Buster’s Road Trip

Buster Checks out the Sea of Cortez

Buster Checks out the Sea of Cortez

Buster’s become somewhat of an expert on the twists/turns small towns & large of Mex One between the border and his home in Loreto.  Some of the journey bores him – so he just sleeps. But other sections he’s all nose/ears and eyes out the window with some running sniff/woof commentary that I struggle to decipher.  He’s my boy though – and he sure loves Mexico, as the photos here illustrate.

Buster Analyzes the Campers at Santispac

Buster Analyzes the Campers at Santispac

Walking the dog .. I mean the pony .. I mean …

There are lots of dog walkers in Loreto, and the long stretch of beach in front of my house is a favorite for both its easy traversing and the distance between town and points north. Early mornings, there is a parade of fitness aficionados, and the bulk of them have dog companions.

A few mornings ago, a young boy ran past the house. Not unusual, and because he was running I fully expected a dog to be somewhere in the vicinity. Imagine my surprise and great glee to discover that he wasn’t running his dog – he was running his pony.

Chalk up another one for living in Baja!

Rembrandt Skies

Rembrandt Skies

Rembrandt Skies

The rain was more than I could have asked for. Dark ominous skies for two days – and then the drops, light as first and then a heavy downpour that came in spurts, but lasted through the night. In the morning skies that painters dream about.

The rains in the night cleared the air (not that it needed to be cleared) and in the morning, the fragrance of the desert freshly gifted was water was hypnotic – better than any perfume imagined.

We wait now – for the green cover that follows desert rains. The brown and seemingly barren desert will burst into a carpet of plant life that sprouts in celebratory response to moisture.

As for the skies … clouds dissipate and mornings revert to placid seas and clear dawn explosions of darkness to dawn.

My kind of traffic jam ….

Traffic Jam

Traffic Jam

Imagine : Barreling down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere (actually true) and beginning to believe that you really are in the middle of nowhere (it’s been nearly 100 miles on deserted dirt roads) when suddenly, you have to slam on the brakes and wait for the traffic to clear.

First it’s the barking of dogs. Then it’s the lyrical giggle of a small child. Then it’s the lead goat with the tinkling bell. Then it’s the dad : aka goat herder : walking with the dog and the child and the goats home to the safety of their pen for the evening. Their home? A small house with goat pen and garden ‘off the road’ (at least 20′) in the middle of that same nowhere.

Water? From a well. Shopping? What does one need? Serenity : Sorry mastercard, but this one really is priceless.

The traffic jam? Pure joy. About 10 minutes of listening to goat/child/herder/dog chatter, and then passing through.

My kind of Mexico. Simple and without pretense.

Cow Poop and Midnight Rock Throwing

Beach Cattle

Okay : the unfenced range cattle are entertaining as they wander down the beach during daylight hours.  They piss off the dogs, but can be dissuaded from ‘home’ invasion by yelling, the blast of a hose, or a kind of ‘run-at-em’ motion.

At night – Not the same deal.

Last night, the dogs were just going off!  Shorty & Diego were barking at the top of their doggy vocal chords – and relentlessly.  Inside, Buster joined the howling chorus.  Yes, the dogs were doing their one job – GUARDING!

I’d been asleep for a bit over an hour – and in that groggy deep space where even though I knew I should get up, I kept hoping the dogs would simply settle down.

Then the phone rang.  Jeanne, next door, said, “They jumped my wall and they’re eating everything. The cows!  Now they’re in your yard.”  She was walking outside with her portable phone giving me a blow by blow report of the cattle escapade.  “There’s poop everywhere!”

“I’ll be right there,” I responded.  I’ve just got to throw on some clothes.

When I opened the front door, Buster tore off toward the tinkling bell one of the cattle has on his neck.  I rounded the corner behind him, just as Jeannie heaved a rock.  I dodged the rock and the cow made a dash out of the yard – right toward me.  Horns and all.  I leaped behind the F-150 and the cow kept on going.  One down, one to go.

I stepped into the yard and tried to shoo the second one out the now open fence, while Jeanne searched for more rocks.  How the fence got open, I have no idea.  Maybe the cattle pushed it open, but when the second intruder cleared the gate, I pulled it shut and reset the chain.

I reset the cylinder, sent a ‘good night’ to Jeanne, along with some shared belly laughs at our cow filled ‘hood’ and turned back to the house – only to step right in a fresh mound of cow poop!  GOODY!  Now I had to shower and wash my slippers and listen to the cling-cling of the belled-bull wander off into the night.

Still beats the 405 at rush-hour.