sometimes it's just easier to make brownies out of a box

'high maintenance' can be divided into two camps; the 'i need a coach purse for my birthday/valentines'/christmas/halloween/pancake day' kind (which was the reassuring "good god, not me" mantra in the early stages of any relationship), versus the; 'i don't need expensive things, i'm simple/easygoing/thrifty/don't believe your credit card bill should reflect your commitment, instead i want you to pay attention to the tiny nuances of my personality and make something or do something that resonates with that so i will become more giddy than girl-with-brown-on-beige-accessory'.

aka; a lot of work.

and so my request for the first anniversary, was to go camping. and take the mountain bikes. and kayak. with both dogs.

why the hell anyone would want to leave their own, already paid for, climate controlled environment with all of the key amenities, for an over-priced permanently 70/21 degree room- even if it has a five star restaurant/bar/jacuzzi, when there are whole patches of dirt, zip up windows and metal toilets that require shoes to commute to at 3 in the morning is beyond me.



the 'totally-not-high-maintenance' control issues kicked in, in preparation for a weekend in the woods. thank god for amazon.com and 'how to camp with your canine' books, coleman's selection of clip on, magnetic tent lights, the arbitrary 'tree trolley' for wayward and disobedient pooches, and a made-out-of-ballistic-material 'modular hauler' to organize, by colour code, the campsite electrics, french press, canine accoutrements, and assortment of bungee cords. preparation and anticipation, as with most things in the life of an obsessive-compulsive, is key. i even called ahead to make sure that the camp site was "dog friendly".



we were effectively 'tailgating'-- overnight. it must be a cultural thing, but this was a new york city tenement of camp sites, minus the protest. as a child of the 80's, pitching a tent in the middle east meant there were no neighbours except the ones your parents brought for 'booze backup'. camping in dog friendly northern maine is all about sharing 100 square feet of dirt with homesteaders and their monogrammed bird baths.

i am more hirsute with my clothes on than off (and other gifts that come with canine cohabitation)

the 'barmy dog lady with no kids of her own' transformation is almost complete- minus the stuffed corpse of little buddy/bucky/bradie, circa. 1984 in repose, underfoot.



while there aren't swings, slides and merry-go-rounds to punt the poodles off of at the dog park, there is an endless supply of poo, mud pits, and bum holes to stimulate each sensory function. because dog owners ultimately share the same side of the crazy coin as their oft ridiculed feline fanatic cousins, which goes beyond playing dress up and naming them "napoleon" or "cappuccino". let's take "oxymoron" who is brought to the park for the requisite exercise and socialization, but then immediately admonished for acquiring a thick saliva/dirt crust as a result of engaging in aforementioned activities. last time i tried tiring myself out with something as taxing as running, it did in fact require a more significant form of ablutions than simply licking my feet clean. apparently it is more arduous to hose off a dog than it is to redecorate the living room.

admittedly the last thing anyone wants is notoriety for being responsible for "The Problem Pooch", however public displays of mounting, nipping and bodyslamming will guarantee immediate titleship. axel is two for three.



we sleep in a pile every night, and while the sheets smell of fabric softener, they are also coated in a fine sheen of drool.

choking the chicken

it is a natural, genetic and biologically driven instinct for all living things to engage in the occasional, disconcerting bout of behaviour, however, it is far more alarming to actually see them doing it, especially when you have a box seat view.

every weekend, axel gets a super concentrated round of hiking and socialization with 6 other dogs, all in varying degrees of age, size and hormone level. one of his contemporaries, a golden retriever prone to sporadic, yet highly focused episodes of humping, lives with a lovely, wholesome family who do good things for mother earth like drive eco-happy cars, grow salad and raise their own free range breakfast foods. their property also backs up onto the trail head.

despite a diet heretofore limited to dry food, AAA batteries, and sunglasses, the big yellow dog made an immediate and supersonic conversion to organic, atkins, and cannibal when their hapless foul pecked onto his gastric radar. meanwhile i was left chasing a feathery wake that rivaled the entrails of a queen sized duvet.

fortunately chickens are hard wired to "play dead" and labradors are designed with "soft jaws".



(afterglow)

lab sauvignon

on day two of torrential downpour doggie lockdown, while trying to exercise one's hyperactive pooch by doing stair repeats with a laser pointer, it is prudent not to hold a glass of wine in the other hand.



should have got the chocolate lab.