didn’t need that Internet fact in my own brain, that’s for sure. That’s why I froze.

I’m not proud of that, mind you.

In theory, I am supposed to be good in emergencies, what with the nickname Disaster Girl and all.

I am that person you, and your County, hopes you never need. Because that means the worst possible thing has happened to your community. I am Emergency Manager for Hood River County.

Which is a misnomer, really; I don’t do emergencies – only disasters.

Clearly I suck at emergencies. Not cool-headed, cool-skinned – reptilian enough.

Cops and fire guys and 911 dispatchers I work with, easily juggle DV (domestic violence,) code 3 (lights and siren) fire and police emergencies, high speed chases, meth heads and MVC’s (multi vehicle crashes) while nibbling chocolate chip cookies and texting their friends.

Not me! I am a basset. Soft and fuzzy.

But, make no mistake, I can ride the ups and downs - I am a surf dog. I managed the Hood River County Emergency Operations Center (EOC) for a month during the Eagle Creek Fire. Together with so many dedicated people, we rode that mother of a fire, until it dwindled out.

The big C… … so common in our lives. In dog life.

Why is that and can it please just stop?

Groundhog Day… the chance to start over. Will we emerge victorious?

Love so pure and easy and free, from my doxie boy. Who was, for a while, my Elephant Man.

I was crushed by doubt and fear.

I was clingy through stitches and waiting periods.

Clinging to hope.

Asking for life to go easy on us.

Praying like life depended on it. Oh, that’s right – it did.

Praying that even if it was originally malignant, the great life force in the sky would quite simply change those biopsy results, change my doxies’ fate - and return a happy ending instead.

The 2nd elephant in the room was the biopsy.

The longest 10 days in the history of the planet while I waited for that elephant to land.

Or sit and stay, like a dog. 

Or go.

That shrill phone call of dread…  from the vet.

With biopsy results.

(continued next week)

Surf dog secret spot: camping the redwood coast

Cedar scent in my tent. Soft and spongy soil. Rhythmic breath, deep basset baritone. Elvis, snoring louder than anyone ever should. Sawing logs in the redwood forest.

          He ain’t nothing but a hound dog.

Mouth agape, grinning about some really great inside joke that only basset hounds know. He was a yard sale. Sprawled all over the place. Dwarf two-inch legs jutting up to the sky, like four posts of a billboard promoting dogs on vacation. I wish I could sleep like – live like -- that.

          Let it all go, his body said.

Sun coming up, searing a laser hot slice of orange glow through turquoise tent. Snuggled up to Elvis, the king of camping, was his best bud, Dude. The basset/beagle, a bagel, was spooning Elvis, quietly snoring with a peaceful baby face. Dude released himself to the universe. The forest.

            Let it all go.

Like a sweet little basset boy that finally found home. In a Coleman tent that rattled in the ocean breeze.

Wait, did someone say ocean?

           Barrroooooooo!

Right inside the tent, with redwood air and basset hounds sawing logs, was the scent of the sea, the rhythm of Mother Ocean.

You can smell her from the forest, few places on Earth – here in the California redwoods. Here in No Cal, two hundred year old trees hang out with their next door neighbors, sandy beaches. You never see that in So Cal, where we once lived.

Two dudes at the overlook on the redwood coast.   Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Here, the forest and the ferns and the cliffs and the mist…. Here, there are so fewer people than So Cal - the way nature intended.

This is the real deal. A surf dog secret spot. That view of the redwood coast, near the Oregon border, will change your life. If you let it.

Elvis lumbered out, ahead of us on the trail. And stood, statuesque, on the shoreline bluff. Misty filtered morning light, deep basset hound thoughts.

Mesmerizing waves, dancing to shore. Round black rocks, rocking back and forth, back and forth in the tide, making music.

Elvis, thoughtful. Gazing out at the future ahead.

I loved that about him- the effortless ability to sum it all up in the fewest words possible.

= Flashbacks with Dude n Elvis. I miss my old boys! =