Adventures With Ari: Life as a Canine Naturalist

All Dogs Considered

2009-07-16T16:38:00.003-04:00

Adventures with Ari is hitting the airwaves again. This Saturday morning at 11:30 EST, we'll be appearing on "Dog Talk," NPR's favorite canine call-in show. You can listen live by clicking here or download a podcast once the show had aired. And don't forget: we always love hearing from you on these shows.

-K&A

Fragaria ananassa

2009-07-10T16:46:00.004-04:00

High: 72° F
Low: 54° F
Conditions: Sunny.

I'm not going to lie: it's been a hard-fought summer here in Maine. So hard fought, in fact, that it hasn't seemed much like summer at all. At least, not until late this week. On Thursday, the clouds broke--as if by magic--and the rain abated. Mainers--including those who pride themselves on their staid Yankee reserve--were positively ebullient. Total strangers stopped one another in parking lots and famers markets, just for the sake of celebrating the return of the sun and all those things normally associated with a New England July.

Here at caninaturalist central, those things included a return to our annual agricultural inquiry as well. The subject of our study this week? Fragaria ananassa, or the domestic strawberry. Picking them is big business in our house, where we freeze enough to serve as our main fruit source for the year. We were frankly worried about the effects of the omnipresent rain and cold over the last six weeks. And, in truth, it did delay the season and limit overall yields. Nevertheless, this morning we returned with two full flats of our favorite variety, known in the strawberry world as "sparkle."

Something as simple as a smallish berry is enough to make us giddy this year. So much so that our resident pest, Mouse, couldn't even wait for the berries to be hulled before diving in. Taking the idea of "pick your own" a little too literally, she tried to eat the entire box of berries as soon as they arrived (and by "box" we really do mean BOX):

At the ripe age of three, Ari has learned a certain restraint where culinary matters are concerned. And she's developed a seriously discerning palate at that. As we cleaned and bagged and froze and jammed and canned, she remained aloof, watching the process with the removed interest of a well-worn foodie. It wasn't, in fact, until our last batch of jam was complete and fully set that she was willing to imbibe.

The verdict? Summer has arrived in all its ooey, gooey, syrupy splendor. And thank goodness for that.

It's a wet, wet world.

2009-07-02T10:39:00.009-04:00

High: 66° F
Low: 58° F
Conditions: Continual showers.

The statistic on today’s morning radio said it all: it’s rained 28 out of the last 30 days here in Maine.

Everyone—human and animal alike—is feeling the effects in his or her own way.

Meteorologists and historians are interested as can be. They talk about the unique stalled trough off the coast of New Brunswick that keeps pushing sea air onto the mainland, saturating Maine with omnipresent drizzle and humidity. They note that last month was the third rainiest June on record. It was also one of the coldest, with high temperatures rarely exceeding our normal lows.

The whitewater kayakers in our lives are thrilled, too, since they are able to run hidden creeks and streams normally reserved for winter snowmelt. Probably there are other tiny niches of people—ones with fins and webbed toes, I suspect—who are also happy to be occupying soup that puts even Seattle to shame.

But that doesn’t mean much if you’re a canine naturalist.

Ari is a dog driven by sun: it wakes her in the morning and pushes her outdoors in the evening. Without it, she snoozes in a kind of timeless vacuum. Meal schedules become irrelevant. So too do otherwise precisely timed walks. And why not? The moral imperative for any good caninaturalist is to get outside and observe the world. But, really, that’s only interesting when there’s a world to observe.

Sure, there’s plenty to see outside right now: incredibly lush trees, the first blackeyed susans of the year, armies of slugs and earthworms, those intrepid whitewater paddlers. These sorts of things, though, have never really had the draw other species have had for Ari. This damp and dark has sent everyone retreating for dens and caves--a little bit of cozy dry in an otherwise soggy world.

It's almost as if Ari's favorite creatures—the martins and deer, the squirrels and neighborhood cats—seem to have come to the same conclusion she has: So far, this summer has gone anywhere but to the dogs.

Gorge-ous

2009-06-28T21:02:00.010-04:00

High: 68°F
Low: 55°F
Conditions: Persistent rain.

Upstate New York has a lot going for it. There are wineries and pastureland, historical sites aplenty, and plump squirrels just asking to be chased by charismatic young canine naturalists.

But what really distinguishes the area is its geology. Thanks to a combination of deep river valleys and the even deeper effects of glaciation, the region is demarcated by steep trenches and troughs measuring hundreds of feet deep. Some, dammed by residual sediment, have formed the Finger Lakes. Others, still freely flowing, created some of the most stunning waterfalls around.

The most famous, of course, is Niagara Falls. And while Ari's naturalism has usually been more of a life, rather than earth, science, she nevertheless showed a keen interest in diversifying her study there. Even more appealing to her that day, however, was the Falls' termination: Lake Ontario—apparently some of the tastiest drinking water around (and thanks to recent environmental initiatives, surprisingly clean water at that).

The real hidden treat of the region for both of us, though, were the innumerable gorges and glens tucked into hillsides and anchoring many a state park. We did our best to hike as many as our days allowed.

There's a certain timeless energy to the constant flow of water--just enough din to make the less savory parts of everyday life sift away. Throughout the trip, we found ourselves standing motionless, taking in the passing of geological time: the power of water to dig through rock and epoch in a way any husky would surly admire. Gorgeous.

We heart NY, Part I

2009-06-21T21:38:00.009-04:00

High: 63° F
Low: 55° F
Conditions: Persistent Showers

Friends,

Last week the canine naturalist and I took a tour of New York State. Later this week, we'll tell you more about the interesting caninaturalist opportunities we found there. But in the meantime, we want to tell you about some of the wonderful people and organizations we also discovered.

We began our trip at Buffalo's Bidwell-Elmwood Farmer's Market, where we met with many of the wonderful vendors there (including a woman who was spinning malamute hair into wool!). While there, we also gave a reading for market shoppers.

Next, we traveled to "Writers and Books" in Rochester, NY, where Ari had the distinction of being their very first visiting dog.

Finally, we visited the Downtown Writers Center in Syracuse, where we were warmly received by some wonderful people and fellow bloggers, including one of our very favorites, YourFireAnt, who took this photo.

I'm not going to lie: It was a long trip. We drove a lot. And simple things like finding a toilet or a place to eat lunch can be really tricky when you are traveling with a four-footed companion (not to mention one who has a coat that causes her to overheat at the drop of a hat).

Nevertheless, these inconveniences seem a small price to pay, considering how many turly fantastic people we met along the way. Would we do it again? In a New York minute.

_____________________

Just in case you haven't become completely tired of the Adventures with Ari train, we'll be making another stop this Wednesday on The Blend's "Nature Connection" radio show, which airs at 6:00 p.m. EST. You can learn more and find a link to listen live here.

Shuffle off to Buffalo

2009-06-12T09:26:00.000-04:00

Adventures with Ari is hitting the road for a book tour in New York State.

We'll begin with a reading at the Elmwell-Bidwell Farmers Market in Buffalo, where we'll be hosted by the wonderful independent bookstore, Talking Leaves Books.

Next, we'll be appearing at Syracuse's Downtown Writer's Center on June 16th.

Finally, on June 17th, we will be giving a reading at the Center for Writers and Books in Rochester, NY.

It should be a great time. And, along the way, the canine naturalist and I will be looking for our next great adventure. We'll have a full report when we return. In the meantime, happy exploring, all.

Tall Tail

2009-06-09T21:27:00.005-04:00

High: 55° F
Low: 41° F
Conditions: Persistent drizzle

It was, as usual, Ari who first found the object. Resting as it was on the driveway to the abandoned camp across the street, I almost confused it for a woman’s wig: the cheap kind you might find in a girl’s dress-up trunk, discarded by a great aunt years earlier. Except, of course, that these coarse curls were attached to a very long tail.

What was it? Stretching three feet long, it exceeded the length of any wild appendage we knew of. And with that singularly moppish tassel, it certainly didn’t resemble the hind end of the usual suspects in our neighborhood: not the moose or bears, the bobcats or foxes. Not even the rumored mountain lions thought to be roaming, perhaps half feral, through Central Maine.

Maybe then, it wasn’t so wild after all.

I speculated cow, if for no other reason than—even in this degraded state—it sparked images of pastoral bovinity. Our friend Carissa, a vet, confirmed the identification.

But that still left other questions. Like how did this tail lose track of its body? And how did it migrate the two miles from the nearest dairy farm.

Carissa thinks it was probably Ari’s friend, the coyote, who did the transporting. As for how it lost track of its body, she say that’s anyone’s guess. Maybe a farmer docked tails, thinking it would make for easier milking. Maybe it was all that was left from a dead cow. Maybe something else entirely.

Ari may know more than she’s letting on, but she’s not willing to say a word. Not about species or detachment. And certainly not how it came to settle on a disused gravel drive. Is it a pact held by canines? A smugness caused by the glee of knowingness? A lack of interest in causality? Or do the details, like so much else about canine naturalism, not matter nearly as much as the unexpected result?

Only Ari can say for sure.

Bangor City Forest

2009-06-03T10:26:00.001-04:00

High: 69° F
Low: 43° F
Conditions: Chance of showers

Earlier this year, the Bangor City Forest made the national news after a string of cross country skiers were mugged on the forest trails. Who was the perpetrator? Not marauding highwaymen or punk teenagers. No, this criminal was of the decidedly avian sort:

A great horned owl.

It seems the skiers (and in some cases, their dogs) inadvertantly got to close to the owl's nest. So he responded by clocking them on the head as they went by. The blow was enough to knock down at least one visitor to the forest.

State wildlife officials responded by posting these signs throughout the vicinity--perhaps hoping that, if they couldn't stop the owl from divebombing, they could at least give folks a heads up (as it were).

Earlier this week, the canine naturalist and I visited the forest, hoping we might find evidence of this aggressive flyer. We picked the trail we thought might most appeal to him, and set out to see what we could find.

No owls--assaultive or otherwise--but we did find some lovely spring wildflowers:

And plenty of rodent nesting holes to sniff:

We tried out some great granite benches:

And the forest watering holes:

Best of all, we even found some flora suffering from the same coat condition that Miss Ari is undergoing:

As for the marauding great horned owl, that'll have to wait for another trip. Probably a good thing, since it sounds like we might need to wear hard hats when we finally meet him.

What Not to Wear

2009-05-29T16:14:00.007-04:00

High: 53 °F
Low: 48 °F
Conditions: Continual showers. Thunderstorms may be possible.

No one--not even fashion historians--can say for certain from where the rules originate. Even still, any classically-trained fashionista knows them well: no white before Memorial Day. No wool or other winter fabrics from Memorial to Labor Day. No open-toed shoes after that time. And how do these couture mavens feel about such guidelines?

About like this:

I've never considered Ari much of a girly-girl. And certainly I've never pegged her as a Vogue-reading, trend-spotting, rule-following fashion diva. But what else can explain her decision to wait until Memorial Day to begin blowing her coat?

And when I say blowing, I mean it. Check out a photo of today's progress (Complete with mangy bald swath across her lower thigh.)

It's hard work keeping up with antiquated fashion rules. Looking at this much-suffering dog, I'm reminded of W. B. Yeat's poem, "Adam's Curse," in which the poet opines:

. . . . And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There's many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, 'To be born woman is to know-
Although they do not talk of it at school-
That we must labour to be beautiful.'

And so labor Ari shall, until she's at her summer best. In the meantime, I'm collecting her efforts for my own fashion project.

In case the scale is lost in the photo, that's a gallon-sized Ziploc bag. And it's filled with Ari hair. I'm hopping to spin it and then maybe knit a scarf or hat.

But one important question remains. If my project works, will I be able to wear it before Labor Day?

Ari is a Lucky Dog

2009-05-25T13:08:00.006-04:00

Friends,
Lucky us! This week, we will be the featured guests on "The Lucky Dog Show." Hosted by Lisa Woody, the show is a 45-minute call-in program featured on Sirius and Animal Talk Radio. You can listen live (and even call in) on Wednesday at 9:00 p.m. Central time by clicking here. If you miss us, you'll also find the episode archived at the show's homepage.

Nursery Tails

2009-05-21T21:30:00.012-04:00

High: 77 °F
Low: 41 °F
Conditions: Increasing Clouds.

Signs of spring are all around us. Our neighbors report that the local fox family has given birth to three kits, and rumor has it that mom is letting them spend their early mornings romping in the hay field.

Just this morning, Ari and I found remnants of avian newborns as well:

What I really wanted, though, was to find out what's been happening with our local amphibean population. We've seen them as adults:

And as eggs:

However, our knowledge of what happens in between has always been more theoretical than practical. That is, until today.

It was Ari who found the tadpoles on our morning run. And, in truth, hers was more of an accidental than a deliberate discovery (read: she simply wanted a drink of water).

But once she got past the simple need to alleviate thirst, the canine naturalist was transfixed by what she found: a whole puddle full of these guys.

Left as eggs by their parents (who return to their home ponds), these tadpoles have to weather all kinds of threats to their wellbeing, including porcupines and raccoons.

Those that make it will eventually sprout legs and, driven by primordial DNA, will seek out their elders in the home pond. That is, of course, if they manage to weather a gregarious canine naturalist's doggy paddle first.

Wildlife Prairie Park

2009-05-15T20:26:00.013-04:00

High: 59 °F
Low: 38 °F
Conditions: Showers likely.

Friends, last week the Adventures with Ari book tour took us to Peoria, IL. While there, we toured Wildlife Prairie Park, a really wonderful animal sanctuary that features indigenous prairie animals (including several extirpated or endangered) in spacious natural settings.

Here are just a few of the residents we observed while there.

Pretty great, huh? But here's the thing: one of Rod Blagojevich's last act as governor was to slash$828,200 from the park budget, leaving them unable to function as a refuge and education center.

We here at caninaturalist center feel strongly about the importance of places like Wildlife Prairie Park, and we hope you do too. Please consider supporting WPP, either by making a donation or sending a letter in support of the outstanding work that they do.

Ari on the Morning Airwaves

2009-05-12T07:00:00.000-04:00

A few of our followers asked if we would post the interview we did this week on the "Greg and Dan Show." To them we reply: hey, why not?

Will we play in Peoria?

2009-05-09T10:54:00.000-04:00

Friends,

Adventures with Ari is hitting the road. This week, we're travelling to Central Illinois, home of Caterpillar Incorporated, Bradley University, and what is still the largest consumer test market demographic in the country.

For well over a century, everyone from Broadway musical producers to Pepsi stylists have been asking if their show, product, gimick, or great idea will play in Peoria. Now, it's our turn.

On Monday, May 11th, we'll be appearing on the "Greg and Dan Show" on WMBD, Central Illinois's #1 radio talk show. The interview will take place around 8:10 a.m. Central Time, and you can listen live here.

Later that night, we'll be visiting with some book clubs that are currently reading Adventures with Ari.

And, finally, on Tuesday at 5:00 p.m., we'll be giving a reading and book signing at "I Know You Like a Book" in Peoria Heights.

We'll have a full report when we return. In the meantime, hope to see you there!

K&A

Pilot Fish

2009-05-06T10:00:00.011-04:00

High: 52 °F
Low: 44 °F
Conditions: Rain showers throughout the day, could be heavy at times.

Friends,
Many of you have no doubt heard of the pilot fish (Naucrates ductor), a carnivorous fish that feeds on ectoparasites attached to sharks.

The relationship between a shark and pilot fish is a mutualistic one, in the sense that the pilot fish gets a steady meal while the shark gets the equivalent of a living, swimming heartworm tablet each day.

Here at our house, however, we have a very different kind of pilot animal. Meet Mouse (aka, Peskus felinus):

What does a brazen polydactyly cat have to do with a pilot fish, you might ask?

Good question.

Admittedly, there are some profound similarities between the species. Like a pilot fish, Pilot Mouse spends most of her time hovering around her host animal.

And, also like a pilot fish, Pilot Mouse occasionally grooms her host:

Most of the time, though, she prefers just to hang around the host animal, generally making a nuisance of herself and sometimes annoying said host.

Particularly when that host is trying to eat her breakfast:

Is it a mutualistic relationship? Mouse certainly thinks so. As for Ari, she's pretty sure she doesn't need any grooming help--from a cat or anyone else. And she certainly doesn't need any help figuring out where her food is each morning.

Still, even this independent dog can admit that having a pilot cat around can make for a cozy afternoon.

Ready for My Close-Up Now

2009-05-02T11:48:00.003-04:00

This past week, Ari and I travelled to the television studios of "207" for an interview about our new book. Here's a link to the clip (in which Miss Ari shows that huskies can go out of their way to avoid appearing on moving, as well as still, film):

http://www.wcsh6.com/video/default.aspx?maven_playerId=immersiveplayer&maven_referralPlaylistId=playlist&maven_referralObject=1109993187

'Tis a Puzzlement

2009-04-29T18:00:00.012-04:00

High: 63 °F
Low: 29 °F
Conditions: Sunny and calm.

Being a canine naturalist--especially a springtime canine naturalist--can be really confusing sometimes. We thought we'd illustrate this conundrum with the help of some file photos.

This is a lamb's ear:

This is an Ari ear:

This is a dogwood:

This is a dog's wood:

These are catkins:

These are cat kin:

See what we mean?

Reading in the County

2009-04-25T18:54:00.012-04:00

High: 69 °F
Low: 54 °F
Conditions: Ahhhhh, springtime.

If you take I-95 North, past Katahdin . . .

. . .and up towards the Canadian border, you will reach the greater Presque Isle region---an area perhaps best known for these:

That's right. Spuds. In fact, Arostook County (known simply as "The County" in Maine because of its enormity) rivals only parts of Idaho when it comes to per capita potato production. If you've ever eaten a Frito Lay potato chip or McDonald's french fry, there's a pretty good chance it originated here.

Presque Isle has plenty of other attractions, too. Like this, the launch site of the Double Eagle II--the first transatlantic balloon.

Or this, a 40-mile long model of the universe, built perfectly to scale.

But the real reason Ari and I made our way north this weekend was to visit the wonderful people at the Turner Memorial Library.

Library staff members invited us to join them this weekend for an Earth Day reading of Adventures with Ari. We had a wonderful time meeting the residents who joined us (and eating the biscuits graciously provided by the librarians).
.
We also met two of our youngest--and brightest--fans.It was a perfect day. And we thank all those who made it possible, particularly Sonja Plummer, the chief librarian and fabulous host of our event.
.

We hope they invite us back soon.

Hug a Tree

2009-04-22T21:18:00.012-04:00

High: 54 °F
Low: 34 °F
Conditions: Showers with gradual clearing across the region.

Happy Earth Day, friends. It seems that, with each passing year, there are more ways to celebrate this all-important event. Today was certainly proof positive of that trend.

Our local legends, the Red Sox, commemorated the date with special pro-recycling uniforms:

If a complete wardrobe change is not quite your cup of tea, you can also head to Sunnyvale, California, which marked the occasion with a special thermometer exchage: for every mercury thermometer (oral or other oriface) brought in to the town office today, Sunnyvale citizens received a brand new, heavy-metal-free digital one in its place.

Looking for something a little less . . . pragmatic? Then you could always try one of Hallmark's brand new Earth Day e-cards:

As for us here at caninaturalist headquarters, we opted for something a little more traditional:

a walk in the woods.

On this grandest of days out, we humans were particularly thrilled by the appearance of wildflowers slowly taking over the monochromatic landscape:

Miss Ari, on the other hand, was for more taken by the discovery of fox scat:

And, true to Rule #1 of canine naturalists worldwide, she celebrated this discovery in rich form.

(namely, by rolling in it).

(and everything else in the vicinity)

Because, really, why hug a tree when you can wear one? Especially, I guess, on Earth Day.

Good to See Green

2009-04-18T15:51:00.005-04:00

Fearless by Tim Siebles

Good to see the green world

undiscouraged, the green fire

bounding back every spring, and beyond

the tyranny of thumbs, the weeks

and other co-conspiring green genes

ganging up, breaking in, despite

small shears and kill-mowers,

ground gougers, seed-eaters.

Here they come, sudden as graffiti

not there and then there--

naked, unhumble, unrequitedly green--

growing as if they would be trees

on any unmanned patch of earth,

any sidewalk cracked, crooning

between ties on lonesome railroad tracks.

And moss, the shyest green citizen

anywhere, dreaming between bricks

on the damp side of a shack.

Clear a quick swatch of dirt

and come back sooner than later

to find the green friends moved in:

their pitched tents, the first bright

leaves hitched to the new sun, new roots

tuning the subterranean flavors,

chlorophyll setting a feast of light.

Is it possible to be so glad?

The shoots rising in spite of every plot

against them. Every chemical stupidity,

every burned field, every better

home & garden finally overrun

by the green will, the green greenness

of green things growing greener.

The mad Earth publishing

Her many million murmuring

unsaids. Look

how the shade pours

from the big branches -- the ground,

the good ground, pubic

and sweet. The trees -- who

are they? Their stillness, that

long silence, the never

running away.

Advice for Bo, The White House Dog

2009-04-14T19:37:00.010-04:00

Dear Bo,

Congratulations on becoming the first dog. Frankly, we have no idea what that must feel like. But we do know a few things about being a rowdy puppy. Forgive our hubris, but we thought we might offer you a little advice.

First, you're going to need to figure out where the humans keep the snacks. Probably, that's going to involve a fair amout of subterfuge on your part, since we suspect there are several layers of paid humans working to keep you separated from the really good stuff. But if Ari can get catfood off of the top shelf of a locked closet, we know you'll be able to figure it out. And when you do, don't forget to gorge. Dainty grazing is totally over-rated.

Secondly, the best way to get attention is by taking things the humans really like or need. In our house, that's usually books or wool socks. In yours, it'll probably be more along the lines of Mideast peace accords. Anything with a national seal on it will probably subsitute in a pinch.

Third. Work on your best winsome stare. You'd be amazed how effective it is--even on steely world leaders. Rubbing your snout with your front paws or flopping onto your back with a sigh works, too. Don't underestimate the importance of learning cute well: once you've mastered #1 and #2, you're going to need this extra skill.

Fourth. Master the art of timing. As any good actor knows, it's positively crucial. Decide you need to pee just after the State dinner has begun. Be sure to yowl during the climax of the important speech. Wait to race around the White House lawn until the military helicopter has landed and your humans have boarded.

Speaking of that White House lawn, don't forget to explore every single inch of it. And remember the most important rule of all: if it smells bad, eat it. If it smells really really bad, roll in it.

Good luck. We think you have the makings of a great caninaturalist.

K&A

Click and Treat

2009-04-11T14:28:00.005-04:00

High: 45 °F
Low: 24 °F
Conditions: Mostly Cloudy

It is a simple yet brilliant premise: behavior + click = treat. You can call it postive reinforcement or operant conditioning. You can call it bribery for all we care. Here at caninaturalist central, we know it as only one thing: the best way to achieve harmony within our home.

Although she might not always act like it, Ari has graduated from multiple dog school sessions--multi-week courses ranging from basic behaviors, to "clicks and tricks," even to (my favorite) "manners for the real world." Did we pass with flying colors? Definitely not. Did we need extra credit whenever we could get it? Absolutely. We're probably never going to pass our canine good citizen test, but we at least internalized the basic premise of each of these courses: do something good, and you get a treat.

These are words to live by at our house.

But what if you do something and your human isn't there to see it? Say, you resist the urge to chase a feline housemate. Or you bark at the UPS guy who has the audacity to leave a package on your door. Or you achieve a perfect sprawl across the bed that really, when it comes right down to it, is nothing short of art. No one was there to click that behavior. But you're sure--no, make that absolutely certain--that the human would have done so if she had seen it. And you also know perfectly well that a click is always, always, always followed by a treat.

The human's not there to do that part, either. But you're a good dog, right? And good dogs get treats, right? And if you happen to know where those treats are kept (and your HULA membership is still all new and shiney), then who could possibly blame you for doing a little self treating? Just a biscuit. Or two. Or ten. It's like homework, right? Or maybe even an independent study. And you know for a fact that it was well deserved.

Surely any reasonable human can't argue with that kind of logic, right?

The Launch

2009-04-06T06:35:00.000-04:00

This past week was the launch of our new book, Adventures with Ari: A Puppy, A Leash, and Our Year Outdoors. Sponsored by Unity College, the event included a reading and book signing, plenty of time for the canine naturalist to mingle with her guests, and great food (including bone-shaped cookies for the humans). Here are some photos from the event:

canis familiaris?

2009-04-03T07:00:00.000-04:00

High 53 °F
Low 35 °F
Conditions: Rain likely.

The fox appeared mid-way through the play session. It was late afternoon at the dog park--an acre or so of fenced in area bordered on two sides by busy roads, one by a small private airport, and the other by brush, bog, and a few trees. It was from the last of these that he appeared. Slinking and low on his haunches, he lugged his enormous tail (longer than his body in fact) through the tangle of raspberries and towards the dog park fence.

The three humans froze, mid conversation. They watched him creep along the length of the fence, then stop. “Will the dogs notice?” asked the man. We turned to see. The cocker spaniel and lab were oblivious to the visitor. So too was the canine naturalist—at least at first.

Maybe the winds changed. Or the hair on the back of her neck rose like it does when you know someone is watching you. Something like that, anyway. She whipped her head around in the direction of the fox, took one sniff of the air, and raced towards the fence.

We’ve written before about the fox family that lives in a pasture near our home. We’ve told you before about how Ari and the kits have a confused—but friendly—relationship. They look similar and sometimes even behave the same way. That makes them think that maybe they could be friends. But it never works, since she is hooked to a leash (and a human) and, in truth, they are very different species.

That seemed to be the way we were heading at the dog park, too. When Ari raced towards the fence, the fox began to bolt. But instead of retreating to the bramble and the trees, he stopped about 50 yards from the fence. He sat, ears erect, and watched Ari. Ari smiled and gave her best yodel.

That’s when things got interesting.

The fox responded with one of his own. Ari pawed at the fence. The fox rolled in the snow. Ari yodeled louder. The fox returned the greeting. And so it continued: one clowning move, met by another.

It was only the arrival of another human, along with her car and dog, that broke up the session: sending the fox back into the wild world he normally inhabits, and leaving us to wonder what this chance encounter might mean.

We did it!

2009-03-30T09:32:00.005-04:00

There's a moment in every dogs' life when they realize the dream of their species. Maybe a lab makes the perfect catch while launching himself off of a dock into a summer lake; a beagle tracks deer for miles and miles, abandoning her owners for the afternoon while she finally gets the chance to follow her nose and all of its magical powers. And then. . .

And then there is the husky.

Sure, huskies like to play in snow. And many relish the opportunity to tie into a team of yowling brethren and race across a frozen lake. This is not, however their raison d'etre. No, as any human living with a husky will tell you, this breed has one--and only one--true reason for being: rampant destruction.

Now, as many of you know, Ari is only half husky. The rest of her DNA is Korean jindo, a dog known for being both serious and sensitive. Think of it as the angel on her right shoulder, the voice of reason in an otherwise devious mind. So Ari had to work extra hard--and extra long--before she was final able to embrace her full husky self. That's why our fellow dog bloggers were so thrilled with our recent soup incident. And why she has finally earned the highest possible honor for any husky: membership into HULA.

Needless to say, we were overjoyed when we received our notification. Here's what Queen Meeshka wrote:

"Dear Ari,

HULA membership requires a lot of dedication, evil plotting and planning, and finally; devious deeds to drive your humans insane. I had to say that when I read the tale of the soup... I piddled in the human woman's chair. It is so fiendish and clever that it would be an injustice not to welcome you into the HULA Hoop.

Display your certificate with pride... or rip it to shreds, whatever makes you happy, and welcome to the HULA Hoop.

Meeshka"

Knowing Ari, the certificate will probably be shredded eventually. But for now, we are honored to display it here, along with our pride in a breed fully realized.

K&A

This is just a note to say. . .

2009-03-26T19:06:00.003-04:00

Dear Ari,

Just a quick note to tell you I love you. I do. Even though you stole the giant yogurt container of soup that was thawing on the kitchen counter. You know the one—it contained the homemade broccoli soup, that I made from scratch. You might even remember the day I sautéed the leeks, added diced carrot, celery, and potato. That I blended the perfectly caramelized vegetables with homemade chicken stock (which had reduced for a full day until it reached the perfect flavor and consistency). That I added the frozen broccoli—the Ziploc bags full of the veggies I picked with my own hand, then blanched in a scorching July kitchen so that we would have good produce even during the long winter. The soup that simmered all last Sunday, giving me the time I needed to perfect the spices—a little salt and pepper, a little thyme, a pinch of nutmeg. And when I finished that labor of love (and really, it was love that motivated me), I carefully ladled the soup into large yogurt containers and placed them in our chest freezer so that, on a day like today, I could take one out of the basement and know that a wholesome lunch awaited me. Which is why, of course, the broccoli soup (have I mentioned yet that you don’t even LIKE broccoli?) was thawing on the counter near the woodstove today, when I innocently left the house just long enough to run some errands. And, which is also why I am now writing you this letter. Because I want you to know that even though you stole my soup and somehow managed to lug the still-frozen container up to my bedroom, where you tore it open with your wolfie fangs until it looked like it had been a victim of an exuberant target practice, and then proceeded to gnaw on the soupcicle until it was almost gone and you got bored (or full) and thus allowed the rest of the thawing soup to seep onto the lovely Persian rug that Greg’s father gave to us, I still love you. I do—even though I did not have much for lunch today. And even though you feigned innocence on the bed—MY bed, I might add—while I cleaned the carpet. Because, when it comes right down to it, you are worth a frozen container of soup. And, at least I know you got your vegetables.

Yours,
Kathryn

Syrupdipity

2009-03-22T20:27:00.018-04:00

High: 28 °F
Low: 13 °F
Conditions: Partly cloudy with a chance of flurries.

This past weekend was Maine Maple Sunday, the one day a year when the entire state turns out to celebrate our favorite sweetener.

On the fourth Sunday of every March, the maple syrup producers open their doors and invite the public in for tours, information on sugaring, and lots of really wonderful tastings. How could we say no?

This year, we visited Kinny's Maple Syrup, one of the larger operations in our area. Each day, 6500 gallons of sap travel from the farm maple stand through this rubber tubing, eventually pooling here, in a 2000 gallon holding tank.

From there, the sap travels inside the sugar shack, where it enters the first of two condensers.

When it leaves the tree, sap registers a sugar level of less than 2%, which means that it must be reduced dramatically before it becomes recognizable as syrup. To achieve a single gallon of syrup, then, the sugar makers must boil down 40 gallons of sap.

Once it is reduced, the syrup enters the second boiler, where it is further refined and darkened.

While inside the shack (a misnomer if ever there was one, given the size and surgical cleanliness of this place), we were able to take a full tour of the facility. We also saw evidence of the struggles between sugarmakers and wildlife, including this warning about Ari's nemesis:

We also sampled the local wares, including twice dipped syrup donuts:

And spun syrup candy:

But by far and away the most illuminating aspect of the tour was the opportunity to learn about (and taste) different syrup grades.

As this file photo reveals, syrups range from light to dark, with the former considered the most refined and, thus, valuable. We humans in the group will clearly never become syrupeliers, since we universally liked the darkest of the group. As for the caninaturalist, her only preference was for the syrup most readily available:

Here's looking at you, kid.

2009-03-18T17:04:00.010-04:00

High: 44 °F
Low: 19 °F
Conditions: Steady showers changing to a wintery mix overnight.

Film and literature are filled with emotionally-wrought farewell scenes. There's the time-honored Casablanaca goodbye:

And Rhett's famous send-off of Scarlet:

Heathcliff broods for years over the loss of Cathy in Wuthering Heights:

Romeo and Juliet, of course, have been forever immortalized because of their brooding over the loss of one another.

And then. . .

And then there is Ari's affair with snow. No story--no matter how heartfelt, torrid, or otherwise gripping--can hold a candle to Ari's love for snow. But like all love stories, this too must end. And so, as the temperature rises above freezing this week, we once again begin our own languishing farewell here at Caninaturalist Center. Like all good romances, it is marked with much emotive fanfare.

Someday, of course, the snow will return. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow. But someday. In the meantime, Ari--like any good romantic hero or heroine--will maintain her vigil.

Here's looking at you, kid.

Here, kitty. . .

2009-03-15T21:00:00.006-04:00

High: 35 °F
Low: 16 °F
Conditions: Increasing clouds, with a chance of snow after midnight.

Friends, we don't want to alarm you, but we have an honest-to-goodness infestation on our hands. You may remember our post from a few weeks ago, when we thought we had spotted bobcat tracks in our back yard. And some of our readers might even remember our adventure last spring, when we were tracked by what appeared to be a lynx.

Both of these events were exciting enough, but check out this photo just sent to us by our friend Brent:

That's right: four lynx--hanging out right here in Maine! Not only that, but they're almost the size of huskies! Be careful canines--these wild kitties look they have a few scores to settle (Miss Khyra, we're just sayin'. . . )

Waldo Revisited

2009-03-10T20:30:00.011-04:00

High: 40 °F
Low: 28 °F
Conditions: Freezing rain turning to snow.
Total accumulation: 2 inches.

This picture was taken the second week of March, 2006. Ari was four months old, and we had just embarked upon our very first field trip. Our destination was Mt. Waldo, a 1500 ft granite pluton with stunning views of the coast.

The baby Ari wasn't too interested in those views, but that didn't prevent her from exploring every edge of the mountain top, where--frankly--we were a little afraid her gigantic ears might launch her into orbit. Happily, though, the only thing taking off that day was her canine naturalism. It hasn't touched down since.

This week, we decided to celebrate the anniversary of Ari's field trip by recreating it. None of us had been back to Mt. Waldo since, and we were eager to see how it--and we--had changed.

The view from the top was still lovely, though we had to work a little harder to find it, since this group of beech seedlings have taken root since we first visited.

Once we reached the summit, we tried to recreate our early photo, but a certain someone was too interested in building herself a snow cave (or, more likely, digging for a few fox scat appetizers).

We tried to persuade Ari that what she really wanted to do was pose for a photo, but we didn't have much luck. And, this time around, we had considerably fewer choices, too. The baby Ari weighed in around 20 pounds and, even with the wiggling, could be held long enough to pose for a photo. The three-year-old Ari, on the other hand, weighs in at over twice that. And she knows better than to be caught long enough to be held, let alone picked up. So we had to settle for this image:

Definitely not a perfect re-creation, but probably a fitting one nonetheless. Ari is very much a grown up now. And she has more personality (and will) in one of those ears than most mammals have in their own bodies. Why should our photo do anything other than reflect that?

Happily, not everything has changed. Somewhere in all of this grown-upness is a dog who still values a good romp in the snow.

Not to mention a sunset on the way home so spectacular that, for the first time that whole day, persuaded her to stand still.

Our first book review!

2009-03-07T17:53:00.004-05:00

April 2009
$24.95 Hardcover
978-1-60239-638-8 / 6” x 9” /
304 pages
Skyhorse Publishing (distributed by W.W. Norton)

DOG’S EYE VIEW
Kathryn Miles is a great writer. From page one, this sets Adventures with Ari: A Puppy, a Leash, & Our Year Outdoors (Skyhorse Publishing, $24.95) above the pack of everything-I-know-about-life-I-learned-from-my-dog memoirs out there. Her premise is to see her world anew through the light-blue eyes of her shelter mutt adoptee, Ari, during their daily walks. This may seem a mundane proposal, and some of the scenarios are well known (and well worn) to anyone who has welcomed a dog (especially a puppy) into their home—books are chewed, floors are soiled, dead creatures are ecstatically rolled upon, dogs reeking of death are bathed, and bathed, and bathed, the peace of other animal companions is disrupted. The twist is that Miles is a naturalist by trade, a professor of environmental writing at Unity College in Maine, or as it bills itself, “America’s Environmental College.” She is no couch potato using the tethered energy of her young dog to get outdoors for the first time; rather, she decides to take this opportunity to see her well-explored and -recorded world through the new eyes (and keen nose, and closer-to-the-ground) perspective of her pup. She refers to theirs as “caninaturalist” romps, and writes about these adventures—and how she invariably applies them to life among her two-legged friends and family members—with humor, skill and beauty, becoming herself the reader’s guide to a freshly discovered rural world. —Jessica Rae Patton, E Magazine

In like a ?

2009-03-03T20:32:00.009-05:00

Hi: 23°F
Low: 6°F
Conditions: Gradual clearing throughout the day.

One day in early March, my second grade teacher handed out cotton balls, tawny string, and blue construction paper. Our assignment was to make three dimensional lions and lambs squared off against one another under what, presumably, was a cornflower spring sky. I was never much of an artist (no attention to detail), but I complied as best as I could with the project. Still, I was clearly distracted.

While the glue was left to dry, we second graders were left to cavort around the playground. My friends opted for the monkey bars, but I had different animals in mind. Where was this lion, said to usher in our month? And what on earth was it going to do to an approaching lamb? No one seemed to know. Worse yet, no one seemed to care. Forget distracted, I was flummoxed.

The meteorological proverb has stuck with me ever since, though it doesn't resonate with me much more now than it did then. Still, each March 1st, I keep an eye out for either creature--just in case. And, if pushed, I'd probably admit I have seen a lion or two start the months of March since second grade.

So, in the interest of weather mythology, Ari and I set out this week to see if we could test the proverb once and for all. The radar seemed hopeful for some sort of visitor:

But, when we stepped out in all the snow, there wasn't a creature to be found. Nor was there the bluster of a lion, or even the supposed tranquilness of a lamb. All there was was snow. Constant, falling, accumulating snow.

So we started to wonder. If this March is beginning as neither lion nor lamb, then what is it? In like a polar bear? Like a penguin? Like a snow angel? None of these seemed quite right.

We looked again for clues, hoping we might find our month's archetypal animal. Still no luck, though we did find the tippy-tops of our lawn chairs, which have apparently seen their shadows and retreated.

We also found a dairy farmer's tractor, which wandered down our driveway after the snow broke (I repeat: BROKE) our plow guy's plow. But still no lion or lamb.

.
As far as Ari was concerned, it didn't really matter that we were no closer to finding an answer to our connundrum. Being in the snow was plenty for her. And that's when the obvious struck me: this March has come in like a husky.

Raptors Love Company

2009-02-28T19:49:00.004-05:00

Hi, Friends.

I'm back in Canada again--this time, Quebec City. You may remember that when I visited Ottawa a few weeks ago, I learned of Ben, the puppy who had been mutilated and then left at a shelter. Listening to CBC on this trip, I discovered another story that might be of interest to you. This time, it's about an eagle out there looking for a little camaraderie (and maybe a fox or two). Here's the story:

Winnipeg's visiting eagle has landed early CBC News

A wild bald eagle that visits Winnipeg's Assiniboine Zoo on its northern spring migration has arrived earlier than usual.

It is the third year in a row the magnificent, white-headed bird has paused to visit the zoo's captive eagles, zoo officials said.

The visiting eagle and the zoo's four bald eagles repeatedly call back and forth to each other, flapping their wings in excitement, as the wild bird flies around and over the eagle exhibit.

Usually, the visit occurs in early March. The bird has also extended its weeklong stay. Zoo staff say this year the eagle has stayed in the area, perching in nearby trees, for about two weeks.

Each March and April, several hundred bald eagles migrate north along the Red River Valley, passing over Winnipeg and the zoo. But this particular mature bird stops to spend time with the locals.

The visiting eagle also does not hesitate to land inside the uncovered Arctic fox exhibit to pick up a fish or piece of meat, with the frenzied white foxes or zookeeper David Curtis only a few metres away, according to a zoo news release.

There is some concern the hungry eagle may try to seize and fly off with a fox, although the foxes usually retreat underground when the large bird swoops near.

Zoo curator Bob Wrigley recently published an article in International Zoo News on the migratory habits of local wild bald eagles, and the remarkable longevity and breeding of the zoo's senior pair. The wild-born individuals, believed to be about 45 years old, are still raising chicks.

Afloat on Snow

2009-02-23T17:44:00.015-05:00

Hi: 26°F
Low: 14°F
Conditions: Winds and snow subsiding overnight. Total expected
accumulation: 24 inches.

One of my favorite essays is "Afloat on Snow" by Robert Kimber. There, he talks about the leveling effects of winter weather--the way a good snowfall can blanket the landscape, smoothing out its contours and making previously unaccessible places navigable by skis and snowshoes.

The area around our house can be a trecherous bogland of cedar most of the year, so Kimber's idea appeals to us greatly. We love our snowshoe expeditions deep into the heart of the woods, where you never know what a clever canine naturalist might find.

In the past 24 hours, we've received about 20 inches of snow. So today seemed as good a day as any to test out Kimber's theory. Ari and I set out with snowshoes, ski-poles, and a pocketful biscuits to see what this most recent blanketing has brought us.

Our adventure began with the traditional happy snow dance:

Once that was done (or at least the taller of the two of us decided it was done), we put on our investigatory hats. There was a lot to see, like our neighbor's mailbox, which had definitely been blanketed--to the point, in fact, that it was barely identifiable as a mailbox at all.

Much about the landscape, in fact, had changed entirely. These otherwise familiar pine trees furled under the weight of this storm, becoming foreign entities in the forest.

Our favorite--and much used--path became unpassable under this same weight:

And that got us thinking.

If you can be afloat on snow, you can also sink within it. For every bobbing surfer up top, there's bound to be bottom dwellers and schools of swimming creatures deep below the surface, right?

Apparently so. And at least one of those winter flounders has four legs and a tail.

Botched Bird Count

2009-02-18T17:50:00.011-05:00

Hi: 32°F
Low: 21°F
Conditions: Winter Weather Advisory posted until 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. 14 inches of snow and considerable drifts expected.

This weekend marked the 12th annual Audubon Great Backyard Bird Count. You may be familiar with the event from past blog posts here, including our send up of Audubon and our daily tally contest last year. You may even remember our urgent and enthusiastic reminder about the count issued in December, after we completed our Christmas count.

You may, in fact, remember all of those things. You would be perfectly reasonable in assuming, then, that the authors of those postings would remember the actual Backyard Bird Count. If you made such an assumption, you’d be right—but only partially so.

It seems that one of us (and in spite of what the caninaturalist thinks, I really don’t think there’s any reason to mention names here) blithely flew to Chicago to attend a conference and completely forgot about the much-anticipated count. She met with publishers and authors, listened to poets read their work, and dined at great restaurants. She reunited with old friends, made some new ones, and even got to see a team of huskies race down Michigan Avenue. In other words, she had a great time. And it never, never, NEVER occurred to her that she was supposed to be counting birds.

That is, until she received an email from Marigold, Goat Philosopher asking how the caninaturalist count was going. I’m not going to lie: she felt shame. You may recall Marigold was our bird counting champion last year, besting humans and dogs alike. You may remember a few gauntlets were thrown down as a result of this victory, and promises were made that DWB members would have the last word this year.

It seems those bold assertions may have been made in vain. But not for lack of trying on the home front.

While that certain someone was living the life of letters in the Windy City, the rest of her pack was making a valiant (and unbeknownst) effort to complete the count at home.

Leila Tov led the charge, staking out prime real estate at our feeder window. It’s tiring work hanging from a window frame, though, so Ari offered to spell her after a few hours.

She was soon joined by Mouse, who also agreed to lend a paw.

The husband kept their tallies each day.

And when the delinquent certain-someone returned home, one very brazen (and smug) cat made sure she saw the list.

I’m not proud. And I am embarrassed. I’d say better luck next year, but at this rate, who can say for certain I’ll get my act together by then?

Tracks

2009-02-11T10:00:00.000-05:00

Hi: 40°F
Low: 26°F
Conditions: increasing clouds; wintery mix by nightfall

Break out the bikinis and mai tais: we're having a heat wave here in Central Maine! It may not seem like much to our Southern friends, but here in New England anything above freezing is awfully exciting for humans and animals alike.

Many of the four-footed creatures in our area use this heat wave as an opportunity to stretch out their legs, move around, and even get a snack or two. Knowing this, Ari and I set out to see who might be on the move. We found plenty of deer, squirrel, and feral cat tracks, which is what we expected. But we also found some impressive surprises, too.

These are moose tracks. You can tell both because of their size and the division between the two branches of their hooves.

Ari took a good long time sniffing these tracks. And you could tell by watching her that she was impressed by whomever left such enormous foot prints. Her ego got the best of her--just for a moment--as she tried them on for size:

But it was pretty obvious to this furry Goldilocks that these tracks were WAY too big.

So we continued on our way, and that's when we found the most exciting thing we've seen in weeks:

Can you tell what these are? They don't have claws, so they aren't canid. And they're bigger than Ari's feet--at least the fronts one are (way bigger, in fact). But for all that size, this animal hasn't broken the surface of our fragile snow (which is more than this human and her 45 lb dog can say).

We'll give you a second or two to guess. After you've settled on yours, scroll down a bit and see if you're right.

Can you guess?

Are you sure?

Did you pick. . .

This guy?

If you said bobcat, you're right! We've had one in our neighborhood for about a year now. We saw him this summer, when he made the mistake of bullying a fox kit (mom and dad were not happy--and it showed). We haven't seen him since, but these telltale tracks are all the evidence we need: Mr-Giant-Where'd-My-Tail-Go seems to be here to stay.

Overdue Meme

2009-02-07T10:03:00.003-05:00

Our good friend, Maverick the Salty Pirate, tagged us in a meme a while ago. We have no good excuse for taking so long to get to this, and we hope we won't be forced to walk the plank in punishment.

The rules for this meme are these: go to your photos and pick the fifth photo in the fifth file. Here it is:

I don't know exactly why I took this picture, except that I have a minor obsession with the caninaturalist's ears. I also like that you can see how her hair gets all crimped when it's damp out.

The provision of this meme also asked us to tag five other bloggers to participate. We know this one has been around a little, so instead of tagging anyone in particular, we'll just invite anyone who hasn't participated to post their photos. Be sure to let us know when you do--we can't wait to see them!

Brave Ben

2009-02-03T20:10:00.007-05:00

This week, I left Ari curled up in front of the woodstove and headed to Ottawa, Ontario, home of the National Archives of Canada. But today, no one is talking about dusty old files from the nineteenth century. Nope. They're talking about this guy:

Meet Ben. He's a lab mix who is making headlines across Ontario today. More importantly, he's a guy with a heartwrenching story and an admirable spirit. Ben arrived at a Quebec shelter late last week with his four littermates. His 'owners' claimed that his missing front leg was a birth defect, but the shelter vet soon discovered that someone--either as an accident or deliberate act--cut off most of it. Remarkably, Ben has remained a playful, friendly pup in spite of this cruelty and the discomfort that comes from a shattered bone in his shoulder.

The SPCA is accepting donations for a surgery that will hopefully undo some of this damage and make him more comfortable (although, obviously, no one will be able to replace his paw and forearm). After he recovers, Ben will be looking for a permanent home.

Even if you're not able to donate to Ben's cause, I hope you'll read his full story by clicking here.

Take good care, dogs. It can be a mean world out there.

It's a White, White World

2009-01-28T19:45:00.008-05:00

Hi: 27°F
Low: 15°F
Conditions: Snow, heavy at times.

One heck of a nor'easter is making its way across Maine today. We're expecting a good 16 inches of snow before it's all over, and that's good news for huskies.

To celebrate, Ari and I thought we'd beat the snowplows and head over to a community trail not far from our house. It's a magical little spot, complete with a bridge-portal into the cedar bog that comprises much of the landscape:
Those log steps are a little tricky for clumsy humans in snowshoes, but they're clearly no problem for canine naturalists:

Once across, Ari enters her own little Narnia, where she is a wild dog capable of any adventure.

And there's always adventures to be had, like the area around this little burrow (see top right corner).

The wild dog did a pretty good job of excavating the area, but not quite enough to tunnel her ways inside. Still, you can't blame a girl for trying.

(Maybe if a certain someone stole a little less cat food, she might fit in said tunnel. I'm just sayin'. . . )

If tunnels don't work, avenues surely do. Like this one, our favorite stream, now a perfect way through the magical, snowfield forest.

We kind of like this winter wonderland. We think we'll stay a bit.

Gotcha!

2009-01-24T10:41:00.007-05:00

It was a fluke, really. A friend had called to tell me about her kittens, which she found on a new website called Petfinder.com. "It's so neat," she said. "You type in your zipcode and it shows you all the animals for adoption in your area."

I was sitting next to my computer, so I typed in ours. And there was the ad:

Husky/Jindo puppies. Ready in January.

No pictures. Not even a description. Just the telephone number of a shelter in coastal Maine. But something clicked. I'd always wanted a husky. I didn't even know what a jindo was. But when I looked up the breed on the web, I became enamored with the clever, agile dogs I saw there. I read the ad again and knew: these were the puppies for us. I was sure of it.

That night, I brought home file photos of jindos and huskies for Greg. Over dinner, we talked it over. And then we talked some more. We woke up the next morning and talked more still. The next day, we drove to the shelter. There, we met a shy little dog with blue eyes and a white blaze running down her snout.

And then we fell in love.

Happy Gotcha Day, Ari. Thanks for three years of laughs and adventures and the very best kind of puppy love.

Moondance

2009-01-16T17:55:00.011-05:00

Hi: 9°F
Lo: -20°F
Conditions: Clear and very cold.

In our house, it's always a marvelous night for a moondance, and that's not just because we're big Van Morrison fans. We love the crisp nocturnal light, the sense that we've stepped into the rhythms of another set of creatures, the mystery of what lies just out of view.

This week's combination of waning moon, big snow cover, and arctic chill has made for some pretty spectacular lunar viewing. So the caninaturalist and I set out to see what we could find in addition to the moonlight.

My idea was to head to our pine grove, where each morning we find the tracks of animals as diverse as house cats, fox, coyote, and deer. A certain someone, though, thought the grove looked a little too imposing in the dark.

So, instead, we stuck to the more open landscape along our roadside, where round fir trees let in enough light for one sometimes-timid dog to feel a little bit better about her chances for survival.

We found some great tracks--mostly deer--but no critters. We smelled what we thought was skunk (puzzling, considering that they pretty much hibernate this time of year). And we heard the hoot of a barred owl.

That distracted us for awhile. But once we had stuck our noses in most of the tracks, someone got bored. And lost her nerve. Ears flat, tail between the legs, she demanded we go home. We're going to be eaten, this look suggested. I pointed out that very few animals could eat a 45-lb dog. Sharks and killer whales, maybe. Lions. Tyrannosaurus Rex. None, I added, were likely to be found outside our little house on a cold winter's night.

But she wasn't having it. 20 minutes was all the moondancing time this dog needed. As far as she was concerned, there was only one light we needed to be celebrating, and that was the glow of a wood stove.

With temps like these, I guess I can't hardly blame her.

Arijore

2009-01-08T20:43:00.000-05:00

Hi: 26°F
Low: 21°F
Conditions: Winter Weather Advisory in Effect. Total accumulation: 7-9
inches.

After almost three weeks of drought, we're back in the snow game today.

Ari and I decided to celebrate with a skijore on our neighbor's trail. The adventure began, as most good ones do, with a ceremonial roll: this time, around the tips of my skis.

That was soon followed by a considerably less ceremonial (but no less frequent) human crash, as we attempted to avoid the backyard fire pit and lawn furniture (who leaves lawn furniture out in January? Oh, yeah. Never mind.)

It was well after we recovered and had embarked upon the actual ski trails that I realized my camera had fallen out of my coat pocket. So you'll have to trust me when I tell you it was incredibly fast and very beautiful conditions. And you'll also have to trust me when I tell you that the caninaturalist was a champ on the trails--galloping her way through snow and stopping only a respectable number of times to smell things.

We made it back to the firepit and were delighted to find a partially frozen camera waiting for us (though my pride seems to have wandered away for good). To help me make sure the former still works (we've long since given up on the latter), Ari agreed to pose for a skijoring picture in the backyard to show off her form.

And another to remind me that a canine naturalist always has her priorities (read: squirrels) in order, regardless the whims and desires of her human:

New Years with Treats

2008-12-31T16:32:00.009-05:00

High: 43° F
Low: 24° F
Conditions: Sunny with wind gusts up to 50 mph.

Nope, it’s not another heat wave in Maine. Instead, we’re coming to you from Winston-Salem, North Carolina: home of the Wake Forest Demon Deacons.

Not an animal mascot, but we think it's pretty gosh darn cool nonetheless.

We humans are celebrating the New Year with a 3.5 mile road race at midnight. And what better way to prepare for a race than with a double scoop of frozen custard. And what better place to get custard than at this, quite possibly the best ice cream place anywhere:

That’s right: WOLFIE’S!

Our good friend Tubey has been keeping track of mascots for some time now. And he’s always quick to point out when stupid humans try to substitute another dog for a husky. Now, we may be wrong, but we think this ‘wolfie’ looks pretty husky to us.

PLUS, Wolfie’s trademark treat is the SCREAMWICH. And we’ve been around you wooing dogs long enough to know that sounds like an apt description for you, too.

If they’re still open, we might just have to get another scoop after the race. Maybe we’ll see you there. In the meantime, Happy New Year to Woo You All!

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

2008-12-24T13:10:00.005-05:00

And all through our house

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even our Mouse.

H A P P Y H O L I D A Y S ! !

Black Diamond Blemish

2008-12-21T17:46:00.010-05:00

Low: -4° F
High: 11° F
Conditions: Blizzard conditions with gusting wind and snow accumulation of 15 inches or higher.

The solstice hike is one of our family’s favorite traditions. We wake up first thing in the morning; the humans bundle up and stuff their pockets with dog biscuits; and then the three of us head out for an epic hike. Along the way, we see moose and birds and eat snacks. Then we stop for breakfast, and the resting canine naturalist gets the bacon from one of the human’s plate.

It’s an all-around great day. One of our collective favorites on the calendar, really.

So what do you do if you’re a dog looking forward to a solstice walk who is then disappointed when one of her stupid humans falls down a mountain a few days before?

You sulk a little. And you sigh deeply each of the million times you have to listen to her recount the fall—the death cookie she’s sure her ski hit (after all, she wouldn’t just fall, right?). You hear her talk about the daring tumble—about how it would have been a complete yard sale if her right ski hadn’t stayed on her right foot. About how said ski was responsible for bending her leg in a hundred different directions, none of which nature intended.

You sigh some more. You look at the front door longingly. You get bored and chase the cats around the house.

And then you settle for a consolation walk.

The other human—the less clumsy one—agrees to be your walker. This is unusual. And irritating, since he insists on eating an orange and everyone knows you hate the smell of citrus. Meanwhile, your human—the gimpy one—tries to make do with a knee-brace, ski poles, and a lot of Advil. You can see that glazed, ibuprofen look in her eyes. And you don’t like it. But you walk anyway, and pretend not to laugh because she looks like a goof. And really, it’s not all bad.

The hike is more of a shuffle, but it is awfully pretty.

And you get to growl at mallards.

And, okay, you even see a bald eagle.
And even in your crabby state, you have to admit that’s pretty impressive—especially today, which is the solstice after all. And even though there’s no bacon for you, there are biscuits. And they are homemade. And the humans are smiling—even the gimpy one—so you decide, okay maybe, you’ll have a good day, too.

And so you do.

4 Calling Birds, 3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves, and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

2008-12-16T17:43:00.019-05:00

High: 27° F
Low: 18° F
Conditions: Increasing cloudiness and wind. Winter Weather Advisory Takes Effect at 11:00 p.m. tonight.

It wasn’t an ideal day for a bird count—not with the spitting precipitation and gusts of wind. Still, that didn’t deter the dozen or so individuals in Central Maine who took part in the Audubon Society’s 109th Christmas Bird Count. The 12 of us spanned out over a good part of Waldo County from sunrise to sunset, logging every feathered creature who crossed our path.

Ari seemed particularly excited about the count—mostly, I suspect, because it meant six hours of walking the woods and roads around our house. And, for once, it also meant that I did not demand a speed-walking pace with few stops for sniffing.

As I kept my eyes peeled towards the tree line and sky, Ari focused hers on terra firma. This struck me as an incredibly naïve posture for a bird count, and I made no bones about telling her so. I pointed out that while this was only her second Christmas bird count, it was my eighth, and the extra six years had surely taught me a thing or two about where birds like to hang out. I started waxing about air currents and good perching branches when I was interrupted by this band of waddling birds:

That’s right. They’re on the ground.

This is the face of a smug dog.

Not to be out done, I reminded the caninaturalist that domestic fowl are not eligible for our avian census. I pointed out she would know that if she had read the instructions from Audubon. And then I remembered aloud that dogs can't read. She pretended not to hear me, then looked around for the stinkiest thing she could find—also on the ground.

This is the posture of a vindictive dog.

We called a truce and agreed to keep counting.

By 3:00 p.m., the wind was making further counting difficult, so we made our way back home. While I left for the pizza party hosted for biped birding volunteers, Ari completed our tally:

7 Juncos:

1 Pileated Woodpecker:

2 Herring Gulls:

12 Redpolls:

13 Goldfinches:

37 Chickadees:

8 Blue Jays:

1 White-Throated Sparrow:

5 Common Crows:

7 Nuthatches (5 red-breasted; 2 white breasted):

And yes, Ari, I won't forget about the neighborhood guinea hens and ducks (or that delightful aroma of dead things insinuated in a soggy dog coat).

Friends, be sure to mark your calendars! The 2009 Great Backyard Birdcount will take place on President's Day Weekend (13-16 Feburary). Once again, we'll have daily tallies from our participating blogging friends and a prize for the most birds counted. Don't forget DWB members, last year's winner was a GOAT (we're just saying. . . ).

Deck the Boughs

2008-12-09T08:52:00.000-05:00

High: 32° F
Low: 11° F
Conditions: Snow showers throughout the day

We’re big fans of holiday cheer around here, especially during these, the darkest days of the year. December in Maine means that the sun rises a little after 7:00 a.m. and sets before 4:00 p.m. That’s a lot of darkness. So much so, in fact, it’s also the one time of year I can count on not being awakened by an eager caninaturalist before 6:00 a.m. (thank goodness for small favors).

But the darkness can also get a little taxing. That’s one reason we really love our annual outing to pick out the household Christmas tree.

We humans love the ancient ideas that an evergreen tree might have the ability both to woo the sun back our way and, in the meantime, to weather whatever winter has up her sleeve. Meanwhile, the resident cats get to tap into their primordial, tree-dwelling DNA, (which gives Ari something to tattle about). Along the way, she also gets a great walk, lots of attention from kids bored with their own tree search, and some mighty impressive treats, too. And then there are those incredibly alluring horses to bark at. . .

Once we've told them a thing or two, it's time to get down to brass tacks. In our family, selecting the perfect tree is a delicate dance of compromise.

Ari, for instance, soon latched on (literally) to this little specimen:

So much so, in fact, that she not only refused to leave, but she had strong words for anyone who suggested we move on.

We considered harvesting the tree as a nod to Charlie Brown's Christmas choice, but couldn't quite bring ourselves to do so.

In the end, human preference trumped dog, and we chose this fabulous tree for our new housemate:

And then remembered AFTER we had cut it down to see if it would fit in our house.

This is a crucial step, particularly for two people with little spatial appreciation. Decking the halls in our house has turned tense more than once--particularly after we discover, while standing in our dining room, that the tree we just lugged inside will never, ever, fit there. Happily, this year we got it right.

Piper Mountain is a great place to get a tree. There are acres of evergreen forest to walk, friendly workers turning trees into something out of Dr. Seuss and this--my one donut of the year. Which also, coincidentally, is Ari's one bite of donut as well. (a reward not only for relinquishing her tiny tree, but for guarding our big one while we went to pay).

Back home, we used a dichotomous key to confirm that we had, in fact, purchased a balsam fir.

I was hopeful that this research would interest the canine naturalist--it is biological study after all--but she had moved on to new projects, like guarding the house from an assault by chickadees and red squirrels.

Meanwhile, we humans set to work rediscovering the decorations that had been tucked away in our basement for the past year. Ari's pesky housemate, Mouse, offered to "help."

That meant it took us about five times longer to finish the decorating than it should have, but Mouse tells me that's part of holiday tradition, too. Ari doesn't care one way or the other: she's just worried those damn squirrels are going to figure out a way to steal this tree--or, even worse, our donuts.

Fly the Friendly Skies

2008-12-03T17:53:00.008-05:00

High: 37° F
Low: 18° F
Conditions: Increasing clouds with dropping temps

I’m the daughter of a private pilot. As a young child, though, I was terrified of my father's plane. I was an impressionable kind of kid (still am, probably), and when I overheard my grandfather retelling a story of two pilots who crashed into the side of a mountain, I was convinced the same fate awaited me. Did it matter that we lived in Iowa—thousands of miles away from any such natural feature? Absolutely not.

As I grew older, I came to understand the safety of this nifty little vehicle and its very steady pilot. And, in turn, I also learned to love a life in the air. It was a thrill to fly friends to Chicago for pizza on my birthday or to play around in the clouds on a hot summer afternoon. And to this day, I am the only holiday traveler I know of who grows absolutely giddy at the prospect of a busy day traversing major airports.

I was particularly excited, then, why my dad sent me the following story about members of the Airplane Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA) who are offering up their planes and flight hours to help out dogs in need.

The story originally ran in AOPA’s newsletter, and it details a new partnership between two really wonderful organizations: Pilots N Paws and Animal Rescue Flights (ARF). This new relationship is a great example of mutually beneficial ideas: homeless dogs get first-class transportation to their new homes; private pilots get a great excuse to log the mandatory flying hours they must undergo each year to maintain their licenses.

Dogs are provided with protective earphones to prevent auditory damage and are usually secured in crates so that they don't wander around or become a projectile in the air. Even with these precautions, not all of them seem like enthusiastic participants in the program:

We've learned enough about stress and calming signals in dog school to know these little guys are less than elated. And based on the one disasterous adventure Ari and I had on a simple ocean ferry, I doubt the caninaturalist will try this mode of transportation anytime soon. Still, we're awful glad to hear this new program exists and that dogs in need are meeting their new familes that much quicker. A freaky mode of transportation seems like a small price to pay for that kind of new life. And think of all the stories these little ones will have to share at the dog park!

We just have one question, though. What do they get to do with their frequent flyer miles?

Giving Thanks

2008-11-27T09:50:00.011-05:00

High: 37° F
Low: 26° F
Conditions: increased clearing throughout the day

Growing up, Thanksgiving was one of my least favorite holidays. We had school until the end of the day on Wednesday, then woke up on Thursday morning to a flurry of dinner plans. My mom would encourage my brother and me to watch the Macy’s Day Parade, but neither one of us really saw the appeal of epic-sized balloons shaped into outmoded cartoon characters. Each year, we’d half heartedly hope that a float would escape its human handlers and wreck havoc on the Manhattan skyline. No such luck.

To make matters worse, I’m no fan of turkey (it, I’ve always said, tastes way too much like turkey) or eating big meals mid-day or watching football games with overfed family members and a glass of eggnog.

So, to my adolescent mind, this holiday has always been a bust. It didn’t matter that my mother’s side of the family claims descendency from one of the original pilgrims (and Thanksgiving planners) or that various members of the family had labored over casseroles and carving: I was delighted when the day was over and we could get back to normal meal schedules and tv programming.

As an adult, I’m learning to feel differently—but it’s a gradual process.

I’m never going to love this holiday, but I can appreciate its ritualized symbolism. And, at the risk of cliché, I whole heartedly understand the significance of giving thanks.

This morning, Ari and I awoke to the first snowfall of the season. It wasn’t much, but we were grateful nevertheless. I love the starkness it affords the landscape: the way everything becomes clear and quiet with even a light dusting-- like these apples, now overwintering for the benefit of woodland creatures.

Ari, on the other hand, likes the way it preserves scent and step. Any time of year, she can read the landscape with a precision I can only imagine. That only intensifies with a cover of snow, which makes it all the easier to divine where her friends have been and what they’ve been doing.
The snow will undoubtedly melt by mid-day today, but we’re happy to see it nevertheless. It’s a sign that the holiday season is upon us, and we’re grateful for that too.

Later today, we’ll sit down to a meal of lobster stew. I’ll bake some bread, and we’ll probably make a spinach salad, too. It may not be television’s version of the perfect Thanksgiving dinner, but its traditions stretch back much farther than t.v. And it’s a version of the holiday we can call our own.

To all of our friends in the blogging world, we want to thank you for your friendship. We’ve learned so much about relationships through your wit and insight. And so, wherever you are, we wish you a:

Hibernation Nation

2008-11-20T18:26:00.010-05:00

Low: 14° F
High: 29° F
Conditions: Clear and Cold

With the last batch of squash this year, we've filled our storeroom and freezer for the season. Here's our total tally:

6 pints of frozen raspberries

10 quarts of frozen peaches

22 quarts of frozen strawberries

28 quarts of frozen blueberries

36 jars of jam

10 pints of dilly beans

7 quarts of frozen squash

12 quarts of frozen cauliflower

19 quarts of frozen broccoli

24 quarts of frozen green beans

8 quarts marinera sauce

2 cases espresso stout

4 quarts of frozen dog biscuits.

WINTER? Sure. Bring it on!

Target Audience

2008-11-14T12:29:00.012-05:00

High: 50° F
Low: 45° F
Conditions: Showers throughout the day.

It’s deer hunting season here in Maine. We’re not opposed to hunters per se: to the contrary, we’d just as soon see omnivores get their meat this way as any other. Still, the season does put a kind of damper on our lifestyle around here. With hundreds of armed humans in the woods around our house, we’re limited to walks in broad daylight on major thoroughfares. That’s okay as far as taking care of toiletry business is concerned, but it’s small consolation for an energetic canine naturalist in need of an occupation.

Luckily, Ari has a list of home projects she’s been working on lately. We thought we’d share some of them with you.

Project #1: Monitor For Intruders

Project #2: Organize Bone Inventory

Project #3: Sort Basement Recycling Bins

Project #4: Relocate Canned Goods

Project #5: Launch Demonic Exercise Program

Project #6: When Feline Housemates Refuse to Sign up For Program, Initiate Cat Diet Regiment by Eating an Entire Bag of Catfood. (note to self: be prepared for housemate backlash)

Project #7: Make Kindling for Woodstove
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Project #8: Break in Couch (extra bonus: occupying the one piece of furniture in the ENTIRE house you are forbidden to occupy)

So, as you can tell, we've been pretty busy around here. At least one of us will be very relieved when hunting season ends. In the meantime, spare a thought for our poor house.

First Dog: Not a husky?!?!?

2008-11-09T19:00:00.000-05:00

Choosing the First Puppy
By Laura Smith-Spark BBC News, Washington
US President-elect Barack Obama is still working on the make-up of his cabinet. A far more important decision - for his daughters at least - will be choosing the puppy that accompanies the new First Family to the White House.

Mr Obama made the promise of a new pet to Malia, 10 and Sasha, seven, in an election victory speech broadcast to millions around the world, suggesting it is one campaign pledge that will be kept.

"I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House," he told his daughters.

Now the question is, what kind of pooch will be the next to join a long and illustrious line of White House pets?

Michelle Obama has been quoted as saying she would like a rescue dog - which would certainly be a story of canine rags to riches.

Reports suggest that because daughter Malia has allergies, the Obamas may be considering a "hypoallergenic" breed that sheds less hair.

Options could include a labradoodle - a cross between a Labrador and a poodle - a schnoodle (schnauzer and poodle), or a cockapoo (cocker spaniel and poodle).

Malia, however, is rumoured to favour a goldendoodle - a poodle crossed with a golden retriever.
In an American Kennel Club survey of 42,000 people this summer, a pedigree poodle came out as the top choice for a new First Dog. But Tamar Geller, a California-based celebrity dog "life coach" who trained Oprah Winfrey's puppies, is confident the Obamas will choose a rescue dog.
She says staff at her shelter programme, Another Chance For Love, are already in talks with people in the Obama camp about a goldendoodle that needs a home.

"He is a gorgeous dog," she told the BBC News website. "He is white with some golden highlights, as if he went to the hairdresser, a really happy smile, sweet but not hyper.
"I think he is going to make a perfect First Dog but we will see - the family has to make the decision."

The priority, she says, is that the pet the Obamas pick is comfortable with children and impeccably behaved at all times, particularly with visitors.

"Can you imagine the dog jumping on Putin, or lifting his leg and peeing on the curtains, or nipping at Gordon Brown?" she says.

"We don't want that to happen, so the dog has to be very well mannered.

"We need to make sure that the dog is not afraid of loud noises because he may hear loud arguments in the Oval Office, and he mustn't be afraid of people with beards and turbans and so on because he is going to meet a lot of foreign dignitaries."

Leigh Siegfried, of the Opportunity Barks dog training school, based just outside the capital, agrees that sociability is a must.

The reporter bitten on the finger by George W Bush's dog Barney this week would probably agree.

Whether pedigree or mutt, the new First Puppy will have to take over certain duties from Barney and his companion Miss Beazley, both Scottish terriers.

They are regularly photographed travelling with the Bush family, playing on the White House lawn and meeting and greeting visitors - including royalty.

Barney has his own website and the hairy pair have also starred in the annual White House Christmas video. Last year's included a cameo by former UK Prime Minister Tony Blair, at one time mocked as "Bush's poodle".

If times get tough for Mr Obama on the political front, the First Puppy might also bear in mind the quote attributed to President Harry S Truman: "If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog."

Bill Clinton's chocolate Labrador, Buddy, probably lived up to his name when he joined the household in 1997 at the height of the Monica Lewinsky affair.

And Mr Clinton once told reporters that the dog would curl up and sleep with him when wife Hillary was away.

Some previous presidential pets have been more exotic.

Herbert Hoover (or his son, at least) owned two alligators that were sometimes allowed to roam round the White House.

George Washington was devoted to his war horse, called Nelson, and Martin Van Buren had two tiger cubs.

According to the White House website, Thomas Jefferson kept a mockingbird, Calvin Coolidge had a pet raccoon called Rebecca and Benjamin Harrison owned a goat called His Whiskers that pulled his grandchildren round the White House lawn in a cart.

The sons of Theodore Roosevelt took their pony up in a White House lift to visit their sick brother in bed and Caroline Kennedy also had a pony, called Macaroni, that she rode across the grounds.

In fact, only a handful of US presidents so far have not had a pet.

Once the Obamas have chosen their puppy, the next challenge for the 44th First Family will be picking a suitable name.

Some internet First Pet-watchers are already bandying about such monikers as Lipstick or Palin, if it is a pit bull terrier, or perhaps Maverick if the Obamas opt for an older rescue dog.
Recent presidents have tended to go for straightforward dog names.

Lyndon Johnson called his beagles Him and Her, Jimmy Carter's pooch was called Grits and Ronald Reagan named his dogs Lucky and Rex.

George W Bush's springer spaniel - born in the White House while his father had the top job - was dubbed Spot.

Mr Clinton said he had named Buddy after his great-uncle Henry Oren "Buddy" Grisham, who had died earlier that year.

In the end, whatever name the Obamas plump for, Ms Geller says, she wants to see a crossbreed rather than a commercially-bred pedigree pup as top dog.

"It would be really great to get a goldendoodle in the White House. It would be another first."

Happy Birthday!

2008-11-07T14:00:00.000-05:00

Guess who turns three on November 8th?

Happy Birthday, Ari. We love you.

Lobster Plates

2008-11-04T15:38:00.014-05:00

High: 61° F
Low: 43° F
Conditions: Mostly cloudy with a chance of showers

Our ancient Honda has served us admirably over the last ten years, but we decided it was time for a change. The new caninaturalist-mobile? A very adorable Mini Cooper, complete with checker-board roof:

As you can imagine, Ari looks great in it (though she doesn't like that she can't get traction on the leather seats).

When it came time for us to register the car, we knew right away what kind of license plate we wanted:

The lobster is one of those iconic emblems of Maine. It's also one of the nation's biggest success stories when it comes to sustainable fisheries.

Lobster is a highly affordable $3.85 a pound right now, so we recently celebrated with a feast. We believe in free-range meat here at the house, so once the lobsters came home, we let them wander around until it was time for their, er, passing.
.

Ari and Mouse were both really interested in these new arrivals:

But the caninaturalist soon decided that they looked like more trouble than they were worth. She opted for kibble, but Mouse persevered.

And then really, really persevered:

By the time the water was boiling, I think these poor creatures were frankly relieved: after all, it's probably better to be boiled than it is gnawed to death.

Ari wasn't much more interested in whole boiled lobster than she was whole live lobster. But once they were shelled and chopped, she changed her tune:

As for us? We opted for lobster and truffle risotto: almost as much fun as the new car!

Democracy, NOW

2008-11-01T16:00:00.000-04:00

Friends, we're pleased to be participating in the First Annual Presidential Debate between Dr. Hurricane Akara Turbofire and Vrrrroommmie the Dyson. You can check out the full transcript of this historic meeting HERE. Be the change this country needs!

Silver Maple Story

2008-10-28T17:22:00.015-04:00

Low: 29°F
High: 42°F
Conditions: Mostly cloudy with flurries.

A college campus is a great place to be a dog: there are plenty of friendly undergraduates, many of whom desperately miss their own canine companions, ready to say hello and fawn over your soft fur and even softer ears.

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It’s also a great place to be a caninaturalist, especially if your human lets you come along for lab work in the field.

Recently, Ari and I ventured out with members of one of our seminars on an investigative field trip of sorts. We’ve been studying climate change and the ways in which ecosystems respond to changes in precipitation and weather. We’ve read great books, like Tim Flannery’s The Weather Makers, and watched some really compelling films, like Between the Tides. But this was all in the classroom.

To show us firsthand, our favorite naturalist Dave Potter took us out to a very special forest near campus.

This may look like any other stand of trees, but it’s actually quite unique and is comprised almost entirely by silver maples (Acer saccharinum), so called because of their lighter bark and leaves.

Silver maples love wet, soupy areas, so it's not a surprise that they favor places like this one, which floods each spring and stays pretty marshy even in the dryest of seasons:

Incidentally, canine naturalists also prefer this kind of habitat, as evinced in this investigative action shot:

So we shouldn't have been surprised to find a muddy, blue-eyed dog having a good time there. And, on the surface anyway, it might not have seemed all that interesting to find some lovely silver maples there, too. But here's the thing: silver maples don't really grow in Maine--at least, not in a stand of trees all their own. Our guru Potter says that this is the only such forest he knows of in Northern New England.

Dave isn't entirely certain why these trees are not only living, but thriving here. But he does have a few guesses. One is because this area borders a body of water called Sandy Stream, a floodplain built by the last series of glaciers. The giant wall of ice cut a rivulet between our local lake and a larger river. What makes Sandy Stream pretty extraordinary is that it is entirely controlled by these two bodies of water: sometimes, the river backs up and pushes its water and debris into Sandy Stream; other times, the lake drains out, bringing sand and its own unique fluid down this way. As a result (and over the millenia), it's created an utterly beguiling ecosystem--and one capable of hosting some pretty sturdy trees.

We learned from Dave that silver maples support a lot of moss on their trunks, which can be a pretty good thing in a climate as unforgiving as ours.

But look at this tree:

It's wearing a moss bikini. Not because they are incredibly stylish, mind you, but rather because the moss is stripped away each spring as the area floods and then freezes. As the water levels shift, the ice moves up and down, ultimately shaving off the moss (and some of the tree) each season.

The silver maple is one of the only trees that can tolerate this kind of treatment, not to mention the constant oozing wetness of the soil. And they are living proof, says Potter, of 15,000 years of gradually changing climate. But if that change becomes more rapid and increases our rainfall, not even these sturdy trees will be able to withstand this kind of rude climatological handling.

We learned a lot on this outing. And we're still processing quite a bit of it. But at least one of us feels much smarter for the trip. Can't you just see it in her eyes?

A Snow Dream Deferred

2008-10-23T11:25:00.005-04:00

High: 48° F
Low: 29° F
Conditions: Sunny and crisp.

The early snow passed us by this week. But Northern and Western Maine received a fair amount--accumulations of 2-4 inches in some places.

Here's a photo we ran this summer of our favorite run at Sugarloaf Mountain:

Here's that same space today:

Winter must be near. In the meantime, we'll keep dreaming.

Snow Dreams

2008-10-21T09:39:00.008-04:00

High: 45° F
Low: 24° F
Conditions: cloudy with an approaching storm.

If the weatherman is right about our 48-hour forecast, then this:

Might very well equal this:

A girl can always dream, right?

Je me souviens

2008-10-16T20:30:00.002-04:00

High: 54° F
Low: 32° F
Conditions: Showers clearing by day's end.

This week, the caninaturalist went to Camp Green Acres Kennel, Mouse and Leila Tov became latch-key cats, while I journeyed to Quebec City, where I am researching my new book project. Quebec City is a wonderful place--a whole lot of continental Europe in an easy day's drive. At 400 years old, it is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in North America and has the fortified gates to prove it:

It's easy to forget you're living in the 21st century within these walls, where equine transportation trumps automotive:

And hotels haven't changed a bit in over a 100 years:

Outside the walled ville is a city of contrasts.

Examples are everywhere, like in this old cathederal, which remains only a facade newly decorated by graffiti artists:

Or these ramparts, now occupied only by four-footed soldiers:

Most of my time was spent in the archives of this building, the Provincial Parliament:

It's been a tough few decades for Quebecoise Separatists after their failed vote of political autonomy. For many, maintaining the language and their distinct culture is more than just a political statement--it's about compromised subjectivity and continued colonialism. Examples of this are everywhere--like the name of this building, Parliament Nationale.

Since its founding in 1608, Quebec City has been the site of constant political conflict, but its citizens have made it through with an identity both distinct and familiar. And the city is celebrating in style throughout 2008. While we were in town, foreign dignitaries were convening for the festivities, including French President Nicolas Sarcozy, who was under constant guard by the unusually armed mounties:

Still, the city positively glows with its own accomplishment each night. Happy Birthday, Quebec!

Fallings

2008-10-10T19:01:00.011-04:00

High: 61° F
Low: 37° F
Conditions: Mostly sunny and calm.

Autumn is as much an occupation as it is a season here in New England. There are plenty of apples to harvest and firewood to stack and hay to bale this time of year. Good pursuits, all of them, but Ari and I decided they could wait a few more days so that we could participate in Maine’s favorite recreational sport: leaf peeping.

As the most forested state in the union (90% of our total area!), Maine takes its foliage very seriously. The state has an entire webpage devoted to the subject and also boasts a 1-800 foliage hotline and interactive map, which is updated daily:

According to this site, we’re not yet at peak, but you’d never know it looking outside, where the hillsides are a garish and fiery display the likes of which usually make understated, puritanical New Englanders blush. Not this week, where the only red hue are our local favorites, the red maples, and this stunning sumac:

Even though scientists have proven that dogs can see certain shades of red, I get the distinct impression that Ari could care less what color the leaves are. But, ever since she was a puppy, she has been a huge fan of any leaf turned brittle by weather and age. We used to joke that, since she was raised in a family of cats, Ari suffered from a species-identity disorder. She’s always been a pouncer and back-of-the-couch percher. Now almost three, she may be a little more grown up and a decent amount more dog-like, but she still relishes the feline, like here, where she’s trapped an oak leaf in her front paws and isn’t about to let go.

Speaking of going, we’re both a little sad to see the familiar V-shape of migrating geese. Each afternoon, our sky is filled with the brush of feathers and the sound of geese triangulating towards warmer climes.

By dusk, many have taken up residence in our local fire pond, where they’ll rest until just before dawn and then continue southward. I have to admit, I hate to see them go.

I was cheered, however, by a story that ran on NPR today about the epic New England pumpkin:

Apparently, intrepid pumpkin growers have become so competitive that some of the champion specimens grow up to 40 pounds a day. That’s all fine and good, but if the pumpkins grow too fast, they are prone to some pretty impressive explosions. You can see the aftermath of one such disaster by clicking on the NPR page here.

Kineo

2008-10-06T21:57:00.017-04:00

High: 59°F
Low: 38°F
Conditions: Mostly sunny.

This week for our State Park Sabbatical we traveled north to Moosehead Lake. There, Mt. Kineo rises out of the depths of Maine’s largest body of water. The subject of legend, Kineo was long-believed to be the overturned dog bowl of a native god’s canine companion. With its steep sides and flat top, we have no problem believing that Kineo, turned rightside up, could hold even a caninaturalist's supply of kibble. And while we didn’t find any dog food to speak of on this trip, we did find plenty of other things worth anyone’s consideration.

The Piscatequis River

Bull Moose

The cliffs of Kineo. At the turn of the 20th century, Mt. Kineo was the site of one of the most opulent resorts in the world. A Russian princess, who spent her summers there, jumped to her death off of these cliffs after receiving word that her fiance had called off their wedding.

Mother and fawn graciously posing for a photo.

A loon in the distance

Local construction project.

Almost at the top.

The Kineo fire tower, built around 1910 and one of the oldest in the state.

The view looking westward from the top of the tower.

The view looking down from the tower.

19th-century servants quarters: the only remaining building from the grand resort.

Mother and calf (bringing our day's moose total to 7!).

Snoozing on the way home (after sharing a well-earned molasses and date cookie with me).

Tangled Up In Blue

2008-10-02T11:18:00.005-04:00

High: 62° F
Low: 49° F
Conditions: Continuous drizzle.

This is a snake knot:

This is a knotted snake:

We’re all a little tied up, kinked up, and wound up over the pervasive rainfall this week, but we think that this guy is taking that sentiment a little too seriously.

Our knotted friend is a Northern Red-Bellied Snake (Storeria occipitomaculata), a small snake found throughout the northeast. They’re partial to mucky, damp places like marshes, bogs, and floodplains. Normally that wouldn’t include our driveway, but this week is something different entirely. These days, muck and damp is pretty much omnipresent at caninaturalist central.

Those conditions might explain why this guy was in our driveway, but it still doesn’t explain how he came to be so knotted. One reigning scientific theory about knotted snakes is that they contort themselves in this way to help with the shedding process. But this guy doesn’t seem to be ready to throw off his epidermis.

Another theory is that snakes, when prodded in one area, contort and tangle as their very long nervous system tries to make sense of the stimuli. That seems like a pretty good theory for this particular specimen, particularly since there’s a puncture wound in his side.

Red-bellied snakes have some unusual defensive mechanisms: they raise their front lips and snarl at potential predators (not unlike a few dogs we know!). They also release a musky (read: rank) odor when threatened or vulnerable. That makes us wonder if maybe this guy was under assault, perhaps by one of our local foxes or coyotes, and gave a particularly impressive show of snarl and stink, causing him to be dropped, unceremoniously, in our drive, where he short-circuited and ended up as his own version of the snake knot. What do you think?

Anatomy of a Misplaced Tropcial Storm

2008-09-28T21:15:00.013-04:00

In college, my roommate had a boyfriend named Kyle (she also had a hedgehog, a 6-foot long boa constrictor, a freezer filled with frozen rats for said boa constrictor, and a very badly trained little white dog named Chessie, but that’s another story). Kyle, although relatively pleasant, was really kind of a slouch: he’d show up an hour late for dinner, or linger at our apartment for days—not going to class or doing his dishes or anything other than laying around, monopolizing the t.v., and often eating groceries that I had purchased.

Tropical storm Kyle seemed a whole lot like third-wheel-roommate Kyle when it arrived today: late, pretty soppy, and capable of creating low-level annoyance. Instead of drama and winds and pelting rain, we got soup, soup, and more soup. And not the fabulous cheesy broccoli soup or even a hearty lentil stew. This was a thin, uninspired, poorly seasoned storm—one frustrating enough to turn even the most agreeable caninaturalist into a singularly grouchy dog.

8:00 am: Our morning walk
Temperature: 63° F
Barometer: 29.93
Wind speed: 5 mph
Visibility: 10 miles

11:00 am: pouring rain
Temperature: 64° F
Barometer: 29.87
Wind speed: 3 mph
Visibility: 1 mile

1:00 pm: Time for a bathroom break

(aka, “really, go ahead and try to make me go outside again”)
Temperature: 66° F
Barometer: 29.30
Wind speed: 8 mph
Visibility: 4 miles

3:00 pm: check on household drainage
Temperature: 67° F
Barometer: 29.8
Wind speed: 12 mph
Visibility: 10 miles

5:00 p.m. NOAA radar check

7:00 pm: Misty stillness
Temperature: 65° F
Barometer: 28.5
Wind speed: 3 mph
Visibility: 3 miles

9:00 pm: No really, I DARE you to make me pee one more time outside
Temperature: 63° F
Barometer: 29.3
Wind speed: 3 mph
Visibility: 10 miles

11:00 pm: Good luck, Nova Scotia!

Batten Down the Hatches

2008-09-27T17:27:00.007-04:00

High: 64° F
Low: 58°F
Conditions: Rain with increasing winds.

Kyle (or would that be Khyle?) is on the way and expected to make landfall here in Maine sometime on Sunday. Meteorologists are forecasting winds of 70 mph (with gusts exceeding 100 mph) and six inches of rain. All of the local critters have already taken cover, but we thought we’d go take one last stroll nevertheless. That's all for now, then. We’ll have more to report on Monday—stay tuned!

Issued by The National Weather ServicePortland, ME 1:13 pm EDT, Sat., Sep. 27, 2008
... TROPICAL STORM WIND WATCH IN EFFECT THROUGH SUNDAY EVENING...
... NEW INFORMATION... AT 1100 AM EDT... THE CENTER OF TROPICAL STORM KYLE WAS LOCATED NEAR LATITUDE 32.1 NORTH... LONGITUDE 69.6 WEST OR ABOUT 280 MILES WEST OF BERMUDA AND ABOUT 635 MILES SOUTH OF NANTUCKET MASSACHUSETTS. ... AREAS AFFECTED... THIS STATEMENT RECOMMENDS ACTIONS TO BE TAKEN BY PERSONS IN... WESTERN MAINE. INTERIOR WALDO COUNTY.
... WATCHES/WARNINGS... TROPICAL STORM KYLE WILL THREATEN PORTIONS OF THE WESTERN MAINE SUNDAY AND SUNDAY EVENING... A HURRICANE WATCH IS IN EFFECT FOR THE COAST OF MAINE FROM STONINGTON TO EASTPORT. A HURRICANE WATCH MEANS THAT HURRICANE CONDITIONS ARE POSSIBLE WITHIN THE WATCH AREA... GENERALLY WITHIN 36 HOURS. A TROPICAL STORM WATCH IS IN EFFECT FOR THE COAST OF MAINE SOUTH OF STONINGTON TO CAPE ELIZABETH... INCLUDING THE PORTLAND AREA. A TROPICAL STORM WATCH MEANS THAT TROPICAL STORM CONDITIONS ARE POSSIBLE WITHIN THE WATCH AREA... GENERALLY WITHIN 36 HOURS. A TROPICAL STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FOR BERMUDA. KYLE IS MOVING TOWARD THE NORTH-NORTHWEST NEAR 15 MPH... 24 KM/HR. A TURN TOWARD THE NORTH AND AN INCREASE IN FORWARD SPEED IS EXPECTED LATER TODAY... AND A TURN TOWARD THE NORTH-NORTHEAST IS EXPECTED TONIGHT OR SUNDAY. ON THE FORECAST TRACK... THE CENTER OF KYLE IS FORECAST TO BE NEAR EASTERN MAINE OR THE CANADIAN MARITIMES LATE SUNDAY. MAXIMUM SUSTAINED WINDS ARE NEAR 70 MPH... 110 KM/HR... WITH HIGHER GUSTS. SOME STRENGTHENING IS FORECAST DURING THE NEXT 24 HOURS... AND KYLE COULD BECOME A HURRICANE LATER TODAY. RAINFALL TOTALS AROUND ONE INCH ARE POSSIBLE ON BERMUDA THROUGH TODAY. RAINFALL TOTALS OF 2 TO 4 INCHES WITH MAXIMUM AMOUNTS OF 6 INCHES ARE POSSIBLE OVER EASTERN PORTIONS OF THE NEW ENGLAND STATES... NEW BRUNSWICK... AND NOVA SCOTIA THROUGH MONDAY MORNING.

Common Ground

2008-09-23T21:28:00.006-04:00

High: 67°
Low: 40°
Conditions: Mostly sunny and calm

This week marks the start of autumn, and we can think of no better way to celebrate it than the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardener's Common Ground Fair. One of the largest of its kind in North America, Common Ground brings about 60,000 visitors to Central Maine over the course of three days for food, fun, and a little social activism. The fair is a special kind of place: its fried dough is 100% organic whole grain, its midway is filled with folk artisans and peace and justice groups, and the only rides there are the ones you catch on a friendly horse or two. It's a great place to be a canine naturalist--whether you have two legs or four.

Heirloom Apples For Sale

Sheep Dog Herding Demonstrations

Gourd Bird Houses

Oxen Pulls

Fleece Tent

Fleece Maker

mmmmm. . . honey

Fair Shuttle Bus

Winter Shuttle Bus

Winter Shuttle Bus Driver

Food As Art

Food For Lunch

Food On Parade

Friend, NOT Food

Loaf Love at First Sight

The First Frost of the Season

2008-09-18T20:38:00.004-04:00

Low: 33° F
High: 60° F
Conditions: Cool and clear

O, WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

. . . .
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O, wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

(excerpted from Percy Bysshe Shelley's, "Ode to the West Wind")

The Sky is Falling

2008-09-16T09:42:00.009-04:00

High: 68° F
Low: 45° F
Conditions: Blustery winds

No doubt, you have heard the tragic story of one Chicken Little, a Gallus domesticus plagued by gravitaphobia. One day, poor Chicken Little was walking in the woods when she heard a sound described by several eyewitness accounts as “KERPLUNK.” This herald was then followed by an unprovoked assault by a most pernicious seed on her person (or chicken?). Understandably terrified, Chicken Little raced off to report this atrocity to the King, whose jurisprudence apparently included not only silviculture morphology, but atmospheric dynamics as well.

In a confused series of events the likes of which historians are still debating, Chicken Little was waylaid on her journey to the crown: she paused to alert other birds to the woodland crisis created by gravitational pull, was nearly consumed by a red fox for her efforts, and eventually concluded that a perambulation should always be accompanied by an umbrella or other protective shield. Logical? Perhaps not. Narratively sound? Doubtful. Relevant? Highly.

But why, the intrepid reader of blogs might reasonably ask, are you evoking this cherished fable now?

Simple.

Meet Chicken Ari. Or Puppy Little. Either moniker will do, I think. What’s most salient about this association is this:

That’s right. Acorns. Lying, seemingly innocently, on terra firma. But as all poultry knows (and caninaturalists have quickly learned), acorns don’t grow on the ground. Oh, no. Their preferred habitat, of course, is high up in the canopy, where they remain sutured to stately oaks by way of an ingenious (not to mention fetching) bonnet called the cupule. That's true most of the time, anyway.

When the season is ripe and the winds quite blustery, these enterprising seeds and seed pouches launch themselves, missile like, from the heavens and then plummet towards the earth. As they do, they accelerate at a rate of g = 9.81 m/s2 . Physics is a mean taskmaster. It ensures, of course, that when said seeds thump an unsuspected canine on the noggin (Or the back. Or the shoulder. Or even just land in the general vicinity of said canine), they pack what scientists sometimes call a wallop. And a big one at that. Heretofore mentioned impact, in turn, often results in an acute case of gravitaphobia worthy of any children’s story.

Gravitaphobia is no slouch of a condition. Its symptoms include general wariness of the natural world. In extreme conditions, it can cause a stubborn refusal to take walks on shaded thoroughfares. If the sufferer of this condition happens to live in the woods of Maine, complications can ensue. Like refusing to walk. Anywhere. That side-effect, in turn, presents something of a quandry for a harried human who needs her dog to WALK before she goes to WORK so that another condition, often referred to in the medical world as carpetpuddleosis, doesn't become an epidemic.

As for canine naturalism, let's just say it's hard to investigate much of anything from one's front porch. Persuading a dog currently suffering from paranoid delusions of collapsing horizons can be an immensely frustrating exercise in the purest form of futility. Don’t even get me started about the sudden appearance of umbrellas throughout our house.

The Original Original Society of Friends

2008-09-11T13:47:00.013-04:00

High: 66° F
Low: 47° F
Conditions: Mostly clear and calm

The new Farmer’s Almanac arrived this week. That’s a big deal here in Maine, where we can boast to being the home state of the almanac’s headquarters. We also tend to be pretty interested in the book itself: not only do Mainers love the folksy wisdom and no-nonsense facts listed therein, but we also tend to be really, really interested in the almanac’s predictions for winter, since we endure more than our fair share of that season every year.

Here at caninaturalist headquarters, we love the fact that, more times than not, the Farmer’s Almanac is shockingly accurate in its predictions. We also love that they continue to embrace time-honored (and occasionally scientifically-suspect) means for testing seasonal conditions. One of our favorites of these yarns is that you can predict the severity of the season by looking at the local creepy crawlies.

This is a wooly bear. More precisely, it’s a caterpillar about to metamorphize into an Isabella moth.

For years, all sorts of almanac readers have been swearing that you can tell how long, cold, and generally miserable a winter will be based on the wooly bear’s coat. The caninaturalist and I were curious about this fact, so we did some investigating. According to the Almanac’s website, this tradition was first tested by Dr. C. H. Curran, curator of insects at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. He and his wife collected dozens of wooly bears and examined their markings in the hopes that it might tell them something about the climatological fate of the seasons. They even went so far as to consult other scientists, meteorologists, and who knows who else.

In the end, Curran's results proved mostly accurate but not overly rigorous as far as methodology is concerned. But that didn’t really matter much to anyone. Thanks to media coverage of this story, The Original Society of the Friends of the Woolly Bear was formed, mostly as an excuse for leaf peeping, cider drinking, and (every so often) caterpillar studying. Through their incorporation, the popularity of the wooly bear was assured.

The caninaturalist and I set out this morning to see if we could find a wooly bear for our own study. We knew two facts about the wooly bears' habitat: they like flower foliage and sunny places. So, for our first stop, we thought we’d examine our sunflowers. We were pretty sure we wouldn’t find anything, since these flowers are 1) cut and in a vase and 2) stationed firmly on our kitchen table. But much to our surprise and delight, we found a lively specimen:

Next, we considered the wooly bear’s diurnal behaviors. When it gets cold outside, the caterpillar tends to curl up like this:

Here’s what we found on our living room chair:
We don’t want to sound alarmed, but we’re pretty sure the house is infested with these buggers. This is what the bedroom looked like just an hour after those first two shots were taken:
At this rate of reproduction, there could be millions of these fuzzy caterpillars in our house by the end of the month. I guess that means we have one very cold winter ahead. And we probably need a box of mothballs, too.

State Park Sabbath Part II

2008-09-07T21:43:00.011-04:00

High: 71° F
Low: 49° F
Conditions: Evening thunderstorms and wind.

For our State Park Sabbath this week, we headed to the very lovely Swan Lake State Park, located not far from the coast, for one last swim and picnic before cooler weather arrives.

The lake is really lovely, and a great spot for taking a dip or a quick sail.
Swan Lake takes its name from the neighboring town of Swanville, which used to be called Goose Lake (perhaps a caninaturalist out there mis-IDed their bird the first time around?)

We didn’t see any swans or geese, but we did see a bald eagle, which was not nearly as scary or fierce or adversarial to Ari as this very menacing kite:

After a good 10 minutes of barking, it was pretty clear to EVERYONE in the park that the caninaturalist and kite were never going to be friends. So Ari and I decided to vacate the beach awhile and explore the woods, where we wouldn’t be tormented and taunted by multi-colored canvas tethered to a spool.

One of the most notable features of the park is its mature white pines, which tower over all the other foliage in the place. We estimated that several of these trees must be well over 100 years old. The strange canopy on this tree seems to suggest that it used to be crowded in by a bunch of other trees.

We were also really impressed with the great job the park staff has done in protecting the landscape, like creating these bridges over marshy patches and rivulets so that the ecosystem won't be disturbed. The caninaturalist didn't seem to mind that they also meant her very dainty feet would stay dry.

In the winter, Swan Lake will freeze so thickly that it will become a kind of superhighway for cross country skiers, snowmobiles, and even trucks driving out to ice fishing shacks. We can't wait to check it out then, too. (Hopefully, that damn kite will be gone by then!!)

100!

2008-09-03T17:51:00.011-04:00

High: 83° F
Low: 56° F
Conditions: Partly cloudy and warm.

It's our 100th post! The best thing about blogging is all of the nature-loving, writerly, dogged friends we've met in cyberspace. So we thought we'd celebrate this milestone by musing on friendship and some of the pals we've made at our brand new dog park.

The mistresses of ceremony for the park's grand opening:

The importance of finding friends who match your color scheme:
Checking out the park's drinking fountains:

Dining upon new lab pals:

Looking for more suitable treats in my backpack:

Canine Mayhem: The Way Life Should Be.

State Park Sabbath

2008-08-31T20:02:00.012-04:00

High: 80° F
Low: 55° F
Conditions: Sunny and breezy

The fall semester began this week, which means the two bipeds in our house are spending a lot more time at school and a lot less time at home. When we are at the house, our noses are almost always buried in a dusty book. That’s mostly fine with Mouse and Leila Tov, who are content to curl up on our laps, whether or not we’re paying them any real attention. But a certain caninaturalist objects strenuously to the new arrangement and our renewed love affair with literary tomes.

Said caninaturalist likes to find interesting ways to express her disapproval, like shredding a bag of bread left on the kitchen counter or eating a leather-bound book, especially if the latter was published in 1867. And was on special loan from the library. Because it was so valuable. (Hey, look! Somebody glued rawhide to this set of old papers. Neat!).

Greg and I both hold all texts as sacred, so there isn't much else that evokes quite the heartache as a destroyed book. I would like to suggest that Ari knew this was not an appropriate demonstration of her feelings, but the gleeful way she brought me the remaining tattered pages suggests otherwise.

To make matters worse, replacing extremely rare books is not something that the salaries of two professors at scruffy little colleges can support. So, after a family meeting, we all decided that we need a new approach to the craziness of the academic year. Our solution? The State Park Sabbath.

We humans have sworn a pledge to take one day off a week. That means no work for which we get paid, no talk of jobs, no reading for anything other than pleasure, and no time spent on the computer for any purpose whatsoever. Admittedly, this project has been tried before and didn’t meet with great success. But this year is different.

In the spirit of substance recovery programs, we have finally admitted we have an addiction problem. We’ve also decided we can’t be in the vicinity of our addiction triggers (e.g., books and computers) if our resolve is going to stick. So we’ve decided to take each Saturday and visit a different park or hiking trail in the state. There, we can't be taken in by the allure of grading student responses to Thoreau. Or the siren-song of answering emails about committees and exciting new policies regarding the transfer of credit hours.

First up? Our very favorite swimming hole in the whole wide world: Lake St. George.

This fantastic park has plenty of hiking trails and beaches, along with a great old homestead seen in the title shot of this post. We really like to stroll and sit and read here. But what we really, really love is a secret swimming spot just past the state park at the southern end of the lake.

There, a series of granite outcroppings form the perfect ledges for lounging. And the water is so perfectly clear and cold in the lake that you feel like you’ve taken a very expensive mineral bath after you've gone swimming in it (we actually know people who drink from this pond). It’s the perfect place for a destructive dog and two work-addicted humans to spend a day.

It also doesn’t hurt that Lake St. George is right next to what could arguably be the best ice cream stand in the entire world.

John’s Ice Cream uses all local cream and fruit. And they have groovy flavors, too, like chocolate with candied orange peel, peach-ginger, Grapenuts, and two of our favorites: pumpkin and apple pie.

We may disagree with Ari about the sanctity of books and the allotment of weekday time, but the three of us are in perfect agreement: there isn’t a better way to spend a late summer day in all the world.

______________________________________________________

Friends, as Gustav bears down on New Orleans, folks are evacuating the region--and this time, authorities are letting them bring their animal friends with them. We found an interesting clip on Weather.com about evacuations for the canines in New Orleans and a similar story on MSNBC.com. Check it out, and consider donating to the New Orleans rescue associations.

Bay of Fundy, Part II

2008-08-28T13:19:00.012-04:00

High: 78° F
Low: 55° F
Conditions: Unlimited sunshine

We spent a good part of last week camping at the Fundy National Park in New Brunswick, home of the highest tides in the world. It's also home to some great flora and fauna, including this pernicious little creature who took great delight in tourmenting one caninaturalist in particular:

Since lounging isn't much of an option when rodents are yelling at you, Ari agreed to join us on a 10-mile hike that looped through the southeastern most part of the park.
We began just above the confluence of this stream and the bay. The covered bridge is a recreation of a 1902 bridge that once stood on the site, a time when this locale was dominated by mining and timber camps. Both did a fair amount of environmental damange, but in the last 10 years, the area has seen the return of Atlantic salmon and eels, along with bald eagles (we counted five!) and the original upland forest.

The trail took us up a steep ridgeline, where we had several miles of fantastic ocean views. We were particularly taken by the halo of sandstone floating just off-shore.

From there, we descended to this fabulous (and completely empty) pebble beach. Unlike our first park, this one didn't prohibit dogs on the beach, so the three of us had great fun taking a cold swim, having a picnic lunch, and lounging as we watched the tide engulf this expanse of land.

From there, our trail turned us back towards our temporary home at the campsite. We passed through this lovely meadow, which was positively blanketed in goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace ,before it returned us to the shadow of a hardwood forest:

Hugging both the ridge and the ocean shore, these woods existed as a micro-rain forest in the otherwise temperate region. We found scads of ferns (good for sniffing) and moss (great for rolling):

Best of all, we confirmed a simple yet beautiful truth: where there is rain and quick elevation loss, there is much moving water.

I think all three of us fell in love with the Bay of Fundy on this trip (though it took awhile for one of us to realize that we were not going to be eaten by squirrels, bears, or dinosaurs). We return refreshed, revitalized, and ready to embrace the new semester.

Bay of Fundiplomacy

2008-08-25T15:00:00.017-04:00

High: 72° F
Low: 55° F
Conditions: Mostly sunny and breezy

As many of you know, our good friend, Professor Huricane Akara Turbofire (PhD) is running for president. He recently announced his running mate, the very lovely Khyra. This got us thinking about other cabinet positions, and how Ari might get involved in this growing braintrust. To our minds, a caninaturalist is a perfect Secretary of the Interior, since that will give her access to some of the best parks and wilderness areas in the country. But just in case that position is taken, we thought we'd practice our best international relations in the hopes that we might be considered for a diplomatic position.

Ari is resolute about not wanting to fly, and Mexico is a REALLY long car trip for us. So we packed our bags and headed north of the border to the very wonderful province of New Brunswick. Below is the first half of our photos from this ambassadorial envoy expedition; we'll post the other half later this week. What do you think, Tubey?

The lovely seaside town of St. Andrew:

One of several 19th-century Irish cemeteries. New Brunswick was a popular destination for famine-era immigrants. Most of the grave stones included the person's hometown in Ireland as tribute to this ocean crossing.

While Irish cemeteries are fascinating to the two humans on this trip, the caninaturalist favored shoreline inquiries of marine vegetation, including dulse, the sea vegetable this area is famous for:

From St. Andrew's, we drove to a provincial park called New River Beach. Here's the long shot of the lovely beach, which has some of the highest tides in the world:

Here's the reason why we only have a long shot of this beautiful beach:

Happily, chicken fajitas cooked over a campstove is enough to placate most people denied access to lovely shorelines:

So too are areas further up the coast, like these sea caves carved out of local sandstone:

This is some of the tenacious vegetation that has made a home out of the cave walls:

And these, of course, are the slightly less tenacious (but still enthusiastic) naturalists enjoying said vegetation!

Meet Zeke

2008-08-21T00:00:00.001-04:00

High: 75º F
Low: 58º F
Conditions: Partly cloudy and continued breezy.

Everybody needs a friend. That’s especially true if you are an extremely social canine naturalist. We received rumor that a new candidate had just arrived in the seaside town of Boothbay Harbor, where Greg’s sister and brother-in-law live. This news was all the excuse we needed to hop in the car and find out more.

We started off by admiring some of the lovely coastal gardens in the area. Ari seemed particularly taken by the hydrangea, but not enough to want to linger—after all, you can only look at a bush for so long, even if it is a blue one.

Keeping with our color theme, Ari next tried very hard to befriend Blue, our persnickety cat-in-law. Here’s how that project went:

Apparently, Blue isn’t quite as keen on caninaturalists as Mouse and Leila Tov are.

While Ari tried unsuccessfully to woo this enormous cat, we humans had a great time getting to know the region’s famous bivalves.

The Damariscotta River estuary is a particularly rich spot for plankton and algae. This, coupled with its pristine waters, result in some of the best oysters in the world.

Shellfish is slightly more appealing than bushes and mean cats for Ari, but they still aren’t entirely satisfying. After much impatient sighing, she finally got to meet the main attraction: Zeke, rescue dog extraordinaire.

Zeke was on death row at a Tennessee shelter when a golden retriever rescue center learned of him. They swooped in and saved him just hours before his execution, even though he is neither golden nor much of a retriever. Then he and 150 other inmates were transported up to New England in a giant horse trailer (what a racket that must have been inside!), where they were met by their very excited new families.

Zeke is 8 months old and a total goofball. We've nicknamed him Pinky, from Pinky and Brain (which suits Ari just fine, so long as she gets to be the Brain.). Still, we’re delighted to count him as part of our extended family. And Ari’s more than happy to claim him as her new best friend. She’s even enrolled him in an advanced caninaturalist seminar. They should be out tracking foxes together any day now--if they're not plotting to take over the world first.

Sugarloaf, Summer.

2008-08-18T21:22:00.013-04:00

High: 82° F
Low: 61° F
Conditions: Mostly sunny with a steady breeze.

It was a busy weekend at caninaturalist central. Ari and I served as mistresses of ceremony at the grand opening of the Belfast Dog Park (we’ll have pictures of the event later this week). We also were running the finals of the title contest for our forthcoming book (scroll to the bottom of this post to find out who won!).

With all this socializing—both real and digital—going on, we needed to balance the activity with a little quiet contemplation and good old fashioned physical exertion. And so, we decided to head to one of our very favorite winter haunts, Sugarloaf Mountain. From November to April, Sugarloaf is a kind of second home to us. Greg and I love the downhill skiing; Ari loves the fact that there’s always another dog or two around. And, when the lift lines are too long, she gets a nice ski-jore on the cross country trails just off the mountain.

Sugarloaf is no slouch. At 4237 feet, it is the second highest mountain in Maine. This is what Sugarloaf looks like nine months out of the year:

But this is what it looks like (halfway up the mountain) in the middle of August:

The caninaturalist and I were intrigued at the prospect of exploring this foreign summer-scape. Or at least I was. She was more distracted because I told her there was a really good chance we might run into a moose on our hike:

Unfortunately, that turned out to be just one more bait and switch in the mind of Ari. Although we saw plenty of signs of moose, the cause of these signs remained allusive:

Luckily, what we lacked in fauna, we made up for in flora. Like these late summer blossoms:

And this vibrant alpine meadow near the top of the mountain:

We also found scads of berry bushes. I thought these raspberries were just about perfect:

But Ari seemed to prefer the blueberries (must be that color thing again!):

It takes about 7 minutes to get to the top of Sugarloaf by chairlift. It took us just over 70 by foot (not counting much-needed rest breaks). The view from the top was hazy, but that's okay: the journey made it all worthwhile.

___________________________________________________________

Congratulations to our friend, Marigold, Goat Philosopher! Marigold's title, "No Stone Unturned" won our title contest with 8 votes. Second place went to "Outside with Ari", and the other three titles tied with 3 votes each. Marigold will get a very special gift of thanks, and we'll forward all of the titles to our editor for consideration.

You all may remember that Marigold also won our Audubon Christmas bird count for the most birds counted. Now, dog bloggers, we don't mean to be speciest, but we are aware that twice now you have been bested by a goat. To quote our good friend Khyra, we're just saying. . .

Title finalists!

2008-08-15T01:00:00.001-04:00

Friends,
Thanks to your creativity and time, we received over 60 possible titles for Ari’s forthcoming book! We’ll be sending all of them to our publisher, but in the meantime, we have to pick a winner from all these great suggestions. Greg, the Caninaturalist, and I sat down last night to review the submissions. We discounted any suggestion if there is already a book with part of that title and, in the interest of fairness, removed any title we had previously suggested. In the end, we still had a great list—and some tough choices. Here are five of our favorites. Now it’s your turn to vote. Tell us which of these main titles you like the best, and we’ll announce the winner early next week. And stay tuned to hear what our friends over at Skyhorse Publishing ultimately decide.

THE TITLES:
Ground Scents: Life as a Canine Naturalist
Dogs Outright: Twelve months off the leash and in the wild
Tracks: The year of living off-leash
No Stone Unturned: Experiences in Canine Naturalism
Outside With Ari: One Year as a Canine Naturalist

PS- We'd still love to hear new suggestions. But don't forget to vote for these favorites, too!

Untitled?

2008-08-12T09:46:00.006-04:00

Dear Friends,
We need your help! As many of you know, Ari’s book will be published by Skyhorse Publishing and distributed by W.W. Norton in early Spring 2009. The manuscript includes some of our earliest blog posts (you can read a few of them by clicking HERE and then scrolling to the bottom of the page). These and other entries tell the story of the caninatuarlist's first year with us: her doggy antics, observations on the natural world, and more.

The book is almost done. We’ve finished the chapters; we’ve tentatively settled on cover art. All that’s missing now is the title.

Originally, we had intended to call the book Out With Ari: 12 Months as a Canine Naturalist, but the editorial staff at Skyhorse didn’t think it was descriptive enough in terms of the book’s content. Other possible names include:
Dog in the Woods
The Year of Living Off Leash
Lessons from the Field

We think they’re okay, but we’re not super crazy about any of them. That’s why we need you! What do you think we should call this book? It needs to be the kind of title that both makes people pick up the book in a bookstore and also says to the world, “hey, everybody, this is a book about a dog growing up in the natural world.”

We really want to hear all of your suggestions. We’ll even have a special prize for the title we like the best. And if the publisher selects your title, we’ll include you in the acknowledgements page and send you an autographed copy.

We can't wait to hear your ideas.

Thanks so much for your help.
Untitledly yours,
K&A

Blueberry Hill

2008-08-08T09:34:00.011-04:00

High: 62° F
Low: 50° F
Conditions: Showers continuous throughout the day

It has been surprisingly wet and cold here in Maine this week. Last night, we started up the woodstove to chase away some of the damp. Even still, by early morning we needed an extra quilt and one very fuzzy caninaturalist to keep warm in bed. It’s a sign, I think, that our short-lived summer will soon be retreating.

Before it does, however, the entire state of Maine is pausing long enough to enjoy one big blue rapture. It’s blueberry season: a week or so rivaled only by end-of-the-year holidays in terms of expanse and just plain jubilation. Wild blueberries (vaccinium pallidum) are the iconic symbol of Maine, and not without good reason. The scrappy little plants adore our hardscrabble landscape: from the exposed boulders and heart-dropping winter cold, to the long summer sunlight and thick ocean fog, this place was custom built for blueberry production. In fact, the state produces an average of 75 million pounds of blueberries each year.

Maine blueberries can be an acquired taste, though—especially if you have to harvest them yourself. Much smaller and more intense than those you find in a grocery store, these berries are almost feral. They don’t like to be cultivated or transplanted, and they’d sooner die than let you prune them. That means you don’t pick blueberries here in Maine; you rake them. On your hands and knees. For a very long time.

This is a handheld blueberry rake, which is used to comb the small bushes. Mostly, just the berries come off from the effort. Sometimes a few leaves, twigs, and multi-legged critters do, too. So most farms use winnowers like this one:

The machine gently rocks the berries while sending air from a powerful fan over them. The heavier berries tumble into a waiting box or basket while the lighter leaves (and hopefully most of the critters) flutter out.

Each year, we rake about 40 pounds of blueberries for our household. It's a fantastic outing for two humans and a canine naturalist. We drive to an old farm over on the coast, where we have great views of the Gulf of Maine and Bluehill. Afterwards, we stop for breakfast before working our way home to a day of blueberry processing. Some will be canned as preserves, but most will be frozen for the coming year.

The two cats don’t care all that much about these repeated trips down to our chest freezer, but the rest of us do.

Nothing gets the caninaturalist running downstairs like the tiny clink of a frozen blueberry hitting her bowl. Nothing, that is, except for the smell of Greg making blueberry pancakes. After all, what could be better than just frozen blueberries except for blueberries mixed with egg. And milk. And butter. And maple syrup. Greg and Ari agree: that combination is just about perfect.

As for me, I’m something of a traditionalist. I like to wait until fall, when the blueberry barrens light up the landscape with their red hue. Then, on frosty nights when we really, really need our woodstove, I pull out an old notecard printed in my grandmother’s cramped hand. It’s for her favorite blueberry crisp recipe. She never got to visit Maine, and I don’t know that she ever tried a wild Maine blueberry either, but the recipe is perfect nevertheless. Even Ari agrees—especially when she gets to lick the bowl.

Betty’s Blueberry Crisp
2-3 cups blueberries
½ cup butter
1 cup old fashioned oats
½ cup flour
¾ cup brown sugar
Dash of cinnamon
Dash of salt

Preheat over to 350° F. Spread the blueberries in a lightly-greased pie plate. In a medium bowl, combine the oats, flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt. Gently work in the butter with your fingers until it forms a coarse meal. Drop meal evenly over blueberries. Bake for approximately 45 minutes, or until oatmeal topping is golden brown. Serve hot with vanilla ice cream.

The Year of the Fox

2008-08-05T09:12:00.010-04:00

High: 72°F
Low: 55°F
Conditions: Partly cloudy with a chance of isolated showers later today.

According to Chinese astrology, 2008 is the year of the rat. The United Nations proclaimed 2008 the year of the potato. Both of those designations are all fine and good, but around here, we’ve decried 2008 to be the year of the fox.

It started in late spring when, each night right around midnight, we’d be awakened by ghoulish shrieking in the woods outside our house. Initially, I thought the banshee chorus was coming from a fisher cat (Martes pennanti) or porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum). Greg speculated it was bobcats (Lynx rufus). A resurgence of distinctive scat soon proved us both wrong: our woods had become make-out mountain for a pair of amorous red foxes (Vulpes vulpes). We’ve been waiting for the kits ever since.

In the meantime, we've come to love the hoarse bark of these wild canines. If you're not familiar with the sound, you can listen to a variety of calls here.

Throughout the summer, we've heard warning cries, mating cries, fighting cries, and just plain crying cries. But we still haven't seen the new family. That is, until recently.

Last week, Greg and the caninaturalist were out walking early in the morning. They heard a fox barking as it went racing by—just beyond their reach (unfortunately, neither thought to bring the camera). Following close behind was not only a large bobcat, but also another fox chasing the cat. The latter managed to tree the former, then screeched out at its mate, who had crossed the road and was lurking in our ash grove. The all-clear sign was enough to also bring out one of the season’s kits, who rendezoused with mom and dad before retreating into the pine grove.

Today, Ari and I went for our early morning stroll through the neighborhood pasture. There, just over the rise was not one, not two, but four fox kits engaged in a battle royale cagematch. They pounced and boxed and leapt and nipped and didn’t mind at all that a blue-eyed dog and singularly amazed human stood by and watched.

.
When one of them finally did notice us, he alerted the others. They all turned their attention towards us and, instead of scampering away, crouched low enough to scuttle closer for a better look. Ari stood on her hind legs and chortled her best greeting; much to our delight, the boldest of the litter returned it, albeit with some trepidation. Here was a wolfy-looking creature who seemed a whole lot like them (not to mention someone who would probably be great fun to play with), but why on earth was this wild looking dog standing next to a HUMAN? They were understandably stumped.
.

The four kits studied us for a long time before finally deciding that Ari must have very bad judgment to keep such company as I. Or perhaps their parents had warned them about canines who have fallen in with the wrong crowd. The most moral of the group issued the call of the cavalry, and off they went—too reluctant for inter-species play.

Not so further to our west at the Sugarloaf Golf Course. There, golfers have been plagued throughout the season by a particular clever fox who has taken to stealing balls on the fairway—often right out from under the noses of human players. That’s our kind of mulligan--especially this season, which we've dubbed the Summer of Fox.

Two in Love

2008-07-31T16:27:00.010-04:00

High: 66° F
Low: 60° F
Conditions: Showers

Several of our blogging friends out there have asked about Ari's two housemates, Mouse and Leila Tov. We thought we'd take this mostly wordless weekend, then, to show you how the two rescue cats exercise their own version of natural inquiry (felinaturalism?) over the course of a lazy afternoon.

Twins!

2008-07-26T14:15:00.001-04:00

High: 81° F
Low: 60° F
Conditions: Partly cloudy this afternoon with a chance of thunderstorms developing this evening.

The caninaturalist first spied the two fawns this morning. Usually, Mouse and Leila Tov lay claim to the open kitchen window, but today the sisters were too busy sunbathing in my office. That was good news for me and Ari, when a slowly moving blur of red caught our attention.

The two paused just long enough to browse in my overgrown flower garden before disappearing back into the woods. We’re guessing that these fawns are about two months old. We didn’t see Mom, but given their young age, she must have been nearby.

Even Ari, who doesn’t think twice about yodeling at most deer in our yard, seemed to understand that these two kids needed a little extra consideration, so she stood quietly by my side and behind the window screen. We stood as still as we could so that the fawns wouldn't see us. That means our pictures turned our pretty blurry, but at least we didn’t startle the fawns.

The summer Greg and I moved into this house, we watched a pair of fawns grow up together.

That was five years ago, and we’ve had several summers marked by twins. This is not an uncommon occurrence among white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus)—in fact, nearly 50% of all spring deliveries result in the birth of two fawns. Still, we can’t help but wonder if these twins have some older siblings roaming these woods. Life expectancies for white-tailed deer can be as high as 16 years, but more normal ranges are about 4-8 years, due largely to hunting pressures. That means these generations might all share the same mom, if she's clever enough to evade hunters.

That’s an appealing idea, and one that we’ll mull over as we wait for them to wander across our yard again soon.

Raspberries

2008-07-22T09:14:00.001-04:00

High: 76° F
Low: 60° F
Conditions: Chance of showers. Thunderstorms this evening.

It’s been a great season for fruit here in Maine. Strawberry yields were the highest they’ve been in years; blueberries and beach plums are just about ripe; and our raspberries have arrived a good week ahead of schedule. That’s good news for the berry-loving caninaturalist.

Most of the time, Ari tends to be a very accommodating, easy-going dog (unless Mouse is trying to steal her food. Or a red squirrel has ventured onto our porch. Or the utility guy comes down our drive to read the meter. Or. . . )

But seriously, the only time I can definitely count on the caninaturalist to be something of a princess is where her fruit is concerned. She’s very particular about how it should be served: blueberries must be frozen and served in her dish. Bananas should be sliced and handed to her in the kitchen. Watermelon can only be eaten if it is still attached to the rind.

When it comes to raspberries, however, she insists on none of these formalities. She’ll eat them off the road. Or nip them from a bush. Or dig them out of the compost if I’m not watching. I'd like to say I disapprove of the last of these behaviors, but in truth, I don’t really blame her: they really are that good.

So far, we’ve gotten about eight pints, and our back patch hasn’t yet ripened. Still, we took last night to get a jump start on our annual jam project. This is serious business: raspberry jam is a mainstay where our holiday gift-giving is concerned, and I know of at least one reader of this blog who might bar my entrance at the family Christmas celebration if I don’t arrive with raspberry jam in hand (hi, mom!).

I’ve been experimenting with some new recipes this year. Maybe it’s the heat and humidity around here, or my recent trip to Dominica. Either way, I’ve been feeling a tropical influence lately, so I decided to go with a raspberry-lime recipe this year. Ari agreed to supervise, though she was more than a little leary of the lime (caninaturalists hate citrus).

Checking the consistency using the “cold plate” test: if the jam congeals on the plate, it’s ready to be canned.

The even more important caninaturalist test: if she scarfs it down, it’s definitely ready to be canned. Lime be damned, the new recipe passed the Ari test with flying colors. Phew!

Our first batch out of the water bath. Success!

Okay, mom: does that mean we can buy our plane tickets now?

Yours in preserves,
K&A

Stowaway

2008-07-19T13:47:00.000-04:00

High: 83° F
Low: 62° F
Conditions: Humid with a chance of afternoon thunderstorms

Ari didn’t believe me when I told her that a young garter snake (Thamnophis s. sirtalis) has moved into my aging Honda.

Greg and I watched him for the better part of an hour yesterday morning, marveling at the way he extended himself like a branch from my headlight and wondering how on earth he got inside.

Greg speculated that the snake had crawled up through my radiator.

“But how?” I asked. “they don’t have legs.”

“Snakes climb trees, don’t they? They don’t need legs for that.”

He had a point, though in truth, how snakes can climb a tree makes no more sense to me than how they could slither up my radiator. Or my tire. Or however else he got himself wedged in there. But that just made his unexpected appearance all the more appealing.

This particularly wily—not to mention nimble—specimen let us stare for quite some time. And he didn’t even flinch when we went inside, collected the digital camera, and got up close for a shot. But when we returned with the caninaturalist, the snake made himself scarce. I pointed to the spot above the light where he had recoiled, leaving just the nub of his snaky nose.

Ari just didn’t get it. She probably couldn’t smell him. And I doubt she could really see him, either. When he finally revealed enough of his head to warrant notice, she gave him a quick sniff and quickly ruled him decidedly un-interesting, then turned to me with a huff. That's it?!?! She seemed to ask me. You brought me out here for that?

This is a dog who wouldn’t think twice about selling me to a band of gypsies if it meant she could have one good roll on a dead snake. As for this living specimen and its unusual habitat, she clearly couldn’t care less. In fact, she seemed much more concerned over the fact that her human friend seems to have developed a preternatural—and utterly inexplicable—fascination with a not-very-interesting part of the car.

The look she gave me when I took her—for the hundredth time—to visit the headlight could only mean one thing: pleeeeaasee. As in, give me a break. Or, gee, mom, let’s go stare at some gravel while we’re at it. That’s pretty interesting too. Eventually, I relented.

Back inside, I showed her some of my favorite Richard Scarry tomes, thinking the character I remembered as Mr. Snake might entice her. And why not? Greg and I both agreed we saw a very distinct resemblance. Here's our snake:

Here's Richard Scarry's driving a genetically modified apple car:

And one of him being carried by a cat servant (an idea that probably appeals greatly to Ari).

Even still, these images didn't resonate with her, either. Maybe that's because, as our friend Farmgirl patiently explained, that's not a snake at all, but rather, a lowly worm. Damn. I guess it doesn't matter all that much: the caninaturalist has never been one for book learning. I tried reading aloud, but she just slinked off to her crate. If she had a cell phone, I’m sure she would have called some of her other adolescent friends to complain about what a weirdo I’m being. If we drove our snake-infested car to the mall, she'd probably make me drop her off a block away so that nobody knew we were related.

Not that anyone except for Mr. Snake will be driving said car in the near future. He's laid claim, and I know that occupany is 9/10ths of the law. Or something like that.

So now I have a dog positively brimming with teenage dismissal and a car I cannot drive, for fear of cooking its new resident. The whole weekend could be a wash. Good thing I have some children’s books to read instead.

Land, ho!

2008-07-16T12:36:00.001-04:00

Back on Terra Firma and once again united with the caninaturalist after a whirlwind trip to England and Ireland.

I began my adventure in the greater London area at the National Archives and National Maritime Museum, which is guarded by these very fierce hybrids:

It's a good thing one of them is half-lion, since there were tons of cat facts to be found inside including this one:

Polydactyl cats like Ari's housemate, Mouse (seen here balancing on her massive lobster claw-like paws), were considered good luck by sailors because they were so adept at catching mice. As a result, they were often the only animals (other than stowaways, of course) allowed on tall ships.

These are called catheads. They were located on the sides of tall ships near the anchor chain, which sometimes was raised or lowered out of their mouths. The caninaturalist is no expert on charismatic megafauna, but she thinks the first one looks a heck of a lot more like a baboon than it does a cat--even one as silly looking as Mouse.

The Maritime Museum is located in the same park as the Royal Observatory, which is home of the Prime Meridian. It's also an afternoon playground for Greenwich's dogs, including this very regal looking wolfhound:

And this slightly-less regal looking, but no less charming hound named Shovel, who lives at the bed and breakfast where I stayed:

After biding farewell to Shovel and his human friends, I made my way to Dublin, where I boarded the Jeanie Johnston, a recreated tall ship and subject of my next book project.

The salty sailors on board would have made my friend, Maverick, proud, and there was plenty of pirate talk on board. We were also accompanied by a particularly friendly group of dolphins who swam near the bow for a good part of our trip. Rumor has it that they are friends with Fungi, the famous Dingle Dolphin who has been greeting visitors to the Fenit port for nearly 20 years (long enough for sailors to speculate that, like most celebrity animals, Fungi might actually be three or four different individuals). Fungi had other marine engagements when I sailed by, but I'm sure he'll make time for me next visit.

This trip ended far too soon, but I am glad to be back amongst my Maine pack. They had more than their fair share of adventures while I was gone, and I'll let them tell you about them later this week. In the meantime, it's good to be back--and back on-line!

Anchors Away

2008-07-07T03:00:00.000-04:00

Out With Ari will be on holiday for the next week. I'm traveling to Ireland to sail aboard the Jeanie Johnston as part of my next book project. The JJ is a truly remarkable ship, and you can read more about here by clicking here. In the meantime, Ari promises to scout out some new adventures for us to undertake back at home when I return on the 15th. See you then!

All our best,

K&A

Independence Day

2008-07-04T15:38:00.000-04:00

High: 74° F
Low: 52° F
Conditions: Mostly sunny and dry.

When I was growing up in the Midwest, we celebrated each Independence Day by checking the veracity of the “Corn Is Knee-High By the 4th of July” adage. It usually proved accurate. Here in Maine, our extended frost season means that corn barely reaches the knee of a caninaturalist, let alone a human this time of year. Nevertheless, we still see an important correlation between the summer holiday and our food.

For the second year in a row, July 4th signals the start of our “Food Independence” project with another year of local eating. The timing is deliberate, since this is the first week we have a real bounty of crops to pick from. Most notably, of course, are the first summer berries to ripen in Maine.
Yesterday, we picked just under 40 pounds of strawberries. A good number (almost 20 quarts, to be exact) went into our freezer so that we can make it until next July without buying fruit (we'll add blueberries, peaches, blackberries, raspberries, pears and apples by September). The rest went into a community jam making project I launched this season. Ari isn’t a big fan of strawberries for strawberry’s sake, but give her a spoon with some leftover jam on it, and you’ll have a friend for life.

There are plenty of other local eating opportunities to be had by an enterprising young dog. Ari loves blueberries and snowpeas; she’s also a big fan of steamed carrots and zucchini. As for the local poultry and salmon, let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if she channels her desire into an all-out assault on a closed fridge sometime soon. (Her predecessor was a champ at pulling chicken off the grill without 1] us noticing or 2] managing to burn his tongue. I still don't know how he did that.)

We’ve also been experimenting with all-local biscuits recently. I managed to adapt a few biscuit recipes to our local ingredients, and a great new company in Maine called Barkwheats recently opened with a wonderful selection of Made-in-Maine cookies almost too pretty to eat. At the farmer’s market this week, they gave us this fabulous pin in recognition for our eating achievements:
We plan to wear it proudly.

We’d love to hear it if you have any secrets or best-practices for eating local (roadkill doesn't count, blogging doggers). In the meantime, happy independent eating!

K&A

Soggy Adventures

2008-07-02T21:16:00.001-04:00

Low: 62°
High: 81°
Conditions: Humid with daily chance of thundershowers. Flooding in the western mountains.

Here we are, embarking upon the start of July, and nary an extended outdoor adventure for the caninaturalist to speak of. An embarrassing oversight, to say the least. And so, worried that Ari's naturalist education might be lagging, we humans spent the weekend trying to rectify this neglect with a trip up into the Great North Woods.

There, we camped at the base of Maine’s highest mountain, Katahdin, with our best little friend Olivia and her parents.

It was a dodgy camping weekend filled with thunderstorms and a surprising amount of bear scat around the campground. These are just two possible reasons why the caninaturalist chose to make herself scarce for most of the weekend, evidently preferring the cave she created under our picnic table to any adventure around our campsite.

In fact, we might not have recognized this dog at all, were it not for our daytime adventures in the woods.

This is Gulf Hagas, often called "The Grand Canyon of Maine." Part of the 100 mile wilderness known to all Appalachian Trail hikers, it's also a great place for a day trip, filled as it is with history as one of the country's oldest ironworks. This ore oven is a vestige of that mostly-forgotten history of the region.

Even a kiln of this stature would have had a hard time staying lit with all the rains this weekend. Still--and undaunted by the weather--we set out on Monday to explore this, one of our favorite northern haunts.

The streams were up considerably from the weekend rain, which means the three of us had a very wet stream crossing early in the hike. Ever the champion, though, the caninaturalist was not deterred by a mere flood-stage stream.

Maybe it's because she knew what kind of natural wonders were awaiting us, like this loaded boulder, a veritable ecosystem onto itself:
Or these loons, caught as a blurry image across the pond (but still noticed by our cunning, blue-eyed dog):

Or this garter snake, taking advantage of a dry moment or two (before being snouted by a equally-curious cunining blue-eyed dog).

All of this, I think, is proof positive that a true caninaturalist attitude can overcome any conditions--so long as there are new friends to meet and trails to explore.

BFF

2008-06-28T06:00:00.000-04:00

Low: 58° F
High: 82° F
Conditions: Humid with a chance of thunderstorms.

Growing up, I had a “best friend” named Cathy. I put this term in scare quotes deliberately: while our moms were convinced that Cathy and I were destined to be lifelong confidants, the two of us were often less certain of our BFF status. Sometimes, we got along famously. Other times, we pulled each other’s hair and chased one another around the house with kitchen implements (I still maintain this is because Cathy would never share her toys with me. I suspect she would disagree).

Cathy was very pretty and very, very proper (except for when she was chasing me around the living room with a potato masher). She always wore her hair in pigtails with pink ribbons and she knew about lip-gloss years before I had anything other than a milk mustache for adornment. I, on the other hand, wore tube socks with sandals and preferred pillow-time snarls to anything more coifed. Cathy played Barbie and went to gymnastics classes; I built go-carts and was the worst soccer player on an otherwise all-boy team. These may be just a few reasons why our friendship was a little hot and cold.

Meet Ari’s Cathy:This is Sylvie, the gorgeous rescued pharaoh hound. Sylvie’s human housemates are good friends of ours, so the two get to spend a fair amount of time together. Sometimes, they are thick as thieves. Other times, they’d just as soon bite off one another’s snout than share a rawhide.

Still, like doting parents, Sylvie’s human Julie and I believe in the prospect of their friendship.

That’s why we took the two dogs to Moose Point State Park this morning for a grand day out. Moose Point is a lovely bit of land settled by Scotch-Irish immigrants during the late 18th century. It was claimed by the British during the War of 1812. Once the colonists got it back, nobody was all that keen on living where Red Coats had just been, so the land returned to forest and, eventually, a state park.It’s a lovely patch of land on the edge of a bio-rich estuary, where eagles and osprey regularly come to feed. It’s also a favorite place of both Ari and Sylvie’s, so Julie and I were certain it was the perfect place for an outing.That, of course, assumed that we could get the dogs out. We had planned to take Julie’s larger SUV so that the dogs would have more personal space. But Ari wasn’t about to get in any vehicle claimed by Sylvie. We tried putting Sylvie in the very back and Ari in the very front, but the caninaturalist wasn’t about to have any of it. After a good 10 minutes of trying, we gave up and opted for my diminutive Honda. Ari was okay with this, provided she got to sit on the top of the hatchback, where she could lord over Sylvie. Miraculously, Sylvie was fine with her bossy friend’s demands.

Once we arrived at the park, there was a minor altercation when a ranger offered the two dogs two biscuits (both pups agreed this was absolutely the wrong ratio of canine to treat) and when I tried to offer Sylvie some of Ari's water (which the caninaturalist believes is a highly limited resource, all drinking fountains to the contrary). It's a good thing neither one of them had access to rolling pins of the opposable thumbs needed to use one as a weapon.

Even better, both dogs were willing to call a truce long enough to enjoy a good nature walk and to remember that they really do enjoy one another's company.

This white spruce (Picea glauca) is over 70 feet hight and 100 years old. As such, it is one of the biggest and oldest in the state of Maine. It's also the highlight of any hike for most humans at the park.

The caninaturalists gave it a dutiful glance or two, but neither experienced the reverence shared by their human companions.
Like any good adolescents, they were far more interested in what their peers had been up to around the trail. Would we have liked a little more transcendent awe from both of them? Maybe. But if good gossip prevents a blood letting, we're willing to make a few concessions now and again.

Lepidopterist

2008-06-25T20:31:00.000-04:00

Low: 58°
High: 76°
Conditions: Sunny and crisp.

Ari really loves watching butterflies, which is what she’s doing in the above photo. In fact, given a choice there’s few other ways she’d like to spend a warm summer afternoon like this one. I’m always perfectly content joining her in this pursuit, but lately it’s occurred to me that I have no idea what I’m really watching. Sure, I know what a butterfly looks like. But how many kinds are there? And how are they different?

The caninaturalist may not care much about such things, but I do. So I recently enrolled in butterfly school, sponsored by the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife. This seminar is training for citizen scientists interested and willing to participate in the state’s butterfly count, which is currently underway.

I reported for the start of my training on Saturday morning and was soon immersed in a lecture that rivaled any I remember from college. As the scholars conducting the training took us through the basics of butterfly anatomy, metamorphosis, appendage evolution, and dietary exclusivity, I took page after page of notes and wondered how I had managed to forget every shred of basic biology gleaned during my formal education.

After lunch, training switched to the more pragmatic considerations of how to catch, identify, and preserve a butterfly for census information. With every butterfly encountered, we volunteers were instructed that we would either need to kill and dry the butterfly before sending it to a lab in Canada or, if we preferred, to take a picture of the butterfly with wings both extended and clasped above its body. We were issued standard butterfly swag, including a conspicuous-looking net, a menacing sounding “kill jar” and more forms and envelopes than is required for even the most elaborate tax form. The day ended with an optional butterfly netting practice session, which I summarily skipped, thinking myself too learned to require such remedial training (remember this detail for later).

And so, as the day drew to a close, Ari and I were cleared for duty, which namely consisted of proving we had seen the butterflies we thought we had seen.

I’ve done other animal counts ranging from peepers to owls and back again, so I didn’t understand the formality of this collection process. Didn’t they trust us?

I got my answer as soon as I returned home and discovered this guy, a victim of a hit-and-run accident on my road.

Aha, I thought. My first specimen! Identifying him shouldn’t be a problem at all. That is, until I pulled out my Kaufman Focus Guide to Butterflies of North America and found this page, the first of about five, all featuring nearly identical butterflies. After an hour of counting spots and lines, I felt fairly certain I had found an Anise Swallowtail (Papilio zelicaon), but who could really tell for sure?

No wonder they ask us to pack up these guys in envelopes and ship them to the lab. In my mind, this lab is filled with a little colony of gnomes working tireless to make positive IDs (this, in turn, is probably why scientists don't often ask writers to help with research).

Because Ari and I aren't too keen on killing the butterflies, that means we need to send our imaginary gnomes photos instead of carcasses. We went out for our inaugural butterfly-camera-safari this afternoon.

Here’s a monarch we found lurking in the milkweed across our road:
A pretty good ID, I think. But what in the world do you make of this photo?

Is it even a butterfly? I doubt anyone could tell for sure. I'm not certain, and I'm the one who took the lousy picture. From a long way away. With a mediocre point-and-shoot camera.

That’s where the net comes in handy. Not to mention the practice. By catching a butterfly and temporarily transferring it to a clear container, I could get the photo op I needed for my ID. At least, that's what my very encouraging instructors at Butterfly School told me. But here's the thing. For every 10 times a swung my net, I caught a butterfly about once (and managed to terrify my dog about 8 or 9 times in the process). When I’d finally get a butterfly in my net, I had this terrible tendency to open it up to see if the insect really made it inside. Big surprise: he’d take that opportunity to fly right out again.

After another dozen or so tries, I was hot. And tired. And maybe even a little frustrated.

I’m not going to mince words here: the caninaturalist was no help at all. Once she got over her terror of the lunatic swinging the net (aren’t butterfly nets supposed to be swung at lunatics, rather than the other way around?), she became more interested in pouncing on grass than helping me. When that grew tiresome, she decided she’d rather roll on warm moss (where, I might add, there were clearly no butterflies):

And when we came upon these two clowns, you can forget about our new career as lepidopterists, not when good caninology is at least as good (and probably ultimately more rewarding).

We were flummoxed.

So we did what any frustrated caninaturalist would do: we called in reinforcements.

Greg has a lot more coordination and patience than I do, so Ari and I both agreed he was the solution to our heretofore unsuccessful study. And we were right.

Here’s a picture of Greg seamlessly weaving the net through the air as if it and he were one. No surprise, there was a rowdy little butterfly still inside the net when he was done.

Between the three of us (and many, many painstaking tries), we coaxed the butterfly to the edge of the net, then eventually transferred him to a Ziploc bag where, presumably, we could get a clear enough shot to send to the lab. At least that’s what they told me at butterfly school.

But here’s what they didn’t tell me: if you’ve spent an hour wrestling a caninaturalist, straining your shoulder muscles, and cajoling your husband to leave the European Soccer semi-finals long enough for another hairbrained mission, all with a thin plastic baggy in your pocket, said baggy becomes far more translucent than transparent. And, should that be the case, any photo you take will look a whole lot like this:

What is it? I have absolutely no idea. I doubt the scientists will either. As for the caninaturalist, she’s too busy burying my net in some hidden location in the backyard to care.