Escape: Pepto To Quench Peptic

The Lone Tree
Pebble Beach, California

Six weeks ago my wife Rita had her knee replaced. A bit before  I moved my office from the Business2Business Magazines HQ, here to our home. Four, or so weeks ago, my buddy Rocco-The-Dog died. Last week we bought a new pup. During this, Rita's sister and brother-in-law came for a five day visit.

And, of course, the monthly magazines I edit came out on schedule on the first of this month. Life went peptic...

Photography's my baking soda: Pepto to quench life's peptic waves. It can be smoothed into the slower moments, massaging at angst and melancholy. This art stuff's is angst processor, dialing it down, or sometimes blotting it out.

Anxiety's tentacles can't hold onto feelings focused on say, the Lone Tree that clings to its Pebble Beach rock cropping into the Pacific. For at least the hour, or so, that I visited this place my mind-muscles floated free of the churning world so I could return to it with stress cranked way down.

I'm not whining. Rita's recovering wonderfully. This knee now matches the other she received a decade ago and its already improved her mobility and comfort exquisitely. I still ache for Rocco's company, but little Musser's fun and filling the void.

Here's Musser yesterday... All 9 weeks of him.

Okay, I found time in moments when the winds were quieter over the past five or so weeks to escape into my images, but didn't open minutes to think about the comments visitors left here below, nor have I responded to mail. That all wanted me to think, and while thinking's totally exciting, the swirl of these weeks demanded time to turn off thought and excitement and to wallow in the Pepto of places like Pebble Beach, y'know?

But... I'm baaaaaack! There's more time to refocus and to have the energy to think as well as feel. Still, it's a blessing isn't it to have this art narcotic ready when we need to mellow away for a bit, and crank down life's peptic volume?

Rocco Has Left The Building

My buddy Rocco was born May 5, 2004. Last May the vets found a mass growing in his left chest and recommended it be reviewed in August. He began coughing last Monday which got him a trip to the doctor.

Rocco Byrne 5/5/04-8/14/15

Comparing new x-rays with this from May... The doctors seemed startled that he was still alive! They gave him maybe a week to live and suggested I quickly consider euthanasia.

Words escaped Rita and I.  Doggies, like Autumn, lack a happy ending. But both are so richly wonderful...

Rocky's Autumn's ended Friday. But at least until last weekend he was virtually symptom free. We walked every day since Spring... He picked our routes around Lancaster, always winding to our doorstep... He was  a great little city guy - my best buddy.

Rocky was a Lhassa Apso, 25 pounds of furry affection.
I'm remembering when he' d first moved in, a tiny visitor then but already guarding his very favorite place at the foot of the bed. He was about twelve pounds and glad to escape the farm where he was surrounded by sisters who stole his food. It took months till he realized that meals were his, and that he could graze leisurely, usually eating half at dinner time, and finishing each night before bedtime.

Last Sunday was the first time he passed on his second course of food before bed. Monday he stopped eating his goodies. And then completely stopped eating.

Monday the doctor wondered if I thought it was time to end his dis-comfort. But Rita's just had her knee replaced and she's recovering from that pain. When I left with Rocco last Monday morning, we both believed he'd merely gotten something stuck in his throat - the first symptom of anything unusual. No way I could go home without our guy. And while he coughed some, his spirits seemed normal so I had to bring our buddy home to say goodbye. Which we did until Friday morning... August 14th at 11.

Putting a dog down... When they live to trust us and will trust us even as their little eyes cloud and close for a last sleep is: Well, I've been there before with my doggie friends. As the doctor's administered the drug, I've asked, "Give me your paw..." And we've held on... held on... And Friday I asked  Rocco for his paw, and I got it with all of his trust as he closed his eyes and cuddled to his final rest... closely in my arms.

DAMN THIS IS MAUDLIN!!! Yeah, Rocco's just a dog. But Damn It! If there ain't dogs there... IT AIN"T HEAVEN. I want him to live. He couldn't and I could see the puzzle in his slowly closing eyes...To get the sleep that evaded him as his chest obstruction caused his breathing to grow labored.

He knew, even as he drifted off that I wanted something, but he couldn't figure out how to give it to me. That's what dogs do, they give. You know what? I hope I gave him just a tiny bit of what his eleven years added to our lives.

Rocco's left the building, at least physically. But he's still all around the house. I just can't seem to find him.

May 2015 • Hilton Head

Last May we visited Hilton Head over the Memorial Day weekend. Our little city fella liked adventures that left him off the leash to sit on the back step and peer into the early morning glow. Maybe he saw the rainbow bridge where furry friends wait, tails thumping, for us to join them? Maybe... Maybe Rocco, that thing newly growing in his breast last Spring, understood that he was older than his years. Older than me in relation to the end? Maybe. And when I think of Rocky - perhaps waiting up there on his glowing bridge -  and its much that I do for the moment... It's a nice maybe, huh?

I'm Lucky to have loved him

Aug. 13, 2015 • Rocco's Last Adventure

Hair Apparent

Me • August, 1976 • Ektachrome

Still rooting among the hoard I found a few posts back.

That's Pickle with me ... Or maybe, that's me with Pickle. She was my buddy, a Wheaten Terrier who used to greet me at night by leaping into my arms. Why "Pickle"? Well we named the puppy Dahlia after the flower which got shortened to Dally. And Dilly goes with Dally, right? And Dill's short for Dilly... So... in weeks she became "Pickle".  Obvious?

As for the cowboy up there... I think that shirt's stuffed among the dust rags. But the hair's not quite the same. I was still a redhead back then, today it's browner and my ears are back in the sun. And... and I wonder where that guy went, and what thoughts and memories he hid when he left?

Pickle died at 15. Even though my latest buddy Rocco's a great dog... I look there at the old girl and feel a tear swell. Because.... well... she was... Swell.

If there ain't dogs there... It ain't heaven.

Look! Caravaggio's Dog

So, friends at Radiant Vista  flung a challenge, "Imagine an image through the lens of Caravaggio's chiaroscuro light." Well why imagine? The last time I was in Rome I passed Caravaggio's doorway and... well sort of channeled one of his forgotten works...

And here, everybody... as you can plainly see... this here long lost Caravaggio's got chiaroscuro all over it. Huh? Huh?

"Authentic?" You ask? Well look... down there on the lower right. Uh-huh, there's the master's unmistakable signature. So it must be authentic. Right? Of course right!

Want more detail? Duh, well yeah... so here... look at the way chiaroscuro's slathered all over the canvas. Making it clear that, well, there ain't no way to... let sleeping dogs lie.

Underneath

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KatelynRose and Rocco. Sweet stuff, babies and doggies. Too easy?

2011 - Merry

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My little buddy Rocco suffers through New Year's Eve. Lancaster has a midnight fireworks show atop a parking garage a block or so away from our home. We usually sit out front and watch it explode above us - adult beverages in hand. Unfortunately my fuzzy guy is NOT a hunter. He's been bread to be a watch dog, suspicious of the odd noise. He suffers from fireworks overload. Which leaves him an exhausted fur ball. And maybe that' the best metaphor for 2010, it's left us... thank Zeus... exhausted with a "Good Riddance!" taste. Like Rocco... I'm tired of it and looking forward to awaking in 2011.

Wish you a mellow one.

Awwwwww.....

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Cute enough for ya? Sometimes it's enough to go for the "Ahhhhhhhh!"

Here's my wife's grand niece KatlynRose meeting my dog Rocco. Or is that the other way about? Anyway, it's yet a fourth chance to kick Bokeh2 to its extreme, this time playing with the apps ability to mimic LensBaby's selective point of focus. Again this series was captured with my Canon G10 at 5300 ISO and is a nightmare of noise. Which of course cries out for the softening powers of Bokeh2.

Rocco & Me

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My buddy isn't happy about cameras, even on - or maybe especially on - timers.


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OKAY Andreas (see comments).... Here's some wisp of color... sigh.... I hate to break too much with tradition... why, the entire foundation of my political philosophy would shimmy, huh? Enjoy...

Rocco Redux

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Yeah... I've been to this place before. If you click here, you can see my first (award winning) visit to this image. But as a result of a lot of Australian School influence at the RedBubble Forums... texture techniques are becoming more interesting to me.

Okay... okay... they can be a gimmick. And yes, as April has commented on PhotoSapiens.com, they frequently are used to correct what was otherwise an average image capture. Just recently I actually took what I thought was an average snap shot and purposely lathered on the texture

But, like any filter, lens, POV, or enhancement... texture can also be a useful tool. In this case, I was pleased with the original and wondered if a texture could add some additional wonder to the image. Like a lot of you, I don't take pictures, I make images. So techniques which might reinforce the mystery, resonance, or delight I want to communicate are always interesting.. as long as the technique does not wag the dog... so to speak. Soooo..

With all of that in mind, I've revisited Rocco's Adventure. And? Does the texture deepen the story, or pull water out of the emotional pool leaving a more shallow experience? Thoughts?

Rot Is Change

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It’s my experience here in Lancaster, Pennsylvania that physical change of the city seems to be heavily obstructed at one end. While its physical properties can regress as they deteriorate, they cannot progress as a result of a lack of significant resources on the one hand and on the other a lack of useful consensus on how or where to apply the resources which exist…

Innovation is blocked by noisy political honkers who create such din over anything new that supporters flee and the general population drive their moving vans to the suburbs. I got a similar feeling in Gandolpho when I recently visited that Italian town. Vast hunks of former glory lie rotting in the way of improvements which could make the day-to-day lives of people at the least less irksome.

I wonder when the obstructionists gain the most weight on the see-saw of history? Leaving optimists at best with few opportunities to seize and instead with only dreams of change slowly. A thing worth remembering: Rot is change.

Move On, Okay?

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"Walk Around Him" the sign says. Well sort of.
On a lot of days, I'd like to have a sign like that.
Something that keeps the traffic of life moving, but around me.
Wonder where you buy one?

2007 Award Winner: Rocco's Adventurel

Note: Accepted as one of theworld's finest Nature Images of 2007 for Canon POTN Book to be published in the Fall of 2008.

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My little buddy saw Fall down the pathway and scampered his furry body to meet it.

You ever think that we've lost the color, sound, and odor of the past? Start drilling down into history and pretty soon you're left only with the art collections of the rich. They're what pass along whatever lined the tunnels you dug. They were the windows that let you look through any level. The deeper you dig, the fewer windows remain. What did the average guy, walking home on the first evenings of Fall smell? Hear? What colors bathed the walkways and what colors did those rays mix together in the facades on either side?

If you walked down a decaying pathway behind a furry friend on a night like tonight in say 1007, in oh... Belfast, or Florence... Well, you have no way of knowing what was there. Will pictures like this survive so that in 3007 someone will have a window to peer into as he digs through my layer of his history? What will he make of our time as he watches Rocco prance into Fall?

Fuzzy Fred

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We tell the rules in stories. They are how we pass along the stuff we learned that’s kept us from smashing our fists down upon red buttons that could ignite a hundred suns around the globe.

Our tales teach what we know about dealing with the things that go bump in the night. Our legends, allegories, whisperings… fill in the stuff that didn’t come packed into our genetic baggage.

Pity the child who grows up without stories.

GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, Canon EFS 17-85mm (f4-5.6),1/60@f/10 exposure Bias value: -1, ISO: 400, Focal Length: 28 mm, Date/time: 8/7/7: 4:22 pm, Metering Mode: Average, Camera RAW

Doggone

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Pickle, Meghan, Jamie, Phoebe and now Rocco have left these there. That's the line of buddies who've lived with us here in Lancaster. And like these prints, they're vivid memories.

If dogs aren't there: it ain't heaven.

Puppy Rocco

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The little guy was three months old when we met him. He lived in a box at a farm, inside of a barn, with other puppies. I think he saw the outdoors and sun the day we brought him home. Which was the day before I took this picture. It was hidden in an old file. The camera was a primitive digital with maybe three magapixels. And there wasn't much light in the bedroom. But somehow all of that works to create a storm of grit and wonder. Notice the only color is in the lens glare there on the lower left. I like that. Rocco's become a good friend. And he's adjusted pretty well to city living outside of his barn cardboard box.

Chick Magnet

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We should have named this guy, "Aww..." That's what people call him, at least at first. I had a snapshot. I wanted to see if it could be made into a portrait. Here's the result. Does it work? Or is it still just a snap?
Regardless, this is Rocco. He's just over two years old. If you look back a week or so on the blog (November 27 = "Crow Droppings"), you'll see my VW spattered with bird poop. The city's startling the crows to get them to move on. They do it by shooting very loud rounds from a portable cannon. Rocco is sitting there quite concerned that the %$#@! cannon will explode at any second. He does not like cannons. Know what? Neither do I. I dislike crow droppings more.
Oh, the title of this piece? If you are looking to meet women, Rocco is the key. He has an astonishing way of drawing ladies from everywhere. Social life drooping? Get a Rocco.