What Can BrownDog Do For You?

Hi. I’d like to introduce you to a friendly face. His name is Brownie.





Yeah, his owner didn’t work too hard on that name. “Why, that dog is brown. I know! Let’s call him Brownie!”

What his owner (a neighbor of my best friend) lacks in creativity, he makes up for in being a pretty nice guy.

Unfortunately, that good neighbor has fallen on some hard times. His small plumbing business had success tied to the housing industry. When things were good, Brownie’s owner was doing good. When the economy laid down and didn’t get back up, the business struggled.

Sad to say, those good folks had to sell their house, horses, and fleet of nice cars.

And that leaves us back at The Brown One who is an Australian Shepard. He has papers to prove he is somebody, and a yearn for herding in his blood.

Brown Dog is bunking down with my best friend’s family these days. Brownie was largely ignored for most of his early life, so the attention of a whole family and other dogs to play with makes him super happy.

You see, Brownie is a special dog. Or, speshul. One would think that The Brown One isn’t very smart because he leaps and rolls and bubble heads his way around the world. Sometimes that dog makes me shake my head. And my fists. He can be so dense, really.

Brownie is the kind of dog that will come along with me when I take a walk, not that I have any say in the matter. He’ll escape his confines and come along no matter what I think on the subject. And further, he’s the kind of dog who will run ahead of me on the banks of the irrigation ditch, then down in the bottom, will roll in the muck, then run back and jump on me.

And when I holler at him, he wags his tail and that tongue lolls out and he looks at me and says “what?” in doggy-nacular.

Damn dog.

There is only one human in the world who really understands The Brown One, and that is The Good Man (who I happen to believe is part dog, if you must know). The Good Man will take Brownie outside and throw the ball and play doggie games and Brownie gets WAY over excited.

For his trouble, The Good Man comes away with bruises and small bites up and down his legs. See, Brownie will get himself worked up and then try to herd everyone as is true to his breed. Brownie is a jumper so his “move it along” bites can go as high as the butt region on the well over six foot tall Good Man.

Ow.

All of the rest of us, we holler at Brownie. “Damn it Brownie! Brown Dog, DOWN! Brownie, stop!!”

The only human he’ll actually listen to is The Good Man.

What Brownie really needs is a job. He’s got this strong innate drive to herd cows or sheep or something herdable. Sad day for him, Brown ain’t got no herd to herd. Right now, Brownie would be a huge liability to an actual herd of animals because he’s not well trained. But with some work and some time, Brownie could be a damn fine cattle dog. He’s got more in that brain bucket than first meets the eye.

Instead he herds a group of humans who may or may not be his permanent people and those people yell at him all the time. Brownie just wants to run. He’s a country dog and knows no borders. He’s the sort of damn dog who will run at a car.

*sigh*

Poor Brown Dog.

But don’t cry for me, Argentina. Brownie has it all right. He’s landed with a family that gives him regular kibble and my two soft hearted goddaughters pull ticks and fur knots off of him and love on him and coo in his velvety ears.

And when he’s really lucky, Nina Karen brings The (Good) Tall Man to visit and someone finally understands.


I Think I Can

My lunchtime walking friend, known to regular readers as Worm Girl, has gone and done it. She has coerced convinced me that on cold rainy days (such as today) we shouldn’t just avoid our lunchtime walk all together. We should, instead, go work out in our company’s fitness center.

My god how I hate gyms.

Hate them hate them hate them.

I conceded the points that we need to mix up our workouts, and we need to continue to work out even if weather doesn’t permit. So today, I followed her into the fitness center where we took up residence on two separate treadmills.

I lumped myself up on the walking deck of a shiny new machine and poked and prodded at the buttons and geegaws.

To the left of me, a tall, young, lithe brunette woman running all out on the treadmill. To my right, a shorter, tiny blond woman with loads of attitude. Also running.

I didn’t come here to run. Hell, at this point I wasn’t even walking because I couldn’t get the machine to start. After punching at the up arrow key, the belt started up but it was quite slow, so I didn’t get on it. I kept jabbing at buttons and “hmmm’ing” and “ummm’ing”.

Blondie snapped at me “You should just get on it!”

I thought how easy it would be to insert my foot into the middle of her tiny stride and send her flying. “Whoops! Did I do that? Sooooo sorry.”

See, when I walk on the walking trail, there’s no turning it on. No fiddling with buttons or a recalcitrant machine. I simply walk.

Also, on the walking trail, snooty Blondie would just jog past me and our association would be over. But no, I gotta stand next to her for the next hour feeling inadequate and awkward.

Did I mention that I hate gyms?

In addition, Worm Girl further convinced me to sign up for the company’s annual “fitness challenge.”

Over the next eight weeks we have to get weighed and measured, attend classes, and participate in physical challenges.

Today’s challenge was to log our fastest time to run or walk a mile.

So I warmed up a bit and then cranked up the machine and galumphed my way along.

Blondie and Brunette looked in askance as I became the little curvy engine that could. I huffed and I puffed and by god when it was done, I had turned in a respectable 16:04 minute mile.

I couldn’t sustain that pace, so I did two more miles at a seventeen and a half minute pace.

And now my legs ache.

Did I mention I can’t stand gyms?






Image found at Bottomless Mimosa.


From a Different Angle

Today at lunch, I took a quiet, solo walk on the walking path near my office. Since my walking partner was too busy to come along and my iPod battery was tapped out, it was just me alone with my thoughts.

A dangerous combination.

Being without distraction makes me more observant of everything going on around me. For example, the blue nosed ducks that have arrived as the weather turns colder. The squabbling Canada geese. The flatfish skimming the bottom of shallow waters in the lagoon.

And the humans. Oh those wacky humans.

As I rounded one corner of the path, I saw two guys in business suits taking photos of each other. They were standing by our iconic tall building with the company logo on top. This is a not unusual sight, really. In fact, I think for some of my coworkers in Asia, having a photo from headquarters posted on their internal directory page is a badge of honor.

Since so many people have that photo on their page, everyone is trying to get the different, quirky and odd take on the same photo so they can stand out a little.

This came to mind as I noticed one of the guys posed awkwardly with his finger pointing up. The other was splayed out on the ground, almost in the water, camera pointing up, coaching his subject “a little to the right…a little up…a little more…”

I know what they were doing. They were trying to replicate that cheesey internet meme where through the magic of perspective and photography it looks like someone is holding up a bridge or touching a seventh wonder of the world.

Like this:



Image from homdoc74‘s Flickr photostream

Only with an office building. I have to admit, they weren’t being shy about this at all. They were really going for it. I kind of felt bad for the guy laying on the ground wearing a full dark suit. That’s going to be a weird one to explain when he gets back to the training room. (there’s a sales training going on this week and there are a TON of dark suits wandering around)

I’ll bet the photo will look cool. But the set up looked goofy as hell.

Something akin to this:



Photo from PhotographyUncapped.com



These are a few of my favorite things

Given the kind of work I do the holiday season (i.e. the end of the year) is one of the busiest times at my job. Much has to get done this month.

I’m working a lot of very long hours and having a lot of real hard days.

Nothing terminal. Tenacity will carry the day.

Yesterday at 1:30 in the afternoon I stopped working so I could go get something to eat. When I stood, my knees creaked and I realized I had not moved from my desk chair since 9:00 that morning.

That’s bad.

So as a reward, I chose to go to my favorite cafeteria at work, the one that serves house made Mexican food.

It’s comforting.

As I stood in line, I fiddled with the new Hipstamatic lens and film I’d just downloaded for my iPhone4s.

And so, today, another busy day, I bring you fewer words and more visuals.

Behold, just a small few of my favorite things. Click the image to see in full size:




Oh swoon. Hello lovers!




Even on a fairly cold winter day, these sweaty bottles promising 100% Natural Sugar made me want to reach in and grab them all. Yum!




Just….want.



A little Mexican food. A little real sugar. Suddenly my outlook was a lot more expansive. I even walked backed to my office with a bounce in my step and a song in my heart.

Oh the amazing curative powers of good food that reminds me of home.



Quality Control

You might recall a few months back (July, actually) I posted a story about San Francisco’s celebration for a glass.

A perfect, petite glass, just ripe to be filled to the rim with Irish coffee.

This past weekend, The Good Man and I had much to celebrate, so we spent the weekend rabble rousing from one end of the beautiful City of San Francisco to the other.

It was a magical weekend.

After consuming an insane amount of food at Tadich Grill, a venerable old place dating back to 1849, we set out on the quite stormy Saturday night and ultimately found ourselves at the Buena Vista down on the Wharf.

The Buena Vista is one of my most favorite places in the City. Especially on a cold, rainy night.

I was there in an official capacity, of course. It was necessary to investigate this whole glass issue for myself.

You know, in the interest of quality control and all that.


After the first Irish Coffee, I was intrigued.




After the second Irish Coffee, I was quite contemplative.




After the third Irish Coffee, I was…wait…what were we talking about…..?




*hic* Yes, I found the glasses at the BV to be of fine quality and most upstanding in their capacity to serve a nice warm beverage.

Or something.

I slept rather well that night, too……




All photographs Copyright Karen Fayeth, 2011, and subject to the Creative Commons license found in the right column of this page.

Photos taken with my iPhone4 and the Hipstamatic app.