grey ice on the pond

grey ice on the pond

still firm enough for two dogs

to take a shortcut

Light rain all day, dissolving the remnants of snow, softening the ice on the ponds. Coming home, I'm surprised to see two black and white farm dogs out for a jaunt across Osage Pond, taking a shortcut from the barn to the road. 
          Reminds me of the time in my youth when I walked all the way across Lake Harriet, a lake in the middle of Minneapolis, Minnesota. We lived right by the lake and I'd walked or biked around it many times, swam and even ice skated along the edge. I'd seen ice boats and ice fishermen out on the frozen lake and one day I decided to see what it was like out there. Of course, it was foolish to venture that far out all alone.
          In the middle of the lake, the wind had swept the snow off the ice, which gleamed like obsidian. When I got to the other side, my face was so windburned that I decided to walk the long way around to get back home. 
          Later that day my father remarked that the lake must be melting because you could see open water out in the middle. I started to say, no, that's just bare ice, but I didn't dare let him know how I knew. That's one of the few times I've ever done anything really risky, and it gave me just a tiny glimpse of what it feels like to be a daredevil.

Kintamani dog

Kintamani dog

sleeping in the sun outside 

his master's dwelling

The dog serenely sleeping in the sun outside his master's dwelling in the Pondok Frog family compound is called Rin Tin. Another dog, Cookie, is from Robin's compound. Rin Tin appears to be a Kintamani, a native Balinese dog that apparently evolved from interbreeding between a Balinese dingo dog and a Chow Chow. There is evidence that a Chinese trader named Lee brought a Chow Chow with him to Bali, where he settled with his family in the Kintamani region sometime between the 12th and 16th centuries. The Kintamani has a long curved or straight tail, perky ears, a long face and short hair, which may be white, black or beige. Unlike most dogs, a Kintamini will climb on top of roofs or walls to sit or sleep. It is a popular pet, affectionate with family members but also a good watchdog. The Kintamani is the only official breed in Bali. Robin tells me that when her family was living here in the 1990s they had a German shepherd, rare on this island where the government killed all dogs who were not Kintamani. They bought the dog from the police in Denpasar, who had confiscated it. Robin made them promise that they wouldn't break her kid's hearts by confiscating it back to resell. In May 1998, anti-Chinese riots broke out in Jakarta, including the rape of Chinese women. The violence did not extend to Hindu Bali, but Robin was afraid for one of her daughters, who is half Chinese, so she fled with her family to the Philippines and they had to leave the dog behind. Robin gave $100 to her neighbor in their compound to feed the dog leftovers, but the woman starved the dog to death. Robin heard later that this woman was a black witch.

eating purple grapes

 

eating purple grapes 

and peaches from her wheelbarrow

watched by curious dog

This fruit vendor has set up shop on the corner of a street in Pisac. The dog looks eagerly at the piles of grapes, perhaps wishing he could sample some too. Her old wheelbarrow, lined with red and blue plastic, and the pink plastic shopping bags create a bright tableau for the purple grapes and yellow peaches. The adobe wall behind her, its pink paint pitted down to the clay bricks looks like an abstract painting, contrasting with the neat design of the stone street.

blue doors, azure wall

blue doors, azure wall,

boy in orange jacket and pants,

bushy-tailed orange dog

The blue so often seen on doors in Peru is the same color as the water of Lake Titicaca: ultramarine, sapphire, cobalt, lapis lazuli. The aqua paint on the wall, also a favorite color, is seen in everything from aquamarine plastic bags to electric blue plastic tarps and turquoise plastic pails. On the color wheel orange is opposite blue, and when they are together they not only complement but also compliment each other. The mango orange of the boy's clothes and the burnt sienna of the dog's fur pop out in delightful contrast with the blue doors. This combination of blue and orange reminds me of the intense cerulean of the sky and the persimmon buffalo grass in autumn on our farm in the Flint Hills of Kansas. When we moved into our stone house, built in 1840, I wanted to bring the outside inside, so I painted the walls prairie grass orange and the ceiling sky blue.

latch on a blue door

 

latch on a blue door

on a stone house on a stone street –

dog waiting outside

Portals fascinate me, that gap between outside and inside, here and there, open or closed, allowing in or keeping out or passing through The latch on this door in Ollantaytambo has obviously been used a lot, from the circular mark worn through the blue paint, but there is no lock on the latch and the door is slightly ajar. Anyone might enter, or exit, at any moment. The dog, standing outside, head down, does not seem to be guarding the door but rather to be patiently waiting for someone to appear.

cold night in Puno

cold night in Puno –

the beggar shares her blanket

with her two best friends

The sign propped up next to this woman sitting on the street on a cold night in Puno explained that she was handicapped and needed help. I thought the red band around her head meant she was blind and these were her seeing-eye dogs, or guard dogs, or both. The dogs seemed utterly content, one curled up against her, the other wrapped in their thin blanket. When I approached, she did not hold out her hand and only the dog on her lap lifted his head to gaze at me. I put three soles, about one dollar, in her white cup, one for each of them, hoping it would help a little with food.