Milestones and Missed Opportunities

Milestones have a way of sneaking up on you, don’t they? Not so much when you have your first baby home, and feel that you have to document every drool, every nap, and that strange smile a baby gets when it passes gas. But, after that, when the milestones stretch far enough back in time that they mark the way to Venezuela.

Recently I passed a milestone I never thought would be part of my life; the foofoo dog milestone. I’ve always loved labs, border collies, blue heelers, chows, and combinations of the same. My dogs have been workers or guardians, well loved, but held at a certain distance. Enter Tex the Yorkie.

A gift from my daughter, Tex was named before he was delivered, as my daughter was convinced that, true nerd fashion, I would name the poor creature Ewok, or worse yet, Deej after the ewok cum mountain man in the Star Wars movies. Her husband picked the biggest name he could think of for a dog that weighed a pound and half. Now a whopping nine pounds and full grown, Tex tries to live up to his name every time someone dares to approach the house, growling and barking as if to say, “Stand right there, Pardner, and let me see your hands. Drop the gun, slowly . . .slowly.”
This little ball of fur and spirit has solved a mystery that I’ve wondered about for years.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away, I was a prison lawyer. When our grant was renewed the salaries were not increased, and I was already unable to make ends meet. My boss gave me the choice to continue to work for next to nothing or be laid off. I chose being laid off.

While a little unnerving to be laid off two years out of law school, like so many “misfortunes” the event was actually a wonderful opportunity in disguise. I had always wanted to return to a small town like the one in which I grew up, and now I had the chance to find the right spot. I decided to spend the summer traveling through the West looking for my new home.

From Strawberry, California to Lee Vining, to Winnemuca, on to Elko, I drove, looking in each little town to see if they had a stone or brick courthouse. For some reason a stone or brick courthouse became emblematic for me, an indication that the town had the lifestyle I was looking for. In those days, the courthouses were located downtown, often off a town square. As I drove through the towns, then on to Twin Falls and Pocatello, Idaho, driving through downtowns with shuttered shops, and Mary’s Cafes, and Dew Drop Inns, I noticed a similarity. Everywhere I looked there were rugged old men with little tiny dogs, riding along in the pick-up, leading the way down a sidewalk on a leash, or cradled in the arms that looked like they’d spent many years driving a tractor.

The men wore cowboy hats, and worn boots, jeans with pressed creases and pearl snap shirts, and the company they were keeping were little cross breed dogs that clearly adored them. As I drove I conceived of a book “Men and Their Dogs”, a series of photographs of these extraordinary men and the charming little dogs.

Like so many things conceived on a road trip, I kept putting off starting my project. I found Montrose and it’s stone courthouse, and home. Then the nursery rhyme came true, you know the one, “First comes love, then comes marriage, then come Peggy pushing a baby carriage”, and my life was consumed with other things.

Many of those old timers are gone now, and I've missed the opportunity to document this delightful phenomena. I can still picture one guy in his grey Stetson, walking the streets of Elko, Nevada led by a tiny little mutt. I only hope Tex and I can live up to his example.