S/O J—, both dogs, and I have gone on a couple of walks along the L.A. River recently. We either begin at Rattlesnake Park and proceed far enough south from Fletcher Avenue as to see Taylor Train Yards on the opposite bank or we begin from the north side of Fletcher Avenue and continue north almost to Los Feliz Boulevard. It has been years and years now since the Army Corps of Engineers swept through and cleared out vegetation, so there are significant islands of willowy trees and invasive, non-native grasses.

J— and I enjoy describing to each other detailed physical characteristics of water fowl we spot, hoping that stating the details aloud will help us remember and identify the birds once we’re back home, sitting in the courtyard with our own mescal-and-curaçao versions of margaritas, studying the tri-fold, laminated pictorial guide entitled “Birds of Los Angeles County” that we bought at Theodore Payne Foundation. (We refer to guide as the “cat sushi menu” because of its size and format, as well as its content. We amuse ourselves and each other.)

Last walk, we were able to observe at length a pair of great blue herons as they came floating in, looking from a distance like drifting orchids. And on the previous walk, I had been especially happy to find a couple of cinnamon teals (my favorites) among the numerous coots. Cormorants, mallards, phoebes, etc. No swallows on either walk.

The dogs are trying to train us to take them daily by growing animated and cheery around 4:00 p.m. every afternoon; darting a few steps ahead of us as we navigate any part of the house and courtyard; turning to face us head-on with broad, anticipatory smiles and velvet painting eyes; presumably staring at our temples while attempting thought insertion by chanting “W-A-L-K” inside their own little heads.

Having had no success through the decades at establishing any kind of cardiovascular routine for myself, it would be wise of me to yield to their trance-inducement attempts.