One of the nicest things about Maddie's and my daily Wickersham Park routine is that we get to meet the neighbors. Of course, by neighbors I don't mean the humans (not that we've got anything against humans, we like humans just fine), instead, I mean dogs.

Petaluma is Dogtown; a walk around any block proves that. On an average sunny day you will find dogs lazily sunning themselves in overgrown front yards, alertly guarding porch steps, nervously peering through fence slats, and longingly gazing out of living room windows. You will see dogs out walking, accompanying strollers; running along, racing kids; and jumping high, playing catch in grassy parks.

Maddie's fascinated by the grand canine parade, but when it comes time for a meet-and-greet, she seems naïve of the rites and protocols of dogdom, snorting and growlfing her greetings in imitation of human salutations, then defiantly sitting down once the ritual butt-sniffing commences. "Hey," she complains, "Cut that out. I only just met you."

Most of the time, we don't catch the names of dogs we meet, instead we see them in passing, and only know them by sight and location. On 6th Street alone there's a pugnacious porcine Pug, a Yorkie with a Napoleon complex, and a black Labrador that likes to lie behind his fence and surprise passers-by with his gruff and powerful bark.

Sometimes, though, the folks out walking with their canine companions will stop and introduce themselves, and will occasionally even let us know that they recognize Maddie from the blog (which is a bit odd for me, but Maddie quite enjoys being a celebrity). Over this last week, we got to meet a couple of very nice dogs, and their people were kind enough to let me take pictures.

On Wednesday, we met Castro, who was out walking with his person Tammy. Castro was a big, friendly black lab who really seemed to enjoy having his ears scratched. Tammy said that they live over by Wickersham Park, and occasionally see us out walking. When I mentioned that I'm in the Creative Writing grad program at SFSU, Tammy let us know that her partner is also a writer, although she didn't mention her partner's name or publications, or I'd be mentioning them here. Hey, Tammy, if you read this, weigh in with a comment so our readers know what to look for.

On Friday, we ran into Irene and her little friend Jerry, a Shih-Tzu puppy. "Jerry eats rocks," observed Maddie, and sure enough, as we chatted with Irene, Jerry picked up one pebble, chewed on it for a while, then spit it out and repeated the process with another. Irene told us all about how Jerry had come into her life, how he'd been born with a deformed leg, and how she realized what sort of dire fate was in store for him if she didn't adopt him, and about how she'd taken him to her vet, who had performed two surgeries and implanted a metal pin within the damaged limb. Jerry, Irene informed us, was named after the vet who had performed the surgery. Maddie was thoroughly impressed. "Does that mean you're a cyborg, Jerry?" she asked, but Jerry was too busy chewing on a rock to respond.

"But I don't want to go to the groomer," insisted Maddie, tugging on her leash. "I don't need a haircut. Let's go to the park instead."

It was early, ten 'til eight, and I wasn't in the mood to argue. "Get back here, Maddie," I responded, opening the car door. "And get in the car."

"But I wanna go to the park," said Maddie. She tugged at the leash again, then sat down and started to scratch.

"That settles it," I said. "I found three fleas on your belly on Monday, and you're still itching today. You are getting a bath and haircut, whether you want to or not. Now get in the car, or I'm going to pick you up and put you in the car."

"Oh, foo," replied Maddie between scratches. "You win. But I'll have you know I'm doing this under protest."

I spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon decompressing from Wednesday's grammar final. Weeks of stress and studying for what had been promised to be an "onerous" final exam culminated in something other than anticipated, as it turned out that my instructor lost her original of the exam she'd planned to give us and had to borrow an exam from one of her colleagues. The substitute exam felt pretty easy, with the exception of a section where we had to parse through and identify structures within an extended quote from Joan Didion (an onerous task, if ever there was one), so I feel pretty good about it. Now, hopefully, my good feelings about the exam will be bourn out once the grades are posted. My fingers are crossed.

Maybe part of what affected the test in my favor was a bit of new-shirt-luck, as I had decided to wear one of the shirts (Cloxboy's "Oil is Evil") Jennifer and I had just ordered and received from Oddica, the hot new T-shirt company that's been getting major blog-buzz. I have to say I'm quite impressed with Oddica's shirts, not only are they are well-printed, lightweight, and comfortable, but also an excellent value (on special for $10 each, when you buy four or more). Besides that, Oddica's got a great selection of designs, and they throw in some fun swag (buttons, postcards) with the order, so I predict a stellar future for these guys. (Keep up the good work, Oddica!)

Eventually, the groomer called to let me know that it was time to pick up Maddie, so I grabbed her leash and my checkbook and walked over to pick her up. Even though Maddie had been nothing but bad attitude when I dropped her off that morning, by the time I picked her up she was in a great mood. "I feel pretty and clean," she said as I carried her outside and set her down. After a quick stop at the "Zazzle Dog" bowl of water (in front of Café Zazzle, of course), Maddie led me towards home, first stopping in at the surf shop and Tuscan Garden so she could walk around and show off her new "do," then taking a break at Walnut Park so that she could enjoy the wind for a few minutes. Clean, happy, and content, Maddie is ready for summer (and so am I).

It looks as if the local graffiti-types have finally weighed in on the upcoming elections. Good thing, too. After all, political posters are little more than sanctioned graffiti adding nothing more than visual noise and empty sloganeering to our already-overcrowded landscape. So far, I'm not sure what's more entertaining, the assemblyman with a giant dollar sign bisecting his smiling face, or the stick-on vinyl letters indicting the district attorney as "pro-undeclared war." What's next? Is it too much to hope to see a stenciled bulldozer and condominium complex added in behind a certain candidate's ubiquitous egret? That, I think, would be a bit of political dissent worthy of framing.

It's been a busy couple of weeks. I'm in crunch time at school, with one last final coming (Grammar, this semester's "hell class") and a story revision due on Wednesday. After that, I can finally get cranking on the writing I really want to do. I'm looking forward to it.

I already got started on my summer reading, simultaneously working my way through S.T. Joshi's The Evolution of the Weird Tale, the Joshi-edited H.P. Lovecraft: Four Decades of Criticism (checked out from the Novato library, but I might have to track down my own copy of this one), and Lovecraft's own The Shadow Out of Time (the S.T. Joshi/David E. Schultz corrected text). Next on my plate is Hell's Cartographers, a collection of SF author biographies (and another library book), a stack of Lovecraft books (including The Lurker in the Lobby, which should show up in the mail any day now), Jeff Vandermeer's City of Saints and Madmen, Richard Matheson's I Am Legend, Rhys Hughes' A New Universal History of Infamy, and all of the Philip K. Dick books I've been accumulating from Copperfield's lately (recent additions include We Can Build You, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (technically a re-read), and The Philip K. Dick Reader. Yeah, it's going to be one wordy summer.

On Friday, Maddie and I made a strange discovery in Wickersham Park. At first she wasn't sure what to make of it, and kept her distance, but I eventually talked her into taking a closer look. "What in the world is it?" she asked.

"It's the back of an old television," I replied. "Somebody's painted all over it, turned it into art."

"Oh, yeah," said Maddie, examining the plastic shell. "Those look like bunnies."

"Look over here, Maddie. This part looks like the girl from the movie Ringu."

"I remember that movie" said Maddie. "It was too scary. I had to hide under my blanket when we watched it."

"What about this?" I asked, pointing to a series of blue spirals. "Does this remind you of any movies we've watched?"

Maddie thought. "Ummm- Uzumaki? That one was more silly than scary."

"Good point," I replied. "But it was still fun to watch."

"Why do you think they threw it away?" asked Maddie.

"Maybe the television didn't work any more."

"Oh. But the pictures still work."

"Good point, Maddie," I said, scratching her ears. "Maybe they should have hung it on the wall."

"I would have," said Maddie, examining the artwork one last time before leading me away. "And they say there's nothing good on television."

We were on our way downtown to get coffee, Jennifer leading the way, Maddie sniffing around at the end of her leash, and me last, distracted and window shopping. As we tromped along, I suddenly felt the uncomfortable sensation that something horrible was adhering the sole of my shoe to the ground.

It was gum, that disgusting combination of sugar, petroleum-based plastic, and someone else's spit that tends to haunt summer sidewalks, lying in wait for unsuspecting passers-by. I grimaced, then stepped over to the curb in order to scrape the nasty goo from my shoe, fantasizing about a litany of painful punishments appropriate for the knucklehead that couldn't hold on to their sticky confectionary long enough to spit it into a trash can, one of which was mere feet away.

Suddenly, Maddie jarred me back to full attention. "Oh, nuts," she complained. "I think I'm stuck to the sidewalk."

Sure enough, Maddie had also stepped in gum. She tried to lift and shake the offending substance off of her hind foot, but to no avail. In her wake trailed thin, minty, elastic strands, intermingled with twigs and other debris. "This isn't good," I observed.

"No kidding," answered Maddie.

I shouted ahead to Jennifer, then picked up Maddie, and the three of us sat down in Putnam Plaza, where Jennifer and I attempted to pick the sticky stuff out of Maddie's hair and she squirmed and complained. "It's no use," said Jennifer. "It's stuck to the pad of her foot. There's no way to just pick it out." We decided then and there that it was time to call in the professionals, so I tucked Maddie under my arm and we walked over to Petaluma Pet Groomer, hoping that they could squeeze us in for an emergency gum removal.

Fortunately, they were able to get Maddie right in, and Jennifer and I waited as the fine folks at Petaluma Pet Groomer took expert care of Maddie's sticky situation. Fifteen minutes later, as the three of us, reunited, headed back out to enjoy our day in downtown Petaluma, Maddie looked up and said with a smile, "remind me never to do that again."

Simultaneously, Jennifer and I responded, "sure thing, Maddie."

"I found something over here," said Maddie, coming back around the big tree she'd been sniffing.

"What is it," I asked. "What's your amazing discovery? A bug? A bird? An old beer can?"

"It's a phone," answered Maddie, "with a fish and a chipmunk on it."

Sure enough, Maddie had found a phone. Someone, by accident or design, had left their Mrs. Grossman sticker-personalized cell phone under a tree in Wickersham Park, and Maddie had discovered it. "Should we pick it up?" asked Maddie.

"I don't think so," I answered. "Maybe the person who dropped it will come back to look for it here. Maybe it's part of a scavenger hunt, or a ransom plot. If we pick it up, they won't be able to find it."

Maddie looked concerned. "So what do we do?" she asked.

I thought about it for a few moments. "I know," I finally said, "I'll take a picture of it and stick it up on the blog. Then maybe whoever lost the phone will read it and remember where they left it."

As I snapped a couple of pictures, Maddie shook her head. "A ransom plot. Sheesh. That's about the silliest thing I've ever heard."

Later, we discovered another strange item left behind in the park, a children's musical Mother Goose toy perched on one of the perimeter poles. Maddie eyed it suspiciously as I took its picture, then we started back towards home. When we got back to the house, she looked up at me and asked, "Do you think that Mother Goose was part of the ransom plot?"

"You never know, Maddie," I said, bending down to scratch her ears. "Birds can be some diabolical characters. I wouldn't put it past her. What do you think?"

She thought about this for a few seconds. "If she's involved in something bad," said Maddie. "I'll bet that it was the crows that put her up to it."

"Come quick!" barks Maddie. "There's a great big angry bug in the kitchen."

This announcement comes as I'm working on homework, studying for a dreadful quiz in my grammar class later this afternoon. Maddie's tone is full of concern, so I set aside my books and study sheet and head out to the kitchen, only to find her cowering in the hallway, occasionally sneaking glances around the corner at the biggest wasp either one of us has ever seen.

The wasp, it appears, has decided that the glass-shaded light above the sink holds the secret of escape. Because of this, she has developed a ritual of repeatedly backing off by about a meter, then charging at the light, full speed, only to thunk off its surface and try again. My first thought is a compassionate one: capture the little monster and set it free in the back yard. I grab a glass and a random piece of mail (a big window envelope apparently offering a laptop computer with a Visa application) and move towards the insect, only to have it turn and charge Maddie and me. I drop to the floor next to Maddie as it swoops overhead, and I swear it makes a sound like a passing TIE fighter.

Maddie ducks back around her corner. "Eeek!" she shouts. "Smack it with something."

"Good plan," I reply, then crawl across the kitchen floor towards the laundry room, to the cabinet where the flyswatter hangs. En route, the wasp buzzes past my head, this time I am convinced that she sounds like a B-29.

I wrest the flyswatter from its nail, feeling like I've pulled Excalibur from the stone, and begin swinging it at the angry wasp in earnest. "Get it!" barks Maddie. The wasp stays just out of reach, bouncing along the ceiling. Finally it comes to rest on the glass shade of the kitchen light. I swing and connect. Smack. The insect falls into the sink and the light goes out.

"Wow," says Maddie. "You hit it so hard, you broke the light."

One replaced lightbulb and a treat for Maddie later, I'm back at my desk. There's one less bug in the world, and I'm trying to motivate myself into getting back to my studies.

---

Weekends are never quite long enough. I spent most of mine warding off allergies and working on my Oscar Wilde paper. Unfortunately, that means I didn't finish The Ambassadors and since I need to keep on studying for the grammar quiz, I'm not going to get to it. Oh, well, that just means I'll be skimming and faking my way through class tonight. Not like I haven't ever done that before. I can pull it off- I think.

Of course we did manage to get a walk in on Saturday, and along the way I spotted and photographed a couple of new Böga stickers while Maddie played "mighty hunter" with one of the birds in Putnam Plaza. Oh, and last night Peanut came over for dinner. So it was a full weekend, just not long enough.