ohmidog!

He was free with his opinions, generous with his discount-brand dog treats, and prone to dispensing an endless supply of both at Baltimore’s Riverside Park.

There, for years, he was dog’s best friend.

He knew almost all the regulars by name, and many of them, like my dog Ace, could spot him from hundreds of yards away. They’d run to greet him, then follow him as he slowly trudged up to the park gazebo, his dog — his very, very fat dog — Louie, at his side.

There, on a bench by the gazebo, Stan would hold court daily — complaining about politicians, grumbling about bureaucracies, and breaking out his big bag of treats, which he’d fling, one at a time, to the dogs that would congregate.

I got word yesterday that Stan, the biscuit man — a fixture, if not a legend, at Baltimore’s Riverside Park — had died, on Christmas day.

Stan was one of the first friends Ace made at the park, and one he never forgot.

Last year, when we returned to the city after nine months on the road, we stopped first at the park. Ace was reacquainting himself with its smells when, a good 100 yards in the distance I saw a man rolling up the sidewalk on one of those powered scooters, a fat black dog following him.

Ace recognized him before I did — despite nine months away, despite Stan’s new method of getting around — and joyfully bolted off in his direction.

And of course Stan had treats. He always did.

Some called him Stan the biscuit man, some called him Stan the cookie man. Some just called him Stan — easy to remember because it was stitched right there on his blue mechanic’s jacket.

Dogs always perked up when they saw Stan, and vice versa.

Not all the humans appreciated his generosity. There were those who detoured when he was sitting at his bench of choice — those who either didn’t want their dogs to fill up on treats, or feared that, with so many dogs vying for them, it could lead to trouble.

But I rarely saw any of that. Instead, dogs — sometimes three, or four, or five or six — would sit and waiting patiently for their turn, as he tossed the bargain biscuits into the air.

If any got too eager, too pushy, or tried to grab the biscuits before he tossed them, he’d gently admonish them by name: “Wait your turn, Argus. Don’t be greedy, Ace. Let this little guy in here to get some.”

His own dog, Louie, a pit bull mix, nearly as wide as he is long, always seemed to get his fill. After a while, Louie would stop eating the treats he was tossed, instead just catching and dropping them to the ground, where other dogs would scoop them up.

Stan, who was out of work on disability and suffered from back problems, eventually stopped walking all the way to the gazebo, settling for a bench on the edge of the park, closer to his home, at least until he got the scooter.

While I’ve not heard the details of his death, I’m told Louie, who Stan lived alone with, is being cared for by a friend. If you knew Stan, and want to share any information or memories about him, please feel free to leave a comment on this post.

What I’ll always remember about him is, no matter how worked up he got grumbling about politics, his ire subsided and his face always brightened up when he talked about Louie.

“It’s like living with a cartoon character,” he once told me.

I don’t know if Louie’s new guardian lives in the same South Baltimore neighborhood, or whether Louie will continue waddling up to Riverside Park everyday. But even if he does, without Stan, Riverside Park will be one character short.

Postscript: After this post appeared, we heard from Stan’s sister-in-law Mary. (Her full comment appears in the comments section below.)

According to Mary, Stan was diagnosed in July with lung cancer and went through chemotherapy and radiation. While he beat the cancer, he became weak and developed pneumonia.

“One thing lead to another and he finally could no longer fight. He died on Christmas day. Louie is living with Tom in Catonsville. Tom had been Stan’s friend since elementary school. He has 3 dogs of his own and now added Louie. He has lost 6 inches from around his waist and now runs and plays with his new pals. Tom’s wife met us at the funeral home after the cemetery and had Louie with her. He looks happy and much thinner and full of absolute ‘dog joy.’ She said when she looks at Louie she sees Stan.”

Just a week after widely circulated reports of nails being found in cheese at a dog park — reports that mostly neglected to point out the incident happened months ago in South America — nails in meat have been found at a Lancaster, Pennsylvania, dog park

Lancaster police said two “large chunks of meat” were discovered Monday morning at Buchanan Park dog park, each loosely embedded with several framing nails.

Police said the meat was found  just inside the fence by a young girl and her father who brought their dog to the park.

The nails were “loosely attached” to the underside of the meat, according to the Lancaster New Era

“The dog wasn’t hurt,” an officer said. “It didn’t even touch the stuff.”

The investigation is continuing. Police asked that anyone with information call 717-735-3300.

Arizona’s Cosmo Dog Park may soon be using dog waste to shed some light.

The town of Gilbert is looking at teaming up with Arizona State University students to build a “digester” — like one we showed you last year — that will create methane gas to power, for starters, one street lamp at the park.

The project is scheduled to go before the Gilbert Town Council next month for approval.

Students from Arizona State University’s Polytechnic campus in Mesa hope to design and create the “dog waste digester,” according to the Arizona Republic.

The town is seeking a corporate sponsor for the project, estimated to cost $25,000.

Cosmo Park, which opened in 2006, draws more than 600,000 visitors annually and regularly shows up on lists of the nation’s best dog parks.

Former Gilbert Councilwoman Linda Abbott has been pushing the project after learning of the machine installed last year as a public-art project in a park in Cambridge, Mass.

(The Cambridge machine was a temporary project and is no longer in operation.)

Gilbert officials have held three meetings with ASU on the plan to design the machine, which would consist of a repository tank and digester.

It will be supervised by professor Kiril D. Hristovski, who will challenge her students to design a machine suited to Arizona’s climate, taking advantage of solar power.

“The principals of anaerobic digestion are the same,” he said. “We’re going to challenge the students to come up with innovative solutions that are unique.”

Rather than tossing poop bags into the park’s trash can’s, dog owners would collect their dogs waste in biodegradable bags, deposit it in the digester and turn a hand crank to stir the mixture so the methane rises to the top.

A bicyclist who said he was intimidated by an off-leash neighborhood dog doused it with gasoline and threatened to set in on fire.

Another pit bull story? Nope. The ferocious beast at the center of this confrontation – a nine-pound ball of fluff named Benny — was a Lhasa Apso. Earlier reports that labeled the dog a Shih Tzu were incorrect, his owner, Frank Perlongo, told MySuburbanLife.com.

Daniel Maskill, 53, of Riverside, Ill., was arrested and charged with misdemeanor counts of animal cruelty and assault after the Tuesday night confrontation. 

According to Riverside police, Maskill was bicycling home through Harrington Park with a can of gas he had just purchased gas for his lawnmower when he encountered the dog.

“He was upset it was off leash,” Riverside Chief Thomas Weitzel told the Chicago Tribune. “He said he felt intimidated.”

Maskill threatened to set the dog and its owner on fire, and, although he never struck a match, Maskill did douse the 9-pound dog with gas, Weitzel said.

Weitzel said the assault charge stemmed from Maskill’s alleged threat to the owner.

The owner told police he likes to let his dog romp in the park, but town rules require dogs be on leashes. The owner was issued a citation.

(Photo: This is not the Lhaso Apso involved in the incident, but one we met in our travels — Tugg, of Seattle)

Names: Mikey and Soju 

Breeds: Pug and Great Dane 

Encountered: At Riverside Park in Baltimore

Backstory: I got to spend some time with two of my favorite local dogs yesterday — a day whose warm temperatures led both humans and canines to linger at Riverside Park, in no particular hurry to get back home.

Even if it’s not here to stay, the mild weather was welcome — especially to Ace, after a winter of being rushed through the dog walk by an owner hoping to quickly get the “mission” accomplished and himself back indoors …

“C’mon, do your business, my toes are frozen. It’s too cold. Let’s go.”

In retrospect, in this past month, I’ve probably been, in Ace’s eye, a bit of a buzzkill.

Doing his duty, I don’t think, has ever been the foremost mission in Ace’s mind during trips to the park (hence the urging). He sees it as more of a happy hour, or preferably two – a chance to add to his scent portfolio, visit old dog friends, meet some new ones, and track down those folks who, at some point in history, have provided him with a treat.

Yesterday was the kind of visit he likes best — a long one, with good dog friends to play with, new ones to sniff out, and lots of humans to mooch off. (If you have treats in your pocket, Ace will determine which pocket and, should you need prompting, attempt to insert his nose inside it. When it comes to freeloading, I think I have learned some of his skills, and he has picked up some of mine.)

We got to catch up with our old friend Soju — he’s named after the vodka-like (but sweeter) Korean beverage. Soju and Ace are old friends, and they used to wrestle endlessly at Riverside, a true up-on-the-hind-legs, paw-swinging battle of the titans. When one of them went down, you could almost feel the earth shake.

They went at it for a bit yesterday, with Ace, the older of the two, watching as Soju galloped around him in circles, then tackling him like a lazy linebacker when Soju veered close enough.

Mikey stayed out of the fray — a wise choice given he’s not much bigger than a football. Mikey, a therapy dog with one of the more expressive faces you’ll ever see, generally avoids the roughhousing, choosing instead to sit at your feet, looking up at you with big brown bulging eyes until you give him a treat, no matter how long it takes.

Good things, he seems to know, come to those who wait – and spring is one example. Yesterday didn’t mark it’s arrival, but even a false precursor was welcome, and dogs and humans soaked it up. It occurs to me that we should send thank you notes to spring — perhaps that would lead her to stay around a little longer and forestall the inevitable arrival of her evil sister summer, who always comes to early and stays past her welcome.

Speaking of staying past one’s welcome, Ace and I — after a glorious month in a friend’s empty house in Federal Hill — will be hitting the road again next week.

As of now, it appears we will be heading south, where we plan to stay in an undetermined location for an indeterminate period of time. How’s that for a plan?

Once again, we’ll tear ourselves away from Baltimore, where — in addition to promoting my new book — the last month has allowed us to get ourselves organized, experience a semblance of stability, soak in a hot tub on a rooftop deck (just me, not Ace) and savor the pleasures of our old neighborhood.

I’ll miss my corner bar. Ace will miss his favorite park. But, as I think I said nine months ago — when Ace and I first embarked on our journey to discover America, its dogs and the people who love them — there’s one thing we’ll miss most of all:

Friends … big and small.

(To see all our Roadside Encounters, click here.)

Ace — though he seems to appreciate the slightly wobbly stability our temporary trailer home in Cave Creek, Arizona, is providing — woke up Saturday morning raring to go.

Where, I do not know.

Maybe, with all the driving of the last six months, he now feels the need to ride. Maybe it was the crisp morning temperatures; or perhaps he’d gotten worked up by all the coyote howling the night before. They sounded as if they were having a feast, or a fight, or possibly an orgy.

Ace galloped out of the trailer, ran up to the car and took a seat in the dirt, his wagging tail kicking up dust and a look on his face that said, to me, “What are we waiting for?”

So, on the spur of the moment, I decided we’d revisit Spur Cross Ranch Conservation Area — 2,154 acres of desert that over the years has been home to cowboys, Indians and mining operations. Now it’s part of the Maricopa County park system — and it’s just a few miles of paved and dirt roads from where we’re staying.

I’d driven out there last weekend, hearing it was a good place to romp with dogs, but didn’t really explore. On Saturday, I tossed Ace’s leash, water bowl and jug in the car, and off we went — planning not a long hike, just a 30 minute tour to better check things out.

The first thing we encountered was not a gila monster or a rattlesnake, but an extremely nice sheriff’s deputy. He was explaining the lay of the land to me and suggesting some trails when three guys on horses rode up. Ace, who had been around horses only a little — like back when we were passing through Maine — was a perfect gentlemen, and sat at my side. His eyes got big, as they seem to do when he’s amazed, but his hackles stayed down.

The weekend cowboys rode off, and the deputy and I talked some more. I asked if there were any areas where dogs weren’t allowed. He said they were fine everywhere — that rules call for them to stay leashed, but that the rules were pretty flexible. Well behaved dogs, he implied, could romp a bit off leash.

So, 50 yards down the path we chose, off it came.

Ace walked tentatively, avoiding the rocks as he veered from one side of the dusty path to the other, carefully sniffing the various types of cacti as I tried to remember their names, all of which I’d made a point of learning when I moved to Tucson 35 years ago — saguaro, cholla, prickly pear, barrel, agave … my memory of the rest had gone dry.

So had Ace. Not planning a long hike, I hadn’t brought any water — for me or him.

I wasn’t particularly thirsty. We’d only been walking 30 minutes or so, and at a very slow pace, with lots of pauses for sniffing. But Ace, who seems to have a better understanding of the need to hydrate than I, was clearly wishing for water.

He got his wish.

I didn’t know there even was a Cave Creek — as in an actual creek — much less that we were headed towards it, or that it, unlike most alleged bodies of water in these parts, would actually, at this particular time anyway, have water running through it.

Ace, after approaching cautiously, made the most of it. First he pawed it, then he took a tiny taste, then he plunged his head in, taking a long drink, running in circles, then drinking some more.

It wasn’t exactly a raging river, but here in the desert, you take what you can get. We hiked a little deeper down the trail, then turned around. By the time we reached the creek, he was ready to celebrate it once again.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Dogs have a way of living fully in the moment – no matter how piddly a moment it is — and we could learn from that.

Our 30-minute hike took two hours. We encountered five other dogs along the way, people on horses and people on mountain bikes, one of whom, as he rode, was singing at the top of his lungs. Possibly that guy was living in the moment, or just a nut.

We had one sour moment, when a lone female hiker snuck up behind me and decided I needed a scolding for not having Ace on a leash.

I hooked him up and let her pass, holding him to my side and assuring her that he was friendly. “That’s what everybody whose dog has ever bitten anybody says,” she said. She kept mumbling as she went by and, once at the trailhead, reported me to the sheriff’s deputy, who — though he didn’t consider it a hanging offense — reminded me of the official rules.

Spur Cross is the newest addition to Maricopa County’s Regional Parks System. Citizens of Cave Creek voted to pay more taxes to help the county and the state to buy the land. The conservation area’s trails pass through through archeological sites of the ancient Hohokam, who once lived along the creek, and one can see relics as well of its mining heritage and its days as a dude ranch.

None of that mattered to Ace. But he sure liked the water.

To my list of top five dog parks in America — which for all I know may number 16 by now — I must add one more: Marymoor Park in King County, Washington.

This is what a dog park should be — not some over-landscaped half acre, not fake hills covered with fake grass, not a field of gravel or a stretch of pavement.

Marymoor’s dog park is about as organic as dog parks get — this is Seattle after all — with the only obvious addition to its 40 acres of nature being the tons of mulch on the trails to keep things from getting too soggy.

“Doggy Disneyland,” as some call it, is huge — and hugely popular. When Ace and I visited this week, we saw two jam-packed parking lots, and well over 100 dogs romping about, some in the river, some in the open fields.

Located on what used to be a farm, the dog park features several hundred feet of river access and numerous walking paths. It’s less than two miles from the main Microsoft campus, which is something to behold as well.

The Seattle area, just as it draws high tech companies, seems to attract dog lovers — either that or it sprouts them from its well-watered soil. The abundance of dogs,  the esteem in which they are held, and lots of hard work have combined to make it a good place to be a dog.

Seattle and its surrounding area started opening dog parks before a lot of cities even started thinking about them.

The Save Our Dog Area committee of Marymoor Park formed in 1987 when citizens learned the King County Parks Division planned to close the off-leash area.

It managed to convince the county that dogs and their owners were as deserving of some recreational space as soccer-playing kids, kite-flyers and picnickers.

In 1995, the King County Council voted to adopt the new Marymoor Master Plan which called for keeping the dog area open and operating. After that SODA, which initially stood for “Save Our Dog Areas,” became “Serve Our Dog Areas,” working to maintain the acreage devoted to dogs.

Within the city of Seattle, another group, COLA (Citizens for Off-Leash Areas) was formed in 1995, seeking permanent off-leash recreational access in some of Seattle’s nearly 400 parks.

After opening seven dog parks on a trial basis, the Seattle City Council in 1997 voted 9-0 to establish permanent off-leash dog areas, giving COLA the responsibility of stewarding the sites for the Department of Parks and Recreation. There are now 11 of them.

In our 17,000 miles of traveling so far we’ve seen a lot of dog-friendly towns, including the dog-friendliest, but the Seattle area, in our book, has got to be one of the dog friendliest big cities in the country … Rain or shine.

Confusing signage is everywhere, but one notices it more when they are in a new place, and when they’re relying on those signs for guidance.

As in, is it OK to walk my dog here?

We found this one – at a park in Saugerties, New York – particularly baffling.

It could, and probably does, mean swimming, dogs and littering are all prohitited. Then again, it could mean there is no swimming, and dogs are allowed.

Then again it could mean swimming dogs are not allowed. Or, one final interpretation, it could mean swimming dogs are allowed, but they shouldn’t litter while they are doing so.

We went with the first interpretation, and moved on.

Baltimore dogs and their humans took to the water today at Riverside Park’s doggie swim — held after the pool’s last day of the season.

 For more photos, see my Facebook album.

Thanks to an extended pool season, dogs will once again have a chance to take a swim at Baltimore’s Riverside Park.