This month’s masthead feature’s NitWit Bridge. I’ve mentioned NitWit bridge a few times to friends and occasionally on this site. I even featured a few of the photos in an old gallery that no longer exists. But I never really told its story. I’ve neglected featuring photos or mentioning it because it was so closely tied to Maggie, the dingo and founder of Wild Dingo. You see, NitWit Bridge was aptly named by Maggie, as told in the story and photos below.

The bridge is located on our property and was “engineered” (insert tongue-in-cheek) in 2006 by our home builder for a few reasons. Firstly, our good-producing well was located about a quarter mile away from our home site and we conveniently needed to find a way to pipe the water to our home. Secondly, we had the dingo, Maggie, who loved the outdoors and loved to hike and walk. Building a trail from the top of our property to our home through the Redwood forest was always on our agenda and the well gave us the perfect excuse to make a trail for the pipeline. But there was one snag. The trail had to cross a creek that was about 40 feet below the trail and 90 feet across to the other side. Our contractor found a fallen redwood tree and there, we “engineered” our suspension bridge: 2 planks over the fallen redwood held taught by cable wire which was posted into the ground on either side in cement. The contractor found outdoor flexible pipe for the waterline and ran it under the redwood tree while he built our bridge.

Maggie, my late dingo and founder of Wild Dingo,  gives the bridge a first inspection. She looks down. Now Maggie was a brazen dog with incredible agility who used to walk on house roofs and leap a 6-foot fence from a standing position. But she took one look below and didn’t get further than three or four feet. The entire bridge is roughly 90 feet long. She gave up and refused to cross the bridge. Because she was old and more frail, I didn’t make her cross it.

Another day Maggie takes her friend ShyGuy, the basset hound seen at the end of the bridge. Maggie looked on and said, “Hey ShyGuy, are you crazy? Only a NitwWit would cross this bridge. Oh wait, I forgot who I’m talking to.”
As much as she liked ShyGuy, Maggie was a bit critical of other canines and felt intellectually superior to any she met.

So Mr. Wild Dingo chose the hottest day that summer to go out to NitWit Bridge and stabalize its safety with pirate netting. In the event a paw should slip off, the netting would catch it. Maggie came to supervise construction. The stairs in back lead up a very steep section of the trail. To the left, you can see the black flexible pipe for the water.

“I am Wild Dingo and I approve the safety netting on this bridge. I hearby name it NitWit Bridge.” Maggie crossed the bridge the first time that day, with netting in place. Smart doggie.

This spring (2009) took its toll on the brige. When its wet, one has to be extra cautious in walking the slippery bridge.

Because look what awaits you, should you fall. But you’d surly have to jump over the netting and cable to really “fall” off this bridge. Unless…

A tree like this happens to fall while you cross the bridge. Thankfully the tree fell on the stairs and not on the bridge, because it would have taken out our waterline too. It took out our stairs, which Mr. Wild Dingo later repaired. But for a while Loki and Juno had to do some agility work to get around the fallen tree. And people at school wonder why our dogs have good agility and a good bond with us! Its because we make them do this stuff! Booowhahahah!

Ah, who are we kidding? These two love the trail, the bridge and the stairs and don’t have any complaints.

They love it so much, they pose for me in the middle of the bridge to show you that it isn’t as bad as it looks. Still, they seem to have the same opinion Maggie had and every day we cross the bridge, they take great care and caution.

When Wild Dingo’s ISP service is in better shape (it only took 13 hours to get this post published in my slow ISP shape), I’ll feature one of Loki’s Training for NitWits videos, which are appropriately shot on location of NitWit Bridge. Also, I’ll feature a few walking trail photos so you can all sympathize with how difficult the walk is right outside our door. (No joke, it’s a workout!)

Anyone who knew Maggie knew her to be bossy and loud. But those were her outward appearances. To really know Maggie, you had to look past her barking to truly appreciate her brilliant, colorful character. Above all, Maggie was dignified, discerning, proud, intelligent, loyal, funny, agile, resilient and full of vitality.

Maggie valued anyone who brought her joy.  The morning after I moved in with Scott was the first time I was left alone with both Maggie and Moosh. When he left for work, I sat down on a bench to put on my sneakers. Both dogs studied me closely wondering what I was going to do. I knew the magic words and as I finished tying my shoes, I got up and said them. “Do you want to go for a walk?”  The look on both their faces was priceless, like a child on Christmas morning. Their eyes grew large and their ears perked up in disbelief.  When I said it again, they shot up, yapped happily and ran around in circles, flabbergasted. I imagine they were yelling, “Yeee Haw! Jackpot!” Right then, they both realized that my living there guaranteed long walks in the reservoir every day, something that Scott could only afford to do on the weekends. And I kept my daily promise, exploring all that the reservoir offered and playing ball with them until they were exhausted enough to let me work for most of the day at my computer.

Maggie never wandered away from me purposely off leash, and in fact, always kept me in close sight. I think she was afraid of never finding home. In her youth (before I or Moosh arrived), she had run away from home during a rainy season and couldn’t find her way back. Three days later, she showed up on the lawn, bloody-pawed and looking sorrowful and defeated. Soon after, Scott acquired Moosh and although Maggie merely “tolerated” him, she never ran away from home again. We think she really liked him.

Although Moosh was the friendlier, likable dog, Maggie quickly honed in on coveting me. When lounging around the living room, she made sure to get the spot closest to me, even if it meant sitting on my lap. And that was a stretch for Maggie, because she was so independent. She was too dignified to be a lap dog and certainly too distinguished to “shake” hands or chase a ball. But Maggie’s insecurity led her to play the game. She reluctantly chased balls and sat on laps. And she did those things better than Moosh. For more than anything, Maggie was afraid of being sent back to “jail,” and in her mind, being better than Moosh guaranteed her staying.

Over the years, Scott and I joked about dingoes having a lifetime warranty, but in truth, there wasn’t anything in the world to make us part with her. She was our friend.  She had a great sense of humor and loved to be the center of attention. Maggie loved dressing up and often entertained us or our guests by wearing tiaras, glasses or costumes. We’d gush over how pretty she was and that would be enough for her to enjoy playing dress up. She often sat with a tiara on her head and never tried to remove it (as most dogs would) because she knew we thought she was pretty. She was a loveable ego maniac who delighted in being “made over.”

Maggie was a creature of habit and each night after dinner, she found a soft spot, either on her bed, the sofa or our bed, where she would rub her face, from side to side as if she were using it as a napkin. Then she would gleefully wiggle around, celebrating her tasty meal. For in the last 4 years of her life, she was regularly served chicken, beef, steak or occasionally, fish for dinner, combined with brown rice and vegetables. She knew she had it good and performed her special “thank you” schmeg every night.

Maggie was a regular Houdini, proud of her agility and too dignified to be confined. In the early days, Maggie would regularly jump her six-foot fence, from a standing position, to roam the ‘hood or climb on our neighbor’s roof to visit her dog friend. Since a six foot fence did little to contain her, Scott tried a jump harness. Within 15 minutes, he felt guilty and returned home only to find Maggie had chewed through the leather harness and was free, sitting in the yard, looking at him, proudly, as if to say, “Is that all you got?”  Scott had also tried an electric collar to keep her inside the fence. It didn’t take long for Maggie to outsmart the collar, consistently getting it wet to keep it from zapping her.  When we drove to L.A. with Maggie, I buckled her into a doggie seat belt. Ten minutes into the drive I turned around to find Maggie peacefully sitting beside her doggie seatbelt. I should have known better. Maggie realized our trip would be long and that she needed to be still and I respected her need to be free so I never tried to confine her again.

Early on in our daily walks with the two of them, I didn’t have much control over Maggie. She did what she wanted and didn’t pay me any attention. In the reservoir, I let them off leash since there was never anyone there except wild life. And did they love to chase the wildlife: ducks, birds, geese, squirrels or anything that moved. One day, at about 2 miles into the middle of the dried reservoir which was now a running river, Maggie actually caught a duck. Mortified, I demanded her to stop, but she kept walking toward me with the duck in her mouth, proud. As she got closer she realized I was angry and dropped it, cowering because she knew she’d been naughty. I chased them away from the duck and hurried home with them. I went back to the reservoir to see if the duck needed medical attention, only to find it had played dead and flew away.  That night I signed Maggie up for obedience school. She was 8 years old and never trained. I had my work cut out for me. Her dog sitter, who was also the trainer at school, knew Maggie was “difficult” and questioned if she would be trainable.  Scott was convinced there was no hope for Maggie’s independent, anti-social behavior and warned me to be very careful with her in public.

Once again, Maggie surprised us all, excelling at school, completing all her requirements and passing with a straight A. She made the smartest dogs look like dunces. I couldn’t believe this, but Maggie actually loved school and the one-on-one attention. I had just begun to appreciate Maggie’s true needs and her genuine personality. She needed the challenge of daily learning and to be able to communicate with me. Her face lit up when she understood things I asked of her. 

Soon, Maggie proved to be the exact opposite of Scott’s notion of her anti-social behavior. She reveled in the social interaction at school and I discovered her public persona to be polite. After she graduated, I’d take her running regularly in parks where people and young children alike approached and pet her. She’d sit quietly while they fawned over her. Scott admitted he’d never seen this side of her. He’d only ever seen the aggressive, uncontrollable dog that existed at our home. At the downtown square, Maggie was the one dog who attracted everyone’s attention, even over the dozens of retrievers and gentler dogs who roamed with their owners. I never understood why young children preferred to pet a dingo over a big soft fluffy golden. But they did and Scott and I enjoyed many jokes over the irony.

Although her public behavior was polite and contained, her home behavior remained territorial. No matter how hard I tried, she always treated most visitors aggressively, warning them that they didn’t belong. When I learned about Maggie’s illness, I had stopped trying to correct her and just let her be.

Maggie honed in on the few who really understood her.  She loved our neighbor Anouk and her basset hound ShyGuy. The first time meeting them, Maggie pulled her usual stunt, greeting them with aggressive barking and circling them as if they didn’t belong. Anouk smiled and greeted her calmly and ShyGuy wagged his tail and I knew it was love at first sight for him. He seemed to like loud, bossy broads. In 2005, we enjoyed the Summer of Love, going on daily walks, adventures and hikes with the dynamic duo, Maggie and ShyGuy. Soon, the entire neighborhood coined us as the dog-walking club, and yearned to join us, even if they didn’t have a dog. It was evident that Maggie and ShyGuy knew how to have fun and everybody wanted to be a part of the show.

Maggie lived by her own moral codes. Unlike most dogs that wagged their tails with delight when you returned home, she would greet us happily for a minute or so before she realized she was mad at us. She’d then promptly walk away looking back and barking at us over her shoulder, scolding us for leaving her for too long. Whether we were gone for 1 day or 1 week, she’d scold us equally, for she had in her mind an appropriate time period that was allowed for us to be away from the den and if we exceeded it, she’d let us know.

For as many people Maggie truly liked (a handful), there were a few who she truly disliked. For everyone else, she held no opinion. Scott recalls a friend who taunted Maggie, offering her a treat, only to pull it away at the last minute. No matter how hard he tried after that, Maggie would never accept his friendship. She was unforgiving and never forgot those who disrespected her.

Dogtor Hilary, Maggie’s veterinarian/acupuncturist was one of the few who truly understood her and Maggie accepted. In general, Maggie disliked vets, mainly because she associated them with “being behind bars.” (Scott had boarded her and Moosh for business trips prior to us marrying.) Like Anouk, Dogtor Hilary greeted Maggie calmly and accepted her wacky barking behavior. She called Maggie the “Rough-Tough-Cream-Puff” and I knew she “got” Maggie.  Maggie soon came to realize that it was Dogtor Hilary who gave her back her dignity–her ability to walk for the last six months of her life. For above all, Maggie was proud of her agility, and her cancer had kept her from being able to walk this summer. So Maggie tolerated her regular acupuncture treatments and she walked very well, even on her last day.

I could go on endlessly over Maggie’s intelligence. She used strategy instead of brute force to obtain toys in Moosh’s possession. Like a chess player, she thought three or four moves ahead, fawning over us, making Moosh jealous enough for him to drop his toy and come to us, only to have Maggie cut and run for his abandoned toy. When we first took her to Nitwit Bridge, a 90-foot long suspension bridge on our new property, she refused to cross it, sensing its danger, until we fortified it with netting. 

But Maggie’s most impressive attributes were her resilience and will. Diagnosed in 2004 with aggressive liver cancer and only 6 months to live, doctors warned me to keep Maggie quiet and calm in her last few months. As if that were possible. Maggie rested several days after being diagnosed, but sure enough she started demanding her rituals back. On the advice of a holistic vet, we gave her organic food, real meat and veggies and supplemented with milk thistle and worm wood. And Maggie resumed life as if nothing were wrong. For three and a half years, she went for hour-long walks, adventures in town, enjoyed the good life and scoffed at the notion that she was sick. She showed everyone that love and will was all it took.

I feel honored to have come into Maggie’s life at the just the right time to help reveal her genuinely good qualities which were so easily overshadowed by her more challenging behaviors. I used to say, “Maggie’s not evil, she’s just misunderstood.” Scott would agree, “She gets a lot of bad press.” But the truth is, Maggie’s character held so many life lessons: respect yourself, be distrusting of others who don’t respect you, value those who love you, learn something new each day and get out and enjoy the great outdoors, every day. These were her secrets to happiness. These were her gift to us.

 Maggie Starling
August 18, 1993-November 23, 2007

This is what a dingo looks like after a long night of milkbones and squeaky woobie toys. (Note the stuffing and squeaker appendectomy to the right.) I’m THIS close to having an intervention with her.

For the past 3 years, Wild Dingo’s beloved CEO, has been battling liver cancer. But before you feel sad about it, realize that we were told three years ago that we had at best 6-months with her. And she’s still with us today, living most of the last three-years very well, with good quality days. We attribute a lot of these last three years to changing her diet to organic food that is non-processed and contains no bone meal or by-products. We also give her milk thistle to enhance the liver and the Chinese herb, wormwood, that’s been attributed to slowing the reproduction of cancer cells.

Over the summer, Maggie had trouble walking. Given that she is part German Shepherd, we were convinced it was hip dysplasia. Her “dogtor” told us that she couldn’t take pain killers simply because her liver couldn’t process them but she informed us that they had a certified veterinarian acupuncturist on staff, and had found really good results in pain management and hip dysplasia. At this point, I only wanted to make her comfortable, so I agreed. The dogtor/acupuncturist recommended x-rays to really determine where her pain was, and I was really glad we did it. The x-rays showed that the liver inflammation was the true cause of her difficulty with walking and in fact, our dogtor said she’d never seen such good hips in a dog of Maggie’s age (14). Since the x-rays really helped diagnose her symptoms, the acupuncturist was able to adjust treatment specifically focused on the liver. I only expected this treatment to help ease the discomfort but to my surprise, Maggie began walking again and requesting to go for her long walks.

Although Maggie officially disdains the indignity of being made into a pin cushion every Sunday, even she cannot ignore how good she feels following her treatments. And for now, she’ll continue to be subjected to such undignified treatment, as long there are a few slices of lunch meat in it for her.

Ya, she now has her own logo. The brat. But I still have to post her face all over this site. She is the boss after all.

Wild Dingo has been remiss to publish the news about the passing away of it’s favorite partner in crime, Mr. ShyGuy, the basset next door. A few weeks ago, ShyGuy was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and within about a week, he passed away. It’s been a few weeks now and the time feels right to write a little something about the little dog who tolerated Maggie.

ShyGuy met Maggie in the usual way most dogs meet her, with Maggie launching a full blown barking attack while bouncing around like an electron. ShyGuy just looked at her and wagged his tail. From there it was best friends forever.

Maggie and ShyGuy became known as the founders of the neighborhood dog walking club. Maggie and ShyGuy would walk together almost daily, looking for trouble. They were so popular, that people who didn’t even own dogs wanted to belong to the club.

ShyGuy tolerated Maggie’s daily barking fits as he knew her to be a bossy broad. But he seemed to like that about her. When each visited the other’s house, they’d always chow down the kibble in the other’s bowl. Maggie would barge in to ShyGuy’s house uninvited, while ShyGuy seemed to have better manners, always waiting to be invited in before charging for her bowl.

On their daily adventures, we’d joke about how Maggie was about “quantity” covering more ground than ShyGuy, bouncing around well ahead of him by miles, while ShyGuy was about “quality” inspecting every square inch he covered, lingering over every dead animal, discarded TV dinner or mole hole. He taught Maggie patience. She learned to wait while he inspected a dead deer carcass or a carpenter’s discarded tortilla lunch.

The beauty of their friendship was tolerance. Each tolerated each other’s strange quarks. And ShyGuy was fiercely loyal to Maggie, backing her up whenever she barked at strangers or strange dogs. Often to his own detriment! Maggie sometimes would start fights with other dogs and then let ShyGuy take the fall. Poor Shy, he learned Maggie’s tricks the hard way. Still, he loved her.

And Maggie loved ShyGuy too. Although ShyGuy went everywhere with his owner, Anouk, on rare occasions, he’d be left home alone. And he’d let the neighborhood know about it. He’d howl sadly for feeling lonely and Maggie would call back to him letting him know he wasn’t alone. And within five minutes he’d grow quiet again, happy to hear her familiar voice.

Aside from Maggie and me, ShyGuy’s biggest fan was Scott, who would light up when ShyGuy visited him in the garage. Probably because ShyGuy reminded Scott of our beloved Moosh, with his low key disposition, sad but endearing face and general misbehaving boyish character. ShyGuy always knew that he could find treats and scratches with Scott.

By now, Maggie knows ShyGuy is gone. She sensed it the last week when he wasn’t feeling well, paying much more attention to him then usual almost trying to diagnose him. And when she visited after he was gone, she became sad and she still is. She so enjoyed his company much more than she let on. We’ll miss ShyGuy every day at Wild Dingo but we’ll remember the joy he brought to everyone.

“Mr. Guy is quite talented at enforcing my laws here in my neighborhood,” says Starling. “I was particularly impressed with his ‘bark-at-the-fenced-in-dog’ technique during his encounters with the always-agitated canine, Harley. It was then I knew that he’d make a good posse for me.”

The partnership is a win-win for both parties as it involves daily off-site visits to the lake, free rides in the Wild Dingo limo and an occasional swim in the nearby river. During the off-sites, Mr. Guy also provides treasure-burying services, often finding a dead animal or bone and providing just the right burying space for that emergency snack storage. Less interested in Mr. Guy’s treasure, Starling waits patiently until he concludes his burying rituals.

Being a posse for a Dingo has its drawbacks. During one of Margaret’s typically noisy encounters with Border collie, Arrow, Mr. Guy rose to the occasion, bravely carrying out his posse duties by teaming up with Margaret to yell at Arrow. In her usual fashion, Margaret started the argument and quickly stepped aside leaving Mr. Guy to contend with Arrow on his own. Arrow quickly became unhappy with Mr. Guy’s posse-like behavior and let him know it. Basset howling could be heard for miles.

“You win some, you lose some,” said Starling. “I try to lay down the law daily with those on this street, but you’ll always get a few rogue individuals, such as Arrow, who will not obey. They live by their own rules, no matter how many times I try to explain that I am the boss. But sometimes they will not comply. Unfortunately, Mr. Guy learned this lesson early in his career as a Dingo posse,” she added.

Mr. Guy could not be reached for comment regarding his duties as posse.

For over two years, Margaret J. Starling, has been lobbying hard for a limo that not only suited her prima-donna lifestyle but allowed her easy access to her fan-base as she is driven around her home town.

“It’s about time,” exclaimed Margaret J. Starling. “For years, I’ve been repeatedly requesting suitable transportation. It’s completely unacceptable for a CEO as well as a dingo to be transported around in a sub-par vehicle. I finally had to go on ‘car-ride’ stike for it to sink in.” 

In addition to parading the CEO around town, the limo is used to transport the only real working employee to client meetings. Any other extra curricular activities with the limo are strictly limited to a dingo’s entertainment.

Over the summer, Starling has been making political gain for all dingo-kind in her weekly visits into town. While strolling through the farmer’s market, children, adults and dogs-alike succumb to her lobbying techniques and respond to her “good behavior” bribes with treats and fawning attention.

“My goal is simple. I aim to prove that dingoes are capable of being upstanding canine citizens in a community named for the, ugh, feline. I aim to apply common political tactics, such as tail wags and licks to help educate the misguided pro-feline community in hopes of gaining support for dingo-kind,” says Starling. Starling’s charm and politics won her several adventures in kayaking, where she was often seen commanding a two-man vessel along the southern reservoir shores.

Not all individuals support the dingo cause. Local feline resident, Maxwell Mittens alleges that Starling is discriminate when offering her charms and claims that he and Starling had a showdown over territorial rights in the shared community. Starling asked, “Isn’t it enough that the town Los Gatos is named after cats? Shouldn’t canines be allowed some territorial ownership? I can’t help it if Mittens wanders onto my property, but I can sure help keep him off!”

Starling’s right-winged opinion resulted in a war-wound from the confrontation.