Sunday, December 18, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Fireball Dog and Sunrise
Yesterday, Koan and I jumped at the chance to see the day awake. Although we started our run before the sun peaked over the horizon, the beginning of daybreak provided enough light to leave my headlamp behind.
My legs were stiff from our long hike the day before, but I felt myself regain energy as we shuffled along in the low light. Kona fell asleep at 4:30 the previous afternoon and showed no sign of fatigue.
As the sky became lighter, giving me visibility to scan the ridgeline for wildlife, I dropped Kona's long line and let her run. And run she did.
Because Kona's fear makes her a flight risk and because she's a bona fide huntress, her chances for off leash romps are few and far between. But I love to watch the little fireball fly when she gets the freedom. I think she likes it too.
After I re-leashed Kona, she settled back into a slow trot, taking in all the scents along the way. I slowed down to watch the sun make it's debut.
I wonder if the sun knew it wasn't the first red fireball to grace the hilltops that morning.
My legs were stiff from our long hike the day before, but I felt myself regain energy as we shuffled along in the low light. Kona fell asleep at 4:30 the previous afternoon and showed no sign of fatigue.
As the sky became lighter, giving me visibility to scan the ridgeline for wildlife, I dropped Kona's long line and let her run. And run she did.
Because Kona's fear makes her a flight risk and because she's a bona fide huntress, her chances for off leash romps are few and far between. But I love to watch the little fireball fly when she gets the freedom. I think she likes it too.
After I re-leashed Kona, she settled back into a slow trot, taking in all the scents along the way. I slowed down to watch the sun make it's debut.
I wonder if the sun knew it wasn't the first red fireball to grace the hilltops that morning.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Birthday Exploration
Birthdays are time to Carpe Diem. So I told myself at 5 o'clock this morning when I couldn't get my eyes open. It took several attempts but I managed to drag myself out of bed and pack my hiking bag. It was my birthday and I was going to celebrate with a morning in the mountains with Kona Dog.
We set out towards our familiar Peak, with the plan to head beyond our usual vista to a lookout point on the ridge above. While I was both apprehensive and excited about exploring new terrain, I had no idea of all the small treasures we would find along the way.
We saw a golden eagle, passed through a graveyard of burned oak groves, punched through crusty snow (snow!) left from Monday's storm, found bear tracks, and learned that old trail runners without remaining tread make for slow-going on downhill snow/ice (renamed, snice) patches. (Many apologies. My camera lost it's battery toward the beginning of our trek. My last attempted shot was of a patch of frozen grass. Had I known the scenes ahead, I may have saved that lost shot).
Upon arriving home, Kona and I celebrated a good morning together. She had two slices of Canadian baken. I had two brownies. With glucose levels restored, I decided to buy myself a birthday present--a new pair of running shoes.
We set out towards our familiar Peak, with the plan to head beyond our usual vista to a lookout point on the ridge above. While I was both apprehensive and excited about exploring new terrain, I had no idea of all the small treasures we would find along the way.
We saw a golden eagle, passed through a graveyard of burned oak groves, punched through crusty snow (snow!) left from Monday's storm, found bear tracks, and learned that old trail runners without remaining tread make for slow-going on downhill snow/ice (renamed, snice) patches. (Many apologies. My camera lost it's battery toward the beginning of our trek. My last attempted shot was of a patch of frozen grass. Had I known the scenes ahead, I may have saved that lost shot).
Upon arriving home, Kona and I celebrated a good morning together. She had two slices of Canadian baken. I had two brownies. With glucose levels restored, I decided to buy myself a birthday present--a new pair of running shoes.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Squirrel and Lizard and Horse, Oh My!
We've been gone for a season, but are back again.
A schedule change keeps Kona and I away from our sunrises some days, so we're hitting the trails in the afternoon. Some of you may know that afternoons pose extra challenges for Kona. A combination of less energy and more neighborhood sounds can put my fearful girl on high alert. But as more seasons together pass, midday outings become more commonplace, and even offer special adventures.
A balmy 50 degrees made for perfect hiking weather on Kona's favorite trail.
Kona buzzed with nervous energy left over from the car ride to the trailhead. I worried she wouldn't be able to relax. Suddenly, Kona froze and spun around. Coming behind us on the fireroad sauntered the largest animal Kona ever saw. A horse. I pulled Kona off the trail to let the horse pass. Much to my dismay, as the horse trotted by, Kona responded like the beast before her was an overgrown deer.
Just when I thought Kona might stop pulling like her last supper was getting away, the horse turned around towards us again. The rider stopped right by Kona and I, letting us know that her horse was good with dogs; There was no need to pull off the trail. I thanked the rider but let her know that I didn't think my dog was too good with horses. She offered to hang out for awhile to let Kona investigate her first big deer.
I hesitated, but the rider and her horse had such perfect, calm energy that we stuck around. The rider talked casually about dogs while I white-knuckled Kona's leash. After awhile, the horse decided to get a better whiff of Kona, turning his face inches away from my sweet predator. Kona's muscles pulsed. With each exhale from the horse's large nostils, Kona leaped backward. The horse had called her bluff. Kona was way too nervous to make the mysterious beast into lunch.
No sooner had they left that Kona wanted to chase after them again. After several bends in the trail, she forgot about the horse, but continued to buzz with nervous energy. The huntress was primed.
For the rest of our hike, I held on for dear life. Kona slowed only to plead with me. "Can't you move any faster, the squirrel's getting away."
As we explored a new section of trail, Kona's spunk came to use as she helped tow me up the steep terrain.
I made it back to the car in one piece. Despite her antics, Kona seemed not an ounce tired. And remember that girl who was too scared to drink on her hikes? Well horses and squirrels make a girl thirsty.
A schedule change keeps Kona and I away from our sunrises some days, so we're hitting the trails in the afternoon. Some of you may know that afternoons pose extra challenges for Kona. A combination of less energy and more neighborhood sounds can put my fearful girl on high alert. But as more seasons together pass, midday outings become more commonplace, and even offer special adventures.
A balmy 50 degrees made for perfect hiking weather on Kona's favorite trail.
Kona buzzed with nervous energy left over from the car ride to the trailhead. I worried she wouldn't be able to relax. Suddenly, Kona froze and spun around. Coming behind us on the fireroad sauntered the largest animal Kona ever saw. A horse. I pulled Kona off the trail to let the horse pass. Much to my dismay, as the horse trotted by, Kona responded like the beast before her was an overgrown deer.
Just when I thought Kona might stop pulling like her last supper was getting away, the horse turned around towards us again. The rider stopped right by Kona and I, letting us know that her horse was good with dogs; There was no need to pull off the trail. I thanked the rider but let her know that I didn't think my dog was too good with horses. She offered to hang out for awhile to let Kona investigate her first big deer.
I hesitated, but the rider and her horse had such perfect, calm energy that we stuck around. The rider talked casually about dogs while I white-knuckled Kona's leash. After awhile, the horse decided to get a better whiff of Kona, turning his face inches away from my sweet predator. Kona's muscles pulsed. With each exhale from the horse's large nostils, Kona leaped backward. The horse had called her bluff. Kona was way too nervous to make the mysterious beast into lunch.
No sooner had they left that Kona wanted to chase after them again. After several bends in the trail, she forgot about the horse, but continued to buzz with nervous energy. The huntress was primed.
For the rest of our hike, I held on for dear life. Kona slowed only to plead with me. "Can't you move any faster, the squirrel's getting away."
As we explored a new section of trail, Kona's spunk came to use as she helped tow me up the steep terrain.
I made it back to the car in one piece. Despite her antics, Kona seemed not an ounce tired. And remember that girl who was too scared to drink on her hikes? Well horses and squirrels make a girl thirsty.
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