Keys Pictures

A few pictures for which I have a certain fondness but no story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I saw the rather stupid graffito below and wondered why the two are supposedly separate?

 

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Postcards From The Keys

You live among the islands and the habit seems to become that of a non-observer, as though the beauty of the place should only be admired and enjoyed by visitors. I find that my dog and my camera keep the perspectives fresh. I took this picture of a palm bending in the strong east wind and by giving it a filter I suddenly turned it into a postcard from the fifties. I live around coconut palms all the time, they flap outside my deck, but everyday there is a new way to see.

In black and white the pines of Big Pine Key become shadows against a menacing skies.

I find these signs odd, at best. With the best will in the world who would decide to press into this tangle of briars to trespass? So we see these ugly plastic calls to inaction hammered into trees. Truly ugly in both sentiment and appearance.

Sunrise at Veteran's Park produces its own postcards. The only people at the beach were two travelers sleeping in a car. Rusty and I were alone with our thoughts, which suited me.

A cheerful old dude came up to Rusty and I earlier this week one evening at Boca Chica, on the public side of this fearsome fence and as he came with a large white dog, he called Angel, I held my little boy close as he was looking anxious. Rusty isn't keen still on meeting large dogs. The old man said his dog wouldn't react and it didn't even as Rusty snarled and reared back in fear. It's a struggle but I want Rusty to get used to being in the world and Angel was really sweet with him, and it was a good moment. The old guy was smiling happily. I'm going to be in the paper tomorrow, he said. I was interviewed by Mandy Miles he said. She'll do a good job, I said from my own experience. He got into his truck basking in the promise of his story being told, which as it turned out hinged on his refusal to invite Jimmy Buffett to a dock party he threw in the 1970s. A sweet story but the newspaper also pointed out, almost in passing that he will be thrown out of his home next week and as he waits for divine guidance he is just another lost soul gentrified out of the Keys.

On the beech Rusty found a bone and dug in. I sat on the tree trunk nearby and waited for him to finish, fiddling with my iPhone camera.

This was the product of the pause.

I surprise myself sometimes as I look back over the years I have lived in the Keys and the fact remains the islands still offer vistas that compel me to walk amongs them. I do miss hills, I miss perspectives from above, I wonder what these places would look like with rivers and valleys and shadows but this is what is my backyard:

I greatly enjoy the bright light of the sun over the Florida Keys. The sunrise hitting the clouds produces a black shadow at ground level.

My wife and I are preparing for a three week road trip to parts far north. Places with varied terrain and varied weather and crowds of people and mountains and all that stuff.

I will miss these flat lands, the light, the heat, the sun.

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Running With Rusty

 

Let's be honest here: I don't actually run with Rusty, I am simply lucky enough to get to take him on his walks where he tends to run like the wind. I get to admire my surroundings and wonder why anyone would abandon this amazing dog.

 

It's been two months since I picked up this bundle of nerves from the adoption fair in Homestead on February 27th and he has come into his own. When first I took him home he illustrated exactly why life on the streets is so hard for a stray dog. He jumped at any sound, he slept with one eye open, actually open so he seemed exhausted all the time. On walks when anything scared him he would rush for cover, if off the leash he ran deep into the bushes if on the leash he strained like a condemned man on a rope. And this was a dog who had spent a few months in a loving foster home, so his nerves when actually on the street must have been pitiable. He's a bit different now.

 

He carries the scars of a street dog. One tooth is missing as are a few small tufts of fur around his face, evidence of abuse or of street fights. He is scared of larger dogs but friendly with dogs his size or smaller. However these days when he sees a large barking dog trapped in a yard he walks on by with no fear and the other day when a large dog got out of a car in a parking lot, my little explorer ran back to sit beside me rather than running into the woods.

I have started to think Rusty might like to swim and I a planning an expedition to a beach where we could go into the water together. He shows signs of not minding the ocean and on hot days he dunks himself to cool off. Baths are a different mater . His first bath led Rusty into crisis mode, disappearing for a bit to shake off the trauma followed by distrust and fear as though he was being punished for doing something wrong. I, however, persisted, talking cheerfully to him as I held a hind leg and soaped him up and rinsed him. These days he sister in misery barely held as I do the dirty deed to him. I even get a kiss after I'm done and he will sit with me without going off to lick his wounds. The price of admission to this family I tell the clean smelling bundle of wet fur.

Rusty is a smart willing dog. I like him a lot and he seems to enjoy learning and he is eager to please. I haven't had to raise my voice in weeks, indeed I make a point of keeping calm around him all the time as I learn how he likes to cope. For instance I tied him off to a tree just this morning and he promptly chewed through the leash. All he did then as I watched him from the coffee shop where he wasn't allowed to be, was that he trotted over to the car and sat in the shade next to it waiting for me. So perhaps tying him up won't work. As a precaution we bought a six foot mental leash for our road trip next month so if he have to tie him he will be there when we get back. He will be pissed but he will be there.

 

Ours has become a very companionable relationship. He waits for me at the top of the stairs when I get back from work and I barely have time to climb off the motorcycle before he barrels into me like a furry cannonball. He jumps up, pink and black tongue out, his paws scrabbling at my chest. Then he leaps into the car and I find a place for him to walk off his energy stored over night.

He really likes rural walks and takes the time to explore every leaf and every bush on every trail. He runs ahead and disappears for a moment but he comes looking for me periodically, or sits on the trail till I amble up. If I want him back I whistle and in seconds the little brown bulletin is flying to me. We had words early on about not coming when called and he never forgot that lesson. When he gets scared he lays down and scratches his ear in contrition. He hasn't done that with me for weeks now so I think he's as happy as I am.

He eats gently and takes treats with the softest mouth, he is easy to pet and he loves to cuddle, when it suits him. When he's tired he retreated to his bed in the bedroom and he pricks up his ears when he hears dogs on Netflix. He likes to use his dog door so when he gets back from his walk he runs up the stairs and zips round the deck to his door ignoring the front door used by humans, even if I open it for him.

 

When he has to stay home I tell him to stay and he does reluctantly. No doubt he imagines I am off having fun without him ( at work no less) but he never leaves home. There is no fence to keep him in but he stays in the drive sometimes just watching the street with his paws crossed. Sometimes he sits at the top of the stairs or snoozes and sunbathes. He has the run of the house and it's clear he enjoys not being a stray anymore.

Rusty has got used to my wife and he greets her with almost the same abandon he greets me. He sits in the kitchen to help with food preparation and he hardLy ever takes food off the coffee table even if we aren't looking. He is really a remarkable dog.

 

Some peop,e make a lot of noise about not taking in abandoned dogs, preferring to pay for animals from breeders and worst of all from pet shops. Frankly I don't get it. Every breed you might want is available through rescue organizations across the country. I started looking through Labrador Rescue of Florida before we got Rusty and they had every kind of Lab available. You hear people say you inherit problem dogs when you adopt. I think this page proves that's not the case. Cheyenne was wonderful and I think of her fondly every day. Rusty is doing a fine follow up job keeping me cheerful and making every day special. I couldn't have bought better dogs.

So the next time somebody tells you bums on the streets are living the life, think of this little guy starting at every sound, fearful and unsure of his every move and look at him now. Home is best. Everyone should have one.

 

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Rusty Does Little Hamaca

I had lunch with Robert, we parted ways and Rusty got up from sitting quietly under our feet (it was outdoors). Rather than gallop home I decided to reward Rusty with a walk. One day I will run out of new places and he will be disappointed. Today  was not that day.  

The walkway in Little Hamaca City Park has been modernized with aluminum to replace the old wooden handrails, which were here when I came with Cheyenne:

Rusty trotted on ahead and he is devilishly  difficult to photograph as he moves so quickly:

Unlike his predecessor, the late lamented yellow Labrador Cheyenne who was fast enough:

The old information signs are still here, decomposing into illegibility: 

The essence of the story, oft repeated here is that the Spaniards understood the Indians to be describing their beds "hammocks" when the Indians meant the mounds-of-high-ground-that-are-dry, when asked about their sleeping places. Hence the confusion and the name given to outcrops of dry land in the middle of the Everglades ( and Key West it turns out): hammocks where hardwoods thrive in the midst of water.

The walkway crosses the path above the dirt and the salt water and eventually arrives at the Riviera Canal. 

There used to be space to tie up a boat here for water access to the park. Nowadays the aluminum rail is solid and uninterrupted. Not many boats ever used the dock and I expect fear of falling into the water motivated the change:

And so back whence  we came:

The gambusia trenches are still here of course. They used to keep mosquito larvae eating fish in these trenches to help with the insect problem in the Lower Keys. I suppose the silting up problem is more trouble than they are worth:

This is where the story gets a bit sticky. I sort of wandered off the trail following Rusty and playing with my camera, and before I knew it I wasn't at the edge of the trail but I stepped off far enough to be properly lost.

Rusty thought it great fun, but I was wearing socks and sneakers and my feet got wet, the branches snagged me and it was an awful sweaty struggle to get out of the maze. I have no idea how I managed this feat of idiocy.

 Twenty minutes later all was well, feathers unruffled once more...

The wretched dog enjoyed himself enough to demolish a bowl of fresh water:

 Rusty was far from exhausted so we had to tour the old Hawk Missile site, a Cuban Missile Crisis installation now rotting away. And from the tops of the berms that protected individual rocket launcher sites we could see all the way back to the Riviera Canal:

In this picture you an see the berm of mounded sand and gravel built to protect the rocket launchers:

We climbed them together and I felt like I was twelve years old again, except that now I have gray in my beard and an iPhone instead of a slingshot.

 And a brash brisk explorer of a dog:

They are trying to beautify this area too, but I hope it remains as open and untrammeled by signs and fences. Fat chance:

 My dogs, past and present love exploring this place:

Past above and present below, barely visible through the leaves:

Another berm-top view, this time of the Las Salinas and Oceanwalk complexes at the eastern end of Key West:

 They have done a lot of clean up around here which is nice, I grant you:

Rusty will be sad if this place gets closed off or overly gentrified:

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