A Visit to Carson City

Daisy's grandmom lives about 300 miles away in Carson City, Nevada. Off we went on Saturday to pay her a holiday visit. This time of year you never know what you'll encounter on the way up, particularly over Carson Pass, which is a very popular cross-country ski area for a reason. We've hit many a nasty snowstorm through this area, which reaches an elevation of 8,650 feet. We thought it was our lucky day when we reached Ham's Station and the road was still clear. Then the sky started to darken. A steady rain turned to snow, and there we were in the Mini Cooper, snow chains snugly behind the seat and the road rapidly turning to ice.

Daisy closed her eyes and put her head between a couple of blankets. I held on to the seat and Tom drove, very carefully, all the while insisting that the car was hugging the road beautifully. When we got to the black asphalt on the other side, we pulled over, jumped out and took a deep breath in the chill air.

We reached Carson Valley early enough for dinner. Mom had the foresight to have a pot of split pea soup simmering on the stove. Her place was toasty and brightly lit, and she had put the cat to bed in another room. Daisy lumbered in and sniffed around while the humans all greeted one another with hugs. She walked straight over to the Christmas tree and sidled up next to it. Before we could catch her, there our Daisy was, squatting, despite apparently having emptied her bladder moments ago. And so our visit began.

What winter looks like at the beach

Perhaps we've given you the wrong impression. The beach here isn't strewn with an endless array of old plastic bottle caps and scraps of rubber. Yes, there's too much of that stuff. But unless you're looking for washed-up junk, what you're likely to notice is the sand. Lots of it.

Not the satiny white sand you find in Hawaii. Here we have hard-ground sand, bits of rock tumbled and worn down by the waves until they have become a multicolored mat beneath your feet. Walk barefoot on this sand, and it's like getting a massage.

On a winter's day when the tide is high, lots of stories have washed up onto the sand. A little pink crab's leg ... what happened to the rest of it?

We see plenty of whole Pacific mole crabs spread-eagled on their tiny backs. Yum, some dogs just love these salty critters.

This morning the surf poured across the width of the beach and chased us up against the cliff walls. We spotted a sand dollar as we passed five young men practicing their kick-boxing. A scoter rode out on the waves.

Holiday at the beach

Judging by the leftovers on the beach this morning, Christmas Day must have been a grand holiday for the dogs. Daisy and I found two lime neon tennis balls and one small multicolored ball as we walked to the north end of the beach. One more green one washed away in the surf before I could grab it.

Down at the end we sat on a rock and I noticed a black face peering at us from the waves. In this regard I think the "dogs can't generalize" folks may be right. Point as I might, Daisy simply would not look out to sea. The sea lion bobbed up and down for a long while. But this sort of abstract thinking -- extending the line of a pointed finger to a distant object -- doesn't seem to be within Daisy's repertoire. She was more interested in the incoming surf and wanted to leave.

So we climbed back down the rock and headed south. The escaped green ball was perched up on a dune. Next we found a worrisome construction safety hat. The story behind it couldn't have been good.

There were the usual bottle caps and straws washed in by the tide. Then another rubber ball, this time bright orange. And at the beginning of the walkway at the edge of the parking lot, we found one more set of relics from a happy day. A pair of brown leather sandals sat abandoned, with a miniature Frisbee for dogs at their side.

(Sea lion photo courtesy Central Park Zoo)

A dog's homemade dinner

Mara, home cook for Maggie and Lisa, asks:

Why do you cut the eggs up into small, but not tiny, chunks? And, what kind of bone meal do you use?

As I learned in the bookstore cooking section yesterday, it's all about "plating." With the eggs chopped up too small, all the ingredients of the dinner begin to merge into a indistinguishable, unappealing, green-tinged mush. Better to offer small segments of bright yellow, contrasting with the morsels of white egg. The lightly chopped greens can be scattered throughout, adding texture and appealing color. Small squares of carrots contribute brightness. Finally, the rice and oatmeal tie everything together and serve as a pleasing background.

An old-fashioned potato masher is the perfect tool to get to the right texture without a lot of effort. We've learned that Daisy has little appetite for the over-chopped amalgamation. She turns up her nose at the big chunks, or else carries them off to place somewhere in the middle of a room. So we have made an effort to construct a more delightful plate. It may be time, though, to rethink the giant round stainless steel bowl. The trend today is toward small servings on big plates.

"Crowding food is a no-no," according to How-to-Cook Gourmet.

So we could go with an even bigger bowl, with less food. Or perhaps the same size bowl -- maybe in a more appealing green or red to contrast with the tan rice, though -- with smaller portions served a couple of times. What do you think?

Oh, and if you hard boil eggs often, you may have suffered through many a difficult peeling process. The shell sticks, it breaks into tiny pieces, it pricks your fingers. Here's the solution we've found:

Bring a pot of water to a boil.
Place up to 20 eggs in the water and let it return to a boil.
Turn the heat down and boil for 5 minutes.
Turn off the burner and let sit for 45 minutes to cool.
Store the eggs in their original box in the fridge.

You can also place the eggs in a bath of cold water to speed up the process. One way or the other, they'll peel like a dream!

Here's a video of a fun alternate method. I did try it, but I think you have to have very powerful lungs to make it work.

As for the bone meal, we've recycled the jar so I'll have to report back after our next shopping trip. Any recommendations?

Icky! Wet grass!

For a working dog bred to rescue hapless humans from avalanches of snow, Daisy has an unusual phobia. She hates getting her paws wet.

Maybe it's just in wet grass. She doesn't seem at all to mind waves washing in over her feet. But go out into the yard on a rainy day? No way!

The rain poured all night and into the morning. It was 12:30 p.m. when Daisy's amazing bladder started getting to me. Surely she had to go outside. No, she insisted, when I opened the back door. I pulled an old umbrella out of the garage, one of those gigantic golf umbrellas. It was big enough to cover the two of us, probably at least four feet across. So out we went, me offering moral support with the umbrella.

It didn't work. Daisy dashed over to a different door and tried to get in. I insisted, and chased her back to the first door. She ran off another direction, down a concrete path that was being doused by a clogged gutter on the roof. She was drenched. Anything to stay off the grass!

She ran under the deck and hid. I encouraged her. Finally, nature got the better of Daisy. She tiptoed into few feet of grass and squatted.

We both ran inside. Daisy got a fabulous rubdown -- like she always does. You'd think that would overcome any hesitation about wet tippy toes.

Bits of egg around the house

Daisy has a very tender stomach and a picky appetite to go along with it. We have always figured that her high-anxiety puppyhood led to these issues. She probably couldn't count on a meal and self-medicated when possible by eating grass.

Now, if she doesn't get a meal on time then out she runs to the backyard to take care of things on her own by grabbing a bite of grass. And you know what that means.

Daisy can't have regular dog food because it makes her ill. We discovered this when I was out of the country, leaving Tom and Daisy to fend for themselves. By the time I could get to a decent phone, Tom had a tale to tell. Daisy had gotten terribly sick and couldn't keep anything down. She was so weak and nauseous that she wanted to sleep outside. Tom couldn't sleep either, so they both were miserable. The vet recommended a strict diet of white rice and eggs, which eventually got Daisy back up on her feet again.

But once I had returned, we learned very quickly that regular dog food was not an option. So we began cooking up Dr. Pitcairn's two-meal vegetarian menu for dogs. The ingredients were roughly five eggs and nine cups of oatmeal in the morning, and seven eggs and three cups of rice in the evening. But Daisy very quickly got tired of the inexpensive oatmeal and would turn up her nose, heading down to the yard for a bite of grass instead.

Gradually we were able to get her onto brown rice for its better nutrient content, plus add in the various ingredients Dr. Pitcairn recommends. Here's what she gets:

Breakfast
3 eggs, hard-boiled
3 cups rice
Dog oil and dog powder mix
4 T chopped, cooked green vegetables

Dinner
6 eggs, hard-boiled
2.5 cups rice
2 T soy (or other) protein isolate
Dog oil and dog powder mix
6 T chopped, cooked green vegetables
Fish scent from a can of salmon or sardines to add interest

The powder mix includes:
nutritional yeast
bone meal
kelp powder

And the oil mix includes:
vegetable oil
cod-liver oil
vitamin E

The mixture must be blended to just the right level. The eggs should be roughly chopped, not in big chunks or ones that are too small. A little bit of hand-fed yolk usually gets a reticent appetite going.


We buy an awful lot of eggs, about six dozen at a time. The checkout clerks don't comment anymore, they just ask if we've checked for breakage. Peeling the cooked eggs is a story we'll save for another time.

But what is this new twist? Lately Daisy has begun carrying bits of egg around the house and leaving them there. Today we had a 1/2 inch chunk in the bedroom and almost a full, round yolk in the middle of the living room. Is the food critic in Daisy coming out? Or is this some kind of doggie instinct that kicks in when night starts falling earlier?

Basic socialization tricks for dogs

Daisy does seem to be making progress, all of a sudden. Lately we've been taking her each Sunday for our own socialization training. We walk up to an ocean bluff in Half Moon Bay where plenty of dogs and their people go for walks. But unlike the Montara hills, they don't suddenly jump out from behind bushes. Unlike the beach, they don't stare and then horribly remain within sight for miles and miles.


On the bluff at Francis Beach, there is a fence, two pathways, and various benches and ditches that can separate our little group from passersby. We can walk along and when a dog approaches, head off to another parallel path. At first, this was almost impossible for Daisy. She would pull forward, then drag back, then run from side to side, all the while screeching in a high-pitched whine. But then animal educator Cheryl Carver showed us how we could occupy her with duties. As long as Daisy is calm enough to almost concentrate, it works.

So here's what we do: We see a dog approaching about 50 yards away, so we go into action. If we're lucky, we're already near a ditch or a bench or some low bushes. We put Daisy to work. Left turn! Right turn! Around the bush! Over the ditch! She might trip or crash into a rock at first because she's not paying attention, but then she gets into it. Left turn! U-turn! Jump!

I'm sure the other humans think we're crazy. But Daisy is learning to let a dog pass by -- at a reasonable 40 or 50 feet distance -- without falling into a panic.

That is, as long as she's got a job to do.

Dreaming of Dogs

Last night I dreamed that Daisy pulled herself up onto a motorcycle by her teeth and motored off. Heaven knows where she was going. I was inconsolable.

Can dogs generalize?

We've been told time and again that dogs can't generalize. Don't just take Daisy to one parking lot to practice obedience and get dog exposure training, but take her to many. Don't just go to one shopping mall to get human contact and lots of pets, go to many. Don't "watch me" or "sit" in just one room, but try it inside and outside, in the kitchen and in the hall.

All this makes sense, and we do vary the venue. But I'm not so sure I believe this blanket claim about dogs' incapacity to generalize. Take Daisy's reaction to anything attached to a leash-like line: Must be a dog! This morning she was quite struck by a surfer carrying his surfboard with leg rope and cuff dragging behind. Must be a tiny black dog! One time a Chihuahua (one of those again) stood on the lap of a trucker and barked at us for 15 minutes while we waited in traffic to get on the Bay Bridge. Now, every time she peers into the cab of a truck, there must be a dog! If there's something with lots of hair moving around in the back of a car, it must be a dog!


Surfer leg cuffs: A pack of dogs?




Usually we try to convince Daisy otherwise. Everything at the end of a leash or that is small, fluffy and moving is not a dog. We point out the differences between dogs and humans, dogs and strollers, even dogs and kites, if need be. But this time we went with it. What an obedient little dog following right behind his surfer. What a calm, non-threatening dog. Daisy couldn't help getting a little upset but let us stand close in front to protect her. She watched the surfer, then we began to head another direction. She turned back for a look a couple of times, but was satisfied that the threat has passed.

A success story? Who knows?