Fluffy and Me

What is it with me and random new fabulous friends?

First, Judy, and now Don!

A few days ago, we had an afternoon of glorious weather after much rain and cold. My daughter had a scrimmage softball game and so I decided to head out with my son and Dog to enjoy the sunshine.

I dropped Savannah off, parked the car, put Dog on his leash and we ventured out into the wonderful Pleasanton Sports Park. The Sports Park is the very essence of Pleasanton and is a great symbol of why people are so nuts about this city.

This is one HUMUNGOUS (2.15 miles walking trail around the complex!) area dedicated to sports--with families in mind. Beyond the I-don't-know-how-many-but-lots-and-lots of sports fields, there are three playgrounds, public bathrooms (that aren't too gross), snack bars selling M&Ms for 50 cents and mediocre caffé lattes for $1.50 (and really, that does tell you a little about Pleasanton, that we would even attempt to sell designer coffees out of the snack shack at little league games!)

But that’s just the infrastructure.

The really, amazingly cool thing is that everywhere you look you see men and women who work long, hard days in sales or hi-tech or some such thing, and then spend hours and hours of their spare time, leaving work early, sacrificing their weekends….to play ball.


There is not much glory or reward as society would typically define it for a little league coach. No riches to speak of, except for maybe a gift card to The Cheesecake Factory at the end of the season. And the most recognition they get is the moment at the end-of-the-season party in which the coaches are inevitably pushed into the pool.

So what are they thinking?!

After ten-plus seasons of spring ball between both kids, with absolutely amazing, generous coaches, I know that the coaches do it for the love of the game and the love of their kids and the joy of seeing other people’s kids work hard to reach their potential.

My mother, a traditional Southern gal and a wise and insightful observer of human nature, after going to a few games and meeting the coaches, who were so cooperative in playing my kids in special positions so Grandma could see them in action said to me, "Those men coaches are so patient!"

But, as usual, I digress. Back to Dogs...

On this particular splendid day, Dog quickly discovered a darling black Cocker Spaniel about his same size, at the end of a lease held by a robust, friendly-looking man.


The dogs quickly connected and the humans did, too.

The human was Don. His dog was “Fluffy,” although her pedigreed name (and I noticed he threw that in pretty much right away—didn’t want me to think this was just any old mutt, although, as Seinfield would say, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”) was "Caylee Rose."

And then he quickly told me that the child who he bought the dog for, a friend’s granddaughter, was named Kalista Rose. “It was destiny that these two would be together!”

I immediately fell in love with Don and his destiny dog.

What was really cool was that Don gave all the impression of being a manly, man—a big tough guy, (and I later found out he fought in the Korean War) but he was a total cupcake about the dog. I mean, really, who names their dog “Fluffy?”

And Don was as devoted to his dog as I have ever seen.

“I’m afraid Fluffy has a few extra pounds on her,” he said almost apologetically. Fluffy had so much fluffy fur, I couldn’t tell, but she looked ok to me.

“I don’t want a dog to go hungry,” he said. “If she’s hungry, I feed her!”

“Oh, I agree! Sunny has an extra pound or two (or five, I thought), but really, what are a dog’s pleasures? Eating and going for walks? What the heck?!”

“Fluffy gets lots of walks,” Don said with pride.

“But I treat Fluffy like a child,” he said. “If I’m eating a steak and a child wants to eat, I’m not going to give him peanut butter and jelly! I’ll give him what I’m eating. Fluffy likes a little beef tenderloin.”

And, again, I agree. If I’m eating steak and Dog smells it, he will totally get a couple of bites. His pleasure. Then he’s on to his kibble if he’s hungry. My compromise.

I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of Don and Fluffy this softball season. We'll probably have many more conversations about life and dogs. Just one of the many joys that Dog has brought to my life.

When I Grow Up, I Want to Be Like Judy

This doesn’t have much to do with Dog or dogs in general, but I just had to write this.

One of the wonderful things about getting away, out of your comfort zone is meeting and talking to people who you would not normally encounter in your day-to-day life.

As I was walking along the California Coast in Half Moon Bay, an elderly gentleman with a cane stopped me and said,

“Do you know that’s Maverick Beach?! That’s where they have the big surfing competitions. Big waves. People come from all around the world to surf there. Not so big waves today, but you can see a little breaking waves.”

Then a sprightly elderly lady in a purple knit cap piped up,

“Oh, Bill! Are you giving your history lessons again?!”

And I quickly said, “Yes! And it’s wonderful!” Hoping that Bill would not be embarrassed.

He sauntered off quickly, mumbling, and I was left alone with the woman I would come to know as Judy.

Judy and I were walking in the same direction and so we walked and talked together—both grateful for the spontaneous company.

I learned that Judy had moved to Half Moon Bay in 1992 after her husband retired from Lockheed. “He always wanted to live by the ocean,” she said. “But he died two years later.”

Judy was the type of person who you really couldn’t tell how old she was—I’m guessing she’s in her 80’s by the timing of her husband’s retirement. But, your idea of an 80-something-year-old would be blown away by the reality of Judy.

Although Judy sensed that I normally walked at a brisker pace, and she told me that I was welcome to walk ahead if I wanted to go faster, Judy was moving along at a pretty good clip. And I enjoyed her, so we stuck together.

I learned many things—a slight dusting of local and personal cornucopia…

Judy had two children, although one had died and the other one lived in Wisconsin and was not in good health.

Judy didn’t like the restaurant at the Ritz—preferring, instead, Sam’s Chowder House--where we had an excellent, fun dinner with live music on Saturday night—Thanks, Judy!

And the big revelation was that there was a casual golf restaurant across the street from the Ritz where I had a wonderful breakfast the next day for less than half the price that I had paid the previous morning! (Believe it or not, the Ritz charges $8 for a bagel! At Mullins a bagel and cream cheese is a veritable bargain at $3!)

I also learned about Poppy and Pepper,


The horses that were rescued from the racetrack by a local. Those are two lucky horses. Here’s their view:


And I learned about the satellite at the end of the coast. “They complained when they put it up and then when they wanted to take it down, they complained.”

People don’t like change.

Judy shared her ritual with me. She took me to the edge of the cliffs where she says she always goes and looks out to the ocean. Four points. Beautiful views. I said a brief silent prayer, but I didn’t feel intimate enough with Judy to ask if she did the same, or even if she believed in God, although I wish I had.

When we turned around to go back, we happened upon the much superior, better view “Golfer’s Only” path at the Ritz. Judy confided that she would often look to see if there were golfers on the course, and if there weren’t, she would squeeze through the fence


and go on that path. Was I game?

You betcha! The idea of doing something outside of the lines with my new BFF—why not, what did we have to lose? Except the possibility that I would get stuck, wedged between the fences.

We made it and, almost immediately, a golf cart driven by a guy in a red jacket and a Ritz Carlton baseball cap was tailing us.

Judy didn’t wait for the admonishment. She greeted him before he could say a word:

“I’m a local and she’s visiting. We looked and there were no golfers and so we thought we would take the scenic route,” she said, and I am thinking that if you are in your 80’s and quick-witted, you can probably get away with a lot of stuff.

“I’m sorry,” I said, although I didn’t mean it. “Judy corrupted me!”

The “marshall” as Judy called him, smiled as he gave us a stern warning and advised us to walk fast because golfers were on their way. Wahoo! We got away with it!

As we came to the end of our walk, I remarked that Judy needed a little dog to keep her company in this dog-friendly community.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “Do you know how many times dogs need to stop and sniff?!”

Yes, Judy, I do. You're probably right. A dog would just slow you down.

Paradise

Shhhh! PLEASE, whatever you do, DO NOT tell Dog that I just spent the weekend in doggie (and human) paradise. If he knew, I don’t think he could ever forgive me for leaving him behind.

If I had only known that Half Moon Bay was such a Mecca for dogs…

When my husband got invited to an Entrepreneur’s Conference at the fabulous Ritz Carlton Half Moon Bay


AND spouses were invited AND the company was paying—how fast can we say “No Brainer?! Pack your suitcase!”

I was looking forward to a blissful, relaxing weekend—free of responsibilities—housework, kids and Dog (sorry, kids and Dog!) But, little did I know that I would encounter dogs everywhere I went!

Dogs on the beach, dogs on the hiking trails, dogs in the shops, dogs in the restaurants!


That is so perfect—Cameron’s Restaurant for Dogs!

Big Dogs


Little Dogs


Black and White Dogs


Do you like my hat?


Go Dog, Go!

I almost expected to see a Big Dog Party in a Tree in downtown!

Dogs dressed in biker jackets and frilly pink sweaters and Burberry coats.

I watched one crazy dog lady from a distance, but didn’t have my camera. Later, when I decided to blog about it, I Googled “Half Moon Bay Dogs” and guess what showed up as the fourth search result?:



Jeff kept asking me if I missed Dog (I don’t think he asked this about the kids, strangely enough, he knew the answer and I’m not telling what it was).

My response, “No, not at all.”

Until Sunday morning. When I saw a woman jogging with her fluffy white dog with the absolutely beautiful face who looked like he could have been Dog’s long-lost, much larger, third cousin, twice-removed:


And, as I walked alone, in perfect peace along that beautiful coast, I thought that maybe, just maybe, it might be even more perfect if Dog were there to share the experience.

And at that moment, I didn’t wish for anyone else. My husband was happily sleeping in late and he doesn’t like to hike anyway. My daughter hates to wake up early and forced physical exercise on a weekend is her idea of pure hell. My son is more apt to go for an early morning walk/hike, but then we have another being to try to keep happy in terms of path, length of walk, etc. and it is not always so relaxing.

Everyone in my life has their own agenda and desires and personalities and mostly I spend an extraordinary amount of time and effort trying to make peace and work it out so that everyone is happy.

And Dog, while demanding in his own way, is pretty much happy (thrilled!) to be with me with a few basic needs met—a morning walk, kibble with a little shredded cheese, a belly rub. And, although he may tug on the leash a little to try to exert his will, he is mostly satisfied to let me go where I want and he's happy to be my silent companion. Is it any wonder that I love him so much?

Happy Ending—Cameron and I are taking kids and dogs to Half Moon Bay for the day during Spring Break and we are totally having lunch at Cameron’s!