Sir Searay, the hippy dictator

When I was a kid, we owned a breathing carpet named Bear.

He crowned himself benevolent dictator of the family and, oh, did he rule us with an iron paw.

Even after his passing, all honor and glory belonged to a furry, 150-pound New Foundland with a penchant for shredding dish towels and sucking the thumb of  his right paw when he slept.  All infamous kings must have an infantile quirk, you know.

No family pet could dethrone The Great Bear-on Von Bossy as ruler of our hearts.

Until this past spring.

On a delightfully fateful afternoon in May, Sir Searay marched in to our lives with the happiest of feet.  With one lick, he took hold of our thumping tickers.

Our little man makes for the most jovial, enlightened, hippy leader a family could ask for.  He’s Richard Simmons meets the Dali Lama meets Woody Harrelson.  Searay orders us to shake our groove thing until we’re out of breath.  He pulls us to love everyone we meet regardless of appearance.  Mostly though, he demands, “Chill out.  Kick back and take a nap, dude.”  Of course, his drug of choice is an ear rub and not the reefer.

In our family’s time of high stress and transition, we like to think Bear handpicked Searay as his predecessor because he knew what his people needed.   Because, as any dog lover knows, one buddy never replaces another.  They simply usher in a new era.

So, on Christmas day, Searay ushered his people to his favorite corner of the kingdom for a post-present jaunt.  It’s a little piece of heaven we call Rheinstrom Park.  Searay just knows it as “park!”

We sprinted around wide open fields, greeted perfect strangers with genuinely friendly conversation and then promptly dragged our mud-splattered legs back home for a repose.

Please enjoy the photos of our most adored, regal and very polite king as he frolics through park! and naps on his shimmery, blue disco blanket.


She had me at “woof”

I went to Boston this weekend to visit my boyfriend.  I happened to fall in love with someone else while I was there.  Her name is Taylor, and she is 49 (in dog years).  Scott doesn’t seem to mind just yet that I am drooling over a cougar nearly twice my age.  However, he did protest when I got down on the floor and used her as a pillow.  Apparently that was deemed inappropriate behavior for a Sunday afternoon barbeque.  Look, love makes you do silly things.

Here she is.  Swoon.

And here is Scott…with his parents’ dog, Riley.   Riley weighs in at roughly 1/6th of Taylor’s paw, but exudes six times Taylor’s energy level.  It all comes out in the wash.

And, one more of Scott…at Castle Island on Friday.  So he won’t feel that Taylor has taken his spot in my spasmatic heart.

Gone to the Dogs

I am addicted to anything that woofs. My closest friends know I can’t walk by a dog without stopping for a pet and a quick stat check (name? age? breed?  did you adopt? Do you need a sitter?!)  Here are a couple shots of some furry friends!



I love spending time at the dog park. Generally, I stalk the pups at Belmont Harbor for a quality shot.  These were taken in June of 2010…the very beginning of dog beach season.  I fell in love with Hercules, the white lab with massive ears.  Here are a few of my shots from the day.