In the Raw

In The Raw
It's believed that one year for humans equals about seven in dog years. So it stands to reason that every time your pooch celebrates a birthday, you'll wanna pack septuple the amount of fun and frolicking into their party. The folks at In the Raw can help with that, as both locations of this holistically inclined juice bar/coffee bar/dog bar provide some pretty posh party options for feting Fido's anniversary of existence. The basic package starts at $6 per pup (with a minimum of five dogs in attendance) and offers a specialty menu of gourmet canine treats — featuring hors d'oeuvres of smoked lamb roll on potato and duck crackers, as well as tasty "pup-cakes" baked goods — with the higher-end alternatives (which costs $8.50 or $10 per pooch) also including such options as treat bags for guests, a gift for the birthday bowser, balloons, and party favors. Your four-legged friend might need a little help blowing out his candles, however.
Rose Mofford Sports Complex
Legendary theologian and orator Henry Ward Beecher once described the canine as "the god of frolic," and, doggone it, we can definitely agree with the 19th century holy man, particularly whenever our pups are romping around the 2 1/2 acre dog park located in the southernmost section of the Rose Mofford Sports Complex in North Phoenix. Once they get free of the leash, our hounds start acting like its Growls Gone Wild, cavorting around and getting some splendor in the grass in one of the two fenced-off areas (for either small or large dogs), showing off their high-pro glow, playing with some of the tennis balls and other doggy toys lying about, or lapping up water at the doggy drinking fountain. Meanwhile, we're kicking it on a bench or underneath one of the numerous shade trees, hanging with folks like 72-year-old Fred Corzilius, who visits the park six days a week with his energetic golden retriever/terrier mix Ginger.

"I live in an apartment and it's great to have a place she can run around at," says Corzilius. "The park is a god-send." We're sure Rev. Beecher would agree, Fred.

Goodyear Dog Park
The gorgeous high-desert terrain of the Estrella Mountains provides a breathtaking backdrop to the kidney-shaped Goodyear Dog Park, giving owners something else to stare at besides endless butt-sniffing and piles of poop. In between spells of spying the scenery, you can let Scruffy socialize and exercise in either of the two separate areas for passive and active dogs, or get him some liquid refreshment at any of the drinking fountains scattered throughout the West Valley Fido fortress.
Cosmo Dog Park
If all dogs do, in fact, go to heaven, we suspect the puppy paradise awaiting them in the hereafter looks a lot like Cosmo Dog Park. This four-acre canine Cloud Nine (named in honor of Cosmo van Blitsaerd, Gilbert's first police dog) not only offers the usual waste-disposal stations and fenced play zones, it boasts a special fire-hydrant-shaped doggy drinking fountain, obstacles fit for climbing, separate areas for active and timid pooches, and a man-made swimming pond (complete with a beach and docks) so Rover can take a dip. Since it opened last summer, the park's been packed with visitors of both the two-legged and four-legged variety, especially on the weekends. It even got a write-up in Dog Fancy magazine. Consider it the Taj Mahal for the tail-wagging set.
P. Ben Arredondo Sports Complex
Little old Tempe has five dog parks, which is more per human companion than we've found in any other Valley city. But the pick of the litter is the two-acre dog park at the Tempe Sports Complex near Hardy Drive and Warner Road.

It shouldn't be surprising that the biggest and best dog park is located on the side of Tempe that has the fewest residents — in swanky South Tempe, not the aptly named Sin City district near Arizona State University. We got lost trying to find it the first time, in part because the north-south Hardy Drive doesn't go through from Guadalupe to Elliot roads. The sports complex is so big, we were lost after we got there, too. We thought one of the fenced-in softball fields was the dog park until our old pooch started straining at her leash, pulling in the right direction.

Dogs will find plenty of room to roam here — and we usually sit on top of one of the picnic tables to avoid the slobbery, though friendly, snouts that come our way. The grass was in perfect shape in early June, and gravel areas break up the open space and give the mutts something else to explore. Gates also divide the park's middle, but they're always propped open, a couple with a floppy brown Lab told us. When we were there on a weeknight at about 8 p.m. (it's open from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.), the place was full of flouncing Fidos and their owners. Rosy went home exhausted.

Chaparral Park
This spacious, 4-acre off-leash doggy park, constructed in early 2007 at the north end of lush Chaparral Park, is most definitely the dog's bollocks. Three gate-controlled and fenced-off areas include separate sections for passive dogs and active dogs, which is only disappointing news if you hang out at dog parks to watch Chihuahuas trying to hump Great Danes. The park also boasts a separate off-leash parking area, an adorable doggy drinking fountain and a display board with K-9 activity fliers, park announcements, and listings for pet-sitting services. The park is open from sunrise to 10 p.m., and admission is always free.
Encanto Park
This charming park in the historic Encanto-Palmcroft neighborhood is hands-down the loveliest in the city, and there's a simple reason why: trees. Unlike Steele Indian School Park, Encanto doesn't look like it was cheated by the landscaping department. Far from it. Even on the hottest day, the tall palms around Encanto Lake seem to draw a breeze just by virtue of their balmy presence. With the 7.5-acre lake snaking around a host of great picnic spots and recreation areas, this looks like something Walt Disney would design for one of his theme parks. Instead, it's right here in Phoenix, and it's utterly free. Watch out, though, for the Enchanted Island Amusement Park — your kids are going to beg you for a train ride or a turn on the carousel, and while the prices are far from Disney's, you will pay for the pleasure.
For this little fishing hole, there are a few important things to know right away: It's illegal, so you'd best ride your bike to get there, in case you need a quick getaway. You don't want to eat the luggish motherfuckers you pull out of there. And you've got to watch the rain and water levels to see if it's even worth the trek down. Otherwise, you've got shade provided by the highways above, you're generally out of sight, and you can sometimes get a good fight out of the various bottom feeders that dwell in these parts.

Don't worry about a fishing license — you're trespassing, anyway, so it won't do you much good should the boys in blue notice you. But a couple of poles, some worms or chicken liver, and a six-pack of Old Style provide a few hours of good times, right in the middle of this desert metropolis.

All drivers, except trailer drivers, hate trailers. The miserable mechanical beasts are the bane of the highway, the scourge of the byway. Remember the time you were cranking top-down on that twisting mountain road and you screeched up behind Grandma and Grandpa Jones toodling along at 20? Ahhhhhhh!

Multiply that vehicular impotence a hundredfold and you've got Sisters on the Fly, a clan of adventure-seeking chicks who la-la-la around the country, clogging up traffic arteries with their "cowgirl caravans" — 20-plus flotillas of vintage, custom-painted Shastas, Alohas, Fireballs, and Airstreams.

The group was formed in 1998 by a couple of fly-fishing sisters who decided to bring some friends along on their next field trip. The concept caught on, and the Sisterhood now numbers about 630, with members ranging in age from 21 to 87, and a thriving Arizona chapter. The annual membership fee is $35, which gets you a personalized Sisters on the Fly vehicle sticker, a subscription to the group's newsletter, and a permanent black mark in the hearts of non-trailer drivers everywhere.

From the outside, Jody Kieran's makeshift bird hospital seems like any ol' brown tract structure in the desert. But step inside the nondescript West Valley home and prepare yourself for a wacky, surrealistic experience. The not-for-profit haven for injured and orphaned fowl grants medical attention to just about any type of bird species, including raptors, hummingbirds, baby chicks, owls, parrots, and many more. Cages out front, in the backyard, the kitchen, and in a spare bedroom, each housing a chirping a bird on the road to recovery, dominate the space. Before you make the trek to the west side, get schooled in emergency DIY bird care on FF's "Found a Bird?" page on their Web site.

There's no fee for animal care, but donations are appreciated and graciously accepted. And don't be afraid if Kieran's eccentric mom greets you, even when she's dolled up in her cute and colorful curlers.

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