Obituary

Señor Pablo Piñon
5/10/93-2/13/06
Pablo, a well-known, well-traveled, regionally-famous, much loved, remarkable creature passed away at home in San Diego on Monday after a brief illness. Feeling more or less fine, he was able to enjoy his last weekend in high style, receiving lots of treats and back-scratches, and visiting friends both human and canine. He took in the breeze while cruising the beach, sailed on the bay, and made one last confident strut through Dog Park.
“Buddy” as he was then known, was born in Boulder, Colorado, the son of a Cairn terrier bitch and her Australian Cattle dog paramour. His mother was so tiny, relative to her 12 pups, that a Cesarean birth was necessary. The brood soon went to the mother’s beautiful home in the foothills outside of Boulder, belonging to a woman named Amritam and her husband Skip. Amritam was a well-known spiritual channeler who at that time ran a center in Boulder known as the Oceanic Institute. This was later suggested as a possible explanation for Pablo’s amazing personality, often much more human than dog. At seven weeks, he found his human companion at Chautauqua Park in Boulder, with some help from Arjoune, an associate of Amritam’s, who screened potential adoptive parents for an acceptable aura. Soon we were traveling through the canyons in Arjoune’s ramshackle van on our way to 1701 Canyon Street and points beyond. He was first called Piñon, based on his resemblance, as a tiny puppy, to a toasted pine nut. Pablo came a few days later, not after Neruda, Picasso, or Escobar, just Pablo. It seemed to fit.
At ten weeks Pablo traveled across the US in a little nest on the back seat of an ancient VW Rabbit. He witnessed the great Mississippi River flood of ’93 and was briefly lost at a gas station in rural Iowa. He explored the shores of Lake Champlain and drove the famous Route 100 through Vermont, sitting in the drivers seat with his head in the crook of my arm, going up and down with every curve in the road.
Pablo would become most famous for his antics during his Telluride period from late ’93 to ’99. He became a bit of a celebrity in this idyllic mountain town, a place where dogs are often better known than their humans. He loved to strut down Main Street, defying the strict leash law whenever possible, and became a regular at the legendary Fly Me to The Moon Saloon, often turning up on the guest list for local and national touring acts. One New Year’s Eve, after being closed in the house alone, he escaped and went to three different parties with different groups of people, ending up at Moon for after hours and somehow making it back into the house before the humans returned from work.
Without question, he is best remembered from those days as the Dog Who Rode the Bus. A free tourist bus made loops through the town allowing people to get on and off as they pleased. After a few trips with humans, Pablo caught on and ventured out by himself, perhaps jumping up on a whim the first time, when a bus pulled up next to him. Soon the drivers began to recognize him and he often traveled across town alone, hopping off to visit a friend or sniff around a dumpster near Rose’s Market.
In Colorado, Pablo’s athletic side flourished. He was a surprisingly strong little dog and loved to climb mountains, summiting several 14,000’ peaks, always surprising others climbers on top who weren’t expecting to see a terrier. He was also totally passionate about snow sports. His antics in powder defied logic, given his short legs. He would almost swim through the snow, often with only the tips of his ears and tail showing in a sea of white. He loved to show-up a husky or other dog more appropriate to the environment by jumping off a big cornice and thus was often brought along backcountry ski trips to Lizard Head Pass simply for entertainment value. He frequently chased a mountain bike through the desert outside of Moab, an area in which he was very much at home, blending in with the sandstone such that he more resembled some rare desert creature than a mutt.
After so many great years in Colorado, a brief stint in Appalachia, and travels that took him to 40 states, including memorable explorations of San Francisco, New Orleans, Montreal, Florida, Atlanta, and Savannah, Pablo boarded an airplane, albeit in steerage, for the first time. He jumped out of his cage in the Cayman Islands, staying put for more than two years on this beautiful chunk of rock in the middle of the Caribbean.
This was a welcome change of lifestyle after the heady Colorado days. A typical day in Cayman found Señor lounging on a postcard perfect beach with his latest batch of admirers, a bikini-clad gaggle of Italian expatriates. Not ready to completely give up on adventuring, Pablo relived his Moab days by running alongside the car down miles of levees in the mangroves, a dust cloud rising up in the blur of his little legs. It was here that he discovered a new sport; sea kayaking that would bring much joy for the rest of his life. He always hated being in the water, but for some reason absolutely loved riding in the kayak, even if it meant an occasional unplanned swim.
In 2001, Pablo reunited with puppy hood friends Shami and Omika, and journeyed overland from Colorado to Alaska. He would spend three summer seasons here over the next five years, soaking up all the wildness and adventure Alaska has to offer, and as always, making lots of friends and continuing to amaze people with his incredible personality. In the fall of ’01 Pablo retraced the path of the Klondike Gold Rush by bravely trekking 45 treacherous miles from Skagway, Alaska up to British Columbia on the Chilkoot Trail. To meet his party in Skagway, Señor traveled solo by ferry from Haines, a throwback to his Telluride days. On one trip to Alaska, Pablo bushwacked through the Canadian backcountry on several occasions, becoming one of the first dogs to contribute to the Degree Confluence Project. You can read about his efforts at www.confluence.org/visitor.php?id=1705.

Alaska brought out the wild spirit in Señor. Returning there in 2005, he found the energy to do some backcountry skiing, snowshoeing, and plenty of hiking. Once, while fishing with friends, he quietly, perfectly, devoured the head off a freshly caught salmon. Just the head, like a bear would do.
Pablo would spend his final years in semi-retirement in San Diego, enjoying all the fruits of a multi-cultural urban existence: romps at dog beach, kayaking on Mission Bay, and trips to the spa, complete with blueberry facials. The weather was suitable and as always, he made loads of friends.
Through the years, Pablo dodged many bullets. Twice he was hit by a car and disappeared into the woods for many hours, reappearing both times with, inexplicably, only some road rash. On one cross-country road trip he was shocked by a powerful electric fence at a sustainable farming institute in Kansas. He took off running in a perfectly straight line for three miles, through parking lots and business parks, finally stopping in a suburban neighborhood to hang out with some. It took ten hours and several farming interns to track him down that day, none the worse for wear. In the end a big tumor on his spleen got him, thankfully quickly and mostly painlessly.
Señor was an incredible friend, absolutely devoted in that way only a dog can be, and always up for anything without complaint. He seemed to have an amazing grasp of English, or maybe just an intuitive understanding of tone and body language. Over the years he touched so many people with his unique character and appearance. Probably thousands of people have stopped on the street to ask, “What kind of dog is that?” or to remark on how great he was. Often people would just smile. His passing leaves a huge void and many wonderful memories.

A celebration of Pablo’s life will take place at 5242 Triana St., San Diego at 6pm on Friday, Feb. 17, if you’re in the area please come. In lieu of flowers, please give some treats and scratches to a dog near you.
-ns