Full Moon

Booker was acting all buggy last night. We went for our 9:30ish walk and he was just ... off.

On the way home, I noticed the full moon.

What do you think? Is there a connection between dog behavior and a full moon? Man-Dad says "yes" ... his dogs have always been a bit loopier when the sky is shining with a huge yellow-white orb.

The moon was illuminating the New River last night, making the yachts glow. This morning, it was still hanging in the sky, almost at the western horizon.

Booker is at doggie daycamp today. Working out his weirdness. He was just too agitated to leave him in his kennel. I am at the gallery all day and the street is starting to come to life (is "season" finally here?) It's a bit unsettling here for Booker; he gets cranky when his nap attempts are constantly disturbed by people making dopey faces at him through the gallery window. The guy with the pitbull yesterday, who walked past and then backtracked to encourage a "window fight," put us both over the edge.

So dog camp is a good idea for today. And maybe H-Mom will get a SALE at the gallery today.

7 x 7 with photos and video!

Our big friend, the dude, Mango, tagged us to complete the 7 x 7 challenge, so here it is. H-Mom even took a photo of the girl Booker loves, just for this post.

7 Things I Plan To Do Before I Die

1. Go 'coon hunting one more time so that H-Mom and Man-Dad can see how good I am at it -- Man Dad has to bring his gun and flashlight
2. See a Treeing Walker at the Westminster Kennel Club
3. Steal a whole ham from the kitchen
4. Eradicate fleas and ticks from the earth
5. Make all humans treat their animals HUMANELY
6. Pee on every single vertical surface in Fort Lauderdale
7. Hear the Teen-human say "I love you Booker"

7 Things I Do Now

1. Bark a lot, loudly
2. Chase all the other dogs at the dog park, barking the whole time
3. Find imaginary raccoons in the trees at the dog park, and bark like a wild dog
4. Tell the other dogs in the building that I prefer a PRIVATE elevator, by barking loudly
5. Fling lots of foamy white slobber when I bark
6. Pretend that I'm barking by inhaling and exhaling and making my cheeks puff in and out and looking like I'm in a silent film, barking
7. Bark in my sleep, but only in a low rumble

7 Things I Can't Do

1. Maintain a level head and calm temperament at all times -- every once in awhile, I just SNAP
2. Make my nose stop leading me to things that get me in trouble
3. Resist sneaking on H-Mom and Man-Dad's bed when there is thunder
4. Pretend that I don't care when I hear the deli bin open in the refrigerator
5. Fetch a ball more than one time, maybe twice, per session
6. Pee it all out, in one big leg-lift, because I always save a little bit for the next tree and the next and the next
7. Stay away from my blog-friends ... I'm addicted



7 Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex

1. Girl dogs who are a little bit bossy, even a little bit bitchy
2. Hair that blows in the wind
3. A vaguely aloof air
4. A girl who runs like an antelope and actually pretends like I can catch her
5. A girl dog who is polite around my H-Mom and KNOWS that H-Mom belongs to me
6. A dog who knows how to make me jealous by paying more attention to BRUTUS the studly one-year old Doberman ... don't ask ...
7. A girl who doesn't even flinch when I bark

The picture above is of Kaylee, my best girl friend. She is such a show-off. I try to look like I don't really care, but everywhere she goes, I am just a few paces away. See me acting like I'm really more interested in some odor in the grass? Nope ... I've got my eyes on her at every minute. Isn't she beautiful?


7 Celebrities That I Admire

1. Droopy, the star of Dumb-Hounded. He looks like a Treeing Walker to H-Mom.

1943- Droopy - Dumb-Hounde
Uploaded by iToons

2. Elvis and Leon, the hound dogs in Black Snake Moan-- H-Mom spotted them when she was watching the movie with Man-Dad and she shouted, "Look at the Coonhounds!"
3. Old Dan and Little Ann, the hounds in the children's classic Where the Red Fern Grows
4. All the hounds working in Search and Rescue, especially the awesome Bloodhounds
5. Duke, Jed Clampett's Bloodhound on the Beverly Hillbillies
6. Huckleberry Hound, with his southern drawl and plodding determination
7. Elvis Presley, because he said he wasn't nothing but a hound dog, how cool is that?


7 Things That I Say Most Often

You've got to be kidding, right? I say everything often!

1. Awhooooooooooooo
2. Awhooo Awhoo Awhoooo
3. Awhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
4. Woo Woo
5. Awhoo
6. Wo Wooooo Wo Wo Wooooooooooooooooooooo
7. Awhoo whoo whooo

If I had it my way, I'd always be talking, who CARES what I'm saying!


7 who get to do this now

If you haven't done it, go ahead and go for it!
We need another:
Short one
Tall one
Young one
Old one
Long-haired one
Short-haired one
and a
very unusual one!
Shout out if you fit the bill ...

Modeling 101

This is what all the excitement is about: H-Mom emailed a photo of Booker to the American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue. Maybe, she thought, they would like to use it on their 2009 calendar?


It's a great photo. Truly a "Booker" moment. Who could resist those eyes. That lazy hound dog attitude. He would inspire donations. He would encourage adoptions.

They emailed. The photo is perfect for December. Booker, calendar dog.

Man-Dad is already figuring out the list of people who get Coonhound calendars for Christmas presents. There is excitement in the air.

But H-Mom used the photo online and before she did, she changed the resolution, so that it isn't suitable for print use. And she didn't save a copy of the high-res photo.

Now. The challenge. Recreate a moment.

That's why she was up in Booker's face the other day, taking photos when it was really nap time.

We tried again this morning. Me and Booker. The sofa, the lighting, the red and green holiday blanket. Booker was feeling unusually submissive. He kept rolling over for belly attention.

H-Mom would pull his leg one way and his rear end would go the other.

She would adjust his ear and his tongue would fall out.

She tried to tempt him into photographic submission with a toy and his eyes slid to half-mast.

It doesn't matter. This hounddog is full of personality.

Hillbilly Dog

Halloween Face.
Scarey Teeth.
Hillbilly Mouth.

H-Mom was trying to get a photo of Booker's nasty teeth. They are Hillbilly Teeth: broken, missing, worn down, chipped.

Booker was patient for about 5 minutes.

Then enough was enough. He growled and snapped.

Enough photos. And this was worse than being at the dentist. Who wants a camera in front of your embarrassing teeth.

Especially when it's just about time for a nap.

Back off with that camera.

The sky

H-Mom is back. She had a difficult trip, but it is a trip that has made her thankful for a lot of things. Like being home. Like having a family. Like having a dog.

Like walking in the morning and watching the sun come up. Like appreciating the clouds, and the calm, and the vastness of the sky.

She is already looking forward to that bit of peace tomorrow morning.

A dog's point of view

Okay, so let's say that this very high strung and anxious visitor flies into your life on the coat-strings of a hurricane.

She comes into your home.

And she makes herself comfortable in the teen-human's bedroom.

This is a room where you (as the D-O-G) have only recently re-won the privilege of hanging out. And you have a big blue cushion on the floor, and when you are being very good and very obedient, the teen-human allows you to curl up and go to sleep. And the teen-human bosses you around alot, and you work really hard to maintain your current state of "being in good graces with the moody 16-year-old girl teen-human."

So, this visitor puts a zipped travel bag in the room. Right on top of your blue cushion. THE special blue cushion upon which you are so pleased to have earned the rights to being welcomed again.

And then you go to sleep. No one is home, except you and that V-I-S-I-T-O-R. And the travel bag is right on your cushion.

Then the visitor barges into the teen-human's room (a very sacred place, which you, as a dog, are KEENLY aware of) and wakes you up and GRABS the travel bag right off of your cushion.

You see, as a DOG, you thought the TRAVEL BAG was now yours. It was, after all, on your special cushion. And, even though you have no TEETH (being the hillbilly dog that you are) and even though you can't rip the travel bag open, you have the nose-of-all-noses ... you have a HOUND DOG NOSE, and you KNOW what is in the travel bag.

You KNOW that, in the travel bag, there may be (or at least the remnants of) a:


See, you should work at the airport as a bag inspector. You should screen for contraband. You should capture and confiscate whatever your nose dictates.

You become CUJO and go after the visitor. Who, in your eyes has little to no RIGHT or AUTHORITY when it comes to being in your house, because even though you, as the DOG, are accepting that you are the bottom entity in the pack, even BELOW the teen-human, you are still IN THE PACK, the visitor IS NOT. And you are the only pack member in the house. The pecking order, to you, as the dog is very obvious. Especially when it comes to a travel bag that involves a sandwich.

Then the teen-human comes home from cross-country, drags her tired body into her bedroom and flops on the bed. And you make the MISTAKE of growling at her. And she is ready to evict you again. PERMANENTLY. And then Man-Dad comes in, and you growl at him. And all this time, NO ONE knows that there is a SANDWICH in the mysterious TRAVEL BAG that somehow has landed on YOUR CUSHION, and by every law in dog-dom, is now YOURS.

Until, all of a sudden, TEEN-HUMAN figures something out. She is becoming quite a DOG WHISPERER. Her relationship with the D-O-G is becoming very complicated and, actually, very special. Their friendship has been hard-won.

TEEN-HUMAN says: "THERE MUST BE SOMETHING IN THAT TRAVEL BAG, BECAUSE BOOKER IS BEING VERY AGGRESSIVE ABOUT IT!"

And then the visitor confesses to being a sandwich horder. See, she was fleeing a hurricane, and didn't know if she would ever have a meal again.

And the travel bag is cautiously removed.

And sandwich evidence is taken away and destroyed.

And peace is returned. Booker shared the sofa with the visitor all evening, watching CNN and the Weather Channel, and didn't even think twice about the TRAVEL BAG INCIDENT.

No one is making excuses for your behavior, as a BAD DOG, but they understand it. You have food issues, and they are BIG issues, and that was really an unfair test. With all the factors of high emotional tension in the house, a visitor, invasion of territory, desertion by the rest of the pack, and inaccessible food. A very unfair test.

The fury of Ike

On Monday, we thought that IKE was going to send my sister, her daughter and the C-A-T to our door, refugees from South Beach in Miami.

This afternoon, we picked up David's mother, who IKE has sent to us as a refugee from Houston. How ironic, to flee a hurricane by flying into another hurricane-infested state.

And now we have a dog issue. David had to run to pickup the teen-human from cross country practice.

He left his mother alone at the condo with Booker.

Booker was sleeping soundly, on his cushion #2 in the teen-human's bedroom, which is where Mom is staying. She walked quietly into the bedroom -- alone in the house with Booker -- to get something out of her bag.

And Booker started out of his sleep, barked, growled and lunged at her. She was afraid he would bite.

He has completely gotten over his aggression toward my daughter. She is asserting herself and we all are careful to not startle him out of sleep, and to "boss him around" regularly. We have never had a single incident of aggression toward guests. Booker is friendly, playful, hospitable when teenagers invade the house. He is fine with my sister and her daughter. He is polite but aloof with cocktailing friends.

This is troubling. We must not leave her alone with him for at least a few days of acclimatization. She needs to be liberal with the treat jar. And assertive with the commands.

Thank goodness he didn't bite.

Where did he go?

So, the "No SWIMMING - Alligator" sign at the dog lake is gone.

But there is no explanation. Did they catch him? Did he walk away? Did he never exist in the first place?

All of the dog owners are mumbling nervously.

Who will be the first to let their dog leap into the cool water? Is it fair to wait for a naive "weekender" and then gather around to observe the outcome? How long will it take for everyone to forget the 'gator intrusion?

It this, then that

We are making plans, just in case IKE really does slam Miami and Fort Lauderdale. We will be safe in our 19th story bunker. Hurricane glass, lots of supplies, candles and radio. H-Mom's sister and niece will evacuate from South Beach, though. And they would come to hunker down with us. They would be bringing along: We are imagining that the storm outside will divert Booker's attention from any feline disruption in the condo.

Coonhound on a Bike

Motorcycle fans! Coonhound fans! Unite! We saw Booker on a bike and he looked great!

Morning History Lesson

Man-Dad is golfing this afternoon, so he took the car instead of his work truck. Man-Dad is a real golfer. He doesn't get in nearly enough golfing, and this afternoon is a work-golf-function, so that is a bonus! Doesn't Booker look sad sitting by the golf clubs? Clubs out mean that Man-Dad is leaving soon.


That left H-Mom without transportation to the dog park, so it was a "power walk" morning instead. It was dark when we left the condo before 7am, and we headed along the riverwalk on the south side of the New River. Up and across the Andrews Street drawbridge ... around to the riverwalk on the north side of the river, then west through the Riverfront, Old Fort Lauderdale, and the Symphony Center.

H-Mom decided to walk all the way to the end of the paved riverwalk path, which goes to Sailboat Bend and Cooley's Landing, the site of the Cooley Massacre. Sailboat Bend is a long stretch of slips and ramps that is full of sailboats. Lots of boaters live in or pass through Fort Lauderdale. With the Atlantic, the New River, and its series of canals, Fort Lauderdale is a boat-friendly destination. Booker and H-Mom walked along the dock planks all the way past the sailboats. It was both early and a workday, so the docks were very quiet.

At regular intervals along the docks are signs warning boaters to be aware of the New River's most quiet, gentle residents: manatees. They are very shy, and don't move quickly. They are constantly in danger of being injured by boat propellers, and there are cautions everywhere to help protect the manatees.

It is very rare to see them from the shore, but boaters often see them floating along in the New River. If we look out the window of the 19th floor elevator lobby down to the river, on very rare occasions we can spot the large grey silhouette of a manatee coming to the surface for air before disappearing casually back to the deeper water.


The very west end of the river walk is Cooley's Landing, where there is a historical marker for the Cooley Massacre. In 1836, William Cooley returned from a trading trip to find his wife, children and the children's tutor brutally murdered by Indians. Cooley was one of the original settlers of the area that is now Fort Lauderdale. He cultivated and milled arrowroot, and at first maintained a friendly relationship with the Seminoles. The conflict and attack on his family sent many white settlers running from the region. This was one of the precipitating events of the Second Seminole War, and the establishment of a military outpost that was named Fort Lauderdale.


White man's settlement of indigenous people's lands has contributed many tragic stories to our country's history. The Seminole Indians were eventually pushed deep into the inhospitable Everglades, where they adapted and tried to maintain their culture.

Today, the proud Seminoles are the only Indian Tribe in North America never to have signed a Peace Treaty with the U.S. government and one of a handful that was never conquered. The tribe operates out of headquarters in Hollywood, Florida; the Seminoles own more than 96,000 acres statewide, with much of its reservation land located deep in the Everglades on the Big Cypress reservation. (Remember Anna Nicole's death? It occurred under Seminole jurisdiction at the Hard Rock Hotel in Hollywood.)

In modern Fort Lauderdale, there are more curious potentially life-threatening hazards than Indians. One study suggests that more than 150 people worldwide are killed by falling coconuts - 15 times more than are killed by sharks. Although these figures may not be well-documented, it is suggested that pedestrians avoid walking under coconut-laden trees, and that you do not park your car under palms.

On the way home this morning, H-Mom and Booker passed city trucks doing their regular "coconut removal." We don't want tourists bonked on the head! Booker is getting so accustomed to his "city life" that he doesn't bark at huge trucks, WTFs or other dogs out enjoying the morning very often any more. And he has absolutely no interest in coconuts, either.

On the topic of ears

Our friend Barley blogged about his ears. Actually about how his H-Mom calls his ears "potato chip ears." That made us laugh. Sometimes Booker's ears look like potato chips, too.

They don't ever stand up -- he's got floppy hound ears -- but they twitch up and down and back and forth and they are remarkably communicative. The wrinkles in his forehead and his soulful hound dog eyes help with Booker's tendency toward overemotional expressiveness.

But WAIT! Check out Copper's ears! If you are looking for a dog with absolutely remarkable ears, Copper is your guy! He is up for adoption through the American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue. He is a liver Bloodhound. He rocks. He has some tracking experience, too. Those long ears help "sweep" scents up from the ground so that they go in his nose, where they are essential for doing things like tracking. Or "mantrailing." They are very useful ears, if you are a Bloodhound.

H-Mom is in love with Copper. She can't stop looking at his ears.

Of course, Booker has great ears too. Booker's ears even turn inside-out and then go back to right-side-in all on their own. Not Bloodhound ears, but EXCELLENT ears, right?

Artful existence

Booker is spending some mornings at the gallery, from opening until about 1 or so. Today he has been here for more than six hours! He is doing great - that is a record!

It's very quiet on the street in the summer, as it is "off season," and few people come in. H-Mom thinks that gallery-time is good for socialization ... and that the handful of humans who come in and out help Booker perfect some important things like not-rushing-the-door and not-trying-to-barge-out and staying-calm-somewhere-besides-home. These tasks are actually a lot of hard work. When Booker lays down-- IF Booker lays down -- it is only for a short respite from watching out the window.

And then something exciting happens.

These are some of the exciting things that occurred just this week:

• Landscaping crew removed all the pavers in the median with sledgehammers. That made lots of noise.
• Two giant chestnut horses with mounted police clomp-clomped slowly past on the street. These creatures were AMAZING and FRIGHTENING and STRANGER THAN FICTION ... much bigger than raccoon! It was very obvious that Booker has never seen a horse before.
  
• Quite a few people opened the door just to say "HI" to the "DOG." That kind of annoys H-Mom because Booker gets all riled up and it's not even for a s-a-l-e. Sales are important to H-Mom and this is a slow month. That is good for Booker visiting the gallery, but it is not good for H-Mom's bank account.
  
• The "DUCK" drove by. The "DUCK" is a huge amphibious vehicle that hauls tourists up and down the street. We think they go in the water somewhere too. It is very tacky. All the tourists shout "quack quack quack" on command, which is very silly, as they do not look anything like ducks.
• Man-Dad stopped to say hello. He snuck in the backdoor and had Booker totally confused. What was Man-Dad doing HERE? That was fun and very exciting.
• The mailman comes everyday and is becoming a f-r-i-e-n-d!
• Booker got brave and decided that the leather chair is much, much more comfortable than the cement floor.
  

H-Mom has a little dish of snappy-snacks and Booker gets one whenever he gracefully manages the in-and-out of pedestrians. Now Booker comes over to the desk when he has been well-behaved to request his reward.

He still has to wear his citronella collar because sometimes he is a little "tightly wound," as H-Mom is starting to call it. She is sure that it is a Coonhound thing ... and she forgives him for it every single time. "Tightly wound" is kind of a creative personality trait, anyway, right?

Here, let Booker take you for a quick tour. He hasn't peed on a single thing. Booker has great respect for the arts:

Tennessee Lead

Very few people in South Florida recognize Booker's breed. We are a region densely populated by little condo-perfect dogs -- all fancy purebreds and designer crossbreeds -- with a few high visual-impact large dogs, like borzoi and afghans, thrown in.

"Wow, that's a beagle on steroids!"
"What kind of beagle-mix is that?"

We get those all the time.

Fort Lauderdale has a hefty share of the Domicile-Challenged (as our friend Biggie Z refers to them ...) also known as WTFs for their frequent outbursts at innocent citizens and tourists.

Yesterday I was walking Booker along the river, where many of our local WTFs (another Biggie Z-ism) hang out. Actually at times, it looks like a WTF convention around here.

Anyway, more than once, the older black men in the generally eclectic WTF population have addressed us, often loudly, and often with very southern accents.

"Hey, lady, my bossman had some of them coondogs."
"That's a Walker hound, isn't it ma'am."
"I used to keep them Walkerhounds for hunting, lady."

Yesterday, one of them looked at us and asked excitedly, "That's a Tennessee Walker, ain't it missus?"

His friend jumped up, annoyed. "No, that's a Treeing Walker," shouted his bench buddy.

George Washington Maupin (Left), Tennessee Lead and William J. Walker (Right) (courtesy Google images)

I smiled. "Actually, he's a Treeing Walker, and they were bred from a dog named Tennessee Lead originally."

"SEE," shouted the first one and he began whapping his buddy with a rolled up newspaper.

Booker and I beat a hasty retreat along our riverside path. David has suggested that I don't walk along the river any more. We are fairly water-bound. The options are not many. And as long as the WTFs appreciate a good coonhound, I guess we are okay.

Sign at the Tennessee-Kentucky stateline (click to enlarge) marking the trail of Tennesse Lead, a stolen hounddog. (courtesy Google images)

Job Description: Commander in Chief

Booker P. Washington.

A name synonymous with integrity and strength in defense.

An American original.

A working dog, strong of heart and tireless, with a record of proudly and bravely standing up for his country.

He has earned accolades (or at least attention) for vocally and persistently identifying border breaches.

He has proven his dedication to national security by tirelessly identifying enemy cells.

He has fearlessly entered hostile territory in pursuit of threats to his fellow citizen.



Booker P. Washington.

A candidate strong on country.

Note: This may be a shamelessly biased candidate endorsement.

Thoughts on a Kong

Before H-Mom got this crazy idea that a COONHOUND would be the right breed for the family. And before she did all this research and saw how COONHOUNDS go all crazy in the woods, and how they often are kept only tied or chained or in wire pens, and how they are "THROWN AWAY" when they become an expense or slow down or don't hunt productively. Before she found out that they are difficult to rehome because they are often thought of as hunting dogs and not at all as PETS.

Before all that, I have heard that H-Mom and Man-Dad were looking for a Labrador. They even did tons and tons of research. They registered with "South Florida Labrador Rescue," and had a home visit! They talked black, chocolate, yellow and even RED. They set out all the photos of the Labradors that Man-Dad used to have. He loved those Labradors. They put up alerts for adoptable Labradors.

They found a Labrador breeder in South Florida who had a 2-year old female needing a home. (She was not quite a Show star and was not going to be bred.) They even went to visit this Labrador.

They were serious. Serious about a Lab.

There is evidence:


They had even BOUGHT some toys, expecting a Labrador.

Note that THIS Kong is a "WATER" Kong. It is made for throwing INTO the water so that a retriever-minded dog can leap into the water, swim, grab the floating Kong, and then return it to the pitcher. This Kong is specifically designed for a game of ... water fetch.

Then H-Mom and Man-Dad got a call from American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue. "Booker can come and live with you! We can ship him this weekend!" Actually, H-Mom and Man-Dad got this phone call when they were on the highway, on their way home from visiting the beautiful, water-loving black Labradors at Surfside Labs. That's where they met the sweet 2-year female that they could have.

Now, look at this foot:


Here, Booker will hold it up for you. Look carefully:


There is no webbing on this foot. It is the tidy, cat-like paw of a Coonhound. It is large-padded, well-clawed, for giving traction when tracking, and for clawing up a tree after cornered raccoons, bears and mountain lions. This is not the foot of a water retriever. There are no webs. Nothing duck-like here.

The only interest that Booker has in water is cooling his paws if there is a puddle on a hot road or quickly powering through it if the scent he is on comes out the other side. There is no Coonhound "joy of water just for the sake of water."

So the only thing that a Coonhound could possibly do with a WATER KONG is make like it's a RACCOON and kill it. Shake it really hard and growl. Shake the living daylights out of it some more. And then suggest that a Coonhound can do that much, much better than any Labrador could ever do, looking up at H-Mom and Man-Dad with those big, always mournful-looking Coonhound eyes.

Something to prove

Booker got wind (with his hound-dog nose) of a rumour about his less than manly behavior during recent fireworks and thunderstorms.

This morning, he hit the dog park with something to prove.

It took less than 5 minutes for him to determine that a raccoon was up a tree. He then opted to spend his park-hour aggressively trying to dismantle the banyan, climb it, or get someone to SHOOT the 'coon.

H-Mom gave up trying to coax him away from the tree. "If that's how he opts to spend his time at the dog park, let him at it," she said.

"At least it's good cardio," a friend observed.

After an hour, he had to be snapped into his prong collar and led away, howling, from the park. His frustration was tangible.

Booker was so wiped out, he couldn't even stand for the car ride home. The photo is blurry because he was panting heavily.

Please, don't infer that Booker is a coward, or less-than-worthy hunting partner.

At least not within earshot ...

Fairy Ring

A Fairy Ring appeared magically overnight in the park where we walk every day.

It was beautiful, a symphony of giant, sparkling white mushrooms. H-Mom doesn't know what kind they are, but she thinks they are a poisonous type from what she found on the Web. Anyway, we didn't touch them. The ring was too pretty. Some people say that a Fairy Ring is bad luck, but others say that it predicts very good fortune, and might even be a sign that there is hidden treasure! In folklore, Fairy Rings are said to be the place where elves gather at night to dance.

When H-Mom was growing up in France, she knew lots of people who went "mushrooming" on the weekends. People are very brave to eat wild mushrooms -- we would hesitate to taste them even if they were collected by an "expert." We will stick to buying our mushrooms at Publix.

Wild mushrooms are plentiful in South Florida in the summer, which is our rainy season. They appear when a few days of heavy rain are followed by dryer, sunny days. This is exactly what the weather as been this week. Golf courses are not very keen on them, as they pop up very quickly and ruin the "look" of the course by creating a circle of dead grass or discoloration. Lawncare resources call Fairy Rings a "disease."

Booker didn't smell anything interesting in our Fairy Ring, so we didn't disturb a thing. Maybe the fairies will come back and dance again tonight.

It looks more like magic than "disease"!

Condo Coonhound

Listening for the elevator to stop on "19" with that bing

Sitting politely on the elevator to get to "G"

Exiting and entering through the service entrance as requested


Of course, with that coonhound nose,
Booker can even find the correct door in a long, monotonous hallway