http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMlcgT5EJzE

  In the early days…

…and more recently…

Ani is proud that Mommy’s radio station got a plaque from DDFL.  Ani herself came from the Denver Dumb Friends League.

 More accurately, Ani likes the smell of the Telethon puppies on Mommy’s DDFL shirt.

More truthfully, Ani likes treats that Mommy hides in her hand to get Ani to pose.

Here’s the official advice:

 The Broomfield Police Department routinely provides the following tips regarding coyotes:
• Always keep your pets on a leash when they are off of your property, as required by the Municipal Code, and do not allow them to roam.
• Never allow your pets to “play” with coyotes
• Do not leave your pet unattended in your yard – if you must leave your pet outside, secure it in a fully enclosed kennel
• Do not feed coyotes or leave food items accessible
• Keep your distance and do not approach
• Throw rocks or sticks to keep coyotes away
• Make yourself appear to be big and use a loud authoritative voice to keep coyotes away

A year or so ago when I was working nights I decided to walk my German Shepherd, Ani, through Crown Hill park.

At 1:00 AM.

Crown Hill Park has a curfew, so I was in violation of the law for the cheap thrill of a pretty location on a moonlit, unseasonably warm night.

Crown Hill Park also has a wildlife sanctuary.  Living in that sanctuary is a pack of coyotes, of course.

 Ani and I started walking on a short trail that curves aound the wildlife sanctuary; it’s about a quarter mile from 32nd Avenue, a big, busy street with streets lights and vehicles at all times of day.  I thought it was fine.

This is where my arrogance, i.e. stupidity, comes in.  From my backpacking adventures in Wyoming and Utah and New Mexico and here in Colorado and back east as well, my experience told me that coyotes are shy.  Even if you hear them just a few yards from the campfire or your bivvy sack singing up a yowling, chattering mass of goosebumps on you, you know they don’t attack humans.  I KNEW this.  Because I’m so dang SMART.

Yet here I was, during a time when the park belongs to the coyotes, dangling tasty dog satay on a leash.

The chattering cries started up on our right, in the wildlife sanctuary.  “Cool,” I thought, feeling the metallic squirt of adrenaline in my veins, “coyotes!”  It was almost like being in the wild for a second.  Moonlight reflecting off patches of snow, the iced-over pond, the…

…the cry on our left.  It seemed that the coyotes didn’t have the same regard for fences that we humans do.  It wasn’t just their sanctuary; the entire park was theirs, especially at this hour, with no other humans around.  Duh.

Another answwering cry to our left, but further back, echoed by another ahead of us.  I heard between eight and ten of them from different locations, in a circle around us, slowly closing.

Two coyotes leaped onto the path about fifteen yards ahead of us and began pacing us.  Ani was electrified, trying her best to break from me and run away, which would have been the very worst thing.   I thought about how far I could carry a 70 pound terrified dog who was struggling to get away from me.  I thought about various weapons I could have carried, about how much pepper spray it would take, about how short my knife is.  I looked ahead.  We were less than an eighth of a mile from 32nd.  If needed, I’d forget the curving path and go straight into the street. Meantime, I had to get us there.

I took a firmer grip on Ani’s harness and slowed our walk, throwing my shoulders back, doing my best walking-alone-on-Colfax tough chick strut, talking to Ani in a quiet, even voice.

As we neared 32nd the coyotes backed off.  They stopped vocalizing.  By the time we made it to the four-way stoplight we were definitely off their radar.  Ani, of course, was still in a panic.  I did not take her home in that state.

We went a few extra blocks to a school in the area that’s across a fence from a farm.  I took her to the fence so she could see and smell the horses.  Her ears went back up, stiff as antennae.  Her tail sprung back up.  She gazed at the horses through the fence, then set about sniffing every inch of grass in the school yard.  After a time we went home.  She went back into her house as a predator again, no longer prey.

I almost got my dog eaten.  Because I have such vast experience and knowledge.

Coyotoes are becoming more bold and we must adjust accordingly.  I will interview folks at the CDOW this week about this issue.  For now, check out this story:

http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/18451401/detail.html

A good Mommy loves all of her kids (or fur kids) equally. 

I’m not that good a Mom. 

Kinkers likes to run grapevines around my feet, especially first thing in the morning.  She insists on being where I’m about to sit, parking in the middle of my yoga mat when I’m about to work out, jumping up and putting her paws as close to my face as she can get them, and jumping up at random, especially if I happen to be carrying food. 

She also has a weakness for the litter box.  I’ve built a partial block to the cat door to the laundry room (which houses the cat boxes) so only the cats can get into that room, but she’s fairly small and full of ambition.  I have to re-build a lot.

After a visit to the litter box she sometimes throws up-on my pillow.

She likes to get out of the house when I’m putting the lead on the other dogs and run into the back field to find bones left by foxes (so I’m told)  I follow her, chasing her down, prying her prizes from her jaws. 

She barks like a machine gun when I’m just about to do anything:  put her food dish down,  let her in the house, let her out of the house.  It’s her way of bossing me when she knows she’ll get her way anyway.  Or, that’s me anthopomorphizing.  Like I said, I’m not that good a Mom.  She’s just a dog, but I can’t seem to love her like a dog deserves to be loved.

Kinkers belonged to an elderly neighbor who passed away, and was kept out of door for most of her life.  She’s hell-bent on being an Important House Dog, so I try to give her enough attention, but she soaks it up like a tiny black hole; the more attention I give her, the more demanding she seems to become.  Her sense of self-entitlement is legendary in my experience with dogs.

 Well, you do what you can. 

2 inches, I heard.

 2 inches, and I’ve got a million dollars in my cookie jar…

Click here to go to the Mad Dog Ranch website!

Sheeesh. 

The History Channel is really freaking me out, but I  can’t stop watching Armgeddon Week.   For one thing, the production is brilliant.  3-D special effects superimposed over very authentic-looking 14th century portaits, incredible space animation (not scared of black holes?  You WILL BE!) and other eye candy.  But geeze, it doesn’t look good according to these programs.

I asked a friend if he thought (as Nostradamus, Mother Shipton, Merlin, the Hopi and the Bible all seem to concur) that we only had three more years to live.  He said, “Sure.  And then another 3 after that, probably.  And then if we’re lucky a while more,”  It made me laugh and lighten up, and realize that I need to come unglued from that channel for a while.

One more disturbing question, though:  why does the idea of an unavoidable comet, miles wide and screaming for oblivion, heading for our little vulnerable planet at light speed and lusting to destroy us, actually RELAX me?

Maybe I get so wrapped up in my oh-so-important existence that it seems like kind of a relief that some things really ARE out of my control.

and

It’s all about scale.  A couple of medical bills that freaked me out so much SHRINK in comparison to the thought.

I’m not wishing for a comet, or the end of the world.  I LOVE the world.   Music and dogs and mountains and chocolate are non-negotiables.  And hockey.

That’s it.  I’m going to watch more hockey.

 Wanna catch the end of Armageddon Week?

 http://www.history.com/content/armageddon/armageddon-on-tv

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGMtyCX_DPY

 The new network:

 http://www.imsbarter.com/