An inanimate object attacked my dog as he slept Saturday night.

I'm not sure how, or why, but sometime around midnight Ace, who is about 120 pounds, got tangled up with a chest of drawers weighing at least that much.

I was dozing off to a Saturday Night Live repeat downstairs, when I heard the commotion -- a bang, then the sound of furniture being dragged, then some smaller slamming sounds.

By the time I got upstairs, Ace was quivering in fear, and the dresser, as well as the mirror that rests on top of it, had been moved a good three feet from the wall. A couple of years worth of change, which had been in a tray on the dresser, was scattered across the floor. Ace was limping as he went downstairs and got into the doorless dog crate that serves as his security blanket.

Upon investigation (of Ace and the dresser), I made the following discoveries. One of the knobs on a lower drawer was bent upward. Ace's bandana, though still around his neck was stretched out. Apparently, Ace, in his sleep, had managed to get the bandana wrapped around the knob, and when he awoke, for whatever reason, he found he couldn't move and panicked. In other words, the dresser started it.

Ace pulled and tugged hard enough to move the dresser and almost topple it. The crashing of the change to the floor must have scared him even more. Either out of fear, or from exerting himself, he projectile pooped, spraying the bedside table, bedspread and sheets as he sought to free himself from the dresser's clutches.

Still coming out of my own grogginess, I grabbed a role of paper towels and a can of what I thought was Pledge to clean up the mess. As I headed upstairs, it was brought to my attention that the yellow can in my hand was actually Raid. I got a more proper cleanser, wiped up the mess, moved the dresser back and then checked Ace again, who was still panting and exuding that sweaty fear odor he emits when scared.

He spent the whole night downstairs, and still hasn't returned to the bedroom, or even the second floor of the house.

The morals of the story: Take your dog's bandana, or collar, if it's loose-fitting, off at night. Replace your dog-level drawer pulls,if they're the kind they can get snagged on. And one more, which can also save you from such embarassing errors as putting Preparation H on your toothbrush or hairspray on your armpits: Make a pledge to always check what you're spraying or squirting before you spray or squirt.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 11:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)
                    

Probably the first thing one's eyes were drawn to in Ace's backyard was the humongous wall that looms over it -- a vast grey expanse of cinder block that makes up one side of a neighboring warehouse.

Not that Ace minded it much, but as part of the yard-pimping, we decided to address it, and bring some birds into the yard at the same time. 

Ace likes watching birds. And I like watching Ace watching birds.

So we started building birdhouses -- using scrap wood, limbs trimmed from the big out of control tree out back, and a bit of imagination. My son and I focused on the guitar birdhouse (above right); my girlfriend churned out most of the rest.

By placing them along the backside of the warehouse, it helped create a focal point that took attention away from the big blur of grey.

On top of that, we figured it would protect future generations of baby robins, like the ones born under my neighbor's deck, from the fate that befell one of them when something knocked the nest down.

We've haven't seen anyone move in yet, but a few birds have been checking them out.

Meanwhile, after pondering the project for months, I finally started in on the fence, with my son's help. We managed, through wisely shopping for wood and supplies, to build it for less than $150, unless you're my landlord, in which case it cost $1,000. (And could you please move that car?)

Other than that, it was just a matter of some flowers, some watering and lots of hard work -- again most of it not by me (but then I was busy documenting the transition, you see) -- to fully pimp Ace's yard.

He seems pleased with it. He likes to lay out and watch birds, like he did in Montana, keep an eye out for invading rodents, lay on the cool paving stones amid the hosta, and hang out by the grill in hopes something meaty will get dropped.

As you can see, he's a much happier mutt.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 6:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

First, we grew some grass, which wasn't easy.

Between lacking an outside source of water (there's a faucet, but it's disconnected), city soil that was something less than fertile loam, and Ace's need to sprinkle in as many locations as possible, the seed we planted grew slowly, and there were patches where it wouldn't grow at all.

Step one, once it started coming up, was to try and centralize Ace's peeing location -- to create one spot where he could kill the grass, instead of multiple ones.

So we bought a decorative fire hydrant, which, to date, Ace has yet to pee on.

Nevetheless, the grass continued to grow in spots. We moved the few sickly shrubs in the center of the yard to the side to give Ace more running room, and put a vegetable garden on the other side, against the giant warehouse wall that runs the length of our yard.

Having created a little more green space for Ace, we extended the patio, using paving stones, to give us enough room for a grill and table.

In an attempt to keep creatures out of the vegetable garden, we procured another lawn ornament, a plastic owl, to scare intruders off. For a while it worked. But critters -- rats mostly -- resumed invading, requiring us to build a little fence and then a bigger one.

(Note: Our liberal use of the word "we" is intended to disguise the fact that my girlfriend did most of the work.)

We purchased a picnic table from  Mr. Lee, who builds them from scrap construction lumber in an alley off of Heath Street, between Light and Charles, and used an old beach umbrella to provide some shade.

We put out rat poison -- the kind they take back to the nest and share -- making sure to bury it deep enough that Ace wouldn't find it, and we kept an extra close eye on him when he was out. To keep rats from tunneling under the fence from our neighbor's yard and up through our mulch,  we crammed steel wool in the holes.

Because our landlord's non-running car (an old Alfa Romeo) sits in the very back of the yard, and because he's having trouble getting it moved because he lost the keys, we took down the shabby old lattice and built a real fence, which blocks it and the alley from view. Once his car is gone, assuming I measured correctly, we'll have room to park two cars back there.

Making space for your dog, in South Baltimore, is much easier than making space for your car.

Another goal of our project was to invite some non-rat wildlife into the yard, so we went on a birdhouse building binge. The one in the top left of the photo below -- in the shape of an electric guitar -- was built by my son. To view them, and see the rest of our yard-pimping effort, check back tomorrow.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 6:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

As you hard-core readers may recall (click here if you don't), Ace -- and perhaps too his master -- was less than thrilled six months ago when we returned to the city of Baltimore from a hiatus in Montana.

We love Baltimore, but Montana took our breath away. (Don't hiatus for that.)

We moved into a new (for us) rowhouse, with a decent sized (for a rowhouse) yard -- one that sported actual growth, unlike our first, cement, backyard in Baltimore.

Despite having a little room to romp in Baltimore, Ace -- who'd grown accustomed to the big skies of Montana, to life on a ranch, to frolicking in rivers and galloping like a horse down dusty trails -- would have little to do with it.

Instead, back in Baltimore, he mostly just sat on what there was of a patio and stared out at the overgrown yard.

It wasn't the most alluring of spaces -- weed-filled, rife with broken glass and beer cans, and with a fence made of lattice, strung to posts. It didn't attract much wildlife, unless you count rats, who could be seen nightly. Pretty much the only times Ace would venture into the yard would be to chase one of those, or relieve himself.

Once winter rolled by, there still wasn't much green coming through, and between the cracked cement patio and assorted junk behind the house, once I started going outside myself, I could see Ace's point. The space wasn't exactly beckoning me to break out the grill, much less have anybody over for a visit

What Ace's yard needed was a good pimping -- and, as you can see from the before and after pictures above, we gave it one.

The idea was to make the yard more Ace-friendly, more people-friendly, and more wildlife-friendly (except for rats), and I can proudly say (while admitting I didn't do most of the work) I think we achieved that.

How? Check back tomorrow for part 2.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)
                    

Scully, here, with the poop on Robert E. Lee Park.

Trust me, when it comes to the poop on Robert E. Lee Park, nobody can provide it as well as me.

I am an English Mastiff, 150 pounds and – at eight months old -- still growing.

Three or four times a week, I hit the park with my master, Lat Naylor. He’s an artist.

Sunday was a typical day. We got there early, around 9, parked the car, and walked over the pedestrian bridge past that dam.

Continue reading "Dogs of Our Lives: Robert E. Lee Park" »

Posted by John Woestendiek at 6:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)
                    

Ace has another road trip under his collar – this one to North Carolina, where he attended a barbecue party, dallied in a dog park in Carrboro, met a hairless little dog at a retirement community in Winston-Salem, and stayed at two different La Quinta hotels.

(La Quinta being Spanish for “we allow dogs and aren’t so greedy as to charge you extra for them.”)

Our first stop was Chapel Hill, so we stayed at a La Quinta across the line in Durham. We were given room 607, which Ace remembered every time we came back inside, walking directly up to it and sticking his nose in the crack.

After two days, we moved on to Winston-Salem, where Ace made several visits to Arbor Acres, the retirement community in which his (human) grandmother resides. (He always remembers her room, too.)

There, he renewed some old acquaintances, and made some new ones, including a Chinese crested hairless named Truman (above), who had been recently taken in by a woman who lives down the hall from my mother. At first, I think Ace, judging from how excited he got, thought it was a cat. After a little sniffing he realized Truman – though hairless and only about 1/20th of his size -- was a fellow dog.

In Winston-Salem, we stayed in another La Quinta, cut from the exact same mold, but this time in room 604.

During our two days there, Ace would get off the elevator and go first to room 607, stand there for a few seconds, sniff the crack, then walk across the hall and stick his nose in 604, then look up at me as if to confirm the selection: Yes, I’m quite sure now, it’s this one.

It’s a trick that comes in handy since hotel room keys rarely have the hotel room number on them anymore.

There may be some inconveniences when traveling with your dog. To me, though, the benefits far outweigh them. You're more likely to meet and connect with people. You have constant companionship and protection. And if, like me, you have trouble keeping a room number lodged in your password-cluttered brain, it's good to have someone who, via the scent of La Quinta, can lead you to your room.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)
                    

Any dog owner knows the feelings that come with leaving their pet behind for the first time -- that combination of worry, guilt and loss of control.

Can I trust it to someone else’s care? Will it be properly fed? Will it think I've abandoned it?

All those feelings were running through my head last week when I left for a short vacation -- but not in connection with my dog. Ace, as you can see above, came along, as he always does, getting an early sniff of azaleas down south.

But while Ace was at my side, it was the was the first time ever that I’d left the blog behind.

And I'm disturbed to report it was a similar kind of feeling.

Will it be OK without me? Who's going to feed it? I've left plenty of kibble, but who will make sure it gets the right food at the right time? Will it get enough attention? Should I write up some special instructions, then call and check on it from time to time? Or just leave a number I can be reached at in case of emergency?

It was my first time away without a company laptop -- no way to transmit breaking dog news, or check my "numbers," or see who was commenting on what.

I was having separation anxiety. Non-dog-lovers think it’s a little sick to worry about one's dog as much as one would one's child, but we do it anyway -- because we don’t care what non-dog-lovers think. But worrying about one’s blog as if it were a child?

That's just not right.

Serious bloggers, you see, if they weren't obsessive already, quickly become that way -- it's a sickness, an addiction, an unhealthy ego-based disorder that starts with one small sip and ends with you becoming a full-fledged blogaholic.

Someday, I fully suspect, just as there are for alcohol and drugs and video games and religious cults, there will be specialists who can help pry the blog-obsessed away from their blogs.

The first thing I checked on upon returning to Baltimore – well, right after making sure my house hadn’t been burglarized – was the blog.

It was right where I left it.

The blog hadn’t gotten all antsy and followed me from room to room when I started packing my suitcase. The blog didn't lie down in front of the door to ensure it wouldn’t get left behind. Nor did the blog get all bouncy and excited upon my return.

My blog can't fetch. My blog can't shake. I'm not even sure my blog even missed me.

Come to think of it, a blog is more like a cat.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

Nothing -- not even a treat -- gets Ace as excited as a kitty cat, but most of those he has met have been behind glass.

Today, as we walked down Light Street in Federal Hill -- after a stop for lunch, a visit to the new Doggie Style pet boutique, and some shopping at the hardware store (also dog-friendly) that bears his name, Ace encountered this friendly feline, perched atop a giant cushion in the window of a home.

Usually, upon spotting a cat in a window, Ace will jump up and lean on the rowhouse it's in for a better look, upon which most cats either arch their backs and hiss, or run off.

This one, though, was at street level, and the cat was up for some play. It pawed the window, rolled over and stretched languorously on its cushion -- not the least bit frightened by the big dog head looking in.

Maybe it was high on catnip, mellowed out on sunshine, or groggy from listening to too much classical music -- or perhaps just bored with that non-moving, gold-crown-wearing black frog that shares the window.

But this I know for sure. Every time Ace passes that window from now on, whether there is a cat in it or not, he's going to get excited and look for it. He never forgets a window.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 2:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

A group of Johns Hopkins University students raised about $750 Saturday night by dressing up and auctioning themselves -- or at least a date with them and a shelter dog -- to the highest bidder.

Hopkins PAWS, or Pet and Animal Welfare Society, raised the money for BARCS, Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter, where many members of the student group work as volunteers -- at least in part, as Corban Tillemann-Dick (left) put it, "because we miss our dogs back home."

(Corban, who went for $40 in the auction, borrowed two of his sister's dogs for use in the event. That's him to the left in a photograph taken by Hopkins student Conor Kevit.)

Hopkins PAWS was formed last year by Ashley Kennedy, the junior psychology major who was behind the first annual Doggie Date Auction.

Shelter dogs didn't attend the event, but they will attend the dates, which also come with a picnic lunch. Only a handful of dogs were present, including mine, Ace, who at the request of one of the students, became part of the event we were there to watch.

Ace being a sizable mutt, Heather Ehrlich thought he would go well with the dominatrix outfit in which she was attired. She strolled the aisles, whip in one hand, Ace on a leash in the other, stirring up a frenzied bidding war that topped out at an event-high of $80 and earned them the honors of "Best in Show."

Ace seemed glad to play along and strut his stuff, and lending his services to the event seemed the right thing to do -- and not just because the woman making the request had a whip.

Two and a half years ago, as we documented in our series about his roots (find it here, or in the rail on the right-hand side of his page), Ace was a resident of BARCS. And students much like these were among those who, as volunteers, probably made his life a little better there.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 4:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

<-------- Ace of Cakes

          Ace of dogs ----->

Yesterday, via the comments section on this blog, a note was left that was intended not for me, or my dog Ace, but for the Ace of Cakes, the Food Network TV show featuring Baltimore baker Duff Goldman of Charm City Cakes.

"I would like to know how to get you guys to make a cake for my mom's birthday in August," a girl named Kisha wrote.

 "For the past 5 years every year on her birthday someone in our family dies. She watches your show all the time and loves it so if you guys can help me to do this for her I would love it. Thank you, Kisha."

Sorry, Kisha, wrong Ace. But fear not, I have forwarded your note to Charm City Cakes.

Apparently Kisha did a Google search on Ace of Cakes, then clicked on one of my blog entries, titled Ace of Cakes, which recounted how Ace had lapped off the icing from one side of my 54th birthday cake.

Kisha, it appears, went straight to the comment button and sent in her request without reading the entry, which I don't think is all that uncommon when one gets in Internet hurry-up-and-find-it mode.

So Kisha gets a C for reading, but an A for being a thoughtful daughter. It is after all only March, and she's already trying to plan her mother's August birthday.

Here's hoping Kisha gets her cake, and her mother has a happy birthday.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 11:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

In the weeks since our return to Baltimore, Ace has been a pretty down dog – and I’ve been trying to figure out why.

Does he miss Montana, and his lifestyle there – the long walks under the big sky? Does he miss the woman who became his co-caretaker, and took him on most of those walks? Does he miss the neighbor dog, Chester, who he’d spend hours wrestling with? Is he bothered by the bustle of big city life, the disarray of our just-moved-into house, the return to a more sedentary routine of park, home-alone, park, dinner, maybe a little TV and bed?

Or is he just mirroring the mood of his master (I hate that word), who’s still adjusting himself to a return to routine after four months of doing something completely different in a completely different place.

Continue reading "Getting over that hangdog look" »

Posted by John Woestendiek at 4:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

There's a line I love in my dogumentary film, "Hey, Mister, What Kind of Dog is That." (Find it in the rail to the right.)

It came from Stan the Biscuit Man, as he sat on a bench in Riverside Park and tossed treats to his, shall we say, full-figured, mutt, Louie.

"He's like living with a cartoon character," Stan said.

My dog Ace isn't quite as animated as Louie, but he is cartoon character. His likeness appears in a dog safety coloring book put together by Karma Dogs, the therapy dog organization of which he is a part. (A video of Ace's therapy dog experience can be found in the rail, too)

On Saturday, Ace will be returning to the organization's reading program at the Baltimore County Public Library in Towson.

And on Sunday, at 1 p.m., he'll be making his first public appearance since our return to Baltimore. Along with some other Karma Dogs, several of which were used as models for the book, he'll be appearing at Dogma, 3600 Boston St. in Canton.

"We will go over some dog safety for a bit and then kids can get pawtographs from the dogs featured in the coloring book," said Kelly Gould, Karma Dogs founder.

Illustrated by Baltimore artists, "Dirk's Guide to Dog Safety" is aimed at reducing the thousands of children injured by dogs every year by better understanding how to behave around them, Gould said.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 11:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

We’re back in Baltimore – Ace and I – having left the wide open spaces of Montana to return to a place where the houses have no space between them.

Ace does not seem happy about it.

In our new place, which is an old place – a Formstone rowhouse with slanty floors on a dead end street in South Baltimore – Ace has a big (for a rowhouse) back yard. With grass even. And yet he just sits on the concrete patio and looks at it with a look on his face that can only be described as forlorn.

He hasn’t eaten since we got here yesterday afternoon.

He did seem to remember Riverside Park, and cheered up during the hour or so we spent there yesterday, but mostly he is moping. Maybe it’s because the house has no furniture, or because he thinks, after so many motels, that it’s just another one-night-stand.

I set his crate up in the kitchen, which usually makes him feel more settled, but he’s still edgy, walking over to the front door every few minutes as if he wants out.

When I crawled into my sleeping bag last night, he didn’t even try to join me, choosing instead to lay down on the other side of the room.

Once our storage pods arrive, we’ll hit the park again. Maybe that will help.

I know once I start moving furniture in – it’s the 1800 block of Patapsco St., should you want to come over and help (there are only two houses on the block, and mine is the slightly less upscale one) – Ace is going to get even more bothered.

I also know that, as bumpy and prolonged as this transition has been, eventually things, including him, will settle down. When I get overwhelmed by all I have to do, relocation-wise, I just think back to my semester teaching in Montana and tell myself that, hey, it was totally worth it.

Ace’s brain, I’m sure, doesn’t work that way. Still, he’s always been slightly better at adapting than me, and he’ll probably come around.

In time, he’ll be a city dog again.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 10:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

Not hardly.

We're just road weary after a trip that began 11 days ago and now has us laying over in Winston-Salem, N.C. -- home of my mother and birthplace of me.

Ace and I passed on the two parties that were taking place here at the Quality Inn and nodded off not long after 10 p.m.

Today, we went over to Arbor Acres, the retirement community in which my mother lives -- and Ace was excited to be someplace familiar after so many days in strange places.

He was, as usual, a hit there, receiving enough affection to last him through the last leg to Baltimore, a trip we'll make Thursday.

Until then, we'll be hanging out at Arbor Acres, where the newest piece of recreational equipment arrived last month -- and therein lies a story.

My mother reads the Baltimore Sun online and just over two weeks ago she came across this story by Laura Barnhardt on how the Nintendo Wii is becoming popular in retirement communities.

She printed it out and gave it to the recreation director at Arbor Acres, noting that, if Arbor Acres got a Wii, she, being a still-active journalist -- contributing to a seniors-oriented publication put out by the Winston-Salem Journal -- could write a story about it. (She doesn't care much for video games, but she does like a good story.)

Now Arbor Acres has a Wii, though it's not hooked up yet. They'll be putting a TV at the end of the hall, where the founder's portrait now hangs (he's going to another wall) and the games will begin.

Speaking of recreation, Ace needs some, so we're headed to the park, though I might have to shave first. I haven't since the trip began, and it's coming in very white. Between it, and my weariness, and not quite being ready for 2008, I must be looking older than the vibrant 54 that I am.

My mother was introducing me to one of the newer residents at Arbor Acres today and he mistook me for a new arrival.

"Welcome aboard," he said.

Laugh if you must, but now that Arbor Acres has free Wii, it's not that far-fetched an idea anymore.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 1:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

It seemed only fair -- given our lunch stop in George W. Bush's hometown yesterday -- that Ace and I stop in Bill Clinton's hometown of Hope, Arkansas, today.

In honor of the 42nd president we chowed down on some footlong chili cheese dogs at the Sonic, a drive-in restaurant across the street from Clinton's first boyhood home.

The home and non-profit museum, operated by the Clinton Birthplace Foundation, normally doesn't allow dogs, but the curator on duty yesterday (who has five dogs and 14 cats) was agreeable to letting Ace on the grounds for a quick photo in front of Clinton's home.

Ace sniffed around, laid down on the wooden front porch for a bit and, uh, left a little liquid reminder of himself behind before we left. It seems Ace, like hope, springs eternal.

We stopped for the night in Forrest City, Ark. In the past nine days, Ace has slept seven different places.  He's got to be getting a little confused -- and wondering just where home is nowadays.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 9:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

On the outskirts of George W. Bush's hometown, Ace got a lesson in a couple of Texas traditions.

He met his first tumbleweed -- and didn't care much for it at all, especially when the wind made it come to life and inch along the pavement.

Ace jumped back and decided to have nothing more to do with it.

He also had his first taste of Texas barbecue, entirely different from the North Carolina barbecue with which he is already familar.

Here at KD's -- a huge cinder block warehouse with wonderful smells wafting out -- I saved a couple of bites of meat from my sandwich for Ace.

He wolfed them down, then licked the empty Styrofoam box for another ten minutes.

This was in Odessa, just down the road from Midland, whose welcome signs tout the city as George W. Bush's hometown.

It's not the most scenic part of Texas, mostly oil wells and -- new since the last time I passed through -- windmills.

We got as far as Abilene today, and opted for another La Quinta Inn (Spanish for "We allow dogs and don't charge you extra for them.") It's also Spanish for "free wireless internet," and lots of other things, according to their ad campaign.

There's still a long way to go -- and a lot of Texas to go -- but Ace is holding up well, and I've cleared a big enough hole in the luggage pile that there's no longer a wall between us, and I can see him when he sits up.

Mostly, though, he's sleeping.

Driving through Texas does that to you.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

The road to the Grand Canyon's North Rim was closed (thanks to the two readers who wrote to point that out) so Ace instead explored the majestic wonders of Zion National Park in southern Utah.

Zion allows dogs on leashes, and one trail is specified as dog-friendly. Hiking along that one, we ran into four other dogs, including a black lab named Finn, whose owner was visiting from Los Angeles to spend Christmas doing volunteer work at Best Friends Animal Society, outside Kanab.

Ace took a chilly dip in the Virgin River before we hopped back in the car. Unlike the Grand Canyon, you can drive right through the middle of Zion, and in some cases through the middle of the rocks.

We saw some magnificent rock formations, in hues of cinammon, salmon and sweet potato orange, some smothered in snow that melted like marshmallow topping.

Ace now has three national parks under his belt (collar?), leading me to wonder if we should try and see them all. In the afternoon we drove on to Cameron, Ariz. Tomorrow it's on to Phoenix where Christmas will be anything but white. Here's wishing you a merry one.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 10:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

Ace had to spend the morning in the motel during my visit to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary -- with 1,500 dogs, cats and other animals already they don't really need any additional four-legged visitors -- so by the time I got back he was raring to go.

At Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, about 20 miles outside Kanab, we found an excellent place to work off the energy he'd accumulated after being cooped up in the car for two days.

The park is a huge expanse of gigantic of coral colored sand, eroded from exposed Navajo sandstone and whipped into mountainous dunes by high desert winds.

Coupled with sheer cliffs that grow a deeper red as the sun goes down, it was as if every direction I turned was a photo out of Arizona Highways -- even though this is Utah.

To Ace, it was a giant playground, and he got an intense workout running up and down the dunes until he wore himself out and laid down, sphinx-like, in the sand.

Was he on his leash -- as park rules require -- all the time he was there? Let's just say he maybe accidentally got off once or twice.

If the setting looks familiar, it may be because it was used as the location for filming "The Greatest Story Ever Told." Producers chose the site because they thought it resembled Egypt.

As for my visit to Best Friends, stay tuned. You can read about it here all next week.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 10:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

Whipped by snow and howling winds as we crossed Utah, we pulled into Kanab after dark, grabbed a quick dinner and hunkered down for the night.

Ace got plastered with snow at every stop we made during the day, and he seemed happy to stay inside at the hotel, after jumping up on the counter and meeting Lily, the front desk clerk's coonhound.

Other than that, Aces's high point of the day was probably when I returned to the car after lunch at Denny's near Salt Lake City.  I had "Moons Over My Hammy" -- a meal that takes away all your dignity when you order it, but more than makes up for it in cholesterol.

It was more than I could eat, so Ace got a quarter moon.

Once in southern Utah, we saw some beautiful stretches of countryside, especially around Bryce Canyon, where the setting sun turned the bluffs -- about the only thing not blanketed in white -- a deep pink.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 11:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

We encountered this plastic beast in a gas station parking lot in Fillmore, Utah -- and despite a strong urge to straddle it, I managed to heed the warning sign.

I'm assuming it was OK to photograph the beast, because there was no sign stating otherwise.

What is it with all the signs? From diarrhea in the pool (see previous entry) to "All dogs must be on leash" it seems there's nowhere where somebody isn't telling us what to do or not do.

It's as if we can't be trusted to know how to properly behave. A couple of hours after the bear who mustn't be mounted, I pulled over to take a photo at a closed-for-the-season motel. There was another sign, in the shape of a squatting dog with the words "Don't go here" on it.

We didn't.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

Another tale is coming to a close; it's time to leave Missoula, Montana.

And that is not easy.

You see, I've fallen in love. Let me tell you about her.

She's a natural beauty -- breathtaking, in fact -- and though she's seen some tough times, been ravaged over the years by greedy and thoughtless men, she is still mostly pure and in large part untainted.

Her beauty is riveting, but it's her spirit and attitude that make me think that I might want to be with her forever.

She is easy going, free of pretensions, tough, determined, plain-talking, for the most part, a country girl.

Yes, she is vast -- huge, in fact, but, as they say, that just means there's more of her to love.

By now you've figured out I'm talking about Montana (the state, not Hannah).

Now Missoula and Montana are two entirely different things, Missoula being the state's liberal, cultural, intellectual oasis -- but one where there's no pressure to drink from it if you don't want to.

Missoula is also the dog-friendliest place I've ever lived -- one where you aren't constantly reminded to put your dog on a leash, where people don't give you puckered-mouth looks of disapproval if your dog is acting like a dog.

I've never seen a town so crazy about dogs -- and that's a good thing. I think there's probably a high correlation between how well a town treats its dogs and how well it treats its people.

Here's a perfect example.

So thank you Missoula, for having Ace and me and making us so comfortable.

And thank you, Montana, for capturing my soul.

They call it the Treasure State.

And that I will.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

Ace and I are heading home to Baltimore, starting tomorrow, and once again you're invited along for the ride -- this time a considerably longer ride than on the way to Montana.

We'll start off heading directly south from Missoula, with our first day of driving ending in Pocatello, Idaho. Why Pocatello? Because we like the name. From there, we're headed to Best Friends, the animal sanctuary in Kanab, Utah, where we'll visit for a day before heading on to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

After that, we'll spend Christmas in the Phoenix area, home to a father and brother (of me, not Ace). After Christmas, we'll press on through Texas, bound for Alabama, home of my son. (If you're wondering why we're taking such a southerly route, well, that, as they say, is another blog entry. I'll explain later.)

After that, Ace and I will push on to North Carolina to visit a couple of days with my mother before one more day of driving to reach Baltimore somewhere around 2008.

All told, it will be 3,866 miles, and about 54 hours of driving -- or so Mapquest tells me. Please feel free to join us. The more the merrier. To make following along easier, here's a handy key to the map above. 

A:Missoula, Montana

B. Pocatello, Idaho

C. Kanab, Utah, home of Best Friends Animal Sanctuary

D. Cameron, Arizona, after a trip to the Grand Canyon's North Rim

E. Phoenix

F. El Paso

G. Dallas

H. Florence, Alabama

I. Winston-Salem, N.C.

J. Baltimore

,

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)
                    

So it's not exactly the top of the mountain, and the mountain isn't exactly Mt. Everest -- but we made it to the "M."

That's the big white letter behind us, pretty much invisible in the snow.

I truly don't think I would have made it without Ace. He literally tugged me up the steeper parts and his enthusiasm, coupled with my fear of failure, helped propel me to the top of Missoula's Mount Sentinel.

We spent about 20 minutes at the top -- even though the wind was whipping us with crystalized snow. I sat down, enjoyed the birds-eye view of the campus and town, and caught my breath. Ace jumped about, burrowed in the snow and wanted to play.

He made the trip down mostly unleashed, except for a couple of times when I had him pull me on my back like a sled. Call it John-joring.

Ace, during our soon to end four-month stay in Missoula has become a true trail hound. After his initial hiking overdose -- at one point he outright refused to go on a hike -- he can't get enough of it.

And since Missoula is pretty easy going about its leash laws -- I've yet to run into a self-appointed leash-Nazi here -- his hikes are usually mostly unleashed.

He likes to take the lead, and I tend to lag behind. Every few minutes, on the trail, Ace stops, turns his head and looks back to make sure I'm still there.

I love it when he does that.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

Ace and I gave the sport of "canicross" a try last weekend -- scaling Missoula's Mount Sentinel -- and as you can see it took us a while get the rhythm of it.

Climbing up the the giant "M" on top of the mountain was on my "100 things to do before I leave Montana" list -- maybe 10 of which I have accomplished -- and, with time running out, we were forced to zig-zag our way to the top through six or so inches of snow and ice.

The "M" on the west face of the mountain is a local landmark, and has been since 1908 when the trail was forged and students toted stones to the top to shape the symbol of the University of Montana, which lies at the bottom of the mountain.

A concrete "M" marks the mountain now, and the path to it is a rigourous one. Though less than a mile, it's a 620 foot gain in elevation and includes 11 switchbacks. Trudging through the snow, I was whipped after half of them. With Ace hitched to my belt though, he helped tug me closer.

About halfway, though Ace was still raring to go, I was nearly ready to give up. After a long rest though, I pressed on, slowly, stepping to the side to let those health buffs who jog up and down the trail daily pass us by -- and silently cursing them as they did.

Did we make it to the top? Tune in tomorrow to find out.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

I found myself in need of a last- minute costume for Ace last night -- and here's what we came up with.

Keep in mind, I'm not real big, personally, on costuming dogs, and that I'm on an extended visit away from home, so supplies were limited.

(For those of you who aren't regular readers -- and being irregular is no fun at all, is it? -- I'm temporarily at the University of Montana, serving as a visiting professor of journalism.)

Invited by my one of my students to a Halloween party  -- one whose host was gracious enough to invite my dog as well -- we tried to come up with something quick, cheap and easy.

So step one was squeezing him into this green T-shirt, emblazoned with the world "Ireland" in gold. 

Step two was an orange bandana.

Step three was getting him to sit.

Voila. Irish Setter.

Of course, it probably only added to Ace's breed confusion. (Irregulars: You can learn more about Ace's bloodline elsewhere on this page.)

And only about 30 percent of guests managed to figure out what he was -- even when told that sitting was a clue.

That didn't keep him from having a good time though -- up until we left.

Next door to the house where the party was, a resident had installed a creepy-voiced creature on his doorstep that kept repeating, through a recording, "Hey, I see you! Where you going?"

Ace tensed up as we walked past it to the car, then bolted in the other direction, almost pulling me down with him before I realized I had to either let the leash go, or lose my arm. He ran back to the party house and cowered behind the fence. Only with a lot of coaxing, and through walking on the other side of the street from the creepy voice, was I able to get him, shaking and whimpering, back to the car.

On this particular fright night, he got a good one.  Call it the luck of the Irish.

How did your pet fare on Halloween? Send your tales by leaving a comment below.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 12:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

All of you can’t help but know by now -- and maybe are even getting tired of hearing –- about how my dog Ace takes the cake.

But yesterday, he really did -- or at least all of the icing off one side.

It was my birthday cake – chocolate with chocolate icing, but he seems fine. It was decorated, Montana-style, with a plastic horse, a fence, a “Happy Birthday, Cowboy” sign and 24 candles.

Yes, 24. It was, you see, the 24th anniversary of my 30th birthday. That adds up to 54, but 54 candles, in light of Montana’s forest fire problem this summer, might have been hazardous. They had all been lit -- though I didn’t know it -- as soon as my car tires clanked over the cattle guard and crunched along the gravel road, the signal I’m home.

Ace ran out to meet me, and I lingered outside, playing with him. The candles continued to burn, setting the “Happy Birthday, Cowboy” sign on fire. The cake had been extinguished by the time I came inside. We re-lit one of the candle nubs that remained. I blew it out and, leaving the cake on the dining room table, we went out for my birthday steak dinner.

When we returned, Ace bolted out of the house, and didn’t seem to want to go back in – generally a sign that he has done something he’s guilty about. He had carefully removed all the icing from about a third of the cake, which remained right where we left it on the table.

He had shown some restraint – much like he did on his only other chocolate binge (and since chocolate can be toxic for dogs, that’s a good thing.) It was Halloween, just a few weeks after I had adopted him from the city shelter. When I stepped out, he got into the candy bowl, removing, unwrapping and eating only the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. The Snickers, Milky Ways, Nestle’s Crunch bars all remained untouched.

What kept him from consuming everything – then and this time – may have been a cue from his body, his sense of right and wrong, or maybe just getting full. I’ll never know.

After some scolding, I still gave him his dinner and a doggie bag of leftovers from the steakhouse. I figured it might help flush anything toxic – did I mention 14 of the 24 candle nubs were gone as well? – out of his system.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 6:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

While you may have been reading about Glacier National Park in your Sunday Sun's travel section, Ace and I were there.

Fine as that story about the park was, Glacier comes about as close as anywhere I've ever been to being indescribable. Words just seem a little paltry amid such magnificence.

Even Ace -- who normally only gets up to look at the scenery when he smells something, hears the sounds of people, or senses  we're close to home -- seemed taken by the views along Going-To-The-Sun Road.

Like most national parks -- Grand Canyon, Acadia and Shenandoah being among the exceptions --Glacier isn't especially dog friendly. Park rules prohibit dogs on trails and require they be leashed at all times.

(National forests are generally more tolerant of dogs than national parks.)

But between the cool temperatures, Ace's being a mellow traveler, and the couple of times we cheated (and let him romp among the rocks and waterfalls in the clearest water I've ever seen), it was probably worth all the time he had to spend in the car -- and preferable to staying home alone.

Call me anthropomorphic, but I truly think, on some level, Ace appreciated the majesty of the place. And, even if he didn't, I did. Glacier wakes you up. Glacier rejuvenates your soul. Glacier does for your spirit what dangling your bare feet in one of its ice-cold waterfalls does for your toes.

Go to Glacier, and go soon, because, due to global warming, by 2030 the last of the 27 remaining glaciers -- down from 100 that covered nearly 1,000 acres at the end of the 19th century -- will be gone.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 12:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

Here's "Paws With a Cause," a video account of Ace's work this summer as a therapy dog.

The video appeared Saturday on Baltimoresun.com, along with my story about Ace's training for -- and work as a member of -- Karma Dogs, a non-profit organization that seeks to improve the lives of others through relationships with therapy dogs.

Ace took part in two programs -- one aimed at improving literacy skills among elementary school students, another that worked with people with developmental disabilities to improve their communication and socialization skills.

Karma Dogs uses only dogs whose lives were saved by rescue organizations.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 3:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

Ace is still loving the big skies of Montana, but he seems a little less smitten with the long trails.

One of the wondrous things about Missoula is -- almost any direction you head -- you are out in the countryside within minutes, with easy access to prime hiking trails that wind through the mountains.

Ace and my girlfriend Tamara didn't waste any time getting started on them.

First, they climbed up to the giant white “M” on the side of Mount Sentinel, which abuts the University of Montana campus.

I passed on that one, because I had some work to do and -- though only 1.5 miles round trip -- it has 13 switchbacks and looks pretty steep. And remember, the air is thinner here.

From my perspective (which is that of overweight smoker) it looked more like a three-day trip than the leisurely hour long hike it’s usually billed as. I will get to it soon, though.

The next day, while I worked, they headed to Blue Mountain Recreation Area, south of town, and logged another four miles or so.

The next day, a Saturday, I joined in and all three of us hiked the Woods Gulch Trail in the Rattlesnake National Recreation Area -- well, at least we did until we took a wrong turn onto some other trail and went several miles before backtracking.

Later, Ace – as much as he seemed to enjoy the four-hour hike -- seemed totally worn out, so exhausted that he didn't budge again all night.

On Sunday, I came to my office on campus after dropping Ace and Tamara off for another hike -- a planned six-mile trek across up Mount Sentinel and through Hellgate Canyon, then down a trail that returns to campus.

They'd done maybe a quarter of a mile, I was told later, when Ace rebelled, refusing to go any higher. Off the leash (you can get away with that here), he turned around, came down the dusty mountain and found some cool grass in which to collapse.

His body language was quite clear, and it was saying two words: I'm done.

Perhaps it was just too much too soon -- a hiking overdose, so to speak -- which would prove how right I am right to take this healthy, exercising, clean living stuff in moderation, so as not to shock my system too severely.

After all, back in Baltimore, Ace and I were used to walking once or twice a day to Riverside Park, then back home -- a mere six blocks, and even then we often stopped on the way for a beer at the corner bar, called The Idle Hour.

It might just be that I raised a dog more interested in bar hopping than trail blazing.

More likely, we just overdid it (well, not me). Maybe he's still getting used to the fact that, despite all the fascinating sights and smells on the mountainsides, there are no taverns along the trail -- and that, here in Montana, his hours are a little less idle. 

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

A week after arriving in Montana, I am now properly shod -- thanks to the used cowboy boot dealer on the side of the road in Lolo, Montana. 

South of town, along Highway 93, he had put up a sign and parked his flat bed truck, the platform of which was covered with pre-owned cowboy boots at a price that couldn't be beat --  $5 a pop.

It wasn't clear to me where exactly the used cowboy boots came from, even though I twice asked the question. From used cowboys, I guess. He just said he was trying to reduce his inventory, which fills two storage units.

It seemed a good idea to me, recycling cowboy boots. There's less waste (fewer cows, alligators, lizards and snakes have to give their lives) and -- best of all -- they're already broken in. The worst part about cowboy boots is always the breaking-in. These, I figure, have already been through that -- not to mention possibly some rough-and-tumble adventures, or even a barfight or two -- and were ready to go.

There were newer boots as well, perhaps even some brand new ones, off to the side, but those ran as high as $20. I opted for the $5 pairs on the truck, and bought two -- one for casual times, and one for fancy affairs.

The ones I'm wearing today, the fancy ones, were a little snug at first, but now they are on the verge of being almost comfortable.

Still, I can't help but wonder about their previous occupant, and how what are now my boots got from him to the used cowboy boot man.

I only hope he didn't die with his boots on, or of a fungus infection.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

After two days of life on the ranch, Ace still isn't sure what to make of the horses.

There are three of them in the pasture behind our house in Lolo -- tenants like us -- that munch away on the grass all day.

Ace seems fascinated by their size, and by just what it is they are eating. Mostly he just sits and stares at them, and they at him, for minute upon minute.

Yesterday, he came almost nose-to-nose with one, stalking his way to the fenced in pasture, putting his nose between the fence rails and sniffing around.

The smallest of the three horses craned his neck down to sniff back. I figured that was close enough -- we'd been warned not to mess with the horses. Besides, they have an electric fence around them, and I'd hate to be the cause, or for Ace to be the cause, of them getting a jolt.

I held Ace a few feet back, and we watched the horse together.

I think he's intrigued by their size. Before this trip, the only horse he'd seen was one that pulled an Arabber produce cart in the city streets of Baltimore -- and that was from a block away.

Even more puzzling to him, though, is that they are obviously eating something that he is not getting to share in. When the small one walked away, Ace stuck his head through the rails again and shoved his muzzle through the grass the horse had been munching, as if he was searching for a jackpot.

Alas, there was only grass.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 8:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (1)
                    

Six days after it started, the journey to Montana has come to an end.

The journey in Montana has just started.

I’ll continue writing the Mutts blog while I’m in Montana, and, every so often, you’ll hear about our exploits here.

We’ll also continue, thanks to the wonders of the Internet, to keep you posted on what’s going on with dogs and other pets in Baltimore.

For those who followed our trip, and wished us well, we thank you for following along. A video version of our journey across the country is in the works, and I will keep you posted on that, as well as Ace’s experience in Baltimore this summer as a therapy dog – a story that will soon be coming out in the newspaper, and, in video form, online at baltimoresun.com.

There will be more adventures, and more roads, ahead, but this particular tale has come to an end.

Happy trails ...

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

After six days cooped up in a car and confined to sterile, lookalike hotel rooms on our 2,300 cross-country trip, Ace was unleashed yesterday on the wide open spaces of Montana.

It was a beautiful thing to watch. He thundered through a golden pasture, his paws kicking up dust as they thumped the ground audibly.

He jumped into Lolo Creek, which runs through our rental property, immediately ran back out, then decided he liked it and splashed around for another 30 minutes.

He briefly considered giving chase to a deer that ran from our back yard when we pulled in, stared down the three horses grazing there, and trotted along happily – sometimes at my side, sometimes venturing off on his own – as we hiked around under Montana’s big, but hazy, sky.

Forest fires have ravaged western Montana this summer, leaving a smoky haze hanging over the Missoula area. We ran into it 60 miles outside of town and have been inhaling it since. Fires are still burning nearby – though just how nearby I’m not sure.

My sister, having inherited my mother’s worry gene, is more concerned than me. She called twice -- first to tell me the fires were not far from where we are staying for our first month – out in the countryside in Lolo, about 10 miles outside Missoula. Then she called again to check on me.

It is the dominant smell in western Montana now, but the smoke doesn’t seem to bother Ace, who found plenty of other things to sniff out – animal droppings, dead wood along the creek bed and old gateposts that creaked in the wind.

It’s early yet, but, judging from the spirit he exuded on our walk, I think Ace – a stray that once roamed the streets of Baltimore -- is going to like being a country dog.

I think I am going to like it, too.

It’s only temporary. In a month we move into our house in Missoula proper, and our lifestyle will change again.

We’re home now, even though we’ve only been in this log house for a few hours. We’ll be home in town, as well. And, of course, we’ll be home when we’re back in Baltimore.

That’s because home isn’t just where the heart is.

Home is also where the dog is.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 12:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

After a relaxing evening and an even more laid back morning in Livingston, Mont. -- and, for Ace, another encounter with a buffalo (this one mounted on the wall of the Murray Hotel) -- we're off for the final leg of our journey.

It's just three or four hours to Missoula from here, I'm told, depending on how fast one drives.

The Murray is an historic hotel, built around 1904, in downtown Livingston, which seems a town loaded with and friendly toward dogs. Almost every other person is walking one, or has two or three in their car. Ace met several of them on a morning walk, where we ended up at Coffee Crossing and had a cup. They keep a bowl of dog biscuits by the door, so Ace had several.

We dropped him off and left him breakfast in the room, then went to enjoy our own at the Northern Pacific Beanery, located in the Livingston train depot. It was filled with families on their way to or coming back from Yellowstone National Park. 

Then we checked out of the hotel, where Ace, somewhat out of character, spent the entire night on the ultra soft bed, as opposed to the original 1904 hardwood floors. We had a small but comfortable second-floor room at the Murray, which, despite a very unpretentious exterior -- down to the fading painted sign on the side of the building -- provided top notch lodgings.

Desk Manager Donna White showed us to our room, because only hotel staff are allowed to operate the original elevator, which was the first installed in Livingston. People at the adjacent bar used to get drunk and play in it she said, so they had to make it private.

The hotel and adjacent bar are popular with locals and visiting celebrities. Will Rogers, Buffalo Bill and Calamity Jane all stayed here. More recently Barbara Walters and one of the Quaid brothers (I forget which) spent the night (not together). Director Sam Peckinpah lived here for awhile.

The lobby is filled with mounted animal heads, which Ace was fascinated with. He whined at them and tried to get them to play, at first, then decided there were more interesting things around.

It's time to toss him back in the car now, and head out of Livingtson.

We'll leave you with a riddle, told by the little boy at the next table at breakfast.

Q. What did the buffalo say to his kid?

A. Bison (Bye, son)

Posted by John Woestendiek at 1:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

I crossed nearly half of North Dakota and half of Montana today -- listening to my Louis L'Amour books on CD almost all the way.

There were gunfights, there were buzzards, and rattlers and all nature of varmints. There were damsels in distress, low-down, dirty-dealing scoundrels and tall-standing, straight-shooting heroes.

With Louis as my background music (as narrated by Willie Nelson), it was almost as if, as I whipped down Interstate 94 at 75 miles an hour with my air conditioning on, there were dangers lurking around every dusty arroyo, beyond every butte, behind every canyon.

Lucky for me, I had my trusty hound Ace by my side. Here he is keeping a nose out for rattlers, which allowed me to hightail it to the restroom and take care of a matter that had arisen on account of too much coffee.

Some might reckon I was suffering from too much Lamour, also -- but that don't matter none to me.

Right now, after a hard and long day on the dusty trail, I aim to wash up, enjoy some grub, throw a couple more blogs on the fire and catch some shuteye.

Seeya at sun up.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 10:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

About 1,700 miles from Baltimore, near Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota, Ace was drawing attention from a few people as we walked the dusty streets in the tiny tourist town of Medora.

"Can I talk to your dog?" one woman asked as she approached.

As she and her husband petted Ace, she spoke of how she missed her own dog back home.

"Where's that?" I asked.

"Baltimore," she answered.

Claire and Harvey Hoffman, of Lutherville -- that's them to the left, with Ace -- had flown from Baltimore to North Dakota for a long weekend.

That's fairly unusual in itself. That we happened to run into each other was quite a coincidence, too. What's stranger yet, is that their visit was part of their nearly completed quest to visit all 50 states -- a feat I had just accomplished the night before when I entered the state.

For the Hoffman's, North Dakota is state No. 49. The only one left is South Dakota, and they hope to visit it next year.

Claire, a semi-retired federal government attorney, and Harvey, a hospital product salesman, were spending a long weekend in North Dakota, playing some golf and visiting Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

In yet another coincidence, their dog, a golden retriever named Bailey, is a therapy dog, like Ace. Hoffman and Bailey visit hospitals and nursing homes through a program called Pets on Wheels. Ace had become a therapy dog this summer with a group called Karma Dogs. (That story  will appear soon in the Sun and on Baltimoresun.com., where the video version will be available.)

"Bailey is so loveable and sweet," Hoffman said. "I get so much joy from her that I just want to share it."

It's amazing the bridges that can be crossed with dogs -- and the walls that can get knocked down.

Our running into the Hoffmans brought that point home again. For if not for Ace, we likely would have passed each other -- fellow dog-loving Baltimoreans, 1,700 miles from home -- with nothing more than a nod.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 12:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

And I thought Ace was big.

Compared to the world's largest buffalo, located in Jamestown, N.D., he's but a speck.

We stopped in Jamestown for gas, then followed the World's Largest Buffalo signs to Frontier Village.

We stopped first at a gift shop and chuckwagon restaurant whose sign touted a "four-meat buffet."

The restaurant was closed but the gift shop had a family of buffalo out back, with a calf that had been born Tuesday.

You could "feed" the buffalo, but all that consisted of was buying a bag of food and dropping it down a tube that led to a trough, out of which the buffalo ate.

The world's largest buffalo -- 60 tons, 26 feet high and 46 feet long and repainted just this year -- was erected in 1959 and is part of Frontier Village, a replicated old west town that was later constructed around it. The National Buffalo Museum, which features a live herd of buffalo and a rare albino buffalo named "White Cloud," is also part of the complex.

The village features stagecoach rides, a carousel with real ponies, a general store at which I wolfed down a buffalo burger and the writing shack of Louis Lamour, the writer of western novels who grew up in Jamestown.

I've been getting my first dose of his work on the trip, via a collection of his stories on CD read by Willie Nelson.

I was in the middle of one of those, when, down the interstate a bit, I saw signs for the world's largest sandhill crane.

We didn't bother to exit for it.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 8:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

It took a while to check out of the AmericInn in Fargo -- nearly an hour from the time we left the room until we left the parking lot.

First, Tamara got into a conversation with Cheryl Crane, a shih-tzu rescuer from Manitoba, and made her cry.

Then Ace found a new friend in Troy (right), a member of the inn's housekeeping staff.

Tamara had met Cheryl earlier while taking Ace for a walk, and we ran into her again as we were leaving. When she found out Ace had been a shelter dog, she began talking about the dogs she has rescued as part of a Shih-Tzu rescue network. She has three now, two of which only have one eye.

When Tamara mentioned a woman she had heard about who goes to shelters and takes dog scheduled to be euthanized out for one final romp -- Cheryl started streaming tears. Ace must have been able to tell she was a good soul, because -- as he does with people he likes -- he sat on her foot and leaned his body into her.

Ace and I left to check out and pack the car, but on the way we ran into Troy, who was thrilled to see Ace as well. Part of a vocational program, Troy has been reporting to the inn from his group home for work for over a year. He was full of questions about Ace, and I walked him over to the motel's public computer to show him this blog, and the movies on it about Ace.

It was after noon when we finally got out of Fargo, and we only got about three-fifths of the way across North Dakota.

Originally we had planned to stop in Medora, on the western edge of the state. But as I drove down the interstate calling motels on my cell phone, it became clear that trying to find a room for under $150 in Medora -- the state's top tourist town, at the opening of elk hunting season -- wasn't going to be possible.

It was cloudy and cold, and -- except for the huge fields of sunflowers we passed every so often -- fairly flat and uninspiring scenery. After about only four hours of driving, we exited in Bismarck, watched a movie in the motel, ordered a pizza delivery and soaked in the hot tub.

It will give us some ground to make up tomorrow, but having a lazy afternoon was a welcome break.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 6:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

It was close to 9 p.m. and a sliver of moon hung in the sky like a yellowed toenail clipping when we sat down to dine al fresco in Fargo.

It wasn’t one of the restaurants recommended by the desk clerk, but it was open, so we ordered burritos at Juano’s, a Mexican eatery on 13th Street, one of the main drags in Fargo, the North Dakota town best known for its sub-zero temperatures and the Coen brothers movie of the same name.

We had checked into an AmericInn upon arriving, the first motel so far on our six-day trip to Montana. We left Ace in the room with a rawhide chew to keep him occupied, and enjoyed a leisurely meal, watching the toenail moon and listening to hot rods zip by.

Based on the movie, and its out-of-the-way location, you East Coasters may think Fargo a backwards backwoods of a place. I have not gotten a chance to experience all its pleasures, but here's a little factoid that might change your stereotypical thinking:

Fargo has five Starbucks. Yes, five.

Driving across the line from Minnesota and arriving here was, in a way, a landmark for me -- for I have now been in all 50 states. The only three I had missed were those we passed through yesterday – Wisconsin, Minnesota and North Dakota, (Ace, meanwhile, has about 35 to go.).

It's starting to feel a little like the West, and I'm even noticing some cowboy hats.

We plan to stop tonight on the other side of North Dakota -- though our arrangements aren't finalized. Right now though, it's time to get driving after a stop at that Starbucks over there, or maybe that one six blocks down, or maybe the one ...

Posted by John Woestendiek at 11:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

Eau Claire -- pronounced like "Oh, Clair!" -- Wisconsin is a scenic little town with undulating hills of evergreen, a silly French name and friendly people. Very friendly people. Gosh darn friendly people.

Like the ones at the bakery where I stopped to inquire about wireless internet, and where in town I might be able to find it. "Oh my," one employee said apologetically, "I'm not sure we're that advanced yet."

She went on to list all the places that ought to have it -- the library, for example -- but wasn't sure if anyone did. Maybe Borders, she suggested, then gave me elaborate directions about how to get there. Both other empoyees chimed in with their thoughts on the matter, and all three seemed willing to talk about it all day, even though a line of customers was waiting by then.

Down by the mall, I went in Borders. It being 2 p.m., business was sleau. An employee there said they didn't have wireless internet, but she said Kink-eau's definitely had it, then drew me a detailed map of how to find it.

I left Ace -- my precious canine carg-eau -- with my girlfriend Tamara at a nearby Panera Bread, so at least they could have a nice lunch at the outside tables, and drove off in my car (a Jeep, not a Volveau) in search of Kink-eau's, which was somewhere on the opposite side of the mall.

First, though, having lost my bearings on the hand-drawn map, I asked another diner how to find Kink-eau's. "Yeau, breau," I said. "To get to the Kink-eau's, which way do I geau?" He pointed, and I took off. After ten minutes of driving around in circles -- Bing-eau! -- I found it. It turned out not to be free.

Despite being a cheap-eau, I paid the 10 cents a minute -- even the information superhighway, it seems, charges a toll -- so I could transmit my thoughts to you before heading on to Farg-eau, N.D.

The staff at Kink-eau's, leau and behold were friendly and helpful as they could possibly be. "America's Dairyland," while it's the phrase that appears on Wisconsin's license plates, ought to be replaced with "Gosh Darn Nice Folks," I thought to myself. That would be a better state mott-eau.

Back at Panera Bread, where Tamara said her chicken salad sandwich was only "seau-seau," I ordered a turkey sandwich to geau, and we both made pit stops before leaving.

"Did you notice the sign inside?" she said when she came out. What sign?" I asked. "The one that said they had free wireless internet."

"Eau Neau!"

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

I dreamed I was on a lifeboat, and basically I was.

 We had spent the evening at my sister’s chewing the fat, while Ace sat outside and chewed on the big disgusting cow part my sister had bought him.

When it was time to for bed, he kept casting for forlorn glances back at it as he slowly walked back in the house.

We made his bed on the porch, then inflated ours in the den – a big double bed that pumps itself up with air when you plug it in and push a button.

I fell asleep in a flash, but around 4 a.m. I got a sinking feeling. We were losing air. I sprang into action, feeling around for the pump switch with one hand, turning it on, then replugging the stopper, which had come loose.

Having avoided a disaster at sea, or at least contact with the floor of my sister's den, I fell asleep again when, at 5 a.m., I heard my name called.

 “I know, I’m snoring,” I said, assuming I was again being urged to cease that practice by my girlfriend. It was my sister, though.

“Ace wants you bad,” she said. He had started whimpering, and while my sister had sat and held hands with him for a while –- they might even have bonded a bit -- my services were needed. She didn’t want to let him out, for fear he might run away.

So I got up, and let Ace out. He didn’t need to go to the bathroom. He wanted his big disgusting cow part, and searched the back yard until he found it. I let him bring it back on the porch, and went back to sleep again.

We're in Eau Claire, Wis., now, not far from the Minnesota line. We pulled out of DeForest around 10 a.m. and decided to cancel our plans to visit the Spam Museum in Austin, Minn.

It would add three hours to the trip and, while I treasure Spam – the meat product made of big disgusting pig parts – we were running too late. Thanks to the Internet, you can visit the museum, which opened in 2001, online. Just click here.

We, meanwhile, having bid farewell to my sister, are trying to make Fargo by nightfall -- the car loaded with a fresh Thermos of coffee, one new squeaky toy, more dirty clothes and, in the back, a well-gnawed, big disgusting cow part.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 2:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

Ace, being a city dog, probably thought that corn came from blue plastic grocery store bags – if he even thought about it at all.

Yesterday, he got to meet some at its source – for though it’s known as America’s Dairyland, Wisconsin is mostly corn, endless rolling fields of corn that, as they ripen, lend a golden tint to the state's endless spans of deep green.

Ace’s close encounter of the corn kind came in DeForest, Wis., a rural suburb of Madison, where we spent the night after a day that saw us log another 450 miles, passing through the rest of Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, most of which, as you may know, are also filled with corn.

After being cooped up in the car all day, Ace was eager to get out and explore. And he’s always been quite fond of corn, which, at home, he very daintily nibbles off the cob before attempting to eat the entire cob (which, by the way, is not something you should let a dog eat).

I figured there was no better place than Wisconsin – as we’re not passing through Iowa – to introduce him to cornography, step one is his conversion from city dog to country dog.

In the field, he approached the corn warily. He sniffed at the roots, gazed up at the ears and jumped back at the noise when a gust of wind rustled through the stalks. He decided he’d seen enough.

With no one around, I briefly thought about swiping a few of ears and bringing them back to my sister’s house for dinner. After driving through all these corn-states, and forking over cash at toll stop after toll stop, I felt they owed me something.

It has been like that for two days now, ever since the Pennsylvania Turnpike, which became the Ohio Turnpike, which became another turnpike followed by another turnpike. I’m thinking most of the toll takers are behind us now, or will be once we get a little further west. They don’t tolerate that stuff out west.

I was, however, impressed with – and hereby award a 4 bone (of a possible five) "dog-friendly" rating to the Illinois Tollway Commission, which had the foresight to install lockable dog kennels outside its new Jetson-like turnpike plazas.

The one we stopped at, outside Rockford, Ill., had three spacious pens, each with a wooden post in the middle for dogs to relieve themselves on. The kennels allow families traveling with dogs, if they happen to have their own lock, to put the pooch inside and then go enjoy a relaxing meal at Taco Bell or one of the other fast food kiosks.

We stayed the night at my sister’s house. Unfortunately, we can only award her 3.5 dog bones for dog-friendliness, for while she did buy Ace a squeaky toy and a huge and ugly smoked cow part known as a “meat knuckle,” she required that he sleep on the porch.

I probably should just give her a 3-bone rating, but she made me strawberry shortcake.

Tomorrow’s destination: Fargo, N.D.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
                    

The bed was comfy; breakfast was lovely; and now it’s time to say goodbye to our host dog, Hanz, and hit the road again for our next stop, Madison, Wis.

Ace and I rose at 7 a.m. and had a nice walk through downtown Sandusky and along the lake Erie waterfront. Every walker and jogger we encountered said “hello,” “what kind of dog is that?” or that other tried and true phrase, “Are you walking him or is he walking you?”

It’s a friendly little town. Last night, as we walked away from the take-out fish place where we had dinner outside at a picnic table, the manager came out the door and hollered at us, even though we were a block away.

“Was that food OK?”

We waved and assured him it was.

On our morning walk, Ace and I stopped in at Gallagher’s Sandusky Feed and Supply Co. to replace the dog of bag food I forgot to bring along. I had some reserve food in his traveling back, but used the last of it this morning.

Ace was welcomed inside the store, jumped up and put his front paws on the counter to greet the proprietor, then took off to browse. If he had his way, would have spent the whole day there, sniffing big bags of dog food and shelves of bones and rawhide chews.

Back at Wagner’s 1844 Inn, I gave Hanz one of the jerky sausage treats I had picked up and sat down for breakfast – fresh fruit, cereal, sticky pecan rolls and breads all baked fresh by owner Barb Wagner.

On the dog-friendly scale, we give the town of Sandusky four bones. Wagner and her inn get five bones, the maximum. Hanz, for being so gracious about allowing other dogs in his home – even though he’s old and ailing – gets five as well.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 10:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

An hour late, and forgetting Ace’s dog food (sorry, landlord, it’s in the cabinet under the sink), Ace and I left our emptied house and hit the road.

Loading the car, and leaving enough room for Ace, was tricky, and I was moving slow, a little sore from having spent the night on Ace’s dog bed – or about a third of the dog bed, anyway.

You’d think, after nearly two years of me sharing my human bed with him, he wouldn’t begrudge me one night in his dog bed, which he normally doesn’t even use.

But last night, with no other furniture left in the house, he wanted it, and I swear he was trying to edge me off of it.

This morning, after two hours of packing, we got rolling, headed for the night’s destination – Sandusky, Ohio, where I had found a dog-friendly bed and breakfast and reserved a room.

With hotels becoming a little more tolerant of dogs, and a host of Internet sites listing those that take pets, finding dog friendly accommodations is becoming easier, provided you make arrangements in advance. There are many such websites, among them: www.dogfriendly.com, www.bringfido.com, and www.takeyourpet.com.

Ace settled in for the long haul about 15 minutes into the trip, and snoozed for most of it. Entering Pennsylvania, we stopped for a quick break, took in a plethora of rest area scents, met another dog in the official dogwalking part of the rest area, then pushed on to Breezewood, where we stopped at a Starbucks with outside seating and split a bagel.

There, a couple of families came up to meet him. Ace ignored them because I’d given him a long-lasting treat. I ignored them because I was trying to find wireless internet.

Still hungry after my half of the bagel (that being the half with the cream cheese on it), I got a sub from Quizno’s to eat on the road.

By afternoon, we had finished up the Pennsylvania Turnpike and gotten on the Ohio and, after stopping for gas – between the two bicycles on the back and the camping gear and luggage on my roof, I'm probably getting about six miles to the gallon -- we pushed on for Sandusky.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (4)
                    

You didn't think Ace I were going to leave you behind, did you?

No way. You're coming with us -- six days, nine states, 2,319 miles, with stops in such garden spots as Sandusky, Ohio; Madison, Wis.; and Fargo, N.D.

We hit the road tomorrow, destined for Missoula, where I'll be teaching a journalism class at the University of Montana for a semester. So, for the next week, you'll be coming along as Ace and I blog our journey west, bringing you the sights, sounds and (Ace's favorite) smells along the way.

If you've ever traveled with a dog, you know it changes things -- making for more and longer stops at rest areas, meals that are served via the drive-thru window, and it pretty much determines where you stop to spend the night: wherever your 120-pound pet is allowed.

There are fewer opportunities to be spontaneous -- especially when, with temperatures like they've been, you can't leave your dog in the car for any amount of time. That means stopping at museums, roadside attractions, or for a leisurely indoor meal, is all but out of the picture.

On the other hand, taking a road trip with a dog allows you some experiences you otherwise might not have. Your more likely to chat with locals and fellow travelers, especially dog-toting ones. You're more likely to have people start up conversations with you -- whether you want them to or not. Your more likely to have picnics -- possibly, if you're lucky, in scenic locales.

We're going to be taking it slow -- Ace and I in the overstuffed lead vehicle, my girlfriend Tamara following behind in her car. Most of our route (above) is planned out, with reservations made at "dog-friendly" hotels and inns.

In the week ahead, we'll see if they live up to that phrase, and we'll see how "dog friendly" America really is -- at least along the stretch of road we'll be traveling.

You're more than welcome to come along -- to experience the highlights and lowlights of our road trip -- and all without having to pack, get carsick, sit in traffic jams, pay for gas, or be asked if you want fries with that.                                                        

*    *   *

I joked last week about leaving town as an outlaw (what witha pending dog-off-the-leash charge against me). As it turned out, I almost did.

The week before leaving was one of those everything that could go wrong did ones, and I came within a day of having to make the trip without a driver's license.

On Friday, since my Maryland driver's license will expire while I'm gone, I had to go the the Motor Vehicle Administration to renew. I got there when it opened, hoping to sail through. Within an hour, my turn had come, my eyes were checked, my photo taken, and I was on the verge of being renewed when the clerk looked into her computer and told me my license was suspended -- sweeping my old one up in her hand as she did so.

Apparently, it has been for several years, ever since I got a ticket, forgot to pay it, and then failed to show up for court dates of which I was never notified.

The original offense took place in 2004. I was driving the one mile to work when I got pulled over by a police officer on a horse.

I was stopped in traffic downtown, near Pratt and Light streets, with my sunroof open. The officer, from atop her horse on the sidewalk, could see right down into my car -- and see that I wasn't wearing a seat belt.

"I'm going to need you to pull over," she said, looming above me.

I thought I'd paid the fines, but apparently not. So Friday I left the MVA, went to District Court, paid $300-plus in fines, went back to the MVA, waited another hour and got my license. (Yes, it's a horrible picture.)

Later that day, my computer broke, I got a splinter, and I dropped my cellphone, forcing me to buy a new one with an instruction manual longer than the last novel I read.

As I see it, after that week -- and I didn't even tell you about Ace and the down pillow -- there are only two directions in which to go. One is west. The other is up.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

I don't think it makes me an actual fugitive from justice, but when I roll out of town next week (for a semester in Montana), it will be with an unresolved legal matter still pending against me.

It was back in May when the long arm of the law, and the slightly stubbier arms of animal control, came down on Ace and me, citing us for being off leash in Riverside Park. (Well, he was off the leash, but I got the ticket.)

As they do now and then -- at least three times this summer in Riverside Park that I know of -- police and animal control teamed up to nab dozens of us dangerous lawbreakers who went so far as to let our dogs run freely.

I was caught up in conversation, not paying attention, and unhooked Ace's leash as we neared the gazebo, leaning on the rail of which was a plainclothes police officer who immediately called me over.

The officer, who seemed somewhat less than thrilled with his assignment, took my driver's license, ordered me to put Ace back on the leash, and told me to follow him. There, behind the swimming pool, a team of animal control officers were writing citations to those who had been nabbed before me. There was actually a line to wait in to get a ticket.

The back story, to be fair, is that the crackdowns usually follow complaints from citizens who were bitten, frightened or felt endangered by an unleashed dog. Those citizens can get pretty irate. So too can those being ticketed, which is why animal control asked for the assist from the police department.

We all know the law -- it's right there on signs saying all dogs must be on a 6-foot leash -- but many of us violate the city ordinance daily, usually after scouting the park to makes sure police or animal control aren't around.

When they are sighted, we warn each other -- as if we were peddling crack on a street corner. We put our dogs back on the leashes and act all nonchalant. Sometimes people run to avoid being caught. I've actually heard people shout "Five-Oh!" when officers are sighted. And these, by and large, are yuppies.

Why do we want to avoid "The Man?" Because the citation carries a $100 fine -- more if your dog is unlicensed. So we play our little game of cat and mouse, or, more accurately, cop and dog, in an attempt to let our dogs get the exercise they need. And when we get a ticket, we pay it.

But I didn't.

Instead, I took the option explained in the small print on the back of the citation, and, as it instructed, took written notification that I wanted a hearing down to an office in the police station, filled out the paperwork as a photo of Sheila Dixon stared down at me, and waited for notification of when my hearing would be.

It never came.

Which is good, because I had no brilliant defense planned. I figured that maybe the officers wouldn't show up and it would be dropped, like sometimes happens with traffic tickets. Also, I'd heard that sometimes the Environmental Control Board, which conducts the hearings, reduces the fine.

I planned merely to explain that -- despite my deep respect for most other city ordinances -- I felt this one was wrong, and could not in good conscious abide by it. A trained and well-behaved dog should not have to be on leash everytime he or she goes on public property.

Yes, a dog park would be preferable, but there is only one of those, not nearly enough for a city with the number of dogs Baltimore has. Meanwhile, dogs need to run. That, I was prepared to say, is what nature intended (I planned to leave God out of it, at this stage, saving it for the Supreme Court).

Nor did I plan to make the point that a few of those ticketed made to officers while getting written up: Don't you, in a city like Baltimore, have more pressing law enforcement duties to perform? Mightn't it be a better use of the police officer's time to be chasing violent criminals? Mightn't it better serve the community to have the animal control officers cracking down on dogfighting rings, as opposed to dogwalkers? Perhaps, I pondered, I should go all Pacino on them: "NO! YOU'RE out of order! Or at least your priorities are."

I decided not to bring that up at the hearing, unless someone made me mad -- for it is the kind of point that fits much better in a blog, thereby leading to spirited public discussion among those who click the COMMENT button and type in their thoughts.

Now, I guess my day in court will have to wait, unless they issue a warrant for me, or extradite me, or send Dog the Bounty Hunter after me. More likely I will just get threatening letters.

That's all for now.

Signed,

Public Enemy No. 421,312

***

For the next three days, I'm going to be packing for the trip west, but -- as during my semester-long stay in Montana -- the blog will roll on.

Meanwhile, I will have some nice parting gifts for you, which you will have tune in Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday to get.

Tuesday's will be my favorite all-time dog video (and no, it's not my dog). Wednesday's will be a special free "while-supplies-last" offer to teachers and people who work with animal welfare organizations.

Thursday's will be truly revelatory, as I will proclaim Baltimore's "City Animal."

For some reason, in this country, we pick state birds, flowers and animals, but not city ones. And while it's probably the mayor's job to proclaim something like this, I'm stepping in to help out.

You may feel free to submit your picks for what should be Baltimore's City Animal (again, it's that COMMENTS button below), but, to be honest, I've already made up my mind.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (1)
                    

Ace knows something is up.

Maybe it was when I started getting together items for the yard sale, or when I started loading boxes with books.

Even though I haven't pulled the suitcase out yet, Ace -- as sure as that deathbed cat detects impending death -- senses upheaval.

I'm hoping he likes being upheaved.

A little over a week from now -- though I still haven't figured out how I'm going to fit him and everything else in the car -- we are headed for the University of Montana, where, for the next four months I'm going to be a visiting professor.

I'm taking a leave of absence from The Sun to teach a journalism class, though I'll continue the Mutts blog during the semester I'm away. It was an offer I couldn't refuse, mainly because the job has the word "distinguished" in its title.

Last night, feeling only slightly foolish, I explained to Ace what was going on. He's been acting stressed out lately -- especially when the storage pods were placed in his driveway earlier this week. Every once in a while, though they've been there for four days, he'll bark at them.

I didn't expect him to understand, but I wanted to reassure him, and let him know he'll be coming along. He's still acting edgy, though, and probably will until we are on the road. He likes the road.

More than any of the packing and moving and chaos inside my house, it is probably my mood that Ace is sensing, and reflecting. Dogs can serve as mirrors. He is probably edgy because I am -- with too many loose ends in need of tying up, too many things to do on too many things-to-do lists, most of which I've misplaced. I'm not foaming at the mouth yet, but I may be doing some nervous shedding.

I will probably be better when we are on the road. I like the road.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 7:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)
                    

My dog Ace isn’t much of a barker. When the mail comes, or there’s a knock on a door he’ll generally just bark once and be done with it.

So when I heard him barking up a storm on a recent weekend – a “ruh, ruh, ruh-ruh-ruh,” as opposed to one clipped “ruff” -- I knew it had to be something big. It was.

Ace was in the backyard, and I use the term loosely. As with many rowhouses, the “yard” is just a slab of concrete. I refer to it as the “cement yard,” with the emphasis on the “SEE,” like the Beverly Hillbillies called their swimming pool the “SEE-mint pond.”

I looked out my kitchen window and saw Ace looking up at the sky. I stepped out to see if he was barking at someone on one of the many rooftop decks looming above my patio. All were empty. I went back inside and, in a few minutes, he was raising a ruckus again.

Stepping outside I looked around, and up, and saw what was upsetting him: not a bird, not a plane, but a blimp -- the “Sanyo” blimp, which was cruising over and around Camden Yards during an Orioles game.

Every three minutes or so, it would pass overhead, and Ace would spend the lulls in between scanning the sky for it, barking when it finally appeared. He has seen birds, and planes, and the police helicopter that seems especially fond of flying over my neighborhood, but never anything like this.

He probably didn’t know what to make of it -- something so big and fat moving so slowly across the sky, disappearing behind rowhouses and church steeples, then popping out again. I went in and grabbed my video camera.

Here, then, for your viewing pleasure, is “Ace and the Blimp.”

Posted by John Woestendiek at 2:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

Retract:

 1. To take back; disavow

 2. To draw back or in

In the Sun’s Today section this morning is a story about Al Freihofer, who plans to row his boat all day long in the Inner Harbor Saturday to raise money for Recycled Love, a local dog rescue organization.

The story (click here) tells you all about that. What it doesn’t tell you is how, with some help from my dog, I almost killed the man.

But first we must go back to my new retractable leash.

I’d avoided getting a retractable leash, favoring the good old fashioned kind, until a dog trainer talked me into buying one a couple of weeks ago — a big, heavy duty model, about three times the size of a hockey puck.

It has its advantages – mainly, instead of Ace jerking my arm out of its socket every 10 seconds, it only happens about every 30 seconds with the retractable leash. He could roam and sniff a little more, and I could walk at a less hurky-jerky pace.

I hooked the new leash to my 115-pound dog last Wednesday, and, along with my 15-year-old son, walked down to the Inner Harbor to meet Al, who was being photographed by the paper while he practiced.

Ace and I sat on a wall and watched as Al’s Adirondack Guide Boat went out with the photographer and rowed back in. Then he offered my son a ride.

Al, an 8th grade English teacher and assistant headmaster at Boys’ Latin School, was holding the boat steady at the dock in front of the Maryland Science Center, and my son ran down to hop on. Ace suddenly jumped up and ran down there as well, extending the leash to its full 20 feet, at which point it flew out of my hand and headed -- while retracting, and at great speed -- directly for Al's head.

Despite my shout to "look out!" and despite me wishing I could at that moment retract the retractable leash, it hit Al smack in the mouth.

The leash landed in the boat as Al doubled over in pain, looking up a couple of times to stoically insist it was nothing. My son got his ride, but even from afar, I could see Al’s lip swelling up as the boat came back in.

"Don’t worry about it," he said again — proving what one might guess about a man who would row a boat all day long to raise money for dogs in need of homes.

This I can say in all objectivity and with no need for retraction: Al Freihofer is a very gracious man.

 ***

Row for Rescue activities will run from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Saturday at Rash Field. They include pet-related vendors, pets available for adoption, flyball demonstrations, and appearances by an animal acupuncturist, an animal communicator and my dog Ace (star of the dogumentary "Hey, Mister, What Kind of Dog is That?"), who will be giving out pawtographs.

For more information on Freihofer’s row, visit http://www.rowforrescue.blogspot.com 

For more information on Recycled Love, visit http://www.recycledlove.org

Posted by John Woestendiek at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
                    

Well, at least two days of it.

Ace and I are back from Ocean City, and we can report that the town is deluged this week, as it is the same time every summer, with freshly graduated high school seniors, some of whom I'm sure are behaving quite responsibly and mannerly.

We, unfortunately, tended to only run into the rest of them -- those loud, expletive-spouting, engine-revving, beer-swilling teens who think they are invulnerable and seem intent on proving it.

I wrote about the "junebug" phenomenon last year -- during my summer-long assignment to the beach -- and part of that story got into how Ocean City motels once declined to accept celebrating high school graduates (kind of like many of them decline to accept families with dogs). Eventually business owners realized snubbing the seniors was economic suicide. 

Virtually all motels now rent to seniors, but there's still not that many allowing dogs, which is a bit of a double standard when you consider the similarities between the two groups.

Both are prone to urinating in public, fixated on "hooking up" and tend to travel in noisy and boisterous packs; both are capable of inflicting great damage on a motel room, making big messes on the carpet, getting into fights and barking and yelping all night long.

All of which gives me an idea -- and, no, it's not to require leashes on high school seniors. That would be wrong.

But why not a dog week, Ocean City? Maybe it could be the week before senior week, and all the motels would welcome dogs, and maybe a restaurant or two, as well, and maybe they'd be allowed on the boardwalk and beach, even. (Town rules prohibit dogs on the beach from May to September)

The town could even hold special safe and wholesome doggie functions for us to attend like it does with the seniors.

As it is now, it's difficult finding dog-friendly accommodations (we stayed at the Barefoot Mailman, which welcomes pets), and a dog visiting Ocean City, unless he knows how to play miniature golf, isn't going to have huge fun. (There are spots along Delaware's coast that do allow dogs, and that will be the topic of a future post).

Speaking of crazy ideas, we stopped by Ocean Gallery, where owner Joe Kro-Art, the king of crazy ideas, is trying to talk the city into a massive work of oceanfront public art he calls "Boathenge."

Inspired by Stonehenge, and Nebraska's whimsical tourist attraction, "Carhenge," Kro-Art wants to plant a line of boats in the sand on the beach at Ocean City.

Knowing him, the idea is not going to go away, so I didn't bother to suggest what I thought might be a better concept: "Seniorhenge."

No, that would be wrong.

Continue reading "Back from the beach, or ... I survived senior week ..." »

Posted by John Woestendiek at 4:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

It was busy evening at Light Street Animal Hospital, and an assortment of dogs and cats waited in the crowded lobby when Ace and I walked in for some booster shots yesterday.

Only one seat was empty, next to a man and his daughter. He held a cat carrier in his lap, and the meows coming from it drew Ace’s attention, leading him to whimper, tilt his head and try to inch closer to the cat to sniff things out.

On Ace’s first attempt to get near the cat carrier, the girl, probably about 10 years old and only about two-thirds of Ace’s weight, quickly stepped between my dog and the cat carrier, her hands clasped behind her.

I was holding Ace close to me on his leash, but still only inches separated him and the girl.

“He’s very big,” she said with a gulp.

Eventually, she reached out a hand to pet him, but not once during the 30-minute wait did she step aside from protecting her cat. She just stood there, a human barricade, her hands on her hips.

“What if my dog wasn’t friendly?” I asked her at one point. “What if he was a mean, snarly, barking dog. Would you still be standing there?”

She didn’t need to think for even a second.

 “Yes,” she said.

 “I love my cat.”

Posted by John Woestendiek at 12:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

Ace’s next adventure, and his next “dogumentary,” are underway – and while we’re not going to spill all the beans here, we will use this space to keep you posted on how it’s going.

In his first videotaped adventure, you’ll recall (and if you don’t, you can find it elsewhere on this page), Ace, a shelter mutt, went on a search for his roots, or at least got dragged along as I sought them out.

Among other things, we learned (through DNA testing) that his heritage is primarily Chow and Rottweiler.

Now he is in training to become a therapy dog. We’ll be working to help children improve their reading (in a program similar to this one written about in The Sun last week, www.baltimoresun.com/features/bal-md.co.dogs31may31,0,7974674.story, and possibly with people with autism at the League for People With Disabilities, www.leagueforpeople.org

It’s something I’ve wanted to do for about a year now, ever since I saw the effect my extra large mutt had on residents of the retirement community in which my mother lives — or at least those who didn’t run in the other direction.

Most of the programs I was able to find in a quick Internet search back then seemed a little pricey (especially since I was donating my time and my dog to the effort), and I put the idea on hold on that big back burner where most of my noble thoughts end up.

Then, I heard about Karma Dogs, karmadogs.org a non-profit organization that uses dogs to help improve literacy skills among school students and works with children and adults with developmental disabilities to improve communication and socialization skills. All the dogs Karma Dogs uses were saved by rescue organizations.

There’s a training fee of $75, and Ace, so far, has passed with flying colors. The weekend before last, he was tested at the PetSmart in Towson, where Karma Dogs trainers walked him through crowds, made loud noises, gave him some forceful hugs and bumped into him enough to ensure that those sort of things didn’t make him angry.

At a third meeting last week, without Ace, I watched as Karma Dogs director Kelly Gould and her dog, Dirk, worked with a 13-year-old boy with autism — teaching him to feed, brush, walk and, most important, bond with Dirk, who was a Hurricane Katrina refugee dog.

Ace and I are scheduled to attend that program at the league, and a Karma Dogs reading program at the Baltimore County Public Library in Towson in June and July.

Watch for movie and report in early August.

Posted by John Woestendiek at 12:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
                    

From John Woestendiek:

"Hey, Mister, What Kind of Dog of That?" our documentary about seeking Ace's roots, will be the subject of a brief segment scheduled on NPR's "Weekend Edition," with guest host John Ydstie, some time around 8:40 a.m. Saturday.

"Hey, Mister ..." concludes online Sunday, with the revelation of the breeds found in Ace through DNA testing.

At benefit screenings of the documentary earlier this week, held by two south Baltimore bars, BARCS (Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter) raised about $800.

Speaking of radio, you may have heard a new song by Wilco this week -- "What Light," from the band's just-released Sky Blue Sky album. The song is used -- with the gracious permission of the band and the record label (Nonesuch) -- in the seventh and final segment of "Hey, Mister ..."

Here's the back story: I heard it on WTMD on the way to work more than two months ago, and it seemed to sum up what, on one level, the movie is all about.

The band, told what the newspaper's documentary was about, agreed nearly right away to let The Sun use the song. "Wilco loves mutts," the band's manager said. As it turned out, more permissions were required, and it took two months, dozens of emails and phone calls, lots of begging and a final push from a Nonesuch executive with Baltimore connections to get permission to use it.

One of my emails ended up getting forwarded to Melissa Cusick, publicity director for Nonesuch Records. Melissa was a student at the Peabody Institute of the Johns Hopkins University when she took in a mutt that had been abandoned downtown.

She named him Bob and took him to New York after college. When people asked what breed he was, she'd say "Mount Vernon shepherd." Bob, after 15 years with Melissa, died last year. Her new companion is Matilda, a shepherd-Rottweiler mix (or so she thinks) that she describes as "a Harlem pound puppy."

"What Light," which the band performed on Late Night With David Letterman this week, wasn't written about dogs (though it does now serve as "our song" for Ace and me). But it is about how each of us is unique, and how there's no single "right" way to look, or act, or paint, or sing.

That's just my interpretation -- that it's saying, when it comes to creativity, appearance and much else in life, your way is the right way, because it is your way.

Posted by Sarah Kickler Kelber at 3:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)