it seems like i find a new funny series of atlas photos whenever i look through my archives. this is the latest series that got me to pause in my search for photos in order to click back and forth and back and forth. notice how he slows down as he gets closer, silly pup.

’tis the season for our hikes at the sandy river delta to begin!

atlas and i headed there for a hike (for me) and a run (for him) last tuesday and then again on sunday.

on tuesday, we met that little black dog. he (or possibly she, i can’t remember) was hilarious. he kept dropping that slobbery ball on the ground, lying down in front of it, and then staring at it. but if his person tried to get the ball to throw it, he would grab it and run away.

on sunday, we met another weimaraner. you can see him (or her) chasing atlas in one of the photos.

it’s such a great place for dogs. i have a feeling we will be heading there again tomorrow. plus, a tired dog is a happy dog. or is it a tired dog is a happy owner. probably both.

atlas and i have an almost-annual tradition of visiting a corn maze. last week, we went to bella organic’s corn maze on sauvie island with a friend and her pups.

it is a fun tradition for me, though i was wondering what atlas thinks about it. it occurred to me while we were walking that, from a dog’s perspective, it might seem like wandering around in a corn field with a person who doesn’t seem to know where she’s going and often winds up in the exact same place is not really the best idea.

(you would think that dogs would be good at leading you through mazes. as it turns out, not so much.)

just for fun, here are the stories from two previous visits:

• lost in the corn
• the story of a girl, a dog, and a corn field

hello, friends.

if i could give you one piece of advice from my very long life, it would be this:

learn to open doors.

you will be glad you did.

besides the possibility of opening that marvelous food-filled box in the kitchen, there are many times when i want to leave a room or a building and elizabeth is strangely uncooperative, no matter how strongly i attempt to communicate my desire to her.

if i could open doors myself, this would not be a problem. i would just open the door and walk out.

oh, the freedom.

for most of my life, i was not a dog person. at all.

it wasn’t that i disliked dogs exactly. i wasn’t comfortable around them – which makes sense, because we didn’t have a dog in our house – and i didn’t think there was anything particularly special about them.

whenever i thought about owning a dog (not that i thought about this often, you understand), i would decide that the only way i would ever have a dog would be if it were a siberian husky. any dog of mine would certainly not be coming inside my house. and it would definitely not be coming near my furniture. and since huskies clearly want to be outside all the time, i wouldn’t have to feel guilty about this. (i cannot help but laugh at this, since atlas is curled up underneath my quilt on my bed as i type this story.)

a couple of years after i started at intel, i worked with a guy who had a weimaraner named anton. i thought anton was a decent dog, for a dog, though he didn’t make me revise my opinion of dogs very much.

one january, the guy mentioned that he drove to new mexico for the new year because he didn’t really know anyone in sacramento who could dog-sit for him. i felt sorry for him, and also suffered from a horrible tendency to feel responsible for people, so i volunteered to take care of his dog if he ever needed someone. it is possible that i even said i liked dogs and would be happy to do it.

a few weekends later, he needed a dog-sitter, and i agreed to do it. my only caveat was that even though i knew anton was used to sleeping on the bed, he was most definitely not allowed to sleep on my bed. i was not having a dog on my bed. no way. no how.

anton was dropped off at my house after work that friday. a few minutes later, i said good-bye to my roommates and anton and left to meet a friend for dinner and a movie. i figured anton would be fine while i was gone.

toward the end of dinner, i saw that i had a voicemail. when i listened to it, i heard the sad voice of my roommate alan, “elizabeth .. this dog is so sad .. he keeps trying to come into my office .. we barricaded the stairs with chairs .. he keeps barking and whining .. can you pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese come home? we don’t know what to do!”

oh my goodness. i felt horrible. i finished dinner quickly and left. the whole way home, i kept thinking about poor anton being dropped off in a strange place and being abandoned by the only person he (kind of) knew. oh, did i feel guilty.

when i got home, anton was lying at the top of the stairs while my other roommate sat next to him and scratched his belly. i sat next to him and cried for him and petted him over and over and over.

then, it was bedtime. i made him a nice comfy bed on the floor, settled him in it, and got into bed. as soon as the lights were out, anton jumped onto the bed. i got up, settled him back in his bed on the floor, and got into bed. anton jumped onto the bed again.

repeat. repeat. repeat.

still feeling guilty about leaving, i decided that he had had such a rough start to his weekend that he deserved to sleep on the bed. to save face, i pretended that i had fallen asleep and didn’t know he was there.

the next morning, when i woke up, he was snuggled next to me. i didn’t mind.

all weekend, anton was there. he went running with me, and followed me everywhere, and i loved it. by the end of the weekend, i adored him to pieces.

i wound up dog-sitting him a lot and grew more and more fond of him. it grew harder and harder to give him back, and i eventually knew that i wanted a dog of my own. of course, by that point, only a weimaraner would do.

the guy did tell me that anton was not a good representative of a weimaraner because he was too mellow, but i didn’t listen. i kept taking the “are you ready to be a weimaraner owner” quiz and deciding that none of the hard stuff mattered. i was ready to live with all the quirks and challenges of weimaraners.

and then i got my own dear weimaraner who, as it turned out, was mellow too.

i still think about anton fondly – he has since passed away – and i often tell atlas that he owes a doggy debt of gratitude to the dear sweet dog who helped me realize that i was meant to have a dog of my very own.

last friday, atlas and i celebrated nine years together.

nine years! can you believe it?!

by celebrated, i mean that i told him approximately one million times that i adore him and love him and then i took him for a long hike on our favorite trail.

on saturday, i took him to the pet store and bought him a giant treat. he ate it in the sunshine. (it was too smelly to allow inside the house.) it took him 50 minutes (a record, usually treats take him seconds, maybe minutes if i’m lucky) and then he got up and walked slowly to the house. his tongue was hanging out and he was panting and he looked like he had never worked so hard in all his life. it was pretty funny. (it was really due to the sun. he usually heads for the shade after a couple of minutes, but he was so engrossed in his treat that he couldn’t be bothered.)

i know i say this often, but i cannot believe how lucky i am to have atlas in my life. he is the best four-legged friend a girl could have. my life is infinitely better and richer because he is in it and i am a better person for having known him. i have been given the greatest gift – nine years of unconditional love and joy and companionship and play and adventure. i wouldn’t trade it (or him) for anything.

he is my pup, and i am his girl, and i hope there are many more years in our future.

(today, he is slightly less happy, as he is limping, and he does not like it. he keeps sitting tall in front of me and waving his bad leg at me helplessly and looking at me with big sad eyes like he knows i can fix it if i just try. oh, how i wish i could. here’s hoping he feels better soon.)

whenever we are at the pet store and atlas is trying to eat all the pig ears – i do not love to buy them; while he finds them delectable, i find them smelly – i tease him by saying that he should make his own money so he can buy himself all the pig ears he wants.

(once, after saying this, one of the regulars tried to slip atlas $10. he told atlas that if he earned enough money, he wouldn’t need my approval and he could adopt his own kitty. atlas just licked the bill. either he wasn’t listening or he thinks everything is edible until proven otherwise.)

it turns out that he must listen to me, because i have been informed that he is going to do a thing. as far as i can tell, it is a year with atlas – stories and photos in your email every monday. he is working on the page now. i have a feeling that i am going to be involved somehow; i don’t know how he will implement his idea without me, being that he doesn’t have opposable thumbs. (i am already writing the page for him. due to the no opposable thumbs, of course. they really are useful.)

he really is a sweetheart, so i am excited to see what he wants to do.

(i am also a little sorry that i told him he could buy all the pig ears he wants. i hope he only wants one. or maybe two.)

you know that thing dogs do where they look like they’re running in their sleep?

in the past year or so, atlas runs more and more often, and his running is becoming more and more intense.

how do i know? he kicks harder.

atlas sleeps on the bed so when he starts running at night, there i am, in the way. usually, his feet are by my legs so my legs bear the brunt of it.

i read once that it’s not good to wake dogs up when they’re dreaming so i don’t anymore. (i used to. he’d let out that little whine and i would decide he must be having a bad dream so i’d wake him up and hug him.) (if i remember correctly, the argument against waking dogs up while dreaming was related to an increased likelihood of being bit, which makes sense.)

once upon a time, it was soft, light kicks. now, it’s not. you would not believe how hard he kicks while he’s running now. it hurts! and it seems to go on for ages.

i’m already on the end of the bed so there’s really nowhere for me to go. instead, i wait not-so-patiently for the kicking to stop, while secretly hoping that if he is chasing something in his dream, he catches it quickly.

i wonder if it’s an age thing. maybe he’s reliving his puppyhood. awwwwww. my cute-old-strong-legged-puppy-dog.

anyway, if you ever see me in shorts and my legs look bruised, you will know why.

i was thinking about my grandparents’ farm in michigan and i remembered this photo.

clearly atlas has a long history of picking his own fruit.

maybe we could go to an apple orchard this fall and he could pick apples while i sit on a picnic bench and drink cider and eat cinnamon sugar doughnuts and supervise.

these photos make me smile.

especially the first photo. (his head looks like it’s scrunched.) and the third photo. (dumbo!)

and definitely the last photo. doesn’t it look like atlas is about to eat the ant-people on the beach? (it’s dogzilla!)