Category Archives: Dogs

Stream of Unconsciousness

Posted by dkrashb on

Rock City Christmas LightsAU0A7761 AU0A7768 AU0A7777 AU0A7784 Christmas View Kids posing for a photo Waiting in Line

It’s 11:08PM EST. I’m falling asleep as I type. I’ve been up since 5:00AM. At the end of the day, I pulled up the photos I’d processed for tomorrow morning’s post. They are from Rock City when I went up to shoot the Christmas lights.

Several things occur to me as I start typing. First, approximately 3 people will read what I write tonight. Odds are in favor of me being able to get away with saying anything.

In the interest of saying anything, here is an experiment in free writing when one ignores constraints such as basic grammar rules, logic, and even consciousness–who says you have to be awake when you’re writing? Instead, I’ve decided to see what happens when I write while I’m falling asleep.

A black and white dog approaches. The girl squats to get get down to his level.

The dog approaches and feels a pretty special in the most obvious of spots. He doesn’t growl at her–a first in his shot history of co-existing amongst higher-class humans than he was used to.

Instead, the dog takes his place in line, making a formidable barrier between those who would take what they need and those who are happy to earn it. Tisen is all about earnings. He has no comprehension of what we decided years ago for on prem licenses. But we are trying to accommodate.

I have to stop here for a moment, shaking my head trying to clear it of cobwebs to determine if I can possibly finish this point–or, more accurately, to determine if I had a point or if this is just random talk popping up as I nod off while typing. It’s mostly just random.

As I sit with finger tips hovering over key board, I start typing in a stream of consciousness fashion that won’t impact the embarrassment in honor of Christmas.

I imagine telling a partner that we’re releasing a small number of parts and contract agreements .

I re-read and realize I’ve just typed a series of sentences that make me think of collecting automated data details from the set top box of the cable solution. Oops–I’ve done it again–written in a way that sounds like one of those spam comments on wordpress. All this time, I’ve been wondering how they come up with the wording for those. Apparently, all you have to do is type while you’re nodding off.

My back is aching. My hips have had enough. I learn that only FedEx and UPS are handling these expert deliveries. I decide that Santa must have had enough too. After all is there enough “common caring” oil that a grower might be able to offset right before Christmas. Oops, I must have started to nod off while typing again.

Well, this post makes no sense. But, I’d love to know if you noticed. Leave me a comment or a like if you read this.

 

 

Dog Craze

Posted by dkrashb on

I learned an important lesson about life at the Mainx24 parade this weekend:  people love diversity.  I’ve often thought the opposite–that people tend to be most attracted to those that are most like themselves.  But the most exciting part of the parade and the greatest crowd pleaser was the mass of dogs ranging from the tiniest tea cup to miniature horse.

Diversity is especially crowd pleasing when the extremes are side-by-side.  Witness the image of the Great Danes walking by a Chihuahua riding in a baby stroller.  Who couldn’t love that?

Dogs are fascinating in part because of the wide variety of shapes and sizes they come in.  Of course, having been domesticated and bred by humans for thousands of years, I guess we’ve sort of forced the process.  But compare this to cats, who have also been domesticated for thousands of years.   The range of healthy cats’ weights seems to be about 4-28 pounds (Note:  this is information from the internet, which only allows people to publish accurate information ;-)).

Compare that to dogs who supposedly range from 1.5 pounds to well over 200 pounds.  The 2007 Guinness Book of World Records holder came close to 300 pounds, but that dog was so overweight, it was criminal.  We owned a 225 pound Mastiff, although we trimmed him down to just over 200 pounds to protect his joints as he got older.  He looked slightly on the too slim side at 205.  However, he lived to be 11 (that’s pretty old for a Mastiff) and was still happy to go for walks up until a week before he died.

But, back to my point.  According to Nova, even scientists do not understand exactly why the dog is so variable.  When you think about the differences in size, ears, muzzles, tails, fur, color, feet, athleticism, and personality, there really isn’t any other species that comes in so many varieties.

All I know is that even non-dog people are fascinated by the variability of dogs.  And there’s no better way to tap into that fascination than to get about 100 dogs to walk down the street together wearing silly costumes in a parade.

Photographically speaking, it was sheer chaos.  There were so many people and dogs moving around, it was hard to see a shot, let alone get one.

About 5 dog rescues were there walking adoptable dogs side-by-side with the pampered pets of owners recruited by the Dogood organization of Chattanooga.  It wasn’t clear if any of the dogs actually knew how to walk on a leash–they were all so busy checking out each other, the crowd, the remnants of tossed candy (which was an improvement over the occasional “treat” left behind by the horses) that they seemed to forget they were on a leash.

I was impressed that even with the chaos of tangled leashes, the walkers all managed to stay on their feet and keep the dogs moving down the street.

No Rain on This Parade

Posted by dkrashb on

Who doesn’t love a parade?  With the possible exception of the screaming fire engine sirens (which we hear more than enough of at our place and don’t need to go out to hear), it’s pretty tough to have a bad parade.  All you need are some animals, a band or two, and smiling kids and you’re set.

Today, the first festival of the Christmas season in Chattanooga took place.  It’s called Mainx24 because it’s focused on trying to make Chattanooga a 24-hour city.

I don’t really see that happening this decade, but it’s nice that it happens once a year.  Plus, it’s a celebration of the city’s South side, which is a neighborhood in transition.

Having witnessed the transition of some of the neighborhoods in Columbus that were perceived as the “worst” into hot spots of historical preservation, celebration of the arts, and community gathering, I have a special fondness for transition.

A few decades ago, my mother ran a preschool in one such neighborhood before its transition began.  On days when I didn’t have school but she did, I would go with her and “help.”

The neighborhood seemed slightly terrifying to me at that time.  It was full of old, victorian homes with boarded up windows that threatened to throw pieces of themselves at me if I ventured too close.  Not that I wandered far–there were always people wandering the streets that, in my innocence, seemed threatening.  In retrospect, I would guess they were harmless homeless people, but I had never actually seen homeless people before then.  Sometimes they stumbled around, obviously drunk.  I had also never seen drunk people, so I had no idea why they behaved oddly.

Decrepit historical houses were purchased by the city and sold for $1 to buyers who could demonstrate their ability to restore them.  It was an amazingly successful project.  That same neighborhood is now known as Victorian Village and is one of the more expensive parts of Columbus to live in.

The restoration of this area became contagious.  Soon, the near-by neighborhood now known as the Short North started changing.  The buildings facing High St were gradually restored and turned into trendy art galleries, restaurants, music venues, and shops.  New buildings in historical styles started to appear with high-end apartments and condos.

The two areas met in the middle, although there is still a mix of the unrestored (and affordable) with the beautifully appointed, fully restored historical mansions.

Chattanooga’s South Side doesn’t seem to have too many mansions.  It was mostly an industrial area before its transition began.  But from the size of the crowd drawn to today’s festival, it’s definitely a place people want to be.

I think adopting New Orleans-parade tradition in tossing candy (and even the occasional beads) to children was a brilliant way to guarantee all the kids will be clamoring to come back again next year.

Bright Star

Posted by dkrashb on

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.

-John Keats

Last night, Tisen started sticking his head under my mouse-hand, making it impossible to work.  I eventually took the hint and got his leash.

As we entered the park, I looked East and saw a bright glow coming from the ridge.  “Crap!” I said aloud, and then looked to see if anyone heard me.  Saved from embarrassment by solitude, I moved Tisen into a trot thinking we could make it around our 2/3 mile loop in time for the moonrise.

I told myself I was being foolish–the moonrise lasts only a few minutes.  As we made our way down the path, I looked over my shoulder to see if we were missing it.  The light glowed strongly through the trees in the park.  Once again, I said, “Crap!” but this time, there was a man walking behind us.  I might have blushed a little.

I tried to rush Tisen, but this resulted only in him pausing mid-sniff to give me a perplexed look.  When we made it around the next corner, I realized the glowing light I saw through the trees was a well-lit building.  There was hope!

When at last we got back to where I could see the ridge, the glow I had spotted on the way out remained unchanged.  I squinted and saw it was actually a billboard on the side of the hill.

I pulled out my phone and checked the time.  It was only 6:32.  The moon rose at 5:44PM officially the night before . . . the last time I shot the moon rising behind the ridge, it didn’t appear until 15-20 minutes after the official moonrise time . . . the moon usually rises about 40 minutes later each night than the night before . . . there was hope!

I had not missed the moonrise at all.  Perhaps Keats understood the moon better than Juliet–steadfast in its predictability.

Arriving on our rooftop, a glow started to appear behind the ridge.  I positioned the top of the ridge low in the frame to cut out a brightly lit window in a house below the ridge.  Not liking the composition, I reframed including the window and shot again.  As I check the image through my loupe, I realize it was not a window I was seeing at all–it was the moon!  I nearly swooned to death.

Related articles

Up Close and Personal

Posted by dkrashb on

I have decided I need to use my flash a lot.  Nothing fancy.  Just put it on the camera and use it so I can get used to what it looks like on camera.  Then, maybe I’ll be better able to see the differences when I take it off camera.

But what to shoot now that I’ve decided to undertake this learning process?  Tisen looks mighty relaxed laying on a comforter on the couch.  And he did just get a brand new hat from Twiggy’s mom.  Plus, he’s a little bored now that Twiggy has gone home.

I wrap a snoot around the flash and decide to start with capturing him in his hat.  I like the head-on image the best even though the flash catches the haze of blue in his eyes, probably indicating cataracts.

Then, I see my down jacket next to him on the sofa and decide to see what happens when I take a macro shot with my flash.  The snoot projects the light to the background, leaving the jacket in the foreground unlit.  When I look at the shot on the big screen, I’m surprised to discover the fabric has a distinct pattern.  I’d always thought it was perfectly smooth.

Then I decide to go macro on Tisen.  Poor guy.  I would feel sorry for him, but he barely moved once I took his hat off, seeming perfectly content to model for his crazy mom with the big black camera that kept flashing at him.

It’s interesting to see the parts of a dog up close.  For one thing, he’s dirty than I thought he was!  His little pig ears always makes me laugh.  When he walks, the tip bounces up and down, flopped over at about the halfway point.

I try to shoot his tail, another source of a smile.  He wags enthusiastically when we go for walks.  People pass us on the street and say, “Now that’s a happy dog!” as he goes by with a toy in his mouth and his tail keeping a steady beat.  But tonight no shot of his tail is to be had.  It’s the one part he keeps tucked underneath and I don’t want to risk annoying him to the point where he gets up and lies on his bed under the desk.

I do manage to shoot both sides of his face, but the white side keeps blowing out with the flash.  The black side makes for a creepy close up of his eye.  He stares at me, blinking from the flash.  I wonder what he thinks I’m doing to him.

The poor guy is still struggling with allergies and hot spots.  We’ve changed his diet again; it seems he’s allergic to the turkey we’ve been feeding him.  I’m about to give up and put him on antibiotics again.  It’s hard to wait to see if he will heal on his own when it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable.

Huh.

Posted by dkrashb on

After a long first day back from a week’s vacation, I look up from my work and see it’s pitch dark both inside and out.  I look at the clock.  It’s 7PM.  Rain streaks the glass on the windows.  I pause long enough to wonder how long it’s been dark and raining without me noticing.

I realize I haven’t thawed Tisen’s dinner yet.  I dump some frozen nuggets into his bowl and set them out to thaw.  Twiggy, visiting for a few days, dances at my feet, her butt wiggling back and forth with the force of her wag.  Tisen jumps at me.  Both are impatient to go out.

I put Tisen’s rain jacket on (he hates to walk in the rain) but he won’t hold still while I zip it.  After the 3rd attempt, Tisen is zipped in and I grab the leashes, checking the poop bag holder to make sure there are at least 2 bags.  I grab an extra roll just in case.  Then, I head out into the dark leaning back against the leashes like a water skier.

As we walk around the park, I think of what I want to shoot tonight.  I decide I should take advantage of the rain and see if I can capture rain drops.  This is something I have failed at so many times that I have no problem failing once more.

But this time, I am armed with a flash.

Back home, full of optimism, I walk out onto the balcony, attach the flash, position a reflective wrap to bounce the flash, find something to focus on, and take a test shot.  Nothing.

I decide it’s not raining hard enough and sit down to wait.  My glass of wine makes the time pass.  The rain picks up and I try again.  I try focusing close and far.  Repositioning the reflective wrap and shooting without it.  I get a few shots that have some white dots in them.  Nothing very exciting.

I try another round, this time, including out-of-focus street lights to add a background.  I manage to get a few more dots and I kind of like the blurred balls of colored light.  Not exactly what I was going for, though.

The rain slows and I look for something else interesting to try.  I decide to try panning with passing cars to see what I get.  This is just good fun.  Don’t ask me why I have so much fun creating completely bizarre images that really don’t work well, but I do.  I particularly like the one shot of the car crossing the Market Street bridge off in the distance.  Maybe it’s the blurred Christmas lights in the foreground that I like so much?

I am reminded of a photography workshop where the instructor talked about how at least one thing must be in focus for a shot to work.  He’s probably right.

Tisen’s Turn

Posted by dkrashb on

I imagine our day from Tisen’s perspective.  If Tisen were writing this post, what would he say?

“Mom put antlers on my head.  I’m felt stupid, but Mom kept smiling, so I pretended I liked it.  As long as I had my fluffy bed and Jack, I really didn’t care about the antlers.

Mom also put a snug sweater on me.  It was warm and felt like a hug.  Daddy rolls his eyes when Mommy puts it on me, but I kind of like it.

They left me in the sunroom with my breakfast and a rabbit.  I gobbled down my breakfast before the rabbit could get out and steal it, but then I was in the sunroom all by myself with that rabbit.  It kept watching me.

Eventually, they came back and took me outside.  I got to sniff and pee on some of my favorite spots, and then, JOY!  They finally let me back in the van.  I love the van.  It takes me places with Mommy and Daddy.

We didn’t go very far before we stopped though.  Mommy and Daddy met up with Uncle Paul and Aunt Megan.  I watched them walk into a building.  It was so windy, Mommy’s hair flipped up like a toupee in the wind.

They were in there a long time.  I got worried.  I decided I’d better take shotgun position so I could keep a closer eye on the door.  It was getting cold in the car while I was sitting there.  Mommy left me a blanket on my fluffy bed, but I was determined not to take my eyes off the door, so I stayed put.

Eventually they returned.  Mommy got in the seat with me and let me sit on her lap while Daddy drove around for a little bit.  Mommy was so warm.  She pulled the blanket over my cold ears and paws and cuddled me while Daddy went somewhere.  When Daddy came back, I had to get in the back on my bed.  I didn’t want to leave Mommy, but she insisted.

Mommy covered me with my blanket and then we drove for a really long time.

I was getting too warm.  I had to get out from under my blanket.  Then, we stopped and Daddy took off my jacket and walked me around in some nice grass.

After that, I got to sleep in the back for a long time.  Mommy was sleeping in her seat, too.  I was a little worried about her because her head kept tipping over, but every time I checked on her, she was OK.

After a long time, we were in my very own parking lot and Mommy took me for a walk around my very own park.  Then, we went inside and I found Tiger, Blue Dog, Skunk, and Big Dog all waiting for me.  I told them all about my adventure, but I’m not sure they believed me.  Especially the part about the rabbit.

Walkin’ in the Moonlight

Posted by dkrashb on

At the end of the day, I find myself with no new photos, nothing to write about, and a dog that needs to go for a walk.

I decide it’s been too long since I shot down at the riverfront at night.  I have shot the riverfront from the roof and balcony many times, but I can’t remember the last time I actually carried my camera down to the river after dark.

Having gone small yesterday, it seemed reasonable that today I would go wide, so I put my 16-35mm lens on my camera, grabbed my loupe and tripod, and talked my husband into coming with me and bringing the dog.

Walking Renaissance Park at night is always an interesting experience.  The meadow voles who live on the hillside at the park entrance seem to be mostly daytime critters–no rustles are heard in the leaves as we walk by, unlike earlier in the day when something scurried away every few steps.  Ironically, if they would hold still, we would never know they were there.

But as we head down the walkway past the wetland, leaves crunch loudly in the woods to our right.  A little too loudly.  We glance at each other and then peer into the darkness of the woods wondering what might be lurking there big enough to make that much noise.  I remind myself how loud even a mouse can be in fall leaves and we keep moving without any boogie men jumping out at us.

I pause to shoot the reflected trees in the wetland water.  It’s not the most stunning reflection, but I like the bright trees at the top of the hill and the dark sky streaked with clouds.

Tisen drops Snake (one of his newest family members), leaving the red and green toy (doesn’t every family have a Christmas snake?) laying in the shadows along the sidewalk while he investigates a smell.  Whoever was here before him left behind an interesting story–I finish shooting long before he’s done sniffing.

The night is cool, but I am warm enough with a sweater and light jacket.  The frogs and cicadas have disappeared and the only noises we hear besides the occasional rustle of leaves is the voices of other couples walking in the moonlight.

I think how romantic this walk might be if I weren’t carrying a tripod and stopping to shoot for long intervals.  My husband patiently keeps Tisen entertained while I shoot.  Maybe that’s it’s own kind of romance?

As we work our way around the same path we have walked hundreds of times in the past 15 months, I look at the scene anew.  Shooting causes an interesting shift in perspective–I look at the moon, the clouds, the lights, the converging lines, and the sculptures from different angles and look for new ways to combine them in my frame.

I realize the same old scene is actually never the same twice.

Hot Spots

Posted by dkrashb on

Sometimes love hurts.  When I was young, the pain associated with love came in adolescent dramas mostly created by massive fluctuations in hormones.  These days, it comes with loving a creature who depends on me for protection.  When he hurts, I hurt.

This, of course, is my dog, Tisen.

I like to think we provide the perfect home for him.  We buy him special food.  We feed him more vitamins than we feed ourselves.  We walk him at least 2 miles every day.  I work from home–he is rarely left home alone more than a few hours a week. We take him to doggie daycare twice a week just so he gets to socialize with other dogs.

We take him to dinner with us when weather and patios permit.  We socialize with friends who invite him to come along.  We drive him places.  Sometimes, we put him in our van and drive about 100 feet away to our favorite breakfast joint and let him hang out in the van while we eat just so he doesn’t feel like he was left behind.

We also provide gentle training and positively reinforce that he is not at the top of the hierarchy in our house.  He does not seem confused on this point.

Although, he does still get quite upset when I leave, he’s handling it much better.  When we go out without him, we put his portable bed by the door so he has a comfy place to lay and when we come back, he’s still laying there, right next to the door.

We take him hiking and backpacking too, when we go.

I can’t imagine life for a dog gets a whole lot better than life with us.  I guess he could long for a fenced yard to run in.  But, I recently learned that when I drop him off at doggy daycare so he can run free and play with other dogs, he finds a hiding place where he can curl up and take a nap.

Yet, in spite of all these things, Tisen is chewing on himself.  It starts with licking.  Then, the hair starts to dissolve.  Next, the skin becomes a bright red, raw sore against his white fur.  That’s when he starts chewing.

I cannot help but get upset when I see pink irritation in his skin or when he wakes me up scratching in the middle of the night.  I don’t know what more to do about his allergies.  We’re waiting for his latest test to come back.  This one will hopefully tell us what he’s allergic to.

In the meantime, I decide to make a video.  Ever since I made the jump to my 5D Mark III, I’ve been spent my time on still images.  I literally forget sometimes that it even has the capability to shoot videos.  Tisen is perplexed by me constantly pointing the camera at him, but at least it distracts him from the itching for a while.

King of the Hood

Posted by dkrashb on

I needed to get outside, I needed exercise, I wanted to shoot, and the dog needed to go for a walk.  The perfectly logical course of action was to take the camera, the dog, and go for a long walk on a beautiful fall day.

The dog has his own agenda.  He’s determined to claim the neighborhood between our neighborhood and Stringer’s ridge.  It’s a neighborhood full of dilapidated chain-link fences and scary looking dogs who bark at us endlessly.  Tisen ignores these dogs.  He takes a cat-like approach to tormenting these fenced-in dogs.

He takes his time sniffing every blade of grass, marking each clump taller than 6 inches–he does this so slowly I expected him to sit down and start grooming himself.  The poor neighborhood watch dog goes ballistic throughout the whole show and I try to get Tisen to move on quickly.

Having two hands free might have come in handy, but letting go of my camera and bending down to reach Tisen was not an option–at least not without risking knocking Tisen in the head with my swinging camera.

At the ridge, I sit on a tree log placed at the overlook to shoot the view.  Tisen pulls on the lead and I knock the lens hood off my camera and watch it roll halfway down the hill.  I manage to leave Tisen at the top leashed to a branch in full view as I slide my way down to retrieve my lens hood.  Being a klutz and a multi-tasking photographer are probably a bad combination, but I make it safely back to the top where I am treated to exuberant adoration from my dog who apparently had little faith I would return at all, let alone safely.

As we return home, we pause once again in front of the barking dogs.  I look around and realize that if you value having a really affordable place to live with beautiful surroundings, this is a great neighborhood.  There are nothing but colorful trees on the three hillsides that nearly form a bowl around this little valley.

But then, we pass a house with a porch covered in glass objects.  They were scattered around, fallen over, abandoned like the porch was a miniature dump.  This might not have been so disturbing by itself, but the glass was mingled with a child’s toys that looked like they had been left in the middle of play.  It made me shudder.

A motion in a tree above the porch caught my eye and I spotted a Eurasian Collared Dove sitting there, looking at me as if it wondered how long it would take me to notice him.  It’s a somewhat rare sighting here at the edge of their range, and rarer to me having grown up in a part of the world where they don’t roam.  I smile and wonder what this bird thinks of the neighborhood.