A Bunch of Stuff About Nature Followed by an Anecdote About a Dog
wrote this a few years ago when I first moved to town
My new neighborhood isn't perfect. It pretty much is, but not quite.
We live on Summer Street, at the bottom of a big hill, the hill never stops going up, actually, because it's part of a mountain. I mean it stops at the top of course but who even knows how far that is—it's a pretty big mountain.
It's about a 10 minute walk from our house to the top of the hill. The paved road ends there and the houses and if you go east you can walk along a service road that's cut into the side of the mountain. It's great—there are always other people walking there, and dogs.
From up there you can see the whole long valley laid out below: orchards—the grey-greens and blue-greens of eucalyptus, oaks, and citrus, and then there's the town too with its red-tiled roofs, and grassy meadows—all brown and thistles now because it's summer—with horses in 'em.
If you go west you can follow a narrow, rocky trail that ends up in the wilderness. The trail goes along a creek, dry now, there are a lot of big rocks, it's dusty. You go past olive trees, growing wild, and pine trees too, sometimes, and big old pepper trees, drooping and gnarled, and nopal cactus 10 feet high, and huge agaves, looking smooth and cool and blue. Sometimes I touch the agaves as I pass, and, if there’s no one nearby, I might say “hello, you.”
You go along like that for a ways, always up, past the creek on one side, and past vineyards—planted in rows along the broad slope of the hill—on the other, and after a while you pop out, rather abruptly, into the wilderness.
You're high up now, and you can see pretty far. On a clear day you can see the ocean. There are mountain ranges all around, the one you're in and other ones behind it, and more behind those, and more, for as far as you can see. They seem endless and always make me feel …at first surprised, and then glad, by how much nature there is that hasn't been destroyed by man.
It's striking and gorgeous and lovely all at the same time but the best part is how wild it feels. It's not the backcountry but it feels like it because it’s not the town and because it leads to it. It smells great too—musky like sage and oak and sweet and warm like grass in the sun. I see rabbits and coyotes and deer and snakes up there. I haven’t seen any bears but I sense them. I see their tracks and their scat. I’ve seen a couple of cougars, but only at a distance.
So that's all pretty great. Our house is great too. I mean, it’s a dilapidated old bunk house all wood and surrounded by oak trees, and what could be better than that? I like to say that the house and its location could only be better if the Mediterranean were up the block.
But all this perfection has its price, or something like that, and ours is that blasted hound dog down the street. This poor sap starts howling—a low, mournful bay, around eight every morning and doesn't quit until six, Mon-Fri. It's awful to hear. I turn on the fan full blast all day just to drown out the noise so I can think. And even then I can’t think because I’m too busy worrying—what could be making the dog so sad?
The other day I flipped. The howling. I tried to write. I couldn't think. And it went on, hours of it. The howling. God fucking damn it! I yelled.
Then—James!
Yeah?
Want to go on a walk with me? I am going to locate that dog and find out what the hell is going on.
Yeah, sure.
Alright! Let's go.
And out we set.
A couple of blocks down the road we found the source.
A dog, outside in its yard, fenced, not a hound. More like a Border Collie. Young.
We peered at it for a while.
Next door a man, tall, grey haired, was working in his yard. The dog, who had paused when he saw us, started to howl again.
Ralph, No! The man said. The dog kept howling.
Excuse me, said James.
The man came down the drive to us. He looked nice. He was missing an eye.
We were just wondering about that dog, said James.
You and the whole neighborhood! Said the man. Then: That's Ralph. I'm Rex. Ralph gets separation anxiety when his owner Rob is at work. Rob is an ophthalmologist.
I looked at the place where his eye used to be, and looked away again.
Would you guys like to come back on my patio here and have a beer? Said Rex. I just bought a 12 pack of Corona.
That's my favorite kind of 12 pack! Said James.
We sat on the patio and drank our beers and talked with Rex for a little while. Ralph howled. I frowned.
Would you like to meet him? Said Rex. He's a very nice dog, just gets lonely.
He went across the driveway to the yard next door and opened the gate. Ralph, happier, still a little anxious, came over to greet us.
There's a lady around the corner comes sometimes when the howling gets too much for her, takes him on a walk, said Rex. And the guy across the street there brings him bones every couple of days. But he just keeps howling. I don't think he gets enough exercise.
I wonder if he wouldn't feel more secure inside, I said. Rex shrugged.
You could walk him anytime you want, he said, just take the leash off the hook there.
I think I will, I said. I'll bring him over, we have a big yard, and my dogs could probably use a friend.
We said thanks for the beer and got up to leave. I patted Ralph. Might as well start now, I thought. I put on his leash. The afternoon sun was at an angle. Little wisps of clouds across the sky, just starting to glow pink. A breeze, the scent of eucalyptus and dead grass. Ralph tugged on his chain, happy now. I smiled at James …let's go! And the three of us walked home.
Ralph has come over almost every day since then—as soon as I can’t take the howling anymore I just go and get him. We put him outside in the yard with our dogs and they run around and play, while we stand and watch, discreetly, through the window—the delighted parents, thrilled that our guys have a friend.
Such a great one. So glad it worked out for Ralph, and you. I love the beginning section, too. Perfectly captures that California summer feel.
I have a recurring dream of living in the middle of a forest. C is coming to terms with the fact that now this dream needs to be some kind of reality. I am reading some on rewilding and scouting for houses that are in the fringe of civilisation, so my children can bike to their friends' but I can pretend I am a garden gnome.