our becky

We usually try to keep things on a positive note here at We Went West, but on December 29, 2014, we lost our crazy dog, Becky, to the decline of old age.  She had been a part of our lives for more than eleven years and I'd like to tell you a little about her.

Her shelter portrait (2003)

When we adopted Becky from the animal refuge league in October 2003, we had been without a dog for just three months, since H's dog, Yukon, had died that summer.  H couldn't stand being dog-less any longer so he and our friend Cindy found Becky.  He and I went to see her the next day and that afternoon I brought her home.  She had been picked up in West Virginia as a stray and had languished in a pound down there all summer before being driven to Maine by a rescue group; we took her home after only three days in the Maine shelter.  At first she was timid, very quiet and meek, and afraid to walk through doorways.

Fishing on Twitchell Pond, Maine (2007)

But she was immediately comfortable in jumping up on the couches and beds (which we did not discourage, big softies that we are) and soon came out of her shell, racing up and down the upstairs hallway and both singing and dancing for her food.  When we took her to the vet's for the first time, she was calm and quiet, lying down when not being examined and unflinching when she got shots.  We asked the vet what breed(s) she might be and he replied that she was a true Heinz 57 mutt - any and all breeds.  I always described her as looking like a big, fat fox with pretty eyeliner eyes.

Driving out to Utah (2009)

Food was a huge part of Becky's life, we assumed because she'd been scrounging on her own for however long as a stray.  She was never fussy about her dry dog food and hoovered it up quickly.  She was a shameless beggar for people food too and would eat just about anything: cheese, bananas, apples, carrots, broccoli, lettuce, green beans.  She would eat blueberries and blackberries right off the bushes, delicately wrinkling her lips back to pluck each individual berry off with her front teeth.  I once left her in the car while unloading groceries and came back out to find that she'd eaten half a cantaloupe - gnawed right through the rind and ate it.  (I didn't leave her alone in the car with groceries again after that.)

Keeping track of all the toys (2009)

Because she was so motivated by food, I thought she would be a good candidate for obedience classes; she learned quickly - cheese! - but since I didn't keep up with the practicing, she only retained "sit" and "shake."  Oh, she knew her name all right - she just didn't like to answer to it.  She was smart enough to pick up on commonly-used phrases too, like "Do you want to go outside?", "Do you want to go for a car ride?", "Who's that?" (to get her to run to the window and bark at dogs walking by) and "You're staying."

Of course our dog likes beer (2009)

By and large car rides were Becky's very favorite thing.  She didn't much like being left at home alone, although she never chewed anything, preferring to pout on the bed instead, but being left in the car for hours on end was never an issue.  In the winter she would go to work with H, curling up on the front seat of his truck for the workday: he would let her out and give her water at lunchtime and then she would curl right back up for the afternoon.  One Easter in Maine we drove up to go skiing (and she slept in the truck); then we stopped in at the brewpub for a beer (and she slept in the truck); then we drove to my uncle's house for dinner (and she slept in the truck); and then we drove home - nearly fourteen hours in the truck, punctuated by breaks.  We always figured that she thought we might not come back if we left her at the house but for some reason was confident of our return if she was in a vehicle.  When we drove out to Utah in 2009, she couldn't have been happier: three long days in the truck with both of us with her.

Golden Spike National Historic Site (2010)

Becky did have her issues, most of them stemming from her early West Virginia days, about which we had no information.  She did not like other dogs and would try to fight with them, with the lone exception of my parents' big Italian spinone, Ernie, who was a big galoot, happy to let her be in charge.  Strangers made her nervous, as did children, and she was completely terrified of thunder, gunshots and fireworks.  We think she might have been shot at one time: there was a hard, BB-sized lump in one of her back legs - that would make anyone scared of loud, sharp noises.  Becky was quirky too.  She didn't like having her picture taken at all.  She didn't like to snuggle but always wanted everyone to be in the same room.  She hated it if we were outdoors without her, but was a drama queen if it was too hot outside.  She didn't like the rain, didn't like getting her feet wet and hated swimming, but she loved fishing with H and would jump into the water to try to grab any fish that he reeled in.  The fishing thing was hilarious: she would sit on the dock for hours with H, attentively watching every cast, beside herself with excitement when there was a fish on the line.

Food! (2011)

About a year ago, Becky started to decline, many of her usual behaviors changing.  She went deaf (which was great with respect to Utah's predilection for thunderstorms and fireworks).  Starting in March, she stopped begging for people food and started getting picky.  We worked our way through numerous brands of dry and wet dog food as she first accepted and then refused each one; by this fall she was only picking at grilled chicken and canned tuna fish and she lost a lot of weight.  She had to have a couple of teeth pulled in August and never really bounced back that.  Her fur didn't grow in as thickly after her summer haircut and she actively sought out warmth: we would tie her out in the yard and she would bake herself in the hot Utah sun.  She walked more and more slowly and stiffly, staggering a little.  She could still manage to jump up on the couches and beds - and now would cuddle up with us, under the blankets if at all possible - but she teetered when she stood still, sometimes tipping over.  She would stop sometimes and just stare at the wall for a minute or so, blanking out in the middle of whatever it was she had started to do.  She would try to make a nest out of blankets and pillows and get so frustrated that she'd cry piteously until one of us went and got her.  She slept nearly all the time and took a long time waking up if she didn't do it herself. 

Uintas camping (2012)

In December, we had to talk about what we were going to do and when we were going to do it.  Becky wasn't herself and she was only continuing to deteriorate.  We didn't want to let her go but didn't want her to ever be in pain.  We made the appointment for the Monday after Christmas.  That weekend we spent entirely with her, despite the snow nuking down in the Wasatch mountains, because we didn't want her to be alone, not for a minute.  She was restless, only settling when she was right next to one of us.  I spent hours with her pulled on my lap - our old dog, who never before liked to snuggle - sleeping with her head on my chest and my arms locked around her.

Walking in Millcreek Canyon (2012)

So on that Monday we took her back to the kind vet who had helped with her dental surgery this past August.  We held her and patted her and touched her fur, and told her what a good dog she was.  And then she was gone.

Walking in City Creek Canyon (2013)

It isn't fair that doing the right thing hurts so much.  It isn't fair that dogs live such short lives.  But those of us who love dogs, and who have dogs who love us, will always take the heartbreak that comes with the joy.  When we rescued Becky, we promised to love her, to feed her, to keep her warm and safe, and to give her as many walks and car rides as we could.  We did all that.  We just couldn't keep her from getting old.  She was a good girl, a funny dog, and we miss her terribly.

In the car (2014)

buttoned up

The little storm that came through (also known as the biggest storm of the season thus far) snowed for Friday night through most of Saturday, leaving a storm total of sixteen inches up at Alta.  It's a start.  We're already behind historical total-wise for the date, but it's a start.  Because the storm went through most of Saturday, we weren't inclined to get out and tromp around in it; because of the new snow the storm left behind, we didn't go out and tromp around Sunday either, despite the clear skies - we struggle on our snowshoes because there's so much side-hill hiking out here.  The lower trails would be super wet if they weren't snowy ... so we decided to hang out at the house.  I could only do laundry for so long so I needed a project.

Note the instruction manual at the ready 

Our dog Becky is getting pretty old.  We adopted her as a young adult stray and we don't know exactly how old she is, but we think she's probably about fourteen.  She had to have some dental surgery this summer - two teeth pulled and the rest cleaned - and that seemed to take a lot out of her.  She still eats, although she won't eat anything but tuna or grilled chicken; she still jumps up on the couches and bed; she still takes short walks but she's a little wobbly; she sleeps a lot.  And her fur is not quite as thick as it used to be.  I'd looked around at some stores and hated all of them (pink or froufrou or just plain hideous) - so I decided to make her a coat.

I definitely don't got cutting skillz

On Saturday, I picked up a flannel shirt and a chamois shirt at Goodwill.  Following the instructions I found here and here, I cut out a pattern on craft paper and then cut out the pieces.  Let me be clear: this took me a really long time.  I don't have good fabric shears and the edges were ragged; when I laid the lining (orange chamois) on the outside piece (blue plaid flannel), they only just barely lined up.  I am NOT a seamstress.

That looks like it could hold together

On Sunday, I pinned the coat body and the belly strap pieces together and prepared to sew.  I have a Singer Featherweight 221 sewing machine that my mom gave me.  I think it's a 1954 - I know it's an antique at this point.  It is amazingly good shape and, despite the fact that I don't know at all what I'm doing, works really well.  (Also amazingly, the sewing machine still has its instruction manual, without which I would be lost.)  After some false starts (i.e., it helps if you put the feeder foot down on the material before attempting to sew - who knew?), I stitched the coat body and the belly straps together.  I turned the pieces rights side out, topstitched the body and attached the belly straps, then put on button/rudimentary buttonholes.

Good sniffs

Incredibly, it (sort of) fit the dog, especially after I put in a couple of pleats on the sides to snug it in.  She wasn't psyched about wearing it but I think she forgot about it after we got into our little walk.  The temperature was 27 F in the sun and that silly coat must have felt good.  Martha Stewart doesn't have to worry about any competition from me over here, but I still felt a tiny little bit of pride that I actually accomplished what I set out to do.  And I have a HUGE amount of respect for those of you out there who are good with fabric - kudos to you.

camping, abbreviated

Unbelievably, it's been since May 2013 since we went camping.  We had hoped to go earlier this summer but got rained out; we were determined to go back to the Uintas this September.  Plus, B is getting old and a bit rickety: at age 14+ she may not have too many more opportunities to go camping and since she seemed to enjoy it in 2012, we wanted to get her up into the Uintas and fishing at least one more time.  After MTBing at Park City last Saturday, we swung by Fish Tech to re-up our fishing licenses and ask what was biting in Mirror Lake these days (red ant flies was their answer), and then spent the afternoon packing and getting organized.  When we got the truck loaded on Sunday morning it looked like we were going to be gone a week, not a couple of days.  With B settled onto the front seat between us, head on H's lap and already asleep before we'd gotten out of the driveway, we were off.

Shady Dell campsite #9

Since it was a Sunday afternoon well after Labor Day, we figured we wouldn't have too much trouble finding an available campsite.  To our surprise, Cobblerest CG was closed for the season so we ended up at Shady Dell.  There was someone just leaving the one site we were coveting, so we circled around and lurked unobtrusively until they took off.  Once in there, #9 was perfect: sunny, with trees between us and the drive to provide privacy, and just steps to a little brook.  As we set up camp, B roamed around, not quite sure of what was going on at first, and then settling down enough to dig a hole and chew on a stick or two.  She amazed both of us when, after baking in the sun for a while, she voluntarily walked into the brook and laid down to cool off - this from a dog who doesn't like to get her feet wet when the neighbors' sprinklers are running during our morning walks.

Cooling off in a Provo River tributary

We spent a lazy afternoon hanging around camp.  B can't go on long walks anymore so we just explored the nearby "Fairy Forest" a bit, read and drank some beers while the sun was still above the mountains.  As evening fell, H made a very nice fire - one match and no lighter fluid - and made us dinner: steak, onions and broccoli served over couscous.  We kept an anxious eye on the weather, especially as it clouded up right after dinner.  But once darkness set in, the clouds dissipated and the nighttime sky was spectacular with stars.  When it was time for bed, we put B in the truck and I bundled up, wearing two pairs of wool socks and my fleece gloves - the last two times I went camping, I got very cold overnight - but I needn't have worried as it didn't get nearly as cold as before (although H still commented that we were probably pushing the boundaries of a "3-season" tent).

A landlocked reef of river rocks near our campsite

Morning was gorgeous, with bright sun peeking over the mountains.  We startled a couple of mule deer and ate our breakfast of french toast, sausage and instant coffee, then loaded up to take B fishing at Mirror Lake.  We all climbed in the truck, H turned the key ... and the truck wouldn't start.  Or rather, it sluggishly started and then died.  We looked at each other in mild panic and he tried again.  This time, reluctantly, it turned over, caught and stayed running.  We looked at each other again: if the truck stopped running while we were out on the Mirror Lake Highway, twenty miles from the nearest cell signal, and with reduced hitchhike-able traffic due to it being after Labor Day, we would be completely screwed.  So we jumped back out of the still-idling truck, hurriedly packed up everything that was still out and headed back to SLC with fingers crossed.

Here comes breakfast!

We made back to our house, hastily unloaded the truck (again still-idling since we were afraid to turn it off), installed B on the couch and drove off to the mechanic, me following in my car.  We got a preliminary call from the mechanic while we were having a consolation beer at Dick 'n' Dixie's: it needs a new battery for sure, plus they were going to keep checking the other systems.  We were pretty disappointed that our camping trip was halved, and that we didn't get to take the dog fishing, but it was absolutely the right call to take the truck in rather than risk getting stranded out in the middle of the Uintas.  On the plus side, we got to have a couple of campfires and see the stars and drink beers outside in the dirt - I'll take that whenever I can get it.  And I think B was just happy to get a couple of car rides that didn't end up at the vet.

We wouldn't let her in the tent, so 

she's as close as she could get

holiday hordes

We had big plans for July 4th: we were going to get up early, throw the fishing gear and the dog in the truck and drive out to Mirror Lake in the Uintas.  But H has been going into work really early (like, getting into the office at 6 a.m. early) the last few weeks to sync up to his team back east and we just really, really didn't want to get up early again on a day off.  So we slept in a little, and puttered around making breakfast, and just generally dithered about until it was after 10 a.m.  I wanted to go for a hike and H wanted to go for a bike ride ... it would be a divide-and-conquer kind of day.  It would also be very hot - Salt Lake City is stuck in the mid- to high 90s for a bit - so I would be getting the better deal, going up to Alta where it was a little cooler.

Just waiting for it to snow again ...

Indeed, it was about 75 F with a nice, light breeze by the time I got on the trail to do my go-to Catherine's Pass loop.  I was not alone, however, as it was very, very popular up there.  That's the problem with holidays, H says: you have to share them with everyone else.  It was mostly families and I blew by everyone else laboring up the Sunnyside bunny slope.  The crowds dropped off a little once I moved over to the trail up to Catherine's Pass.  I still managed to pass everyone I encountered, except for a couple of trail runners.

Buttercups

There was just a little snow to walk over across the top of Catherine's Area and when I got to the top of the Supreme chairlift, the alpine buttercups were out in force, with the other wildflowers just on the verge of coming out.  I cruised down the access road, through the not-yet-open Albion campground and back to the Albion base area, still swarming with people.  I poked my head into the Albion Grill, which is newly open this year for visitors, serving sandwiches, snacks and beverages; I was checking to see if "beverages" included beer but, alas, no.  But I had brought my own and drank down the requisite post-hike PBR while I changed out of my hiking boots.

There's actually still enough snow 

in the Apron for a few turns

Back down in the valley it was hot-hot-hot and we hunkered down for the duration.  The rest of our Independence Day involved watching World Cup soccer games, snarfing down burgers and listening to the neighbors shoot off a ridiculous amount of fireworks.  Luckily, B has become quite deaf in the last year and did not hear a thing - which is great because we have spent the last four Fourth of July holidays trying (and failing) to keep her calm and unafraid.  She may not hear us when we call her name but at least she's not afraid of thunder and fireworks anymore!

weekend happenings

This past weekend I went down to Phoenix to see my two best girl friends, leaving H and B to fend for themselves.  They did pretty well on their own, I think.  While I was sitting under palm trees, drinking wine, H managed to, among other things, get his ski boots adjusted and his hair cut, take two road rides and one MTB ride, go out for breakfast, try a new restaurant, take B for a walk in City Creek Canyon and watch the sun set from the Living Room.  Here are a few photos from the weekend's adventures:

Chipotle steak wrap at Gracie's

Enjoying the walk up City Creek Canyon

Enjoying a drink after the walk up City Creek Canyon

BYO G&Ts to the Living Room

View of the sunset from the Living Room

unsacred and other things

I tried a new* Utah beer today: the Unfaithful IPA from new Utah brewery, Unsacred Brewing (which, I believe, is a subsidiary of Epic Brewing, doing nothing but Utah-friendly, lower alcohol beer as a complement to Epic's higher ABV brews).  My dad had bought a bottle (1 pt. 6 oz., 4% ABV) when we went shopping for the Powell trip.  But we forgot to take it with us on the houseboat and then we forgot to drink it when we got back and the poor thing had just been languishing in the fridge for weeks.  So today, after an after-work 3.2 mile walk in 91 degree heat, I thought I should drink it.  I love hoppy beers and this IPA is definitely hoppy, but on the lighter side with no lingering bitter aftertaste.  The color is slightly paler than I tend to prefer and it has less carbonation than I expected.  But the beer on a whole is pretty nice - and a decent choice for hot weather IPA drinking.

Being Unfaithful and Unsacred

In other news, during last Sunday's Round Valley MTB ride, we had to stop for a while and wait while a sandhill crane family took its time moving off the trail.  There were two adults and one juvenile; the parents were nearly five feet tall while the youngster was shorter and more slender.  Although we got fairly close to them, we didn't get any pictures because the parents were squawking and stalking about and we weren't entirely sure they wouldn't come after us - they have really long and sharp-looking beaks, and did I mention that they were nearly five feet tall?!

July 24th was Pioneer Day - or "pie and beer day" for the non-LDS folks who take advantage of the state holiday - which is the statewide celebration of the arrival of the Mormon pioneers to the Salt Lake Valley back in 1847.  Most places shut down and there's a rodeo, re-enactments and a huge parade.  We did not go to the parade (seriously, people camped out overnight on the sidewalks of downtown SLC for prime parade-watching spots - for a parade!) or any of it.  The mountains were clouded over and I played spoiled and opted out of doing a hike without clear skies, instead hitting the gym and then taking myself to a matinee.  The clouds had broken up by the time the movie was over, of course.  The holiday also means another round of neighborhood fireworks displays; they'll be allowed to shoot them off through Saturday, much to the dog's dismay.  Never fear: I've stocked up on Benadryl and we'll get through it just fine.

* New to me

b goes camping, pt. 3

Our second night was about as chilly (46 F inside the tent upon waking, 35 F outside) but not quite so restful: at 1:30 a.m., both H and I woke up to something snuffling and pawing at the ground, seemingly right outside our tent.  H assumed it was a moose or a range cow; I immediately guessed bear ... and then H couldn't stop thinking "bear" either.  So he shouted for a bit until we couldn't hear anything anymore, and then he poked his head outside with a flashlight.  He didn't see anything and we didn't hear it again, although it did take some time to get back to sleep since we were focused on all the night noises.  In  the morning, we looked around for any tracks but didn't see any.  It'll remain a mystery, I guess.

Taking a mid-morning break

Our Sunday morning routine was much the same as Saturday morning's: huddle around the campfire, clutching hot beverages, and then snarfing down breakfast (French toast) before it got cold.  Note to selves for next time: keep the butter container lid out of the dog's reach.  The only plan for the day was to pack up and go home (and commence the many, many loads of laundry to divest all the fleece of campfire smoke smell), so we took our time, cracking our first beers at 10:30 a.m.  It was 59 F by late morning, and felt warmer in the sun, as we leisurely took down the tent and loaded the truck, saying farewell once again to Cobblerest around noon.

H's girls

We were taking bets on how quickly B would fall asleep once we got in the truck.  Sure enough, she crashed as soon as we got going, resting her head on H's knee, just as she had done for our road trip across the country when we moved out here.  I think she had a good weekend.  Exhausting, what with all the fishing and digging and stick-chewing and general vigilance, but she seemed like she was having fun (as were we).  And she finally got to go do stuff instead of getting stuck at home.

b goes camping, pt. 2

Brrrr!  Coffee!!

It gets chilly overnight at 8,280 feet!  When we woke up at 7 a.m. Saturday, it was 42 F inside the tent and 36 F outdoors; it didn't get much warmer until the sun peeked over the surrounding mountains two hours later.  H had started the campfire, put the water on to boil for coffee and hot chocolate, woken B up and fed her all before I managed to convince myself to get out of my nice, warm sleeping bag.  We'd bought an air mattress to fit inside the tent and boy, did that make a difference - sleeping on the ground would have been awful.  We lingered over our hot beverages by the campfire, then gobbled down scrambled eggs and bagels toasted over the fire (imparting a nice, smoky taste), and by 11 a.m. it was warm enough to shed our layers of fleece.  It was time to go fishing!

The breakfast (and dinner) chef

We drove up the Mirror Lake Scenic Byway, checking out the roadside lakes and stopping at Mirror Lake itself (elev. 10, 200 ft.).  The place was hoppin' with lots of overnight campers and plenty of day picnickers, kayakers and fisherman - we wondered how busy it must be in the height of summer if it was so busy this late in the season.  There's a nice walking path all around the lake so we three walked it, dodging other dogs and noting potential fishing spots.  Back at the truck we loaded up with H's fishing gear, the camera and a couple of PBRs, then went back to the far end of the lake where the wind seemed calmer and there weren't as many people.

Fishin' buddies

Back in Maine, we learned that B hates the water.  Hates it.  Hates getting her feet wet on walks, hates wading, absolutely despises swimming.  We also learned that she loves fishing: at my folks' camp in western Maine, she would stand on the dock with H for hours, trembling with excitement as he cast and reeled in little bluegills and bass.  It had been several years since she'd been fishing and we wondered if she'd remember how much she used to like it.

Nice-looking rainbow

She remembered.  She was absolutely beside herself as H cast into Mirror Lake.  Fish were rising all over the place and she stared at the water, twitching with every splash.  When he reeled in his first rainbow, she waded in without hesitation, trying to grab the fish with her mouth.  The next one he brought in, she actually pounced on it, jumping off a rock into the water and knocking the fish off the hook.  She focused in on the fishing for nearly two hours - unheard of concentration for this dog - while H caught and released six beautiful trout (the ant and bubble rig was the way to go).  By the end, B was so excited that when H cast out a hookless bobber, she swam out and retrieved it, not once, not twice, but four separate times.  We were in hysterics.

Such focus

After all the fishing excitement, we went back to the campsite for afternoon reading and beers.  It was super-pleasant in the sun but as before, the temperatures dropped quickly when the sun went behind the mountains: 59 F at 7 p.m., 52 F at 7:30 p.m.  Our dinner of bratwursts and potato salad was more low-brow than the night before but required less dish-washing, and we settled around the campfire and watched the brilliant stars pop out, the first one appearing in the sky at 7:50 p.m.  Bedtime was about the same as Friday night ... only this time I wore two pairs of socks to ensure warm toes.

Mirror Lake and surrounds

b goes camping, pt. 1

It seems like B never gets to do anything anymore: she has to stay at the house when we go up Big or Little Cottonwood Canyons for hiking or skiing; she's too old and too poorly behaved off-leash to go MTBing; it's too hot in the summertime for car rides even.  When we were talking about going camping again before the snow starts falling, we thought that if we went back to the Uintas, where we just were at the end of June, it would be cool enough and dog-friendly enough for her, plus being late in the season meant it shouldn't be so busy.  We knew that taking her along would mean a relaxing weekend - no hiking because of her age (we think she's around 11 although we don't know for sure, having rescued her as an adult stray with no history) and the altitude, which she would be unused to.  But we could take short walks, and go fishing, and read in the sun.  So off we went to the Mirror Lake Scenic Byway, B stuffed into the backseat of the truck with all our clothes.

A little catnap before dinner

We stopped at Cobblerest, the campground we were at last time, around 11:00 a.m. on Friday and were thrilled to see no one else there in any of the eighteen sites.  We quickly claimed our old site (#7) and started setting up.  The skies were clear and blue, sun filtering through the trees to make it a comfortable high 60s.  I don't know if this happens every year at this time or if it's because of the low snow from last winter, but the Provo River behind our campsite was flowing at a fraction of its late June pace - there would be no backyard fishing for us here!  Instead, I walked up the river a little ways on the rocks, gathering driftwood for the campfire.  B wanted to come with me but the river rocks were difficult for her to walk on; she's become such an old indoor dog that the footing made her nervous.

Mmmmm - kindling

Instead, she contented herself with eating grass, chewing on the kindling H had collected and charging at the brazen chipmunk who seemed to realize that she was tied up and couldn't quite get to him.  We spent the afternoon reading in the peace and quiet.  A few cars drove through the campground but luckily no one moved in near us: a group of about six campers and two dogs took a large site near the campground entrance and two other small tents popped up on the far end of the campground - so we were virtually alone.  B, who is used to spending most of her days napping, finally crashed just before dinner, scraping out a little hole under the picnic table.

Nice evening light at Cobblerest #7

Because of the mountains all around us, the sun set around 6:30 p.m.  We had an early dinner of chicken and broccoli alfredo (B perked back up when food became available) and H got a very nice campfire going so I could try bacon s'mores (s'mores with a piece of bacon between the chocolate and the marshmallow - mmmmmm).  Unlike our summer sojourn, there was no moon and when the stars came out, they came out in force.  The temperatures plummeted quickly though, so we doused the campfire and were snug in the tent before 10 p.m.  B got to sleep in the cab of the truck - one of her favorite places on earth - and she sacked out as soon as H locked her in.

nothing doing

As this post's title might suggest, we didn't do much this past Saturday.  We had a big hike planned for Sunday (more on that later) and since I am finding that I am recovering much more slowly than I used to, I didn't want to do anything that would fatigue my legs too much.  H went on a road ride (somewhere around 38 miles, if I recall correctly) while B and I took a walk: halfway around our usual loop, then coming back through Dimple Dell.

It was a lovely day, clear and sunny - and B thought it was much too hot, not to mention too far since the Dimple Dell bit probably added close to another mile.  She actually stopped a couple of time in the shade and laid down for a minute or so, before getting back on her feet and bravely soldiering on.  I know, she's getting older - we think she's around eleven - and I should take care not to push her too far.  But she's been doing that drama queen/lie down when she doesn't want to walk since she was four; I just have to realize that she may not be crying wolf now.  We made it back to the house without incident and she was fine, just stared at me reproachfully ... until it was time for dinner and then all was forgiven.

while the cat's away

Back in May, when I went out of town for the weekend, H accomplished an amazing amount of activities, documented here and here.  I wasn't quite so ambitious, nor did I have more than twenty-four hours alone, but here's what I did while H was up to Logan, riding his bike really fast.

Scrub-a-dub

Friday after work I swung by a laundromat to wash a couple of bedspreads and a slipcover that desperately needed washing but are too big for our washer.

Crab rangoons and BBQ pork lo mein

Thirty minutes and $6 later, I headed home, stopping off at the liquor store for tequila and Chef Ming's for my take-out dinner.

Mmm-mm-mm-mm-mm!

After dinner, during which B begged incessantly (she usually pesters H but with him gone switched her attentions to me), I made some margaritas with the recently purchased tequila, some homemade sour mix (fresh lemon juice, fresh lime juice and simple syrup), a splash of OJ and another squeeze of lime.  I don't like pre-made sour mix/margarita mix - way too sweet - but this homemade version was tart and tasty.

Not a robot. A cyborg. A cybernetic organism.

I enjoyed my margaritas with some sci-fi, specifically a couple of episodes of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and then hit the hay.

Saturday morning found B and me walking around a local park before the heat set in.  Then I packed up my hiking stuff and headed up Little Cottonwood Canyon to hike the Catherine's loop we'd done a couple times last summer.  Normally this hike is about 5 miles but the road up to the trailhead is still closed (the campground at Albion is still closed - I guess they open on July 1 even if the snow's been gone for ages) so the walk up the road added some time and distance.  Didn't matter to me: it was a beautiful day, cool and clear and breezy, and once I got up above the pass, I had the place all to myself.

Looking down towards Brighton

H called right when I'd gotten back to the car, letting me know that he was on his way back home.  I had enough time to drive back down to the valley, wash my filthy car and enjoy a pink lemonade sour sno-cone before going home and cleaning up so we could go to the Porcupine for an early dinner.

Frosty and delicious

Not a big list to get through, but I did manage to get through all of it ... except for the weeding.  I didn't do the weeding.  Shocking, I know.  But really, when comes down to doing fun stuff vs. yard work, the fun stuff is always going to win.

back down in the valley

When Sunday morning was grey and sort of rainy down at the house and overcast and in the low-ish 30s up at Alta, we decided to be fair weather skiers, figuring that the snow would have set up pretty good after the warmth the day before.  So we did valley stuff: I made banana pancakes from scratch (no Bisquick!); B and I did our 3.25 mile loop and only got sprinkled on a little bit; H did a 50 mile road ride up Emigration Canyon way and back; I went to a matinee.  When I got out of the movie, the skies had cleared and it was gorgeous (and unfortunately too late to head up to Alta), so the three of us took a walk in Dimple Dell - poor old B hasn't had that much exercise in one day in I don't know how long!  After that I did a little weeding before deeming it time for a beer.  It was a good enough Sunday although we certainly wished for another day on the slopes.

working class dog

Spring is changeable here in Utah, with 75 degrees in the valley one day and snow on the lawn the next, but it is  definitely getting warmer and sunnier.  This pretty much makes everyone happy except for B: the warming up means that she can no longer go to work with H and sit in the truck all day, every day, as she does during the winter.  Don't ask me why she likes to do this - for some reason she is convinced that we will not come back if we leave her in the house, but she is confident of our return if she gets to wait in the vehicle.  That dog loves being in the truck, even for hours at a time, and is sooooooo sad when H tells her that she has to stay home.  Her new thing, just started in the last week or so, is this: after H takes her out for one last squirt in the morning, she dives under the truck and puts her saddest face on.  He has to drag her out from underneath and put her in the house, at which point she retreats under the bed and sulks the day away.  Poor little thing really wears her heart on her sleeve ... or would, if she wore sleeves.

Please don't leave me here!

citified

On Sunday we tried to come up with a good way to say goodbye to daylight savings.  The forecast looked to be mixed - sun early, then clouds, with possible snow in the mountains.  We grabbed the dog and drove up to downtown SLC for breakfast at The Other Place (scrambled eggs with tomato, onion and feta for me; a Denver omelet for H).  After that, we took B on a walk up City Creek Canyon, one of the few area canyons that is not a Salt Lake City watershed and thus one of the few that allows dogs.

About three miles up City Creek Canyon

City Creek Canyon is sneaky.  At first it feels as though you're just walking in a gully back behind a swanky neighborhood.  Then, once you get a couple of miles in, cliffs loom overhead and you realize that yes, this is an actual canyon.  If we'd kept going, we would have connected with the Bonneville Shoreline Trail and the multitude of hiking/MTBing trails that crisscross the foothills.  We only went out about three miles though, at which point B started dragging her feet.  She perked up on the downhill return, but we knew the six mile roundtrip would be enough to wear her out for the rest of the day.

We two-legged people weren't too tired after the walk, however, and stopped by Squatters for a couple of Full Suspensions.  These were cask-conditioned and were much smoother than the regular brew - tasty!  After that it was home for laundry, watching the New York Marathon on the DVR and racking the current batch of homemade red wine before the sun went down early.