Two Poops and a Pee

Saturday morning we got up and started our walk by heading east on Marine Drive to the beginning of a wonderful bicycle and walking path that goes for miles and miles. The entrance to the walkway is located at the east end of the Gleason Boat Launch, and the sign posted at the walkway indicates it is Broughton Beach - sounds so east coast beachy! As soon as we arrived at the path, we veered off, and headed for the beach that runs along the Columbia River. Oliver was in doggy heaven! We let him off his leash and he frolicked and ran and scared himself into little leaps, all the while sniffing and snorting his way along the tide line. While he and Hubby were scampering along, I was in my own heaven: collecting the detritus of the river and of humans. Using a doggy poop bag, I collected shells and agates, and all sizes and shapes of beach glass rubbed smooth by the rocks and river. Because the Columbia is a notorious spot to drink, there were lots of rusted bottle caps, along with bits of odd-shaped plastic rings and unidentifiable doodads - lovely. By the end of our walk, my doggy bag was filled to the brim with small pieces of bleached driftwood, rusty bits, beach glass, and a beachcomber's collection of shells.

As we neared the end of the beach, we spotted about eight people and 12 dogs, all who had just arrived. The humans were carrying steaming cups of Starbucks liquids, and the dogs were sniffing each other, some swimming in the river. Oliver was intrigued, if not a little overwhelmed. He chose an older, slower dog to sniff and greet, while the younger more confident dogs moved on down the beach.

Oh, yes, Oliver treated us to two poops and a pee. It was a good day indeed.

The entrance to the beach:



A happy Oliver:



Oliver in action:



Always a beachcomber:



The booty:

Introducing: Oliver

Well, we weren’t planning on getting a dog, although we have talked about it in the past. However, whenever we talked about getting a dog, we always ended up deciding we didn’t want to be tied down, we didn’t want the responsibility. Then we met Olive. Olive is an 11-month old black standard poodle and was lucky enough to get adopted into our daughter’s family. My Hubby and I babysat our two grandsons last Saturday night and after they were tucked in and sound asleep, we got to “dog sit” Olive. Our hearts melted and we were in love. When my daughter and son-in-law returned home, they informed us that Olive had a brother . . . . thus began another round of discussions, only this time, there was a tangible dog in the picture. We talked into the evening and woke up talking about it throughout the morning, as if we never even went to sleep. We were sort of leaning toward getting the “brother,” but then we went into Petco to see about a collar and a lead: I started hyperventilating at the sight of all the dog accoutrements! We put the collar back and stepped aside to talk some more. I picked up a copy of “Poodles for Dummies” and began to leaf through it; the reading calmed me down and allowed my Hubby and I to confirm that yes, we did in fact want to get and were ready for a dog. We purchased the essentials and headed north on I-5 to Kalama, to the breeder’s home. After we arrived, we realized we weren’t really buying a dog from a “breeder,” but were really on a “rescue mission.” We had the option of choosing from a dozen little puppies, all jumping against their cages yapping and yowling “Pick me, pick me.” But it was Olive’s brother we were after and there he was, standing alone in the end cage, not jumping or crying, just standing with determined resignation. We were introduced, wrote out a check, slipped on his collar, and loaded him into my nice, clean, clear windowed car. We tried out the name Leo, but that didn’t seem quite right. When we tried out Oliver, it stuck. Oliver had never left his farm, never been in a car, never had on a collar, and had never seen stairs (but that’s another story). Our first stop after driving back into Portland was to a veterinary clinic for an exam and a rabies shot. Then to the groomer’s (we had called and made a late afternoon appointment). Oliver was so matted and dirty, that the groomer needed to take all of Oliver’s hair right down to the nub, to the point of seeing his blue skin! Yes, he has blue skin, sort of an eerie bright gray/blue. The groomer said his hair was sort of moldy – yuck. So, we are starting fresh and will allow his hair to grow out a bit before the next trip to the groomers. Here are a series of photos:

Olive, Oliver's Sis:



A ragged Oliver:



Charlie, our shy and reclusive cat, thought we bought her a new bed:



Olive and Oliver reunited for the first time: