ohmidog!

It was 104 degrees.

Too hot for dogs, in Ace’s view — even though I pointed out to him it was a dry heat. Too hot for fleas, too. I’m told. Temperatures get so high in summer, that pesky species doesn’t even bother to book reservations. Survival is impossible.

Humans, on the other hand, despite their bigger brains, don’t seem to  have figured that out yet — my father and brother among them.

Both of them have lived in Phoenix for a while now, leaving me with good freeloading opportunities — oven-like though they may be.

So, as this will be our base for the next week or so, we plan to do a lot of what people who live in Phoenix do — stay inside in the air conditioning. But we’ll be setting off some day trips, too, and exploring the dog friendly side of Phoenix.

Saturday’s day-long drive from Santa Fe was half Interstate highway (with nearly every exit sporting an Indian trading post, and/or casino, and not much else), half back roads (most of them cutting through the Tonto National Forest.)

It was all evergreens as we climbed up and through the mountains after crossing the border, then turned to desert and cactus as we came back down and approached the Phoenix area.

Ace and I are staying for now in Gilbert, at the home of my brother, who, along with his yellow lab, Roscoe, we’ve visited before. Last time there was some bloodshed, when, as I recall it, the two got snarly with each other and Ace bit his own tongue.

This time there was one brief growly period when they first approached each other, outside, but the two have been getting along just fine since. To make sure that continues to be the case, Ace is taking dinner outside by the car, which he’s come to view as a big red feeding machine. He will sit and stare at it, just as he used to with the treat shelf back home in Baltimore.

While Ace likes to keep his visits outside short, Roscoe is the opposite. The heat doesn’t seem to bother him at all and, given the opportunity, he’d lay on the hot cement for hours. Maybe, living here all his life, Roscoe, who we featured here in his puppyhood, and who we’ll be telling you more about later, has adapted. Ace prefers my brother’s cool tile floor, right under the ceiling fan.

That’s where I’m sleeping, too, on the couch, with Ace stretched on the floor out next to it. Last night, as I was falling asleep, arm dangling off the couch, Ace got in a hand-holding mood (which he often does), reaching his paw out for my hand every time I let go.

I’m pretty sure that’s how we, or at least I, fell asleep.

(To read all of the continuing series, Dog’s Country, click here.)

Dogs are “unclean” and should not be kept as pets, a senior Iranian cleric has decreed.

Grand Ayatollah Naser Makarem Shirazi issued the fatwa, or religious ruling, to send a message that the trend toward “western-style” pet ownership must stop, Reuters reported.

Dogs are considered “unclean” under Islam and have traditionally not been kept as pets — although there are signs that is changing.

“Friendship with dogs is a blind imitation of the West,” the cleric was quoted as saying in Javan daily. “There are lots of people in the West who love their dogs more than their wives and children.”

Guard dogs and sheep dogs are considered acceptable under Islamic law but Iranians who carry dogs in their cars or take them to public parks can be stopped by police and fined.

The Koran does not explicitly prohibit contact with dogs, Shirazi said, but Islamic tradition showed it to be so. “We have lots of narrations in Islam that say dogs are unclean.”

Natural Balance Pet Foods, Inc. is recalling its Sweet Potato & Chicken Dry Dog Food, with the “Best By” date of June 17, 2011, because it has the potential to be contaminated with Salmonella.

No illnesses have been reported, and the voluntary recall is based on “an isolated instance,” in which a product sample with the above “Best By” had a positive result for Salmonella in a random test conducted by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration.

The product, sold in 5-lb. and 28-lb. bags, was originally manufactured on December 17, 2009,  Natural Balance, based in Pacoima, California, said in a press release. The company was formed by actor Dick Van Patten and partners, and is sold under his name.

Salmonella can affect animals and there is a risk to humans from handling contaminated pet products. People handling dry pet food can become infected with Salmonella, especially if they have not thoroughly washed their hands after having contact with surfaces exposed to this product.

Pets with Salmonella infections may be lethargic and have diarrhea or bloody diarrhea, fever and vomiting. Some pets will have only decreased appetite, fever and abdominal pain. Infected but otherwise healthy pets can be carriers and infect other animals or humans. If your pet has consumed the recalled product and has these symptoms, the company advises you contact your veterinarian.

Recalled products were distributed in pet specialty stores in Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Hawaii, Idaho, Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Oregon, South Dakota, Texas, Utah, Washington, Wisconsin and Wyoming.

Name: Domino

Breed: Dalmatian

Age: 13

Encountered: Arizona’s Painted Cliffs Welcome Center, on Interstate 40

Headed: Back home to Oregon

From: A trip to New Mexico

Travel habits: When Domino’s owner fires up the RV, Domino is happy to ride along. Domino gets restless about every three hours, though, and wants to get out for a walk, as he was doing at this rest area  just across the New Mexico line. Despite Arizona’s new hard line on immigrants,  both the predominantly white Domino and his black spots were able to gain admittance to the state. (My overly tanned left arm had no difficulties, either.)

Domino’s owner, who lives with his daughter, hits the road for two or three months at a time, seeing the country and drifting where the spirit moves him. “I call it tumbleweeding,” he says.

Murderous windshield

Sorry, bugs, rest in pieces

Please pass the squeegee

Name: Tobias

Breed: Chihuahua

Age: 13

Encountered: Outside his home in Albuquerque

Headed: Out to the courtyard

From: His apartment on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue

Travel habits: At 13, Tobias isn’t doing a lot of traveling, content to stay home with his owner, who took him in as a foster two years ago from Quixote Humane Incorporated, a Chihuahua rescue organization in Albuquerque. Despite having no teeth, and a malformed leg, and, from all appearances, some abuse in his past,  he’s a contented little fellow, and very protective of his master.

At 56, it’s not every day I spend the night with a 25-year-old woman, and if it ever did happen, you’d normally be the last person I’d tell.

But, on Thursday night, that’s exactly what I did.

A “complete stranger” invited Ace and me into her home in Albuquerque, went out to dinner with us at a dog-friendly restaurant (Kelly’s Brew Pub) and, though still a kid (relative to me, anyway) taught me a few things about trust and keeping the doors to one’s life open enough that new people can get in.

And she saved me a few bucks, as well.

For this, I can thank couchsurfing.org, a website that, realizing not all of us have money to spare for mint-on-the pillow accommodations, unites people looking for a place to stay with local people kind enough to offer one — on a global scale.

I first heard about it through a comment left on ohmidog! — offering me, a penny pinching traveler with a dog at my side, some advice on finding dog-friendly, cheap, even free, lodgings.

I went to the website, created a bare bones profile, paid a $25 verification fee (though they — see comment below — prefer to call it a donation), and explored the options, especially those members who lived along my somewhat fuzzy route who were open to opening their homes not just to travelers, but their dogs as well.

Jen Walker in Albuquerque was the first one I found. Through the website, I sent her a message, told her a bit about myself, and what Ace and I are up to, and inquired as to whether I might crash — a word I haven’t used in 25 years or so — on her couch.

Sure, she wrote back. She was cool with that.

She’s got a charming little dog of her own, an Italian greyound-Chihuahua mix named Cali who likes to hang out on the roof of the apartment that joins hers, and a cat named Autumn, who likes to crawl into suitcases and more than once has almost been accidentally abducted by a departing couchsurfer.

Ace, once spotting Autumn behind a pillow, immediately hopped in Jen’s bed to better stare at her. Jen was cool with that.

Jen, as she has been with the 67 previous couchsurfers she has taken in, was the consumate host — and even supplied an air mattress for me to sleep on instead of the couch. She’s working, and going to school at the University of New Mexico, and is a delightful young woman — God, how old do I sound? — with a laid back aura, a kind heart, and a curious and open mind.

Taking new acquaintances into her home, she says “allows me to meet people I probably otherwise would never meet.”

It occurs to me that, by hosting couchsurfers, she’s doing what I’m doing — both by taking this trip, and when I made the career choice to be a journalist: ensuring I would see new things, meet new people, keep learning, and not live the insulated life.

She’s made some lasting friends, and — one of the big side benefits –  accumulated a long list of places to stay around the globe. As with those who stay with her, she knows those she stays with will offer her much more than any hotel, or even hostel, ever could. Staying with a local person or family provides much better insight into local culture, far more tips on where to go and what to see and allows one to make a more intimate connection with the place they are visiting.

The concept is based on a slightly hippyesque, pay-it-forward kind of philosophy — taking in others leads others to take in others, and so forth. And it gives credence to the belief that in this world there are no complete strangers, only partial ones … friends we haven’t met yet, as I like to think — at least when the cynical journalist, untrusting, worst-case-scenario side  of me doesn’t get in the way.

Jen, in her two years as a member, has only couchsurfed once, in Durango, Colorado, but she’s hosted close to 70 times, many of those being visitors from other countries. They might stay a day, or even a week. (Jen is cool with that.) For her, it has led to many long term friendships and not a single negative experience.

In college, and even afterwards, she notes, she had a core group of friends — all with similar backgrounds and interests. Through couchsurfing, she has expanded her friend horizons, and met lots of different types of people.

Jen grew up in Hastings, Nebraska and at first was hesitant to tell her parents about her involvement in couchsurfing. When she finally did, “they thought it was great,” she said. “Some of my friends think I’m crazy, but I’ve met a lot of cool people.”

She’s now averaging two to six visitors a week, and I — who am sitting, not surfing, on her couch right now, Cali on one side of me, Ace on the other (Jen is cool with that) — am number 68.

As couchsurfing.org explains on its website mission statement: “For one reason or another, some of us may not have the opportunity to explore. There could be any number of obstacles that keep us from venturing as freely as we might otherwise, whether it’s economic limitations, cultural constraints, or simply fear of the unknown … If we could address and overcome those barriers, more of us would naturally tap into our own curious nature and actively explore the world.”

That philosophy, too, is sort of similar to the one behind my current journey — having no money is no reason not to travel; maybe, even, it can be a reason to travel. (Bear and his famiy notwithstanding.)

Couchsurfing.org got its start when founder Casey Fenton bought a cheap ticket to Iceland for a long weekend. Rather than stay at a hotel or hostel, he came up with idea of e-mailing over 1500 Icelandic students in Reykjavik and asking them if he could crash on one of their couches.

That led to numerous offers from Icelanders offering to show “their’ Reykjavik.” After his week in Iceland, he vowed to never again get trapped in a hotel and tourist marathon while traveling.

Originally, I planned to stay two nights, but after one I’m heading to Santa Fe to see an old friend who — assuming her three dogs get along with mine — might let me house/pet sit when she and her veterinarian husband are out of town for a week in July.

I’ll send Jen an email, and leave her a note — in case she’s not back from work by the time I have to leave. I’m sure she’ll be cool with that.

(To read all of “Dog’s Country,” click here.)

One side benefit of my new gypsy lifestyle — in which the dog and I have given up our housing to spend some time exploring America — is that I am now a bronzed God.

Not all of me, mind you, just my left arm, which has been resting out the open car window as we make our way west.

I like driving with the window down. Ace, being wiser, prefers the air conditioning. So we compromise: window down, AC on, and the vents aimed in his direction — until, at least, it gets so hot that I come around to his point of view.

As a result of all that arm resting out the window, though, my left arm has a tan to die for — not a farmer tan, more of a truck driver tan.

With my pasty stay at home days behind me, the open road ahead, I’m digging my left arm, which may be making the rest of my body jealous. I think my left arm is almost ready to go out in public, perhaps check out the dating scene, maybe start hitting the gym, so it can be as toned as it is tanned.

The rest of me will probably stay home — oh yeah, we don’t have one, make that inside — but my left arm, I think, wants to go out and hoist a few.

Of course, all this leaves me uneven, a split personality, dermatologically speaking — and it will continue to get more pronounced unless I spend some time on the passenger side, which, as I’m traveling only with my dog, is probably not advisable.

I’ll just have to cope with being a two-toned human being, and let the two sides fight it out.

John’s left arm: Dude, c’mon, let’s go out.

Pasty John: No, I want to watch this Law & Order I’ve previously viewed five times.

John’s left arm: C’mon, let’s go climb a mountain or do some river rafting. How about we at least check out the motel pool?

Pasty John: No! Might I remind you that, despite your extremely awesome tan, you are the weaker of the two arms. You’re not in charge here. Now quit flexing.

John’s left arm: Can I at least work the remote?

Pasty John: No, I don’t trust you.

The contrast between my arms is only likely to get worse in the days ahead. We still have to cross the rest of New Mexico and half of Arizona, where I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if my left arm is required to show proof of citizenship.

“Are you two together?” the Border Patrol agent will ask.

“Never seen him before in my life,” my pasty side will answer.

(To read all of “Dog’s Country,” click here.)

Name: Bear

Breed: Lab-shepherd mix

Age: Unknown

Encountered: An exit ramp off eastbound I-40 near Clines Corners, N.M.

Headed: Home to Bristol, Virginia

From: Unknown

Travel habits: Easygoing, but his owners — a husband, wife and son — ran into car trouble and spent all $400 they had on fixing the radiator. So they hand-wrote a sign about their misfortune and sat on the exit ramp with Bear, seeking donations. Seeing them stranded, I stopped, met Bear, and asked if they needed help. “We’re flat broke,” the husband said. I gave them $20, but — that only being half a tank these days — they didn’t seem too happy about it. Then I asked if I could take a picture of their dog. “You’ll have to ask my wife,” the husband said. The wife, sitting on the ground behind the trunk of the car, said, “I don’t allow pictures of anything.” She said it quite gruffly. I got back in my car and moved on, stopping to take this photo from far away.

(To read all of “Dog’s Country,” click here.)

The road from Roswell to Albuquerque — not too long, not too winding — seems paved with misfortune.

Highway 285 has long stretches of emptiness, and is dotted with small dusty towns, like Vaughn and Encino, where even “New Menagement” apparently couldn’t save this place.

That means there are some real estate bargains (see left), but it also means hard times behind and likely ahead.

And, of course, no Starbucks, unlike Albuquerque, where I passed two as soon as I exited, and where I’m now enjoying an iced coffee.

The oppressive humidity of the past week is, I think, behind me. Ace too, as he munches on my left over ice cubes, seems more comfortable.

Tonight, we spend the first of two nights with a complete stranger, who has offered me her couch. Details Saturday.

(To read all of “Dog’s Country,” click here.)