Howling Jam Band Dog in Phoenix
My time on the west side of Phoenix in the wake of a blasting Mexico trip was mainly in solitary, contemplatively dull at times. The first day back was simple, spent in the house primarily, accept for one trip to the dog park where the eventful bit was watching Koi (Larry's giant mastif dog) hurl a small dog in the air to break up a fight, grabbing it by it's neck in his jaws. The dog whimpered and was tended to by a man who presumably had brought him to the park. The dog was fine, no blood anyhow.
Larry then left to work in Tucson for the week, it was just me and Koi in the house. The first day I had something like a delayed hangover from Mexico, all I could do was sleep and crawl around. I thought of going into the pool to refresh, but I couldn't think of how I'd get out, where I'd get the strength from.
By the next day I was refreshed, and for that and the next days I spent time writing, both in journal and in code for the website. My only escape from this was visiting the neighbor at the times when the Lakers game would come on, enjoying a beer or two and entertaining his questions about my travels.
Back at the house, the pool was turning greener by the day, I spent most of my time sitting at the table in front of it to stay somewhat cool. By 4:30pm each day the sun would hit the table, frying my computer and my mind. More than the frying, it made me think of routine and the idea of living in one place, getting accustomed to reoccurring quirks. The idea didn't sit well, those few days blended together in their near exactness. I couldn't decide if it felt short, as if three days seemed like one; or one long grueling day that just dragged along, even if I was getting things done, seemingly.
Corona is the beautiful big bird, a macaw, that lives in a large cage in the house too. I pet and talked to her in the midst of my madness and between writing stints, also with Koi. Koi's an interesting dog, lazily plodding around or sleeping, but ready to explode with energy at any moment. If winked at, he'll wink back with his old soul eyes placed in his massive head.
At some point I dug my harmonica out of my pack, laid out and began to play. Less than a minute into this Koi began to howl, holding his head towards the ceiling like a coyote at the moon. I sat up and kept playing, me to him and his howls to me, changing his pitch and duration staying as close to the beat as he could. I was amazed and smiling wide as I played, I'd never heard him or really any other dog make sounds like this, especially provoked by an instrument. He howled on until I gave in first, grabbing him around the neck and shaking his massive paw in impressed thanks. I'd do this a couple other times, and every time I started playing, he would join in.
Larry was back the end of the week, that night we went to First Friday in downtown Phoenix. He brought Koi along, he became the center of attention. As we walked the crowded street he caught everybody's eye, and I mean everybody. "Is that a horse?", girls shrieked and cowered, "Can I ride him?", "Can I pet him?", "What breed is he?", and simply, "That's a big fucking dog!".
We met up with Jim and his girlfriend at one point at a bar I'd been to once before some time ago, Larry ordered us two bombers of Aarogant Bastard, the great beer from California. Soon he'd lost the taste for it on this hot Arizona night, giving me his to finish; I'd never considered that one day I'd be double fisting bombers of Aarogant Bastard, but there I was.
More parading with Koi, pausing for music, art and photos of the giant dog, then we were heading back home. We stopped for a case of beer first, then Larry needed to make a stop at a friend's house, I waited in the car, I could see the makings of a small party inside, just a few people. I waited long enough where I thought I could be waiting a while longer even, I grabbed a beer and used the seat buckle to open it, sipping beer I was no longer waiting for anything.
We were soon home after picking up his daughter. I got a vague message from Molly, something about her and Kirby getting caught at the Arizona-California border with all sorts of things one shouldn't get caught with in this country, or any I know of, but was somehow freed. It perplexed me how one would be let free, I'd have to wait until the next time I saw her to figure it out.
After a bit of a morning I was in the car with Larry, bag packed, marker in hand writing "Vegas" on a piece of cardboard. The excuse this time was my brother, he was going to town for the weekend with his girlfriend and some of her friends, not only that but a friend from my Stagecoachella bender planned on being in town as well. It would be another trip filled with good times and several facets.