From the time my dog was very young, Jessie’s mantra has been: good dogs get treats and a place by the fire, while bad dogs get the short end of the stick. She has worked this angle her whole life. She was the star of her puppy class. She’s the only dog in town with manners enough to sit outside the door at the bakery doing tricks for treats. She can walk a few inches from me, fast or slow. She knows good dog english, including “out of the garden”, “go for a walk” “out of the road”, “where’s the bear” “ride in the car” ”bakery” ”get the deer” “want some food” “go swim”. She had the world wired… until recently.
The day the chicks arrived, I left Jessie in the office with the kiddy pool, and came back to find two chicks dead on the floor. I think she took them in her mouth and shook them, breaking their necks. Poor dog was punished all day: no car ride, no good times, and every so often I’d hold a chick corpse right in front of her face and call her a bad bad dog. She was mortified.
A week and a half later, and she can still barely bring herself to look at them.
When I specifically ask her to look the chick in the eye, she will, but given her druthers she wouldn’t be within 20 feet of them.
The truth is, this blog has been a hard stretch for her. New rules for an old dog takes a lot of concentration, and she’s been knocking herself out getting things right. First she’s not allowed to chase the deer and wild turkeys, and now she’s not allowed to touch the chicks.
If not for the bear, she wouldn’t be having any fun at all.
My friends decided to build a bridge because
a cottonwood fell across the river right in front of their house. It was close enough to where they wanted to cross that it seemed like a reasonable idea.
This is the view from upriver, looking downstream. Of course, it wasn’t this perfect by accident. The tree trunk was moved to the best place and is being stabilized before a handrail gets attached. Christy and Steve moved the cottonwood trunk into place with a comealong. (This comealong sells for $12.09, so it’s definitely the cheapest way to move big weights.
This is the view from downstream, looking up. The structure holding the near end of the trunk is artfully obscured by the red twig dogwood.
This end of the tree is forked, and they built a structure of notched logs to support it.
This is the only homemade bridge I can recall seeing. Most every bridge we cross has state sanction… but not this. I saw Christy scamper across it, but I’m holding out for a handrail until the water is warmer
and the dog wanted me to mention that she has no intention of ever using the bridge. Ever.
When I came home yesterday, Sam and a friend were in the road. Back up 100 ft, he said. Really. You’ll want to see it.
One of the little yearling deer in ‘our’ herd had been hit by a car, leapt a neighbor’s 10′ deer fence, and was lying unable to move. There was no blood and he was unmarked, but he couldn’t get up. A woman walking by with her dogs said she was a deputy sheriff, and that she should shoot the deer in the head instead of having it torn apart by dogs. Since we both knew that the two German shepherds that live there would in fact tear it apart, I drove her and her dogs back to her house (my dog and her two made three in the back seat), where she picked up her gun.
She shot the deer in the head.
She was sad that she had to kill it, and made the Catholic sign of the cross over the deer’s broken body.
The carcass was dumped up the hill, and although she said very nice things about completing the cycle and returning the body to the earth, we both know that if the birds don’t finish it off really quickly, the dogs will have a heyday. But we both pretended that’s not part of the schedule.
Amen.
In some areas, the snowmelt reveals unexpected surprises. This road was closed for the winter, and it’s the first time I’ve been here since fall.
I get a kick out of gravity. It’s so predictable.
This rock is so big it’ll take heavy equipment to move. And when I look up,
it seems like that rock might not be lonely much longer. I move right along, since I definitely don’t want to be standing under this many tons of stone, soil and tree. No thank you.
Across the river, the slope is made up of decomposed shale, which repels water.
It’s a peculiar material, because that water-repelling quality makes it hard for plants to get their roots down. This slope isn’t recently denuded; it’s been that way for ages. It makes for an odd riparian edge.
Another dog joined us back a mile ago, and now I see why: it’s not just fallen rocks that the snow left behind; it’s fallen deer too. This dog has visited this carcass before, I think.
My dog was so happy to be able to help.
I’m in Vermont for five days, and Bob and Sam have no problem but the dog falls apart. When I’m gone she spends her days moaning under my bed, mourning my absence until I return. Bob suspects that someday she’ll expire from overexcitement at the airport.
Bernese mountain dogs are farm dogs that understand property management the way bird dogs understand pointing. The females bond with one person that they use as their reference point, and they do whatever they’re told; Jessie hasn’t needed a leash or collar for years. She keeps deer, bear and turkeys out of the gardens, she makes it safe for me to hike alone, and she is ardent in her devotion.
“When a dog isn’t on task,” announced Sam, “it’s only job is to conserve energy.” If he’s right that explains Jessie’s behavior: without the object of her affection she has no task, so the only thing left for her to do is to sleep.
I have a friend with an African Grey Parrot. He’s a nice parrot with lots of tricks, and devoted to his owner. But when my friend travels, the parrot plucks the feathers from his chest. By the end of a long trip the parrot looks so sad and abused that he’d make a good PETA exhibit. That small grey bird and my big dog have more in common than you’d think.
During Snowdown, people not only dress up their belt sanders, they also dress up their dogs. Here are just a few of the dogs attending the canine fashion show. Some of the dogs already have winter sweaters and just need a few accessories.
I bet this old dog’s pig costume was used in a school play.
This bulldog knight likes the pig-dog. I think the bulldog costume must be an actual bulldog snowsuit with a sword and plume for Snowdown. I didn’t even know they made bulldog snowsuits.
Here’s a girl who is dressing her dog onsite. First the tutu
Then the scarf.
This good dog knows that they’re not done yet… and she’s still willing.
Now that’s a costume.
It’s not just girls who are dressing up their dogs. Here is a grown man with a really big jester.
And the best costume? It was easy to decide.
Published on January 31, 2008
in dogs.
I was on a snowmobile once in college, and never went again–they’re too cold and loud for me. But when the snow is deep, snowmobile trails are handy to hike on.
When I hike in the winter, I nearly always bring along a dog and a lighter. I often hike with Sandy, whose list of hiking essentials includes a dog, a lighter, water and treats (hence the backpack). The snowmobilers use the same trails as we do, but they have a different list of wilderness essentials. Here’s a snowmobiler, ready to go.
Instead of a dog and a lighter, he has a giant machine and
a 30-pack of Keystone Light beer!
They’re stronger than us, and they’re younger. But if we all ran into a string of very bad luck, I’d bet on us any day. I mean, 135 pound dog and a Bic trumps a snowmobile and a 30-pack every time.
Published on January 8, 2008
in dogs.
My old dog and I often hike with a friend and her strapping young Newfoundland.
He’s a beast,
and she’s a faded beauty.
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