A walk with Muzzy, a dog who is a decent representative of Wasilla

Muzzy knew. I don't know how he knew, but he did. He knew that I was about to take my walk, even though I had not put on my jacket or done anything to signal my intent. His ears were perked; he had that excited look on his face and he was jumping up and down, hammering our bamboo floor with his claws.

I wanted to walk by myself. I walk to let my mind go, to let roam where it will even as I roam where I can reach, to let it play with words. I can not do this when I walk Muzzy. He demands 98.5 percent of my time and concentration, and then causes chaos during the 1.5 percent of my time that I do let my mind wander.

It is okay when Jacob and Lavina are here and I walk with them, because they take the responsibility, but Jacob is in New Mexico and Lavina in Arizona.

This type of thing used to be okay, too, back before Serendipity, before Muzzy, when Willow was the dog of the house. Willow and I would go into the woods and I would just let her go and she could run as she liked, my mind could go where it liked.

But now I cannot go into the woods. I must walk along roads and through subdivisions. Some call this, "improvement," "growth," "progress."

Even so, Muzzy needed to walk, so I took him.

"Muzzy! Muzzy!" I would keep saying and he was doing okay, until I saw this girl, walking her dog from Lower into Upper Serendipity.

Fortunately, I saw her before Muzzy did, and so I got a good solid grip on his collar.

He pulled and he jerked and he whined and he tugged against my arm. I thought about the screws that bind the artifical socket that my titanium humerus fits into to my bones and wondered how much of this kind of thing it could take before those screws popped out.

But I kept him restrained. He didn't like it, because he wanted to play with that dog, but he knew that I meant it.

Finally, the girl and her dog were safely out of sight. Next, I came upon Becky and her mother. Becky was thrilled to see Muzzy. "He's so sweet!" she said. "So beautiful."

This kind of thing happens often with Muzzy.

And he is all of those things. True, he's not a cat, but he is a pretty good fellow and if I did not have an artifical shoulder and they had never built Serendipity, I would not mind taking him out at all. I would enjoy it.

Becky's mother commented that she had a friend who has a collie that looks just like Lassie. "She's bigger than Muzzy," she said.

I wonder about that. Maybe she looks taller, because she's probably skinnier.

I bet Muzzy would weigh more, if you put the two on a scale.

I'm more than a bit disgusted with what is going on news-wise right now, emanating ultimately from our small town.

Muzzy could represent Wasilla better than these folks.

Jim, the amateur weatherman, takes care of his fifteen month old granddaughter so that her mother can go to college and her dad to war

In the old days, before Serendipity destroyed the life that I had led here, I would sometimes come across Jim in the woods, he walking one way with a dog and I, the other, also with a dog. Then developers tore down the woods, built high-priced houses and named their construction of the destruction of my way of life, Serendipity.

Years passed, and I did not see Jim. Then, on a sub-zero day last fall I met him again while walking along the new Seldon Road extension that sepates Lower Serendipity from Upper Serendipity - where the really expensive houses have been built.

We stopped to visit. I saw him again a couple of days later and then no more after that, until today, when we crossed paths in just about the exact same serendipitous place.

The big news in his life is that he and his wife are now taking care of their 15 month old great-granddaughter so that his granddaughter can go to college and her Army husband can train at Fort Richardson for his imminent departure to fight in Afghaniston.

"That must be fun," I said, thinking about how fun it is to have Kalib around here.

Jim's eyes went wide in agreement and dismay . "Oh, yes!" he said, "She's fun, but she's 15 months old and she is fast." She zips about here, and she zips about there. "They drop her off Sunday night and then pick her up Friday night.

"Her name is Natalie, but I call her Sweet Pea. Did you ever watch Popeye? She's just like Popeye's Sweet Pea." Sweet Pea, of course, forever scoots all over the place, zipping from chaos and hazard to hazard and chaos, and is always innocent of it.

I mentioned that by the end of the month, the snow will be gone (except perhaps for patches in shady places). Wasilla will look like a different place than it does now. Not green yet, no leaves will have broken out, but the temperature will consistently be above freezing and they will be budding, getting ready to sprout.

Jim told me that he mans a little weather station at his house and keeps a daily record of what happens. This winter, he recorded 57 days below zero, several in the - 30's and a few in the - 40's. Eight feet of snow fell in his yard, but there was a big meltdown in January.

March had nine sub-zero days, or maybe it was seven. He could not remember for certain.

Remember, Outside readers, Wasilla is not in one of Alaska's cold zones. Ours' is a more temperate climate than you will find in Alaska's cold zones.

After Jim went his way and I mine, I saw these kids, fresh off their school bus, walk into Lower Serendipity.

And these two walked the other way, into Upper Serendipty. Their parents must be really rich.

I leave Serendipity. A car with a man and woman in the front seat comes down Ward's Road.

And this girl walks toward Serendipity. I do not know if she ultimately walked into Lower or Upper, because I headed home, to Ravenview.

A moose crossed the road a hundred yards in front of me, but by the time I could get my camera out of my pocket and turn it on, it had disappeared into the trees.

And that pretty much defines everything that happened in Wasilla this day that is worth defining.

But in Alaska, it was a big news day.

Go to the Anchorage Daily News, and you can read all about it.

I wonder if there was any school today?

Today as I walked through my personal nightmare, the subdivision called Serendipity, these two boys came zipping by. They turned onto a side road, then soon came zipping back.

If I had had my DSLR's, I could have followed the action, but I only took the pocket camera on my walk and it recycles too slow. So I missed the mishap, which happened immediately after I took the top picture. I did capture the aftermath. 

As you can see, they went around a corner and the sled broke where the rope was attached. The boy on the sled slid to the curb.

That's Tristan, 11, on the left, and Reed, 12, on the right. I wondered why they were out during school hours and thought about asking them, but I did not want to frighten them, so I did not.

It was the first walk that I have taken through Serendipity in a long time; I think the first time this year. It hurts me to walk in Serendipity, that's why. I knew it when it was wild, when no one called it Serendipity. I knew it when, on a day such as today, it would be just me back there, on my skis, with my late dog, Willow, or my even later dog, Scout.

I left Serendipity and headed back to the house. It was then that I discovered that someone was in the air, above me, manning the stick.

This hurts, too.

Kalib stayed with us, all day today, after being gone for several days in a row. He walked all about, as if walking was something that he had always been doing.

All day long, he was happy; happier then I have seen him since before we went to Washington DC and Margie got hurt and he went off to daycare.

All day long, Margie was happier than I have seen her, since she got hurt.

Kalib plays with Royce and Muzzy. There are two more images in this series, but I am saving them for Grahamn Kracker's No Cats Allowed Kracker Cat blog.

I had gone from my office into the bedroom to get my jacket so that I could go to a kiosk and get some coffee.

Margie came in. "There's a young person here to see you," she said.

"Who?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "He knocked on the door and then asked for you."

So I headed to the door expecting to see some kind of missionary or salesman but instead it was Mike. I had not seen Mike for years.

He was probably about 12 when I first met him. I was walking and he came pedaling by me on a bike. I took his picture. We became friends after that and he would often come by to watch my electric train buzz around my office.

He was a train enthusiast, and knew more about them then I did. Once, he needed a caboose, so I gave him mine.

He is 19 now and lives in Talkeetna. Something brought him to the neighborhood, so he stopped by to say hi.

He was curious about my train. Trouble is, after I broke my shoulder and got it replaced with titanium, I could not do the things necessary to keep that train running.

One day, I will make it run again.

Kalib studies a bubble.

Kalib reaches for bubbles. And who blows all these bubbles?

Why, its his Mom, Lavina. 

Kalib. These bubbles were blown last night, by the way.

Today, as I drank my coffee and ate a cinnamon roll, I drove by Iona, the place where people pray. I thought about Elvis Presley, and about the humble people that he sang about.

And this is from yesterday's coffee break. Church Road. People must pray here, too. Maybe that guy up there is praying, quietly, so no one will hear.

Curious. There are no churches on Church Road, but there are a bunch on Lucille Street.