As you may know by now, Mr. Wild Dingo and I are vacationing in the Greek Islands over the New Year. The Cracker and the Criminal are spending New Year’s with Switzerland’s rowdiest, coolest doggie spa and Pension pour Chiens sans Cage, Bernard’s Kennel. Poor Loki hid behind my legs and put up some big histrionics in front of Bernard–though I know for a fact that he loves him. In fact, Bernard loves to tell me how cuddly Loki is after we leave. But none the less, as we got in the car, We heard sweet Bernard use his “big” voice. No doubt Loki was being a banana head. And by now, Juno and Marley, their walking pal who’s also vacationing there, have paired off trying to pretend not to know the whack-a-doodle cracking out.

I’m taking a few days off, so to hold you over, revisit a few of 2011 best posts.

Les Ciens Noir
Doggie Ga Ga
Methodology of Shoe Tasting
Flooding Agoraphobia
Hold Still
Someone Pinch Me
Orange Crush
Karmic Duty
Big Brother
If You Want to See the Rainbow, You gotta Put up with the Rain
Can You Hear Me Now?
Sexy Phoos
Mini Me, You Comlpete Me
Ten
Looking’ For Love

And of course any of Juno’s Mastications can humor you!

Have a safe and healthy New Year!

Do you people know how hard it is to get a shot of the infamous Mont Blanc? Seriously Internet. When we walk by it every day and try to shoot it with a “point and shoot” camera (the only one I take on dog walks), the results are less than fabulous. The snow washes out against the sky and it doesn’t compare at all to real life.

Here are a few  basic facts about Mont Blanc:

1. Mont Blanc is the highest peak in the Alps and Europe, at 4,810 meters (15,782 feet).
2. It lies between Italy and France and ownership of the summit has been disputed since the French Revolution, though today’s maps place it wholly with France.
3. Over 20,000 people climb and reach the Mont Blanc summit each year. Though there are attainable routes to the summit for the basically skilled high-altitude mountaineer, the mountain claims several lives each year.
4. Two planes crashed into this mountain on the way to Geneva, one in 1950 claiming 47 lives, and one in 1966 claiming 117 lives. Lordy, I’m so glad technology is better these days.

Yesterday, at the intersection to choose between a farms walk or a forest walk, the husky hesitated and pointed toward the longer walk—the forest. The skies were foreboding. But I was dressed for rain so who am I to argue with the husky?

Obviously, she had the right idea, because the skies had the perfect lighting for that ridiculously bright white mountain. I was able to get these shots with just the point and shoot camera. I metered the light for the dark sky which illuminated the mountain more.

What can I say? The husky knows her photography.

Winter Mont Blanc Work-Day Procrastinations:

1. These Crazy Mo-Fo’s climbed and skied down Mont Blanc in a day. They climbed up it at dark-o-clock in the morning and skied down the north face in the afternoon. The video is stunning. Now I understand why people climb it.Even though I’m a goat, spending more than 2 hours in the snow doesn’t float my boat. So I’m just really happy to watch the video. Check it out.
2. The company Mont Blanc has an amazing tribute to the topographical massif, with several airial video’s. Click the National Heritage link and then mouse over the Flash control on the bottom to see all five video’s.
3. If I had an ounce of creativity in me, I would totally do The Beauty of a Second Challenge sponsored by Mont Blanc. If you like doing creative videos, check out the challenge. Or just click on some of the submitted entries. Some are just incredibly moving.

Finally, Internet procrastinations that are worth it. You can thank me after your boss nails you for it.  But you’re welcome.

Ahhh! Now I get it! So that’s where the term “goatee” comes from. It’s funny how goatees on men give them a bit of a sinister look, but on a goat, with their bedroom eyes and pink smiles, they just look darlin’.

The reason goatees looks so sinister? When Christianity came into fashion, they borrowed a lot of imagery from pagan myths. In medieval and renaissance art, Satan was depicted in Pan’s imagery, who had a goatee. Isn’t it funny how these images settle into our memories and resurface as vague and not really logical feelings?

Sometimes Mr. Wild Dingo grows a goatee. And he looks so badass. But next time he grows one, I’m just gonna remember these guys here, instead of Pan or Satan. I can’t wait to tell him how adorable and cuddly he looks with his facial hair. I’m so betting he’ll be thrilled to hear that.

“Ah, they don’t look so badass to me Mom. In fact they look a lot like… dinner.”

And for your music-video pleasure, here’s a little do-hicky I put together on socializing the Cracker and the Criminal with goats.

Seriously. It’s true. And not the dog you think.

Mr. Wild Dingo had a bright idea to take the dogs to Lucerne on one of his days off earlier this month. Since it’s known to be one of the  most picturesque mountain towns in the world, I thought it would be a fabulous dog walking venue. The dogs are familiar with big towns and small cities, having been to Lausanne often and a long weekend in Lugano last spring, not to mention the towns in California. A two-hour car trip Northeast, a whirl around the town and then off to a hiking vista shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

So Mr. Wild Dingo gave the dogs a good 1-hour walk where they took care of their business and were pretty much empty before the long car trip.

Loki surprised us with a sub-crack threshold for most of the trip until we got off the highway and then just couldn’t contain his yappy excitement. After Mr. Wild Dingo’s “Lets go home, we can’t find parking and I’m about to lose it with the cracker yipping” hissy-fit (Internet, it’s not easy managing 3 child-like souls), we used our intuition and found parking at the Gare. There’s always parking at the town’s Gares. I even caught a hold of the information office on the way and found a clean, pay-for-use, bathroom at the train station. Within 20 minutes of getting out the car, the dogs got to experience the information office, the busy train station and the waiting room outside the pristine public bathrooms. Every time we passed the escalators (and we passed them 3 or 4 times) Loki looked at them as if “No way Jose! Not again!” So we always took the stairs. But it did give me plenty of chuckles to see him look at the escalators with “fond” memories.

Still through it all, my cracked-out dog was fairly grown up. Not a peep out of him. Not even when we saw the in-tact muzzled pit bull.

The town was absolutely delightful and I’m excited to return to it. It was everything it lived up to from the descriptions. Chapel Bridge is a 14th century covered footbridge that spans the River Reuss, protecting the town from attack. The octagonal tower served as a lighthouse, a prison (are we surprised?) and a treasury. Painted scenes of Lucerne’s history cover the bridge, telling stories of St. Leodegar and St. Mauritius, the towns martyrs and patron saints.  In 1993 the bridge was partly destroyed in a fire but was rebuilt and restored.

It’s the oldest wooden bridge in Europe and the symbol of Lucerne. So it seems the appropriate place for Juno to have her first  melt down.

Up until then, everything was going fine as we wandered into the old town.  Until we walked through the cafe area next to the water. The area was jam-packed with people walking and dining. There were tons of dogs of every breed and size, every other restaurant we passed, sitting quietly under the table, unphased by the cracker or the criminal passing them only inches away.

But Juno was pulling in a way she never pulled before. We made our way out of the crowds and into a more spacious area when a German woman stopped us to compliment the dogs. She asked where we were from and when we told her we were Americans living in Switzerland, she asked how our German was. “About as good as our French,” we replied. As in: “We don’t speak a word and when we do everyone instantly switches to English anyway.”

No sooner after breaking away from her, a group of Chinese and Russian tourists stopped us for photos with the dogs. Seriously. Juno was definitely not interested. We politely made our excuses and moved on to walk the covered Chapel Bridge wooden footbridge. Three-quarters of the way through,  as I was enjoying my mountain view, I heard Mr. Wild Dingo, who was handling Juno, exclaim “Oh NO!”  I turned and found Juno half squatting, half trying to run away in shame in the middle of the wooden bridge with a bucket of diarrhea shooting out of her jodhpurs. I’ve never seen Juno poop in an inappropriate place.  In the three years I’ve had her, she’s been rock solid in terms of temperament. Nothing phases her. Though she’s not instantly affectionate with strangers, she made an excellent therapy dog because she’d perform tricks, engage and then warm up to them with a gentle kiss or paw shake.  Which to me told me she was appropriately cautious to strangers but certainly never too afraid. So this new nervousness was a bit of a surprise to us.

Mr. Wild Dingo had the pleasure of cleaning up that mess while (what felt like) 11,000 people passed and starred.  Oh well, shit happens, right? Thank Dog my dog knapsack was stocked full of tissues, wet-ones and dog bags.  After the mess, we made our way toward fewer crowds and to the outer city walls for a walk.

And what a beautiful walk it was. I think all of us loved it. While there were plenty of people enjoying the walk, none of them seemed to want more to do with the dogs other than a smile. For once the views held everyone’s attention instead of fussing over a Husky.  Are you bored yet with all the Alps photos?

Because if not, here’s one more with the city wall.

And a photo of its towers which I read are available for climbing for even better views. Though I can’t imagine how much better. Because we were pretty stunned just on our walk.

We got hungry so we headed back down to town for a bite in an outdoor cafe. Only as we approached that busy cafe area again, Mr. Wild Dingo felt Juno pull again. So we decided to look for a quieter location. But it was too late. Before we knew it, Juno was in her half squat again with diarrhea shooting all over the ancient cobble stones of Old Town Lucerne. The thing is both times, there was hardly anything inside her because that she had emptied before the trip. It was obvious that this was not a bug or sickness. We took Juno’s cue and cut our visit short.

I’ll say it again. The cracker impressed me that day. Sure I was in “high management” mode with him, but he held himself together and we all had a really quiet ride all the way home.

Juno? The sweet thing must have been stressed. Having had the crap scared out of her twice that day, not only did she sleep like a rock, but she was intolerant enough to take up most of the back seat  and not to let the cracker push her into a corner as he usually does. In fact she even used him as a pillow once or twice. Even Juno has her limits!

Regardless, we loved Lucerne and we’ll be visiting it again soon. Sans chiens!

Every now and then, they make a break off the path and have a game of tag in the rows of vines. Though I don’t encourage it and certainly call them out of it, I can’t help but laugh when it happens. This time it was too perfect of a set up for a little track racing all the way back to me. Juno, sensitive to his ego, didn’t even try.  Because he’s not a husky. “Not everyone is perfect,” she says, “or as fast as a Sibe.”

But typically we stay on the paths. There are plenty of things to sniff, moles and field mice to chase. I don’t allow them to take care of business, or lift a leg, anywhere near the vines. And not just because I actually drink the Chardonnay that comes from this vineyard.

But since the vines have been harvested for the year and the farm workers are gone, well, it can’t hurt just this once for a game of tag. Right? Nobody’s looking.  So it didn’t really happen.

This Internet page will self-destruct in 60 seconds.

Autumn is the year’s last lovliest smile.” 
~ William Cullen Bryant

It’s my absolute favorite time of year. And I spend it outdoors as much as possible. We had a feast for our eyes on a hike at Le Chalet à Gobet with Marley and his mom last week. I had all three dogs pose in this field. Odd how the least likely to maintain a sit-stay is the only one in the photo, huh?

Marley is good walking pal. Every time we see him, I’m sure he looks happy to see us. He howls and jumps around excitedly.

But he’s a bit on the shy side and doesn’t know what to make of Loki’s crackery. So poor Juno has to be on the receiving end of the dork’s autumn exhuberance. Ya, that’s what I’m calling it.

He’s lucky he has me to think of politically-correct nomenclature for his crack-a-tude.

The Swiss are real dog lovers. There are no fences at Chalet à Gobet. Just miles and miles of open fields and forest trails.  We see plenty of dog walkers on our hikes here.

Chalet à Gobet is a large park open to hikers, bikers, runners, dog walkers, horseback riders, cross country skiers and snow shoers. And while I’ve had my choice of beautiful parks in the states, I would rank this as my all time favorite.

“Princess, which road should we take?”
“Only the nose knows Big Boy.”

Autumn’s vibrancy. Simply delicious. Nature’s last magnificient stand at life.

Instead of our usual Sunday stroll to Morges for ice cream, Mr. Wild Dingo and I took the dogs to the Roman Ruins at Vidy this weekend. It’s a short drive from our house. Then again, everything is a short drive around here. On one hand, Switzerland is an incredibly compact country on the other, there’s vast amounts of space for plenty of  dog adventures.  The 12 loyal readers of Wild Dingo know that at Vidy, there is a lovely dog park and excellent Lake-side walking that we’ve done before with other dog pals.

In the Roman Ruins section, one end there’s a sign that says there’s no dogs allowed, and the other says no dogs allowed from March through September. We saw a few other dogs after we went so we figured we were cool. I just had to constantly interrupt Loki’s attempt at marking the over 2000 year-old stones.

Vidy is a really lovely place. Besides the ruins, there’s a skate board park, archery field, tons of walking paths, off-leash dog walking paths (for reals),  beaches for summer time swimming, boating clubs and various other sport fields along with the Olympic International Committee House. Sunday’s are a busy day for walkers, children and dog walking. Although there are off-leash areas, I noticed that few, if any, off-leash dogs would run up to other dogs or people, so we just kept ours leashed. Juno’s lack of impulse control brings out the worst in Loki who would likely not stray from us.  Occasionally we were approached by a curious but polite dog. And we saw tons of single huskies pulling their owners on harness and bike. Juno was très envious while Loki was just annoyed by it.

And for your non-sequitur of the day here’s a little lake-side action from our Friday walk. You’ll note Loki’s tail is still hanging low. It’s a bit better lately. I decided if this strikes again, we’ll do the x-ray just to be certain it’s nothing more.

Would you like anything else? Perhaps the moon on a stick?

Switzerland is a dream vacation or home for most cyclists. Unfortunately, I haven’t been cycling as much as I’d like because cycling gives me the crazies. Seriously. When I exercise very hard, my heart rate goes up, naturally, just like everyone else’s. But unlike everyone else’s, it doesn’t come down after I stop riding– for days. Then the insomnia sets in and a downward spiral of sickness follows.  Don’t bother Google diagnosing this. I’ve been pursuing several paths with doctors and I still have lots of other tests to go through. But I refuse to let it stop me so I indulge my passion two or three times per week, staying within an easy heart rate.

That being said, it’s a challenge to find any easy flat areas to ride in Switzerland. Imagine that! Luckily I’m true to my astrological sign, the goat. I love to climb.  I’m not a particularly great climber. In fact, if I’m not training for something, I’m usually the proud lantern rouge. I mean, why rush these things, right? Especially when you get to see scenes like this ancient town above, Romainmotier.

Nearly twelve years ago, Mr. Wild Dingo took me on a cycling date up one of Santa Cruz’s challenging climbs, Mountain Charlie, a 3-mile, 1,800-foot climb with three very steep sections. After the third steep step, I pulled my bike over and told Mr. Wild Dingo that I was about to toss my cookies. And even though he almost made me vomit on one of our first dates, I still married him.  To this day he still thinks I was furious with him. True, barfing doesn’t make an ideal date for either person, but what he didn’t know is that I’m a masochist and anything that makes me want to retch is worth doing again and again.

Over the years, I rode Mt. Charlie weekly, using it as interval training and pretty much as my go-to climb. Charlie also holds good memories as it’s where Mr. Wild Dingo proposed to me on one autumn evening, on the bike of course. Because I didn’t hurl when he asked, he took it as a yes and before you know it, we’re married.

So when we came to Switzerland, one of the first climbs Mr. Wild Dingo took me up was Col du Marchairuz. I can’t tell you how badly it sucked, even for a goat like me. The climb from Biere begins with a complete mind f*ck: a long steep 10% grade section with the illusion that it’s more like a 3% grade. I swear whenever I ride it, it feels like I’m pedaling in peanut butter or at best going backwards. It’s the kind of climb that you can’t ride gently. You pretty much have to ride it fast in order to minimize the time spent in the mind-f*ck . And it wouldn’t be so bad because I don’t mind suffering on the bike. But I really hate the days of insomnia that follow when I ride too hard.

So I avoid riding the Col du Marchairuz and stick to whatever rolling climbs I can find around here. Like the ride in the photo above, in the Rolle vineyards. Which you have to admit, isn’t exactly an eye-sore.

I have to tell you Internet, that Mr. Wild Dingo is not a nice man on the bike. He’s inpatient and doesn’t see the point of lolly-gagging or coffee-shop riding. To him, unless you’re suffering, you’re just wasting time. It’s funny: when we ride together, I’m the one doing all the suffering. And he’s the one always threatening to put my heart rate monitor on his bike just to make sure I’m suffering enough. In our 12 years together, I’ve only experienced two or three precious moments where he admitted that I punished him on the ride. Usually because he’s jet lagged. But hey, I’ll take what I can get.  And yet, I’m still married to him.

But riding with him lately is out of the question. Because neither of us are able to suffer each other’s whining.

Still, I miss climbing. So a few weekends ago, I decided to ride the Col du Mollendruz, the climb parallel to the Marchairuz and connected to it by the Valleé de Joux. A 2,400-foot climb from the start of our house, it was surprisingly gentle with just a few steep steps that lasted just the right amount of time. It was invigorating to be able to climb that high again.

At the top, I found plenty of mountain bike and snow shoe trails. It was a perfect climb.  Here’s a pretty video of the exact ride but shot from a car.  The trees obscure the views of the country, but it looks like I found my Mountain CHarlie in Switzerland. Now I just have to cultivate the perfect training plan so I can open a can of whoop-ass on Mr. Wild Dingo without getting the crazies.

Because Internet, that is true love.

Who are those two interlopers zooming up and down this farm trail?

“OMD! Mom just called. MUST return to her side immediately.”
“Daddy-O, why do you always have to be a party pooper? There’s like a zillion rabbits and moles around here and you gotta go rain on my parade.”

“But surely Mom will leave me here if I don’t come when she calls.”

“Big Boy, I seriously don’t know how you sleep at night with all that anxiety and OCD.”

Where ever there is a river, Juno is its furry crocodile. If we walk along side the river, she’s in it the entire time. Of course that just freaks-out Loki. He obsesses over her, policing, herding and play biting her until she rejoins the pack.

“Daddy-O, I see you getting ready to pounce. I’m just going to do the grown up thing and ignore you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Princess. I’m just taking a quick drink in this lovely cold river.”
“Hey Mom, can you do me a solid and put a leash on the Fun Police?”

“What do you think Princess? We’re working dogs. Shouldn’t we lend the farmers a paw with the harvest?”
“Big boy, my definition of work includes compensation. I don’t see any treats. I’ll pass.”

Yes it’s what you think it is. In May, Vaud had an expo of apprentice confectioners. The theme was haute couture. Now this is my idea of good fashion.

The Swiss are just so practical. Just think, you can wear this to dinner and save money on dessert. Brilliant!

I’m thinking most guys would love this wedding dress. And like all wedding dresses, you only wear it once.

It’s that time of year in Switzerland. The farms roll up their balls of hey and stack them neatly in the fields. I was fascinated the first time I saw it. I still am.

“Princess, avert your eyes!”

I don’t know what it is, but there’s a high degree of PDA in Switzerland. Not just among teenagers. I didn’t notice the couple making out in back of the dogs until I processed the images on the computer. This was the least explicit photo of their activities. We may be R-rated at Wild Dingo, but sometimes a line needs to be drawn. 

I’m just glad their eyes were averted.

In May Mr. Wild Dingo, a friend and I all visited Chateau Gruyères (entry to the chateau above photo) in the canton Fribourg. I expected a very long drive so I took my iphone for entertainment. About 30 minutes into the drive, I looked up and saw the beautiful rolling green hills and blue skies. ”Damn! I feel like I’m in Switzerland.”  Oh yes I did say that out loud! What’s worse is exactly five minutes after that, we arrived at the chateau. Not exactly the long drive I envisioned. I cannot get over how close things are in Switzerland. That, and how easy it is to type French accents on my keyboard.

In the midst of green alpine hills, Chateau Gruyères, one of Switzerland’s most prestigious castles, sits majestically above a medieval town.  The photo above shows the town really is that cute.  Since we went on a Sunday in May, it was still low-tourist season. But I’ve heard this place goes medieval-on-your-ass in the summer time. Villagers dress up and all sorts of medieval events, sword fights and the like go on. But on our day, it was quiet, sleepy and just the way I like it.

To say that the village stunk is an understatement. Literally. You couldn’t go into one restaurant without gagging from the thick aroma of stinky feet, err, I mean cheese. Nobody, but Mr. Wild Dingo who unlike me actually likes cheese, seemed to care. After running out of three different restaurants, we chose one with the least offensive smell. For lunch, the boys ordered the raclette. Me? I ordered vegetable soup.

The crane (French word “grue”) inspired the name Gruyères. Don’t ask me why.

The castles beginnings are mysterious. Nineteen counts held the chateau between the 11th and 16th centuries. The last of them, Michel, had financial trouble and eventually went bankrupt in 1554. (If you ask me, I’ll bet he went broke paying Swiss taxes.) His creditors, the cantons Fribourg and Bern (now do  you believe me?) shared his earldom and the chateau was used by the cantons for residence for the bailiffs and prefects.

Above: View of the church bell tower from the village walk toward the castle.

In 1849, the castle was sold to the Bovy and Balland families who used the castle during summertime and restored it. In 1938, it was bought back by the canton of Fribourg and turned into a museum.

One of the nice things about this chateau is that it combines other forms of entertainment and exhibits. Like this severed hand.

The castle had plenty of other exhibits, including art and various impressive garb worn by the counts. But me? I take a picture of the severed hand. I’m not well.

The hand has been with the castle from the beginning and there are many legends over it’s origins. Some legends include it being brought back from the Holy Land during the crusades, or that it was a trophy from a battle fought and won against Burgendy, or that it was the hand of Count Louis killed in a fire, then found and given to his beloved widow.

The reality (as told by some Anthropologist dude) is that it’s the right hand of an Egyptian mummy as its bandage and mummification methods indicate. Somehow the hand was severed later from the body exposing the bone and dried muscle tissue.  In the middle ages, mummified bodies were thought to have healing powers for all sorts of illnesses and were often seen on the art market bought by museums and passionate collectors. This is likely how it ended up in Switzerland. When the Bovy and Ballands families had the castle, they built a display room for many of its curious objects, including the severed hand, which has been with the castle from the beginning and remains with it today.

So now you know the story of the severed hand.  You have to admit, the Swiss sure have a strange concept of art.

But seriously, one of the things I absolutely love about Gruyères is its art exhibits. I was lucky enough to visit the castle on the last day of the exhibit of Chantel Michel, who’s photography and video installations were shown throughout the castle.

Michel’s work is haunting, muddling the lines between fiction and reality, fantasy in a historic setting. Her imaginary stories and collection of characters are set in a baroque dreamlike world, posed in standard yet bold fashion.

She puts herself on stage as a model in her large images, playing both feminine and masculine roles. Her technique blurs the line between traditional painting and digital photography as she reinterprets famous paintings.

A Swiss artist, born the same year as me, her work is ironic and creepy. But the kind of creepy that’s oh-so cool. And you could swear her work was painted but it’s all photography.

I especially love the the photos that had several characters where she was the model for all the characters in different poses. I would love to know how she processed these, either digitally in the camera or post digitally.

I would seriously love to hang any of her pieces in my house, if I could afford them. Check out Chantel Michel’s web site for more.

Inspired by such interesting photos, Mr. Wild Dingo tries for his own dreamlike photo. I don’t know. A tad more make up and maybe it could pass as one of the photos above. No?

I guess it’s time to show you a little of the actual castle, huh? Above is the dining hall and, as castles usually have, frescoes all over the walls.

And no visit would be complete without at least one window photo. Nothing like a beautiful landscape to gaze at while contemplating bankruptcy.

Much to my delight, the weather turned frightful and the skies threatened us with a sudden down pour. The boys hurried through the castle while I ran around the grounds and quickly took as many photos as I could. I couldn’t make lighting like this if I tried.

It was just stunning. On one side, bright sunny light. On the other, menacing skies. Yin and yang.

It’s actually quite difficult to get a full shot of the chateau but later as we strolled through the village, I hiked in back of the homes and found a small vista where I could get this shot above. I didn’t get nearly enough time at the castle due to the weather. I didn’t even explore the gardens seeen to the right in the smaller building in the shot above. I’ll be back for certain, possibly in the fall. By far, Chateau Gruyères and Chateau d’Aigle are my favorite places.

Later, two suspicious-looking characters showed up to inconspicuously storm the castle.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” said the quietly disguised Husky to the yipping Formosan announcing his own entrance.

I love this country. If I could, or had to, I would live here forever. But every now and then, its blemishes show up.

Last week, Mr. Wild Dingo called me on my cell phone while I was wandering around lost in a park, to tell me there was an escaped prisoner in Vaud, the canton where I live. I’m not even going to link to the story because the prisoner is the epitome of creepy, a psychopathic serial killer with crimes equal to Hannibal Lecter. If you want to learn more, Google the story.

Apparently, the prisoner escaped while on a “country woodland walk,” a program that the prison provides for the prisoners for relief. He was in a car with two unarmed security officers, with no handcuffs and not even a seat belt to restrain him, when he attacked them and then made off in the car.

There are so many things wrong with this story, I don’t even know where to begin. I mean, he wasn’t wearing a seat belt? WTF? How is Switzerland going to protect the safety of its psychopaths if its security officers don’t follow basic safety precautions? Did they give him some cash before he took off?  Because nobody should be running amok in this country with no money.

But seriously, I know what you’re thinking: why in the world is a psychopath given such a privilege as a woodland walk? That question is on the top of everyone’s minds. Especially in a country who’s many tourist attractions include military and prison castles with plenty of torture chambers, such as Chillon and even Morges.  At this point I’m thinking easing up on their ancient prison techniques and not torturing a prisoner is enough of a relief for a psychopath versus giving him a woodland walk for relief. But what do I know?

An interview with a representative from the prison commented that a prisoner like this one would never be allowed such a privilege and further hearsay implies that there was a communication breakdown. I always knew this multi-language barrier would catch up with them.

One news source reported the fugitive turned himself in on Friday, five days after the escape. That’s a relief.

But another interview with a representative from amnesty international, advocated that all people can change. She said that various psychiatrists’ reports had shown him to be normal—because apparently psychopaths are incapable of lying—and ready for softened jail time and in fact he had already been on three outings like this with no incident.

And that’s I felt just a wee-bit nostalgic for home.

Some of you keep asking me if it really is this pretty here in the land of yodeling dairy lovers. Yawn. I mean, yes, it is that pretty and pristine. Just how many photos do I have to post before you believe me?  It’s Swiss. Everything is measured and cut to the centimeter.  Especially in parks and towns.  This shot above was taken on my Sunday bike ride. It was a screaming descent from Biere to Aubonne and barely a car in site. This is the Swiss version of life in the fast lane.  

But Switzerland does have a dark side as well.   Just the other evening Mr. Wild Dingo and I were driving through one of those sections in Lausanne and he had to do everything possible to keep me hanging out the window to take pictures. Prostitution is legal in Switzerland and even regulated. Prostitutes are licensed to um, well, you know. And it’s really funny because they hang out in one industrial section of Lausanne that’s difficult to avoid. In fact it’s on the way to the main highway.

Recently, one of Mr. Wild Dingo’s co-workers, who’s new in town, mentioned he was worried about trying to find the highway because he didn’t want to get stuck at the prostitutes again. About five guys practically replied in unison, “When you get to the prostitutes, turn right to get on the highway.” 

Is it me, or am I the only one wondering what he meant by “getting stuck at the prostitutes?”

So to answer your questions: yes there are some less-than gorgeous areas. But don’t ask me to take photos. Because while prostitution is legal here in Switzerland, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to take photos of anything less than jaw-dropping beautiful of Switzerland and post it on the Web.

And the next time you’re in Lausanne, when you hit the prostitutes, turn right. I know;  I’m chock full of valuable advice.

As I was looking over the charges on the flight to London I booked yesterday, I noticed that Switzerland charged a “noise tax” but the U.K. didn’t. That’s so Swiss. I took this shot above one evening in our backyard while the dogs were rompin’ in the twilight. I think they should just call it an art tax.

This month’s masthead is dedicated to my inability to shut my bottom jaw anytime I’m walking the villages and vineyards in Switzerland.

Someone needs to pinch me because sometimes I can’t believe I live here, even if it’s only  temporary.

When Marley and his mom emailed us for a hike last week and suggested Lavaux vineyards, I jumped at the chance. The last time I rode the vineyards, I envisioned taking the dog’s there but hadn’t gotten around to it. So much to do, so little time.

We started with lunch in Vevvy, where I had the best sandwhich I’ve had since I’ve been here:  melted cheese, ham and grilled vegetables on some amazing grilled French bread. Then we went on our hike to work it all off. I wasn’t able to take photos of the steep climb out of St. Sophorin to reach the terraces because I had to focus to keep my heart from exploding. But trust me, by the amount of sweat on my tee shirt, that sandwhich was clearly worked off. Seriously Internet, you don’t know how hard it is to live and walk here.

Juno and Marley take the lead along the Lavaux Terraces.

The Lavaux vineyard terraces–it’s so steep, there has to be terraces to traverse the vineyards–stretch 30 kilometers (20 miles) along the shores from Montreaux (Chateau Chillon) up to the outskirts of Lausanne. Due to strong urbanisation creeping in from both sides of the area, strong protection was put in place including nominating the area as a UNESCO world herritage site and imposing many building restrictions. A dozen villages make up Lavaux, including Vevvy, St. Sophrin, Cully, and Lutry.

It’s a hot and humid day and we stop to take in the views and a drink of water.

The main grape grown is Chasselas, a dry, fruity, white wine, is also known as a table wine. My favorite chateau so far here in Switzerland, Chateau d’Aigle also produces Chasselas.

There are some beautiful houses along the pathways as well. Loki gave me a near heart attack when I saw him on this retaining wall above.

This is why. The steep drop off to the right is a long way down! Check out the waterfall to the right. It must suck to live in that house. All the noise of that waterfall day-in and and day-out plus the views of the lake. It must get old fast.

This trail was a last minute decision on our hike back. I’m so glad we did it as it became the masthead for June. The Roman ruins were just sitting there right in front of us. You just never know what lies on the unexplored path.

Although there is some evidence that vines were grown in the area in Roman times, the present vine terraces can be traced back to the 11th century, when Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries controlled the area.  A chance find of Latin inscription on the worship of wine in antiquity, together with many Roman remains – Saint-Saphorin overlies what survives of a substantial Roman villa built along a main Roman highway, and Lausanne was a Roman settlement – suggests that the area was probably cultivated for wine in Roman times. 

Now I know where I get my affinity for wine. Those Romans were lushes!

It’s clear that even these three canines can appreciate the beauty of the land. They stop and take in the views of the lake, 500 meters above lake level.

Oh-ho-hum. Another castle down on the lake. Marley’s mom told me a little about it, but I obviously didn’t pay attention. All this blue and green messes with my concentration. 

In the winter, the terraraces are covered with snow and it’s not unusual to find off-piste cross-country skiiers on the rolling farmlands.

We spent only an hour but it was exhausting in the humidity and steep climbs. We only explored a small percentage of the terraces, so we’ll be back.  All three dogs had a spectacular time. Even the cracker enjoyed the serene surroundings and was on his best behavior.

Some people will never get the opportunity to enjoy this area first hand. I still can’t believe my dogs get to enjoy it with me. What’s even more amazing is that this walk is a mere 20 minute drive from my house and we can hike it whenever it suits us.

So go ahead. Pinch me. I know you’re just dying to!

“Oh hey Daddy-O! It looks like lunch time!”

I know what you’re all thinking Internet. That I have a screw loose. Well, that’s probably true. However, how was I supposed to know those cows were grazing behind us, 100 feet from the Lake Leman where Loki was just learning to dunk, err, I mean, swim?  Cows in Switzerland turn up in the most unlikely places: 100 feet from the lake beach front or in a 50 square- foot garden in front of someone’s home or deep in the forest. You just never know where they’ll turn up.

“Oh crap! Did you hear that nag calling us? Playtime is over.”

“I guess we need to take a rain check on lunch. A demain, cow-sies! A demain!”

Last week we went on our big hike to Echichens, through numerous farms. I put my balls on and took the leashes off. Both dogs heeled off-leash past a herd of cows who were an arms reach away from us.  We also saw two sets of horseback riders. Both times, both dogs called off the riders. In the shot below both dogs recalled back to me and I leashed them for caution. They ate treats quietly as the horses walked by. Then one of the horses sneezed. In a panic, Loki pounced the ground with both front paws as if bracing for an earthquake. But no bark. Naturally, the rider was amused and had a good giggle over it. That’s my neurotic boy–entertaining the masses.

“Those big dogs have me wound tighter than an eight-day watch.”
“You ain’t whistling Dixie, Big Boy.”