Any doubts about Hooper’s hiking abilities, including high altitude, cold/snow, distance, have been put to rest. Hooper is a wonder dog.

With the holiday weekend winding down, and with the entire Front Range experiencing a very late start to the snow season, I decided to go up to Brainard Lake and scope out the trail to Mount Audubon, a hike that Brenda & I successfully did last summer. Mount Audubon stands over 13,000’ tall, so generally by this time of the year it’s totally covered with snow and is a challenge to summit. But with the dearth of snow we’ve had so far this year, I thought it might be a doable climb, and a great intro for Hooper to a longer and higher hike. Brenda’s been a bit under the weather, so she stayed home but Hooper & I headed out around 8:30 this morning to see what kind of trouble we could get into.

The access road to Brainard Lake is closed this time of year, which adds another two miles of walking just to get to the trailhead; I totally underestimated the impact of this, especially in winter with all the snow. Forty minutes after we left the car, we finally arrived at the Marshall Lake trailhead (I was totally going from memory of our hike last year, and I have to say I was pretty happy that I was able to find my way back!). At this point, I had already pulled a couple of chunks of ice from Hooper’s paws and his whiskers had icicles hanging from them, but he seemed interested in nothing but proceeding in a forward direction. I decided to hit the trail for a little while.

As we walked along the trail, I recalled the great hike Brenda, Bryce and I did up this trail last summer, and on we pushed, through the snow. I decided we should at least try to make it to treeline…

When you hike these high peaks, you eventually reach a point somewhere around 11,000’ there the oxygen is so thin, most vegetation gives up and heads for lower ground: treeline. You emerge from the cover of the thicket of trees and enter a rocky moonscape, windy and barren; ironically, I find myself the most alive when I’m up there.

And so when we emerged from the trees, and the winds began to blast us—no longer shielded by the trees—I concluded that we simply must continue on. I was not expecting to make the summit, but I wanted to press on for a little bit at least, in hopes of making the ridge before the final push to the summit where there are some spectacular views in their own right.

The winds picked up as we pressed on, and there was little shelter available for relief from the wind. Checking my watch I realized we had been walking for almost two hours, and simple math makes that out to be a four hour hike to the car, so I decided we were done for the day. I found a spot that wasn’t quite so windy, fed Hooper some food, and snapped a few pics:

Here’s my favorite picture from the day, with Hooper looking at some hikers on a lower peak while Long’s Peak looms in the background:

After that pic was taken, we headed back home, and arrived at the car three and a half hours after we left. Looking at a topo map after we got home, I estimate we turned around just a little short of the goal, but sill walked about ten miles in total and got up well over 12,000’ high. After giving him dinner, Hooper has been asleep ever since, but I think he’s proven his mountain mettle. Next summer is gonna be awesome. You’ll be seeing us on top of many high peaks, you can bank on it.

It’s been a while, again. First off, it’s Facebook’s fault. That’s right, I joined Facebook and I can’t seem to stop checking in every day to update my “status” message and see how many friends my friend Lauren has. But, that’s not the purpose of this post. Discussion on the insanely silly endeavor of Facebook will surely follow, maybe after Thanksgiving.

Anyway, Brenda has been working crazy hours again, and it all came to a head over the last couple-few weeks, and finally ended this past Thursday, when the show she was building some suits for opened at the University of Colorado. And it turns out that the guy who she was working for has a condo in the mountains that was going unused this weekend, so we loaded up the truck and moved to Keystone… resort that is; snowbarders, movie stars…

Brenda & I (and Hooper) had not been in the mountains in the winter yet since moving to Colorado, and it was fantastic. So far this year, old man winter has not really visited the near mountains but that’s ok with us since we’re not skiers or snowboarders. But this gave us a chance to experience a typical Colorado mountain resort town at the beginning of the high season, and it was certainly entertaining for us.

With Hooper settled in the condo, we headed out into the village to find some lunch. As we walked through “town” (Keystone resort is home to several fabricated centers of Starbucks and clothiers and liquor stores situated maze-like, Disney-style, around the lifts) we started to absorb the amalgam of skier/snowboarder fashion/lingo/gait/attitude. At one point Brenda said “uh, yeah, we’ve definitely entered a foreign world”, and I could only laugh and agree. I have been soaking up some of the lingo just from listening to office conversations about ski conditions (apparently the amount of base is important, and for some, a nice run of groomers is awesome, but that definitely outs you as a skier and the boarders will, like, totally frown on you), and I caught some glimpses of the fashions in the sale circulars every week last year, but it wasn’t until we walked through a living breathing throng of True Believers that I really came to grips with the odd, different, and let’s face it, totally cool world of alpine sports.

There’s a certain swagger that the snowboarders have; it almost seems like they’re fully conscious of the outlandishly baggy nylon clothes they’re wearing, emblazoned with obviously targeted graphics that they’ve paid a lot of money for, but don’t care (and to those of you that truly don’t care, I salute you; especially those that can’t really afford all that shit.

The skiers, then: they have this cool way of slinging their skis over one shoulder and hooking their arms over the end of the skis, backing that up with a swagger all their own, a more muted swagger that seems to say “we were her first, assholes, don’t fuck with us (but boy, it sure does seem like you guys are having a simpler, cooler time of things)”.

I was struck by the sense that this was one big party that I had no idea was going on (god dammit); at every bar (of which there were several), there were racks out front where people would leave their boards or skis, after a hard day of sliding down the slopes. My initial reaction was to look for some sort of locking mechanism, but there was none; these people were leaving their high priced equipment at the door, unlocked! This did not compute for this northeasterner. Inside, people sat around and ate and drank in the gear they wore all day as they careened down mountains on slippery planks of various sizes with no brakes. I felt inadequate. I ordered a beer. Here’s what we woke up to, out the front door of our place:

Brenda, Hooper and I made the best of our abilities by going on a couple of short hikes, punctuated with Hooper discovering his love of snow (or perhaps re-discovering; Hooper was a stray from Utah and we figure he was born around early February of 2007, so he’s probably no stranger to snow, but who knows?).

We left early on Sunday, took a scenic way home along the Peak-to-peak Highway, and got home in time to enjoy an early dinner at Zolo Grill, one of our favorite restaurants in Boulder. All in all, a great way to spend Brenda’s first free weekend in a long time.

DDC. Doggie Day Care. Hooper’s there right now. See for yourself right here; click the link for the webcams, and check out the action in play area two. It’s a full house today, and there are half a dozen black labs to boot, but you can still spot him; he’s the cutest one in the bunch.

Six hours, that’s what it takes to tire him out. Like, I mean, really tire him out. Hooper spent six hours at Camp Bow-Wow today, his first experience with this so-called doggie day care deal. What a friggin’ hoot.

Brenda has a bunch of deadlines to meet, and since she’s been working from home, half her energy and time is spent managing Hooper during the day. So today we thought it might be a good idea for me to take Hooper off her hands and let her make some headway without poop and and chew-toy distractions. Now, Hoop’s spent half-days with me in the office before, but knowing that he starts getting cranky and rambunctious around 3pm we thought maybe today we’d try a new program: morning with Rob in the office, and afternoon at dogie day care. It couldn’t have worked out better.

To begin the day, my co-worker Mike dropped by my office with his two dogs Hoodabai and Snap around 9am. I’d met “Hooda” before, as he’s brought her in in the past, but Mike’s wife had both Hoodabai and Snap—their other dog, a beautiful Red Tick Coonhound—in the car when she dropped Mike off at work, and he wanted me to meet him. And so it was in the hallway outside my office that the three dogs had an impromptu meet-n-greet while half the office looked on from the kitchen at the end of the hall.

The rest of the morning was the usual ADD experience of work peppered with visits by co-workers (generally brought about by yours truly IM’ing co-workers to alert them of Hooper’s office attendance) and checks to make sure Hooper wasn’t eating anything he wasn’t supposed to. But at noon, it was time for Hooper’s life to change.

We walked down the street to Camp Bow-wow, the doggy daycare facility; and while Hoop sniffed and chewed, I filled out paperwork. A dog was brought out, and the two of them sniffed some more. Then the two of them went into the play area with the other inmates, and the warden came out saying Hoop had passed the “interview” with flying colors. Hooper was gonna spend the rest of the afternoon in a large indoor/outdoor area with about 15 other dogs, and all I needed to do was show up before 7PM to bring him home. And, as an added bonus, I could watch the proceedings on a webcam.

We’ve had Hooper for two months now, and we know that he has no off-switch. If a dog is in the room, he will play with it, so I was wondering how he would do in a room full of dogs without me to say “enough” and clip a leash on him. Turns out, he just keeps on going, and going, and going, until I show up to bring him home and the staff at the doggy daycare all breathe a sigh of relief. Seriously. The webcam—which is like crack for canine owners—told the whole story; the picture updates every three seconds or so, so you get this sort-of flipbook glimpse of the proceedings at the facility. The thing is, some dogs will change position a little bit each update, but Hooper would be in-frame one minute and completely gone by the next update, indicating a dog in constant and rapid motion. This continued throughout the afternoon, as I took continuous deep and long hits on the doggy daycare webcam crackpipe.

When I picked him up at the end of the day, the “camp counselor” was smiling ear-to-ear and said “Hooper was great, he played with with everyone, all day; he messed with the big dogs, and played with the smaller dogs, he didn’t discriminate”. Hooper emerged looking like a teenager coming down off an extacy high after an all-night rave, which is about the canine equivalent of doggy day care as far as I can tell. His usually shiny coat took on a dull patina of dog saliva and dirt. He sniffed randomly and had the eyes of a partier; he was in the throes of denial that the party was over.

When we got home, he slumped down and went to sleep, and for the remainder of the evening it’s been as if we have a Pug in the house, not a Lab/Border Collie mix. It’s been awesome. I’m sold.

Best dog picture ever, for now:

All he wanted to do was to bring happiness and teething relief to a little puppy someplace. Endorsed by the American Kennel Club, this little bear toy came into our home courtesy of my sister Christina. While I thanked her for the gift, I predicted a short stay in the house.

The following pictures were taken over the course of ten minutes; swear to god. And Hooper was kinda mellow tonight.

If you ever get a squeaky thingy stuck in your anus, Hooper is the guy to get it out in record time:







And there you have it, the deconstruction of Teddy. What a great night.

Hooper has been hanging around the joint for a month now. He’s changed our lives.

First off, Brenda now gets up at 6:30 a.m. regardless of whether she wants to or not. She’s the designated dog driver in the morning, and she’s seen some amazing sunrises and met freakish yoga people. Me, I have the night shift, and walk Hooper immediately after arriving home from work. We’ve met cyclists and weirdo dalmatian owners.

We’ve met a lot of dogs and dog owners in fact, and I know more of the neighborhood dogs by name than the owners; Morgan, Shylo, Hannah, Buster, they are all familiar faces. So are those of their owners, but I’ll be damned if they are anything other than The Lady who Owns Morgan and Hates Hooper for his Goddamned Energy, The Dude Who Owns Shylo, The Grad Student Who Owns Gorgeous Hannah, and The Self-Appointed Dog Training Genius Who Owns Bratty Buster.

Speaking of the use of the word “owner” in the context of dogs and their, uh, owners, it seems that hippie town Boulder prefers the term “guardian” for people who own their dogs. Whatever. Look, hippie, I love Hooper more than you ever will love your Grateful Dead mix tape, and besides, I have a receipt for Hoop. A receipt. So, shut the fuck up.

Hooper knows stuff. He looks to us for permission to eat and to walk through a door. He also just took a piss in the guest bedroom, so he knows how to do that too. This is unfortunate.

Hoop has gained some weight, but I think he will top out at fifty or so pounds, which is perfect. I think he will end up looking like a perpetual Lab puppy, which is perfect.

Did you know that they give out treats at the Good Times in Boulder? Well, they do. Hooper & I found this out today, mostly to Hooper’s delight. Most people driving around town also seem to melt in the presence of Hooper’s little face gazing out the rear quarter window of our Golf.

Hooper’s looking fairly dead on the floor right now, and Brenda’s looking equally expired on the couch eighteen inches from me as I type this. Currently, life is good.

Boulder Municipal Airport (KBDU) had an open house today. Not an airshow per se, but there were a couple of cool airplanes parked on the ramp (including a very rare two-seat Supermarine Spitfire trainer) for inspection. I took Hooper to the airport for our very first “father-son” type outing. It was great. At one point, a flight of three AT-6 “Texan” aircraft flew overhead, and my friend Michael got a shot of Hooper and I enjoying the show.

A few moments later, they all landed and taxied up to where we were, and Hoop didn’t even flinch. So, he likes airplanes, even the big, loud, radial-engined ones. I was so proud.

Hooper has been in our house, and our lives, for one week now. I have a week’s worth of memories, that include racing to a peeing dog; picking up poop—both outside and inside; checking under Hoop’s belly for evidence of a pee stream in the black of night; begging him to walk as he stares at me on the sidewalk; begging him to stop nipping me in the midst of one of his freak-out sessions; petting and stroking his beautiful coat; sniffing: me him, and he me as well as various piles of poo and god knows what else outside; stressing about his play skills with the two month-old puppy around the corner; stressing about his hips; stressing about how much room he has to play in our living room; joy over being a part of teaching him his first command, “sit”; the ADD feeling of trying to read seven (yes, seven) dog training/care books at once; the despair of listening to him whine; the pride in his farts.

I know Primo was a failure, but I still have a few names I wish I could call him: Coppa, Stugots, and—my personal fave—Guidry (look them all up; great names inspire research). But I guess he’s Hooper now and forever, since he actually looks at me when I call him that half the time.

Today, Hoop decided that he’s afraid of bicyclists. When he sees or hears one approaching, he stops dead in his tracks, and watches the apparently demonic mechanical cyborgs roll past. Once they pass, he’s up on his feet and ready to walk again. I know it’s a passing phase, but today’s discovery was akin to Mr. Holland the music teacher discovering his son Cole was deaf.

There are about a thousand other little gestures, smells, discoveries, fears and observations, that have been absorbed this week. I can’t believe this is happening. I love this, and I love Guidry—I mean, Hooper. (oh, he just stretched and as he did so, his paws patted my feet. How cute.)

We’re gonna go pee now.

Announcement:
Friends and family members, who may be thinking of buying a DVD copy or one-sheet for the 1978 film “Hooper”, thinking it would be a great gag gift for us, don’t do it. Because I already did.