tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86740539911125860772024-03-13T23:06:34.034-06:00While Walking DuncanCurt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.comBlogger999125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-25187428687986992662020-03-20T16:52:00.000-06:002020-03-20T16:52:20.591-06:00From my Journal The Book of Delights: Quiet
Quiet.
There was this moment this afternoon while walking Duncan, when even as the clouds seemed to lift a little, and the sun seemed a bit brighter, that the snow started to fall. Despite the parking lot being full of cars that belonged to people who, like myself should have been at work but have been quarantined inside for an unknowably long and uncertain time, we were the only Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-33957184715658551222020-03-08T11:10:00.003-06:002020-03-08T11:10:31.911-06:00From My Journal: The Book of Delights
Walking Dunc.
And all the things I do on those walks. Even those things I dislike about them. Like in winter, when it takes much longer to don my jacket and coat, my boots and gloves and cap, to put the treats in one pocket and the bags in the other. And then there’s the leash and the slow, unsteady and unsure decent down the stairs, ever fearful of him slipping or just stopping. Those Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-56558902265279555002018-09-04T19:43:00.001-06:002018-09-04T19:43:22.188-06:0014!Happy 14th birthday, Duncan!
The good folks at Hero's Pets gave him plenty of treats and love. And he went crazy for this cod skin goody!
I love my boy!Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-71675904820098349232017-09-04T19:31:00.000-06:002017-09-04T19:31:08.903-06:00Thirteen and PerfectI have been blessed. In every single way imaginable.
Meet Boar!
Happy birthday to my new teenager. Papa loves you, Roo.Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-36557186187483919272017-04-24T10:59:00.001-06:002017-04-24T12:26:38.063-06:00Weed
Last week I was in Buffalo with my cousin. I needed to get away from Denver and clear my head a little and spending time with Sarah and Jon and their daughter Allie was exactly what I was looking for.
One afternoon, on a Duncan-less walk with eight-year-old Allie, we crossed the street and meandered under the slowly greening trees, down the quiet street to the bridge that overlooked a small Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-64509247486092285842016-12-07T19:00:00.003-07:002016-12-07T19:00:45.998-07:00Reunion
I have kept all Duncan's toys, regardless of their condition. All of them reside in the small bureau where we keep his brushes and combs, the nail trimmers, the countless tennis and golf balls we've collected over the years, everything. Regardless of their condition, they are all there, from his Baby to his Beaker, his Bugsy and Bear, his Berry and Bobo, the Blue Buddha, his Bac-O (a pink fuzzy Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-53457166280860564752016-11-01T20:04:00.000-06:002016-11-01T20:04:30.279-06:00Rolling
There's nothing quite as wonderful as rolling in the Autumn grass with a ball.
And a treat.Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-82212254444204598642015-09-04T19:46:00.006-06:002015-09-04T19:48:06.546-06:00Eleven
Today was Duncan's 11th birthday and once again we celebrated in the best possible way by paying a visit to our good friends at Hero's Pets. Trevor and I woke up early, took him on a long walk down past the pond and along the trail that winds through the prairie dog town Roo has come to love so much. Then, after a nice breakfast and a quiet morning we headed off to Hero's where his new best Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-37142553817879490442015-06-29T18:53:00.000-06:002015-06-29T19:09:52.415-06:00In the Grass
It was one of those perfect summer days I've written about so many times before. The sky was bright and blue and all the clouds were relegated to standing guard on the periphery, rising above the mountains or far out over the eastern plains but well away from any place Duncan and I might venture on our afternoon walk. There was a breeze, warm, but pleasant on my arms and the back of my neck, Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-12884728696756347422015-06-26T20:59:00.000-06:002015-06-26T20:59:02.553-06:006/26
This is how it happened. This is how I found out.It was a bright morning, cool considering the heat that has been setting in early the last week or so. We'd had a day of terrific storms, tornadoes touching down, rivers running through the streets, flooding no one saw coming, so this morning was a welcome relief, a perfect morning for strolling lazily around our neighborhood.
I rarely answer Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-57573828340787401802014-09-04T19:54:00.003-06:002014-09-04T19:54:36.645-06:00Ten
Ten years ago today I had no idea that my life was about to change. I might've been home reliving another tedious and horrific week at work, dealing with the annoying and seemingly helpless students who buzzed around my desk like annoying gnats. Or maybe I was at the gym, running on the treadmill or going through the horrific squat routine that always rendered my legs nearly useless the next dayCurt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-18090887951546638662014-09-03T20:25:00.000-06:002014-09-03T20:25:27.933-06:00Nearly Wordless Wednesday: Stop What You're Doing
I'd just settled down on my bed to write about Dunc's last day as a single digit (tomorrow is his birthday) when Roo climbed up, peeked his head over my monitor, dropped last year's birthday present (a green dragonfly that is now missing its legs and wings) and smiled big at me. That was all the message I needed. It's time to play.
Could you say no to a face like that?
Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-10439063092376414192014-08-20T23:10:00.000-06:002014-08-20T23:10:38.542-06:00Ice BucketCurt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-25544060127531068992014-08-16T22:12:00.001-06:002014-08-16T22:12:20.783-06:00Winnie Day
There are times when it seems like forever since Winnie Bean left us. And at other times the hurt of her departure feels just as fresh as it did on that afternoon two years ago. But it has been two years and even though we have moved and our family has undergone some changes, her little water glass still sits on the table, always full, always waiting. She may be gone, but I will never abandon Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-84185930416328358662014-07-28T19:12:00.001-06:002014-07-28T19:12:07.233-06:00Calm After the Storm
There was a tornado warning as I was leaving work today. We were told to seek shelter in the restrooms but of course, none of us did. My friend Sean and I stayed in my office and continued our conversation about Batman while many others milled around in the hallway watching the rain and clouds outside. While we were never in any real danger, a Facebook friend did snap a rather dramatic shot of aCurt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-36110772017205245382014-07-27T19:04:00.001-06:002014-07-27T19:04:55.848-06:00A Morning Not Lost
The alarm did not go off this morning, but the woman walking her screaming baby back and forth in front of my aprtment at 6:30 did. Apparently she thought it a good idea to get the child some air, forgetting those of us still cuddled up in our beds. I was fortunate enough to have Duncan next to me, snoring soundly, his chin perched atop my calf. Pip was curled up between my chin and chest, but Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-65058468864321819832014-05-13T21:13:00.001-06:002014-05-13T21:14:15.193-06:00One More Roll
The morning after what must certainly be the last snowfall of the season, there's only one thing to do, and Duncan did it every ten or so feet of our walk this morning.
If I didn't have to go to work, I would have joined him.
*Whatever you do, don't leave a comment. No matter how interested you are.
Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-4410855605308552232014-05-12T18:50:00.001-06:002014-05-13T21:15:05.425-06:00Fickle Spring
While many of you were walking the beaches near your homes, or ambling through green coastal trails, or even taking walks through warm and teeming city streets, Duncan and I had this to contend with this morning.
Denver and the Front Range were the lucky recipient of up to seven inches of thick, heavy, fickle Spring Love, the kind that takes down branches, requires the big boots that Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-26616544340197551812014-05-10T15:49:00.001-06:002014-05-10T16:12:37.249-06:00A Shoulder to Land On
There was an afternoon, an Easter Sunday, I believe, when I was 20. I'd taken my bike out for a long ride around Pocatello, across her green foothills, pedaling through historic Old Town, around her winding and circuitous edges, to all the places I'd grown accustomed to seeing through the windshield of Cleo, my car rather than out in the open. I was pedaling up the long line of Pocatello Creek Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-71165906861291829092014-05-05T19:11:00.001-06:002014-05-05T19:11:05.336-06:00Where We Belong
Ever wonder where you'd end up if you took your dog for a walk and never once pulled back on the leash? (Robert Brault)
I do not know our new neighborhood very well at all. I know the little green-way just west of us, the one that passes through the prairie dog metropolis and then forks north––toward the lake that sits adjacent to the prison where a former Illinois governor now resides––andCurt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-40756771951271888802014-05-01T21:09:00.002-06:002014-05-01T21:09:28.450-06:00A Passing Moment
The place we moved is new. Very new. The last of the sod was just put down yesterday, a relief considering that the sidewalks and parking lot have been nothing but mud since we moved in a month ago. I felt my spirit lighten as the dirt vanished, replaced by nice, clean strips of green grass, its lines as visible as the lines that I love in my carpet after I vacuum. But the trees are also new, Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-12580376291640531642014-04-27T10:29:00.000-06:002014-04-27T10:29:03.522-06:00Grackle
I have a way, it seems, of loving those things no one else finds particularly useful. Take for instance the darlings of my spirit, the Russian Olive trees which I have written so profusely about in the past, and will no doubt write about again in the coming weeks. To most they are weeds, terrible, stubborn thorny pests that plague the landscape, not beautiful to look at but so sweet to hold in Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-28378671625404909072014-04-08T19:13:00.002-06:002014-04-09T09:33:12.867-06:00Everything
Everything matters, as I was reminded once again on our evening walk around the lake. From the green halo which is slowly--too slowly--overtaking the trees on the edges of the park, especially the willows, which are sobbing for the inevitable but tedious arrival of another Rocky Mountain spring, to the throngs of people that had overrun the trail, most of them--myself included--in shorts and Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-70729722892432176522014-03-31T21:31:00.000-06:002014-03-31T21:31:17.375-06:00Farewell Hello Home
And then suddenly, after seven years on the property we've called home, five of them in our cozy, one-bedroom apartment, it was time to go for one last walk down the thirty-seven stairs, out onto the sidewalk, painted bright under the morning sun, stroll down The Run for one last meeting with Jeffrey, his cats, and the squirrels which gather at his patio for their morning meal, across Bowles to Curt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8674053991112586077.post-51875587181183464052014-03-04T19:57:00.003-07:002014-03-04T19:57:24.273-07:00Certain and True
There are few things that are certain. One of them is that at those moments when you feel happiest and most secure life is sure toss a few curve balls in your direction. The other is that when you're at your lowest and most vulnerable, nothing brings a smile to your face as easily and as certainly as watching your good, red dog––your best friend, your brother––catch a ball and bring it to you asCurt Rogershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01092702507137136310noreply@blogger.com3