Doggies Day Out

I took my dogs swimming at the lake (Lake Michigan) last weekend. There is this fairly isolated stretch of beach an hour’s drive away from where I live that few people know about. It’s a dog lover’s paradise. And because it’s not really a public beach as such, the only rules or regulations are those created out of common courtesy by the few people who frequent this beach. And most of us are dog owners. So dogs are welcome here.

So last Saturday, on a particularly hot summer day, after a strenuous hike over the sand dunes, I introduced my dogs to the lake. As we meandered down the dunes, and the lake came into view, Ally (my two and a half year old black lab mix) took one look at the massive span of water ahead of us, wagged her tail and let her inner Labrador loose. And no, I don’t mean figuratively, I mean she literally ran loose. She tugged at her leash, broke free and made a sprint toward the lake, and by the time I had caught up with her, she was already swimming like a pro, going in circles around me as I tried to get hold of her leash. Labradors are known for their love for water, so I wasn’t too surprised to discover that she already knew how to swim. Besides, aren’t ALL dogs born swimmers?

The answer is NO. Nope. Not ALL dogs know how to swim, and not ALL dogs are born swimmers. And how do I know that? Because the whole time that Ally and I were in the water, there was Charlie
Charlie (my one year old German Shepherd pup) standing at the shore, with the most perplexed look on his face, head cocked to one side, barking in utter confusion at the water.

“Chaaarlie! Come! Come!” I shout out to him, coaxing him to join us in the water. He wags his tail happily in response to my call, tiptoes into the water, gets startled by a big wave of water exploding over his paws, and then turns out and runs back to shore, finding comfort in dry sand. Charlie
Charlie is a big boy – even at just one year of age, he weighs about 90 pounds. But despite his big size and intimidating looks, everyone who knows Charlie
Charlie will tell you that at heart he is just one big baby. And so here we are, Ally and I in the water, Charlie
Charlie on shore…too big a scaredy cat to get into the water.

Given his big size, I can’t exactly pick Charlie
Charlie up and drop him into the water. And calling him while I’m in the lake with Ally hasn’t been working out too great either. It’s time for a different approach. So this time, I pick up his red ball. Yup. The red ball. The red ball that is the one great love of Charlie’s life. He loves the ball to bits and pieces. Knowing his obsessive love for the ball, I carry it with me for moments when I need to distract him. And I figure if anything is going to coax Charlie
Charlie into the water, it’s going to be his favorite red ball.

“Chaaaaarlie! Come! Go get your ball!” I shout again, tossing the ball into the water. “Ball?” his ears perk up at the sound of the one word that he knows so well. His eyes dart quickly to his most prized possession floating away in the water. And into the lake he goes, barging clumsily through the water, frantically trying to get to his toy, all the while bewildered by the waves crashing around him.

I lure him in further away from the shore, wading in the shallow water with the ball in my hand, drawing him deeper into the lake. Charlie
Charlie follows, with his eyes glued on the ball, all the while with Ally swimming expertly in large circles around him, sticking her tongue out in a grin and showing off in front of him. I reward him occasionally by tossing the ball back to shore and he clambers after it, happy to be back on land. And on and on it goes, me luring him into the water with the ball and him anxious to be back on land.

And then just like that, several repetitions later, it happens. He is no longer afraid of water. He is no longer anxious to get out of the water. He is confident. And he believes he can swim. Um. Er. Ahem. Except that he really cannot swim. In fact, he doesn’t even have a clue. But in his doggy little head, Charlie
Charlie whole heartedly believes he is swimming.

What really happens is this:
“Chaaaaarlie! Aaaally! Go get the ball!” I shout and toss the red ball into the lake. Ally swims gracefully toward the ball. Charlie
Charlie leaps confidently into the water with an impressive, water-spraying splash. He splish-splashes his way through the water, all four paws in all four directions, and fully convincing himself that he is swimming in water shallow enough for him to stand in. He steals the ball from Ally as she’s swimming back to shore. And then brings the ball to me, his tail swooshing merrily back and forth, eyes sparkling in giddy joy, proud of his brave achievement. I look at my brave little pup, pat him on the head and let him believe he can swim.

It’s finally time to head back home, and I drag two pooped out dogs back to shore. It turned out to be a pretty successful first day out at the lake. “Swim? Let’s go swim?” I think my dogs just picked up a new favorite word.

~vagabond~ © 2007

When I'm not here...

When I'm not here, I'm there.

Check out: Travels of a vagabond

Meet Average Joe

“Average Joe”. Otherwise known as my best friend of nine years, my one and only great, true love, my soul mate – whose true identity shall remain forever unknown on this blog (I feel the need to protect him after subjecting him to mass ridicule, mortifying embarrassment and public humiliation through my indiscreet narration of our intertwined personal lives). Also referred to as simply Joe.

World, meet my Average Joe. Average Joe, meet my World.

~vagabond~ © 2007

The Assistant to the Research Assistant

Last year, I switched careers. I pressed the ‘pause’ button in my pursuit of a life long dream. I stopped to re-think my career aspirations. And in doing so, I started a journey backward – reminiscing over what had led me to where I was. I found myself remembering the people, the places and the events that had shaped me into who I am today. I think perhaps what left the biggest impression on me as I trudged my way toward building a career was the experience of my very first job.

For many people, first jobs are often measly, low income positions or even volunteer or unpaid internship positions taken up for the sole purpose of gaining some hands on experience. They’re often filled with endless tedious/boring/monotonous tasks that are grudgingly performed in the hired intern’s quest to climb the career ladder. For me, though, I think I struck gold when I was searching for my first job.

I was fresh out of high school, trying to sketch out a career in Conservation Biology/Environmental Science with barely a clue as to what it all entailed other than the fact that I was big on recycling and subscribed to the National Geographic magazines (yeah, I was a nerdy kid :| ). A local WWF (Erm...the World Wildlife Fund, though working at the World Wrestling Federation too would have been a job to boast about!) branch in my hometown of Nakuru, was looking for a student intern to assist with data collection out in the field (Lake Nakuru National Park - LNNP), and since nobody else had applied for the job, it was mine to keep.

Technically speaking, I was an assistant to a research assistant whose job duties entailed "assisting the assistant with the assistant's jobs". Out in the field, I was a little kid in a candy shop who just couldn’t get enough of being out in the field, being up and close to wildlife and who was out on the biggest adventure of her boring little life. Over the course of the one year I worked there, I helped around with everything from collecting water and mud samples from the lake, analyzing the water and mud samples, collecting meteorological data from a weather station out in the field, assisting in conducting flamingo censuses, collecting macro-invertebrate specimens from the lake and the rivers emptying into the lake, and some less adventurous days filled with plain old data entry into a computer. It ended up becoming the most memorable year of my life.

Now, almost a decade later, I look back and think fondly of those days. It inspired me enough to compile a list of the various memories from that one year – the highlights of my days as an assistant-to-a-research-assistant:

• The daily visits to the lonely weather station that stood in the middle of the vast, open grassland. I remember the resident baboon (Curious George, I named him) that had for the longest time made up its mind that the weather station was the coolest place to hang around, until we had had enough of broken rain gauges and scattered instruments and finally put up an electric fence around the station. I remember the occasional stray gazelle that would sneak up on me ever-so-softly and startle me out of my wits. I remember the day I saw a Cape Buffalo
Cape Buffalo. Photo source: http://www.lazoo.org/travel/images/kenya_buffalo.jpg off a short distance from the weather station, and panicked over how I was going to make my way back from the weather station to the car. I remember gathering up the courage to run madly back to the car, only to find the buffalo rolling its eyes at me as if to say “What IS up with her?”.

• The time we saw two male White rhinos White rhinos in LNNP. Photo source: http://www1.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/3088547/2/istockphoto_3088547_rhino_lake_nakuru.jpg
battling it out smack in the middle of the road. There we were driving the car back to the office after a long day out in the field and suddenly out of nowhere came these two massive males charging at each other, fighting over a territory right in the middle of the road. I remember thinking about how incredibly lucky I was to see one of the most endangered mammals on the planet ever so casually living out its day to day existence right in front of me.

• The first time I participated in conducting a flamingoFlamingoes in LNNP. Photo source: http://static.flickr.com/56/168969539_6ac4115caf.jpg census. There are absolutely zillions of Greater and Lesser flamingoes out on the lake during peak season – from atop a cliff, the viewView of Lake Nakuru from Baboon Cliffs. Photo source: http://home.earthlink.net/~billmurrellphotos1/KenyaTanzania/Park-5-15-Kenya-Lake-Nakuru.jpg is that of a pink mat atop a carpet of blue water. I was baffled by how anyone could possibly estimate how many flamingoes were out on the lake at any given time. Until I realized that there were more than 20 people involved in the effort and that each person would be counting the number of flamingoes on a small segment of the lake, and that there would be repeated trials, and that all it took was a little bit of math and extrapolation. Duh!

• The day we almost got mauled by a lioness. Okay, so I’m being a bit dramatic. But just a tad bit. It was the day we (the research assistant and I) had been obtaining water samples from a river on the inside of the park that drains into the lake. For the record, the rules and regulations of the national park discourage (or is it prohibit?) visitors from getting out of their car while they are in the national park. For good reasons. But as employees of WWF, we were exceptions to the rule. We were out of the car, walking a short distance upstream with our high tech looking water quality analysis gadgets, totally focused on our job, and occasionally cracking jokes and talking and laughing loudly, when a KWS (Kenya Wildlife Service) car drove close up to us, and a game warden rolled down the car window and hissed loudly at us to “Get into the car, NOW!”. We had no idea what all the fuss was about until we were safely packed into the car. Then he broke the news to us – there was a lioness snoozing on a branch of a tree right above us, and she’d been watching us the whole time. We were just darn lucky the KWS car happened to be patrolling when it did and saw the lioness on the branch and saw us right under it. Brrrrrrr!

• The opportunity to get to know and work with a world renowned entomologist, who would eventually become a very close friend and a much cherished mentor. I remember burrowing arm deep in soft mud from the various rivers emptying into the lake in search for Chironomid larvae
Chironomid larvae. Photo source: http://www.ru.ac.za/academic/departments/zooento/Martin/chironomidae2.jpg - a wriggly, sometimes red, sometimes white worm that acts as a bio-indicator of water quality. I remember having the most meaningful conversations about science and about life in general with her. I remember the 80 something year old lady chasing butterflies along with me, sharing the same exuberance as the 18 year old me, imparting everything she knew about butterflies and insects to my impressionable young mind.

• The day we waded halfway into the middle of the lake in overall-like, heavy waders, to obtain mud samples. I remember turning around to head back to shore to see a herd of wild buffaloes waiting for us back on dry land. And waiting and waiting, soaked above knee high in mud and water reeking of blue-green algae, wishing and hoping and praying that the buffaloes would move on, and we could get back into the safety of the car.

• The day we drove up so quietly and so close right next to a Rothschild Giraffe
Rothschild Giraffe. Photo source: http://www.birdsasart.com/Rothschild's%20Giraffe.jpg grazing on an acacia tree. And I rolled down the car window and touched its tail. Score one, me! The giraffe did not look amused.

• Driving in circles, lost inside some part of the Eastern Mau Forest, trying to find our way out, in the middle of a thick thunderstorm. It’s still a mystery to me how we found our way back out.

• Stopping by Makalia Falls
Makalia Falls. Photo source: http://www.pontact.com/images/WA07Lg.jpg to collect a water sample the day after the news of a woman mauled by a leopard while collecting water near the very same waterfalls made the newspaper headlines. And then nervously keeping an eye on a small hole in the cliff, suspected to be the den of the leopard and her cubs, while trying to rush and obtain a quick water sample.

The memories go on and on…countless little details that flood my mind and remind me how it all began. For me, the ‘assistant to the research assistant’ wasn’t just my first job; it was my first step in a journey to self-identity.

~vagabond~ © 2007

Priceless

Camping equipment, groceries and other supplies: $120.79
Fuel cost per gallon: $2.89
Total estimated mileage: 2956.17 miles
Estimated driving time: 42 hours 28 minutes
Number of states we're planning to travel through: 11
The number of days before it all happens: 11
The anticipation and excitement over a forthcoming road trip: PRICELESS!


~vagabond~ © 2007

Packrats Anonymous Inc.

Alright. So I'll admit it - I'm a packrat. I hoard onto stuff. Even when it's seemingly meaningless and worthless to the rest of the world. As long as it holds some sentimental meaning to me, I'll keep it. And the awful part about being me is when you've moved and changed addresses several times over the years, it becomes harder and harder holding on to everything you collect. Sometimes you end up having to let go, and that can be quite a traumatic experience as any true blood packrat will tell you.

It all started out with just one small shoebox and a collection of greeting cards. Next thing I knew, the one shoebox just wasn't big enough to contain all the little snippets of memories I had collected along the way. The one small shoebox divided itself into two, the two small shoeboxes fused into one bigger shoebox, which then morphed into a much bigger cardboard box, and the last time I checked, the big cardboard box has now given birth to a litter of many more boxes, all containing items dear and near to my heart, which I swear will come useful at some later date.

So in pledging my loyalty to Packrats Anonymous Inc., I thought I'd share my list of random items that I've cherished at some point or the other that have made their way in (and perhaps not yet out of) my shoebox-formerly-labeled-as-"Memories":

1. A small cork-stoppered glass bottle, with an even smaller rolled parchment inside, scribbled with a scrawny "I LOVE YOU" handwritten by the love of my life, given to me as a valentine's gift nine years ago.

Yeeeaaaah. Who knew we'd still be together almost a decade later? It's validation of my good judgment even back then. ;)

2. Stones.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking - who collects stones?! I do. You know, the real smooth, peculiar shaped, interesting colored ones that stick out in the sand. I used to collect them every time I walked along the shores of Lake Michigan. But then when you consider I walked there several times a week, that's a lot of stones, and I filled up a lot of glass jars, and then every time I moved, and it was annoying to haul stones. So I stopped collecting them. Well, technically. I still do, but only if they look really, really interesting.

3. A baby tooth from my dog Charlie
My dog, Charlie.

What?! Don't look at me like that. You'd have to know him to see why I'd do that. He's not even a dog...he's...he's..well, he is a dog, but not a doggy dog...he's just so darn human like. I'd say he's my baby but then I don't want to sound like the annoying Paris Hilton type of girl who dresses her dog in hideous pink outfits. Uggh. :{

4. Greeting cards.

I'm the queen of sentimentalism. I used to save every card that anyone ever gave me - birthday, christmas, congratulations, thankyous...and seeing how horribly addicted I was to it, if any of my enemies had sent me a "I hate you" card, I'd still have saved that too. I broke that habit when I left Kenya...now I don't save every random card that anyone sends to me, I only save the extra-mushy ones that are oozing with sentiments.

5. The geeky academic little knick knacks and nerdy humor stuff from atop my desk when I was pursuing my PhD a year ago.

I quit halfway. And I just don't have the heart to give away or get rid of the geeky knick knacks because they represent a very memorable phase of my life - a time at which I was doing exactly what I had dreamed of doing all my life, but suddenly found myself hating the whole experience...a very passionate yet agonizing moment in my life. Goes to show you, you don't always know what you want from life until you have it in your hands.

Ahem. Enough of the philosophizing. Moving on...

6. Fridge magnets and Postcards.

I have a fridge magnet and/or a postcard for every single place I have ever traveled to (well, almost every place I've ever traveled to - I don't have one for the small villages I visited in Africa but it doesn't even matter because they don't even know what fridge magnets are and it's not like they'd ever object to their lack of representation in my collection). That's just my thing. People buy T-shirts and other souvenirs. I buy a fridge magnet and a postcard. If you were to visit me, my fridge and all the magnets on it from all sorts of places would make interesting conversations. There's a story attached to each one.

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. That's it. I'm in recovery now.

~vagabond~ © 2007

The Same, Old, New Thing.

Ever noticed how some things remain the same no matter where you go?

Sure, when you first move to a new country, everything about the country seems strange and new and foreign - the culture, the customs, the language (and sometimes it's not even about the fact that you don't understand a word of what is being said...sometimes it's just about how it's being said to you), the bizarre gestures (what is it with nodding their heads in response to everything you say, even if it's in disagreement?). Heck, even your electronic appliances let you know that they don't feel at home. But then, after months of fumbling around strange elevators (or are they called lifts here?), spitting out disconnected phrases from your beaten down speak-strange-foreign-language-in-30-days handbook, and purchasing countless voltage converters and travel adapters for your countless electronic appliances, you settle down into a calm sense of belonging. And the longer you stay within that country, everything about it starts to feel old and familiar, and you get the eerie feeling that this is the same country you've lived in before, maybe even for years, and that perhaps it is the same old thing no matter where you go.

External appearances aside, no matter where you go, at heart, people remain the same. When you get down to the basics, beneath our different dress codes, different languages, different body gestures, we're all still the same people, with the same concerns, living the same life in different guises. The same questions plague us, be it in form of a casual "Still single, eh?" from a fellow American or the disappointed Asian shake of the head and a "You're getting old, you know" or the African matter of fact "Pretty soon, no one will want to bring their cows and marry you". We crave for our version of success - be it in the form of fulfilling our great American dream, or just plain owning a house of our own someday, or perhaps adding to our great wealth of the many cows/goats/pigs we already own. No matter where we live, we always believe in greener pastures that lie elsewhere - those that live in developing countries migrating in search for a land filled with promises of a "better" future, those that live in developed countries migrating in search for a land with less materialism, more "soul".

Heck, the more you travel and the longer you stay in a place, even the food from all across the globe starts to merge into one. Case in point the samosa aka the samoosa aka the sambhosa aka the bourek. Same filling, different wrappers...different fillings, same wrapper.

Sure, when you first land in them, all countries start off as brand new, but then somewhere along the way, during your stay, you reach a familiar level of comfort when the new doesn't feel that new anymore. Perhaps you just have to live in a country long enough, and give it a chance, to realize that maybe things aren't so different after all, that this new country is at heart the same old country you've lived in before...perhaps pulsating to a different heartbeat, but at soul, the same country nonetheless. And when you do get to that level of comfort, you realize that no matter where you go, it's just the same old 'new' thing all over again.

~vagabond~ © 2007