The campus is closed and although some dog walkers are ignoring the bristle of No Trespassing signs around the perimeter, we are not among them. (Yet.) I wish I knew whether the ponds were still full. Pepperdine's watering system relies on treated gray water harvested from campus use, and with the place now a ghost town, the supply must be down to a trickle.
This was in Solstice Canyon the other day, a hawk cruising the sycamores where the wild parrots make a home. It's short and out-of-focus and -- bonus! -- there's a puppy nose print on the lens.
*Well rats, videos seem to have stopped playing on the site again. If you're interested, click through to flickr and you can watch them there.
We go on a lot of walks these days as we work to socialize the wild puppy. Legacy Park, which has enough winding and intersecting paths that it's easy to take a different route each time, and plenty of kind and understanding dog-friendly people, has become a favorite. Sometimes the baby Labrador interacts, and sometimes she prefers to just walk on by, but the good news is she's gradually growing less fearful.
One of my favorite things has been learning that the same group of red-winged blackbirds gather in the same pair of sycamore saplings each evening, singing and chatting and jostling for position. I wish I spoke blackbird because you just know that every sound and movement and wingbeat they make is laden with meaning, who's in charge, who had a good day, who's misbehaving, who's moving up in the avian world. At the very least, it sounds and looks beautiful.
* Well rats, videos have stopped playing on the site again. If you're interested, click through to flickr and you can watch them there.
What happens is there's a wild puppy in the house so even the basics, like work or a shower or a trip to the mailbox, feel like epic victories. And yes, the camera is always in hand but the photos pile up and it turns out that decision fatigue is a real thing. By the time you've made the thousands of choices it takes to get a final draft of a writing assignment, talked Godzilla with the 10-year-old, debated fart sounds with the 8-year-old, and weighed which of the wild puppy's transgressions you're going to correct (bringing home a neighbor's sandal) and which you'll just laugh at (dashing around the lawn with a pair of underwear on her head) choosing photos is a bridge too far. All of which is a long, long way to say that good grief, a week has gone by and the photos are still in the camera and the puppy just lost two teeth and it feels like a miracle that this paragraph even got written, let alone makes sense. So here's a photo of the dogs at Bluffs Park where it kind of looks like Teddy is standing on Walt's back.