Walking Through Forests Of Palm Tree Apartments
Today is day two of my first complete weekend off since very early November (perhaps even late October, not entirely sure) and, while I made a promise to myself to not waste anymore days off spacing out in front of the computer or television, I can't bring myself to feel bad about updating my LiveJournal. There's really no comparison between writing about what's been going on in my world and in my soul and shitting out witty statuses on Facebook or watching mini marathons of "Cheaters" or "The Steve Wilkos Show" on television. So here we are......
A while back, Missy was taking a training course, for her now defunct job, in Center City at Broad & Sansom. I remember the first time I picked her up I put the address in the GPS and thought to myself, "Holy crap, Center City is just over two miles away!", and I vowed to myself to take the walk someday. Well, despite John Fogerty's assertion that someday-e-ay never comes, yesterday was someday. A couple days previously I got a reflective, braided, non-retractable leash, and yesterday I suited Baby up and we made the trek. Woody is my best bud and seldom leaves my side...he's by me right now as I write this, and he was on my lap this morning as I read "The Lost Dogs", and kept looking back, wondering what was wrong...(more on that later...). And, as much as Woody loves his morning walks with Missy and the occasional walks to Girard Park a few blocks away, if past attempts at lengthy walks are any indication, I didn't think he'd dig a four plus miles wander into The City. Otis....now there was a hiking dog...he once did Lower (rhymes with Flower) Trail with me in it's 11.1 mile entirety. He would haved loved a four miler in The City. But, alas...
And then there's Baby. There are times when she has energy she doesn't know what to do with, much like Otis. So I took her. She positively loved it. As much as I enjoyed walking through The City, not as a tourist (despite my copious picture taking) but as a resident, my greatest pleasure came from seeing Baby interact with all the other dogs she met. In Huntingdon, you could walk for hours and you'd be lucky to run into one other dog. But yesterday....jesus, she must have met two dozen new dogs with what I can only assume were delectable smelling asses. The walk on the sidewalk was cool enough, but then I kind of accidentally found Rittenhouse Square, a decent sized park smack dab in the middle of The City. (Fairmount Park is considerably larger, but we would have to drive there.) I mean, I knew the park existed, I just didn't really know how to get there. Now that I do, we'll be going there much more often. The only down side to the walk was when I was texting Missy and telling her how much Baby and I were enjoying our walk, I heard a screech and a scream. When I looked up there was a bus parked halfway through an intersection, and an old lady laying in the street. As close as I can figure it, it was a near miss...because after a few minutes of "wits gathering" she got up and walked away with her companion (I'm guessing her daughter...). Still.....it was a bit unnerving.
A week or two ago I ordered and received "The Lost Dogs", the story of the rescue and rehabilitation of the dogs saved from Michael Vick. I refuse to call them the Vick dogs, because that implies continued ownership. Anyway, I finally decided to read it because I was assured that it is a book focused entirely (or at least 95%) on the efforts of the awesome men and women who saved these beautiful animals. I really didn't want to read something that spent more than a sentence trying to explain why Vick would think it was "ok" to do something like run a dog fighting operation. I didn't want to read about his childhood, his culture, or any abuse he may have suffered as a young man. In my mind, you lose the right to claim victim status when you yourself become a victimizer. Anyway.....I started to read this book at work, in the breakroom. First chapter described a dog chained to a car axle that was half buried in the ground (the axle, not the dog). Not the grizzliest of scenarios, but it still brought a tear to my eye and I decided not to read this book at work. Yesterday was busy with the walk and other activities, so I grabbed the book and a hot cup of coffee and made my second attempt at reading it this morning. After the briefest of chapters on Vick's background, there is a description of dog fighting in which one dog is chewing on another's head and it sounds "as if he is chewing on his knuckle bone". I've had to stop reading every couple of sentences so I can catch my breath and dry my eyes. You need to remember, I'm the kind of person who, as a kid, would watch nature documentaries about cheetahs and root for the gazelle. I've tried to rescue injured animals found in and alongside the road...and those SPCA commercials make me cry more than any fucking Nicholas Sparks book ever could. I understand the need for this chapter in the book...kind of hard to appreciate the work that went into the rehabilitation of the dogs unless you know the horrors from whence they came. But still....I'm having trouble. I've had this book for two weeks and I'm on page 16. I will finish it, though.......
A while back, Missy was taking a training course, for her now defunct job, in Center City at Broad & Sansom. I remember the first time I picked her up I put the address in the GPS and thought to myself, "Holy crap, Center City is just over two miles away!", and I vowed to myself to take the walk someday. Well, despite John Fogerty's assertion that someday-e-ay never comes, yesterday was someday. A couple days previously I got a reflective, braided, non-retractable leash, and yesterday I suited Baby up and we made the trek. Woody is my best bud and seldom leaves my side...he's by me right now as I write this, and he was on my lap this morning as I read "The Lost Dogs", and kept looking back, wondering what was wrong...(more on that later...). And, as much as Woody loves his morning walks with Missy and the occasional walks to Girard Park a few blocks away, if past attempts at lengthy walks are any indication, I didn't think he'd dig a four plus miles wander into The City. Otis....now there was a hiking dog...he once did Lower (rhymes with Flower) Trail with me in it's 11.1 mile entirety. He would haved loved a four miler in The City. But, alas...
And then there's Baby. There are times when she has energy she doesn't know what to do with, much like Otis. So I took her. She positively loved it. As much as I enjoyed walking through The City, not as a tourist (despite my copious picture taking) but as a resident, my greatest pleasure came from seeing Baby interact with all the other dogs she met. In Huntingdon, you could walk for hours and you'd be lucky to run into one other dog. But yesterday....jesus, she must have met two dozen new dogs with what I can only assume were delectable smelling asses. The walk on the sidewalk was cool enough, but then I kind of accidentally found Rittenhouse Square, a decent sized park smack dab in the middle of The City. (Fairmount Park is considerably larger, but we would have to drive there.) I mean, I knew the park existed, I just didn't really know how to get there. Now that I do, we'll be going there much more often. The only down side to the walk was when I was texting Missy and telling her how much Baby and I were enjoying our walk, I heard a screech and a scream. When I looked up there was a bus parked halfway through an intersection, and an old lady laying in the street. As close as I can figure it, it was a near miss...because after a few minutes of "wits gathering" she got up and walked away with her companion (I'm guessing her daughter...). Still.....it was a bit unnerving.
A week or two ago I ordered and received "The Lost Dogs", the story of the rescue and rehabilitation of the dogs saved from Michael Vick. I refuse to call them the Vick dogs, because that implies continued ownership. Anyway, I finally decided to read it because I was assured that it is a book focused entirely (or at least 95%) on the efforts of the awesome men and women who saved these beautiful animals. I really didn't want to read something that spent more than a sentence trying to explain why Vick would think it was "ok" to do something like run a dog fighting operation. I didn't want to read about his childhood, his culture, or any abuse he may have suffered as a young man. In my mind, you lose the right to claim victim status when you yourself become a victimizer. Anyway.....I started to read this book at work, in the breakroom. First chapter described a dog chained to a car axle that was half buried in the ground (the axle, not the dog). Not the grizzliest of scenarios, but it still brought a tear to my eye and I decided not to read this book at work. Yesterday was busy with the walk and other activities, so I grabbed the book and a hot cup of coffee and made my second attempt at reading it this morning. After the briefest of chapters on Vick's background, there is a description of dog fighting in which one dog is chewing on another's head and it sounds "as if he is chewing on his knuckle bone". I've had to stop reading every couple of sentences so I can catch my breath and dry my eyes. You need to remember, I'm the kind of person who, as a kid, would watch nature documentaries about cheetahs and root for the gazelle. I've tried to rescue injured animals found in and alongside the road...and those SPCA commercials make me cry more than any fucking Nicholas Sparks book ever could. I understand the need for this chapter in the book...kind of hard to appreciate the work that went into the rehabilitation of the dogs unless you know the horrors from whence they came. But still....I'm having trouble. I've had this book for two weeks and I'm on page 16. I will finish it, though.......