“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.” –Margaret Atwood
Yes, exactly. You should smell like dirt, pee, grass, and death. Dirt: from shredding the ground in your mark-ups. Pee: from your brushes with interesting social postings. Grass: just nuances as a reminder of nature. Death: as a reminder of life, just a whisper of death, a desiccated worm found flattened on the trail, or something a coyote digested, though not well. Human’s call this “disgusting” but I don’t know the meaning of that word.
It’s basically spring here already and it’s been here since about February 14, the day I didn’t get chocolate.
Acacia blossoms dotted the Carmel trail. They’re a very yellow, sneezy flower.
For corgis most of the best smells are conveniently located at nose level and right along the trail, often in the tall grass…
Umm, nice. The world has gotten green and luxurious for me.
I know, we’re on this trail in Carmel, and it’s spring and lovely. But, I must stop for a moment and address an important concern. It came to my attention that Jeff didn’t really like his nick name “Uncle Snack Pockets.” I apologize for my thoughtlessness. I love this guy (alot) I don’t want to hurt his feelings. From now on I’ll be calling “Uncle Snack” the more respectable name of “Pappy Snack Pockets.”
We like to kid around and make up names. Elise is “The Queen.” Jeff is “Pappy Snack Pockets.” I’m called many names: “Mr Begoobecurs,” “Rainboo,” “Stranger,” “Hoover,” and “Whyyoulittlemonkey.” We all have a bunch of little knick names. However, these names should be somewhat respectful. No one ever calls me “Junior Poopy Bum,” for instance, and I appreciate that. Sometimes our nicknames are not nice ones. For instance Jeff is also “Possum Socks” and Elise also goes by “Sheewawipoo,” her “Indian name.”
How did they get these names? Jeff’s socks were once stolen by a possum. Elise often carries my poo bag around for multiple uses, so “She Walks with Poop” became “Sheewawipoo.”
Of course a full psychological work up could be done on the names we’ve made up for each other. Elise says “maybe some passive aggressive thing going on?” I say “huh!?” The main thing is no matter what anyone calls you you must know that your true name is not any of those names.
So, back to my story. A few weeks ago I hit the trail with “Pappy Snack Pockets.” (Try saying that 10 times fast! “Pappy Snack Pockets, Snappy Pap Hockets, Snacky Hot Pockets, Hoppy Pick Pockets”…grrrrr!) Our “Dog Lover’s Companion to California” recommended Mission Trail Park on Rio Road, Carmel, California, with 5 miles of hiking trails for dogs, off leash! It’s right across from the Mission.
Can you tell that I’m happy? Woo hoo….running off leash…
…and running back again!
Ah ha! I know you’re up there Chirpy McNutkins! Ahem, I mean Mr. Gray Squirrel.
It’s wonderful me on a wonderful trail.
Here’s a guy I met I’ll call “Random White Guy,” I could also call him “Little Guy Like Me”
I said “I’ll be with you in just a second. I’ve got to figure out this scent.” When I looked up he’d been dragged away by his humans. Hey, wasn’t this an “Off Leash Trail”?
I liked this trail immediately, because I was just really happy to get out of the car. I would have been happy to get out of the car pretty much anywhere. Anyplace not moving will do.
I also liked that we had never been to this place before, and it was not too hot, not too cold, not too steep, too urban or too sterile. Lots of dogs had peed there. (Yay!)
You’ll have to visit this place yourself, if you’re ever in the area. The trail winds around. It goes by creeks and ravines, even a view or two. It has a little bit of manicuring to its natural beauty. I give it two paws up!
Here I am with my most excellent human, Jeff, aka “Pappy Snack Pockets.” Make sure when you hit the trail that you have a human along with deep snack pockets! But find your own, this Snack Pocket is mine.
Here we are again, back at the car. We’d walked a big circle. Carmel Mission Trail on the right…park on side of road.
Remember not to shake off the dirt before you get in the car. Don’t let them wash that stink off of you!—Ranger the Corgi.