February 14, 2011

Recently our walks have been curtailed by Mojito’s surgery. Not abandoned, but shorter and slower. She’s sporting some Frankenstein’s monster stitchery and is only just recovering the bounce in her step. The vet described her as a relatively young dog, which surprised me as she’s ten, but according to the chart in his office, ten for a dog is comparable to fifty-six for a person, which does make her the youngest creature in the house, a mere sprig, and explains her youthful attitudes and behaviors.

Odd sightings today.

A singing tree: Just west of the dog beach, along the cliff top is a Monterey pine. There are many Monterey pines along the cliff and one tries not to have favorites, but this is a very appealing tree. Today it was making a tremendous racket as I approached and I had to get quite close to understand that a congress of blackbirds was hidden among the needles, each of them shouting as loudly as possible. There were so many that if they’d all flapped their wings at once, the tree would have taken flight.

A leaping cat: MJ and I were coming home along the north edge of the park when I saw a flash of white. It appeared briefly above the blackberry vines and then disappeared again. This repeated until I was close enough to see that it was a cat, bouncing straight up and down in the bramble as if it were on a pogo stick. Of course, MJ’s appearance put an end to all such joyous behaviors and I never did figure out what the what was there.

A drunken surfer: Or maybe not. He was headed back from the beach, still wet, still in his wet-suit, surfboard under one arm and carrying an enormous, almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels in the other hand. Though it’s entirely possible that he hadn’t been drinking -- drinking while surfing certainly seems inadvisable in the extreme. It’s entirely possible that he was merely picking up someone else’s litter.

There was a monthly community clean-up underway. When I first walked through the park this morning, it looked fine, but later I had no trouble filling a pail with trash. I found many cigarette butts, wrappers from straws, beer bottles, and napkins. Empty bean cans and bits of tin foil. Condoms, which I’d rather not find, but at least suggest responsible sex. There are many things I’ve done in my life that it shames me to remember, but littering is not among them. Put it on my tombstone. She Didn’t Litter.