Eventually, It Happens

Ultra trail runner Micah True lost in New Mexico wilderness. 

Is is wrong of me to be glad that at least his dog is safe? 

I hope they find Mr. True soon.
Alive and kicking, because he's a pretty cool dude.

Da Na Na Na Na Na Na Na

You ever get one of those birthday cards that say something along the lines of, "I got you a present, but it wouldn't fit inside this card?" Well, Boxer, this is a version of that card. "I got you a present. In my head. And am sending you its virtual version."

Also . . . 

 As well as . . .

 (the fondant shot glasses are probably a wee bit gross, though)

* * *

So come on, Party People, tell me, what one thing would you buy Miz Boxer for her birthday today?

In the Air

What songs most remind you of summer?

Haiku Monday: THE EGG

Targeted canine.

Cannot miss that head. Bully?

Only in its name.

* * * 

Our host this week is last week's winner, Serendipity. Head on over to her place to see what's cooking in the haiku pot.

New Neighbors

I live in a strange neighborhood. Because New Mexico rarely meets an architectural zoning law with any consistency, I am surrounded by homes that run the gamut from million-dollar Taco Bell Mansions to properties on which their long-time landowners stubbornly cling to acres of cobbled together pre-fabs, trailers, and busted up barns and outbuildings.

More disturbing, however, is the tendency of these folks to play what I call musical canine chairs. Because I do a lot of running, I'm well-acquainted with the furry beasties that reside behind my neighborhood's fences. And those who regularly jump them, like Axl, a good-natured hulk of a Malamute who, if he sees me, jumps his bounds in a single leap and hitches along for the duration, his tongue lolling out in sheer joy because, well, that dog was born to run. He may lumber on ahead a few paces, but he will never leave me entirely. He is a dog impossible to shake, so when I'm done, I call the number on his tag and tell his owner that Axl is out front of my gate, come get him. And his owner does, apologizing profusely, but I don't mind. I have half a mind to ask if I can have Axl, I love him that much.

But a good percentage of my neighborhood dogs are here today, gone tomorrow, replaced with something else. It's so odd. Surely, not everyone is involved in fostering? Nor can they be so incapable of training their animals that they just keep trying different ones on for size until something clicks? I don't get it. I can count on one hand the number of households whose doggie denizens have remained the same for years. The rest are a revolving door of breeds. Not added, mind you, but substituted.

Take these fellers. For several years, the only dog who resided behind this fence was a spunky yellow Lab. Then came a Border Collie, who I last saw just last week. Now THESE dudes, two Akita-looking things (Troll?) with bad attitudes. Lab and Border Collie nowhere to be seen.

If I give you a snack, will you promise not to take my hand off?

Stones Like A Rosary

Of all the saints that populate the Catholic pantheon, my favorite is St. Teresa of Avila. Because she was kind of nuts and because I have always thought that had I been born in 16th century Spain with little options, I would have established a rockin' order of nuns, too. With the exception of not getting to dilly dally around with cute boys, there is a lot to recommend the life.

And I certainly understand the ecstasy that lies behind agony, as well as the devotions of silence. Which is why my church is outside, in the mountains. Can God hear me there? Probably. Although I think he's getting a little tired of me huffing and puffing his name in vain.

Geneti-Link

I took my niece to a doctor's appointment the other day (on occasion, along with Aunt Moi the Buyer of All Things Cool, I also get to be Aunt Moi, Chauffeur).

In the elevator up from the parking garage, she remarked: "I hope they have good magazines. It's the worst, having to wait forever and all they have are golf magazines and Jehovah's Witness pamphlets."

"What do you consider 'good magazines'?" I asked.

"Like, you know, celebrity gossip magazines. All the stuff you shouldn't read but want to anyway but are too embarrassed to buy and bring home."

Oh, stop. You know you would have fought her for the People, too.