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Thursday, June 6, 2013

Chet, pensive, in the blue-eyed Mary. I'm happy with this shot because, although Chet looks a bit dark, the color of the flowers comes through. It's really difficult to photograph a black dog in sunlit surrounds. The same thing happens when I turn my camera to black Angus cattle. They look kind of ghostlike and the background gets blasted out to almost white. I hit the same obstacle when photographing hippos and rhinos in Africa. Large, very dark objects fool the light meter into opening way up, which blows out the background. So this photosafari was an exercise in fiddling with aperture and ISO. I got it right a few times.

The Bacon purely loves wildflower safaris. So do I. To take a couple of friends with the express purpose of admiring flowers...well, that's one of life's greatest luxuries. 

Chet Baker gazes up, looking for squirtles. Looking as happy as he feels. 

Pensive again. The boy knows how to relax.

If I look just one more time, there may be a rodent.

Meanwhile, Shila's focusing on wild larkspur, a real rarity around here.

We find the King of all Larkspur.

and a very nice toadshade (Trillium erectum)

What looks like grass growing around it is actually wild camas, a kind of lily.

I can't stop shooting pictures of Chet. Knowing him as I do, I know he's going to want to explore the pool below a gorgeous little waterfall on Newell's run. So I set up and pre-expose and pre-focus on the rock I know he'll use to enter the pool. Bingo. If only he were a bobcat...

He stops to take a drink, my little Narcissus looking at his reflection.

He meanders through the pool. And, unexpectedly, leaps. And the Canon 70-300 L series telephoto lens, with the nimble Canon 7D body, saves that shining moment. For me, it's the shot of the day, of the week, maybe of the month. 

He is the perfect dog.  Except when he rolls in coyote poo on a perfect spring day in this perfect spring place. He comes creeping up to me, ears back and eyes saying I'm so sorry Mether! I couldn't help myself! and I know even before the smell hits me that he's found something deathly bad to roll in. 

I play my part and give him a round scolding before scrubbing him with leaves and dirt and taking him back down to the creek for a cold bath, which is the best I can do under the circumstances.

Diane, who I suspect is here to visit Chet Baker as much as me, feels very sorry for the crestfallen Bacon, who only moments before was my Olympian ideal of dog perfection. Well, that's what living with a Boston terrier can be like. You're gazing down fondly, maybe embracing this sweet animal, cuddling him close and pbbbbbt! and you drop him like a hot potato and wave your arms around like there's a swarm of African killer bees buzzing around your head. Smells. With Bostons, it's all about smells. Some they make themselves, and some they outsource. All are bad.

Sara says that emanatory capacity is all that stands between her and a Boston terrier puppy. Imagine. Well, I can imagine. This is my life.

It is good to have friends who love you no matter what. Miss Diane loves me no matter what. She is nicer to me than you are, Mether. Someday you will be sorry you wrote such things about me. If you have nothing nice to say you should just not say it.

Chet Baker you know I love you.


Julie, thank you. There are no words except it was a wonderful vicarious trip into the woods with Chet, your friends and you!!

Are yew honestly ashamed of yer emanatory capacity, Sir Chet Baker? After all, that's jest how us Boston Terriers roll in coyote, what we, oh, I know that yew, Chet Baker get the picture. I mean what on earth should we doo? Hold those aromas inside and not share them with our loving fambilies? You may have more of them, den others of us Boston Terriers, Chet Baker, but dat makes you an "Amer-can Gent-le-man". Miss Julie, vat would you rather Chet Baker smell like, that purr-fume that is en yer loshun that we like to lick off yer skin after you have a baff or da power-filled aroma of pure gaseous sweetness that we, as Boston Terriers, can only produce...albeit in great abundance. I remain, yours in solidarity and a promoter of free gaseous release and will stand on a soap-box if necessary in fw-one-t of a ca-wow-d and roo and roo and roo some more until dose hew-mans stop dere unfare emanation control regulations...dey must not really mean it. Yours In solidarity, or in gaseous acceptance and appreciation, Hank (frum Bostun)

Posted by Anonymous June 6, 2013 at 7:28 AM

LOL! Guilty as charged, Julie. Thanks for giving Chet a thorough bathing so that he was his normal, sweet-smelling self for goodbye snuggles.

Ahhh, rolling in coyote poo... how could any self-respecting doggeh be expected to resist such a temptation... Eau de Coyote!

As a former housemate of two Labs and a Basset Hound, I just wanted to say that the foul stench of canine colon is entirely worth the companionship of a good dog... or even a mediocre dog, in the case of the Basset Hound. :D

And cyberthrush: I love the avatar. Husband and I have a print of the Ivory Bill in our living room- it's one of my favorites!

One day, little Boston, one day ...

Your dog is a hoot!

Posted by mary mccloskey June 7, 2013 at 12:53 PM
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