I’ve been hearing about this hike in the Sierra but never expected it to be sooooooo much fun.  The air was filled with the smell of evergreens and the crispness was so different than the city air.  There was endless room to run.  The landscape was rugged and beautiful.  We passed lots of mountain lakes.  It was late for flowers, but they were everywhere.  It was dog heaven.

Here I am at our destination, Penner Lake, a quite spectacular sight.  I am quite pleased at myself for climbing this mountain.  I think that I will go take a dip in that refreshing-looking lake.

Holy Toledo!  Why didn’t someone tell me that the lake was filled with ice water?  I think I may turn into an icicle before I make it back to shore.  I could be frozen in place with this crazy, panicked look on my face.  What an indignity!  Someone will need to thaw me out.  That hairy Ella has so much fur the water probably never penetrates to her skin, which is why she looks so calm.  I am a more delicate doggie.

Finally, I got used to the cold water or just got numb and retrieved sticks. Oh, I love to do that, but next time I am going to bring a wetsuit.

Then a beautiful mermaid emerged from the deep, emerald depths and floated nearby for a bit.  I wasn’t quite sure if she was going to take my stick away, so I stayed close to shore.

At the end of the day, Anne wanted a nice family photo. I put on my best goofball expression to try and get that zero Ella to laugh. You’d think that after all those treats Anne lugged up the mountain for us that Ella could at least turn around and smile for one half second, but no, she just turned away with that expressionless look she wears most of the time as if she couldn’t be bothered.  I tell you, sometimes she just needs a time out.

See, even when she smells a delicious flower she has no expression.  Isn’t this field beautiful!

Back in the car, we were asleep in a minute.

Zzzzzzzzz.  Dreaming of my perfect day and my next hike.



I love being home. These are the reasons.

My bed.

My toys.

My friends. This is Rowdy Ramsey.

My Anne.

Home Sweet Home.























































































My Anne.



I’ve made some new friends here in Berlin and Prague. Oswald really has a great life. His owner, Dedric, rides him around everywhere in a basket on his bike. Oswald is looking a little peaked. That’s because he just ate a huge curry sausage and bun that a tourist dropped. He said the curry didn’t really agree with him. I was thinking that maybe it was the sausage.

This is my friend Fritz.  His owners wouldn’t let him run around with me this day. You can tell by the look on Frau Hedda’s face that she wasn’t particularly happy to run into me at the Brandenburg Gate.  Fritz is pleading with them. Hedda was like nein, nein, and nein.

Mitzi’s owner keeps her in the basket cage when biking around town.  I’m not sure if it was too keep her from jumping out or from other critters from jumping in. Whatever the case, Mitzi says she feels trapped.

Uble had just shaped his silly, white mustache and was prancing around the plaza looking for a date in Prague. He didn’t have time to hang out because he really wanted to take a little fraulein to an opera of 101 dalmations.  Personally, I love hanging out and watching the scene. I think it is a better way of meeting other dogs than being on the move.


It had started to rain in Berlin, and I ducked under the awning of a building when, eeek, I turned around and there was a naked man with a rooster head. I was taken aback, to say the least, stunned to be more precise and  confused as all get out on top of it all.  That head.  That body.  Where were his clothes?  His pants?   Brrrrrr.  Did he lose a costume on the way home from a party?  Was he dazed.  Drunk.  A victim of a rooster outfit robbery.  He was silent.  No crowing.  Not a peep.  Semi Neanderthal.  A cousin of the centaur.  He wasn’t moving a muscle.  The best I could think to do for him was offer myself up as a fig leaf, which I was happy to do,  . . . until it stopped raining.


I finally managed to find myself a patch of grass, and it was a really nice patch, very green, very lush, very scenic.  I was just about to push my way through the purple flowers when I saw the sign.  What!  And double what, what?  Is this a joke?  An April Fool’s prank in summer?  What do you mean – a dog with a red slash through it – why can’t I go on the grass?  I was not happy about this prohibition.  Where was I to do my business?  This began the beginning of seeing variations of this sign, the slash, time and time again.  And again.  And again.  Most baffling.  What is with these Europeans?  Dogs are fun.  So fun.  Fun loving.  Funny.  Fundamentally, essential.  Troubling.  Not dogs.  The slash.  I am harrumphing.  Umphing.  Umph.  Umphing.  I hope you can hear me.  Some people just don’t want to have any fun by the looks of all these slashes.  (Okay on the guns, slash.)  They need some Ollie time.  Hot diggity!

Just what are these two things that are allowed in the bank?  A camera on a stick?  A time bomb?  I suppose, you can probably bring your cat, too.

OMG.  I’m allowed in the park!  Oh, happy day.  But no soccer balls.  Does that mean footballs are okay?  I guess I’ll have to leave my grill behind since it is verboten.

This place is a real downer.  If no people are allowed, who can go in?