33 dogs

For more than a week, the Capt and I have been reporting for duty at the boatyard every morning, working on the Paint Job of the Decade. Originally our sailboat "Bliss" was hauled out for a bottom job, something that's routinely done every year or two, but then the Capt began experimenting with gelcoat, and before he knew it, he had painted the outside hull. So I began campaigning to have the topside done too. This is an old boat (1973), probably has never been repainted and is long overdue. We had always assumed it would cost us thousands of dollars, but it looks like if we are willing to do the work ourselves (who am I kidding, the Capt is doing the real work!) we can afford it. I can't wait to see her all finished.

But meanwhile, discouraging events were taking place at the Canine Refuge where I have been involved as a supporter and volunteer for the past five months. The snowbird support group has dissolved, as we knew it must when everybody headed back to the States and Canada for the summer. Nothing has developed to take its place. Staff has quit and one stalwart Mexican woman has taken up the slack, basically working a 24/7 schedule, caring for 29 rescue dogs, plus for the past two days there were four boarders. 

This morning I mucked out kennels with Juanita, and then walked three of the older dogs as best I could. (The one male, Feliz, is so strong I could only trot along behind him and try to keep up.) In just a week the littlest puppies are now on their feet and exploring, beginning to play, almost ready to be weaned. Their mother, Mama Lola, is so sick of them she tore up a corner of her kennel one day to escape. Now a new litter that came from a local orphanage, (appropriate since their mom apparently died),  is in the quarantine kennel. They range from a very rubust alpha male to two tiny black runts whose bones stick out.

These little sisters were scooped up from the path of an irrigation truck at an orange orchard near San Jose, and brought to the San Carlos Canine Refuge. They're about two months old, and have been given all their vaccinations and treatments, though they're still too young for neutering. They're both friendly and love attention. They look like they might have a bit of Boxer in their background.

My favorite, Sally, who had the broken leg, is now bouncing around as though she had springs in her feet. I've noticed at least three males have been cutting her out of her pack and chasing her around, and I'm wondering if she could actually be going into her first heat. Time for a visit to the vet, I think.

The good news is that sometimes the Internet helps in our efforts to find homes for these dogs. Sol, the little tick fever survivor that I wrote about on this blog, my Facebook page, the Refuge Facebook page and the local forum, has been whisked off to a new home in Colorado.

So, sometimes there's progress.

O, Say Can You See...

"We are all born for love...It is the principle of existence, and its only end."
–Benjamin Disraeli

Last year Sue, my friend in Oregon sent me a link to a webcam overlooking an urban nest of redtail hawks, which I revisited frequently as the nestlings hatched, grew and eventually, with some false starts, flew out into the world.

This year Sue has outdone herself, sharing a link to another webcam overlooking a family of bald eagles. The mother, in all her federal glory, presides over a vast nest that needs only some red, white and blue bunting. There are two fuzzy gray babies. You can just make them out, next to Mama's beak.

The eagle family appears on the the Washington State Dept. of Fish & Wildlife website.

Last year's webcam at KGW.com became active again March 28, when a pair of hawks built their nest on the fire escape of an office building in downtown Portland, apparently a favorite nesting spot. When the eggs finally hatched, revealing two cuddly white featherballs, the father showed up with a flowering weed in his beak. "Honey, you did great! I brought you some flowers."  The hatchlings' first breakfast: a yummy rat.

It's early to be thinking about Mother's Day, but when I watch these mother birds sitting on their nests and carrying back morsel after morsel of food, or a dog at the Refuge nursing her puppies, I think about how much love it takes to do such boring, tiresome work day after day, only to watch the results fly away with nary a "Thanks, Mom."

A Golden opportunity

Brandy is a big, sweet-natured Golden Retriever with a problem: his mistress, 92, is going into hospice and he is going to be homeless. Relatives of the owner are thinking of having him euthanized simply because none of them want him, and we want to do all we can to save him if possible.

He's 11 years old, but in very good health--no evidence of hip dysplasia--and has a sweet, playful and affectionate nature. Currently he has a yard to stay in, but his situation is not long-term and very soon he'll need a new home. He's had his summer haircut and grooming, has been well cared for, and he's happy indoors or outdoors. He has been with a doggy companion, but would be fine as an only dog as well.

For more information,  email kleonard01@cox.net. Brandy is not at the San Carlos Canine Refuge, which is full to capacity right now, so a couple of Refuge supporters are attempting to help him on our own.

Sol, the survivor

Sol is another rescued pup waiting for a home at San Carlos Canine Refuge.

When I first saw Sol, our groomer Karlee was using a device that looked like a plastic spoon with a "V" cut into the bowl, to remove what looked like hundreds of ticks from his hide. He lay placidly on the grooming table, staring into space. Someone had found him on a beach and brought him to us. Turns out he had a raging case of tick fever, and more than once in the ensuing weeks we thought we'd lost him.

Sol's all better now, except for a limp in one hind leg that started when he went out for a walk. Every time I visit him, he immediately rolls onto his back, stretches out and invites me to give him a good rub. His fur is long and silky rather than wooly, his tail feathery, and his face shows some shepherd characteristics, though he's not very big at six months old. A couple of days ago Ian, a 13-year-old who lives nearby,  came in and took a shine to Sol, and I was so happy to see that particular dog get some special attention. But Ian can't take Sol home, and will have to settle for walking him around the neighborhood.

We're thinking Sol would be happiest in a home with a fenced yard where he can play (but then, what dog wouldn't?) He's amiable and docile with all other dogs, with adults and children, and when barkfests start up he's never the instigator.

I used to always prefer the smaller breeds, the kind you can scoop up and hold in your lap. But Sol is one of the rescue dogs who has changed my attitude. With the right training and attention he could be a terrific best friend.

Sweet Sally's ready for a home

This puppy was given to the San Carlos Canine Refuge by a fellow who showed up with her at a beach party last month. She was covered in fleas, and shivering in fear and pain, with a broken hind leg. Apparently someone kicked her hard or hit her with a stick. Most of her brief life has been painful and uncomfortable, but that's all behind her now.

She was named after Sally, a Refuge volunteer who paid her vet bill. Her leg has mended and the hair is growing back, she's been treated and vaccinated, and she's turning out to be a mild-mannered, quiet and friendly little dog. I'm hoping to spend some time with her this week, getting her used to walking on a leash.


To help Sally find a home, or to learn more about the Refuge, please visit their website.

Let the Mystery Be

Most of the snowbirds in our town hastily take wing back to the States just about now, days before the Santa Semana crowds flock in for their revels. Yesterday was the last of the Friday jams I've participated in for the past six months. It was a day to share unfamiliar songs, and we struggled through some tunes we barely remembered or never heard before, laughing at our bloopers, but hopefully developing a few new favorites we can come back to in the fall. 

One song that pleased us all was written by Iris DeMent, called "Let the Mystery Be." When I practice alone, I put on Iris's YouTube version, shown here, and harmonize along with her. Her unique sound may be an acquired taste for those who prefer more dulcet tones in their female vocalists, but it has grown on me the same way Bob Dylan's did back in the sixties, and Tom Waits' did in the eighties. Not just a pretty voice. The author of the blog "Just a Song" describes it best:

"...it's as if she were channeling the souls of rural Southern women going right back to when the first Scots-Irish settlers first found their way into the hollers of the Appalachians. It's the voice of an old, old soul, full of the sorrows and the joys of women making the best of life with the bare minimum to work with."

The point Iris makes in this song may seem a bit oversimplified, but it's a good place to start.

It's easier to remember the lyrics of a song if it means something to me. And when I put my feelings into a song it's more of a joy to sing it. This particular one comes close to my own philosophy about religion. Religion has been on my mind  lately, maybe because we're close to Easter, maybe because of all the raging controversies regarding what constitutes salvation and righteousness.


Everybody's wonderin' what and where they all came from.
Everybody's worryin' 'bout where they're gonna go when the whole thing's done.
But no one knows for certain and so it's all the same to me.
I think I'll just let the mystery be.

Some say once you're gone you're gone forever, and some say you're gonna come back.
Some say you rest in the arms of the Saviour if in sinful ways you lack.
Some say that they're comin' back in a garden, bunch of carrots and little sweet peas.
I think I'll just let the mystery be.


Some say they're goin' to a place called Glory and I ain't saying it ain't a fact.
But I've heard that I'm on the road to purgatory and I don't like the sound of that.
Well, I believe in love and I live my life accordingly.
But I choose to let the mystery be.

Iris Dement, from the album "Infamous Angel" (1992)

The soloist in the orange tree

Lucky me. A mockingbird has chosen the top of the orange tree just outside our front door to stage his daily performances. He arrived with the beginning of spring, and has been so faithful in his concerts he must have a nest in that very tree or one nearby. I've decided to call him Caruso.

This morning I got him in my sights and captured him, to share with you. A tricky feat, zooming into the sun (which is why he's nearly a silhouette) and yet with enough detail that we can see on the orange just below him, a brave or stupid or suicidal caterpillar wending its way upward. It's like a scene from Animal Planet when the deer ambles foolishly toward the wolf's lair. "Stop!" you want to shout. "He doesn't see you yet! You can still get away!" But then, if singing is an honorable way to earn one's supper, Caruso deserves this one.

Mockingbirds, according to my brief research, don't compose their own tunes, so their renditions are what we music lovers call "covers" of other birds' songs. They can also imitate other animals, including amphibians. I've paid close enough attention to wonder if they have tiny recording devices in their brains because they seem to do the same routine, in the same sequence, over and over. This annoys some humans, but I find it amusing. Of course, he's not outside my bedroom window.

The nitty gritty

Our sailboat "Bliss" is in the workyard getting some badly needed repairs and a few cosmetic touch-ups. The Capt has been dutifully showing up daily to do his part, and now it's my turn to get involved. He feels I could do some sanding without causing too much damage, so a couple of days ago I donned my grubbies and reported for duty.

"Come to the Dark Side, Luke"

I'm hand-sanding, since I'm working on narrow wooden trim in the galley, where we don't want to kick up a lot of sawdust and incur extra cleanup. To avoid breathing what sawdust there is, I asked for a mask, and was provided with this serious piece of gear. After two hours in this little facial sauna I thought I'd done a pretty good job on the teak, but nooooo. It was going to require a lot more sanding.

Then the Capt told me I could take a break from sanding in the galley (wow, thanks!)..."and start on the wood in the cockpit." (Uh, OK)

The boys (& girls) in the band

Saturday's fundraiser for the Canine Refuge went better than expected, including the part where our ten-piece band, the Tecalai Toe Jammers, crowded onto the tiny stage and did nine songs. Six of us were in front, while four (including me) teetered on the back edge of the stage. There I am behind the guy in the baseball cap. Note to self: get a red t-shirt before next year.