I was missed!

Now I know why people so love dogs. It’s because the dogs so love them.

I learned this upon our return from the south. One of my first visits was to the owners of the dog I walk: Spencer’s people. I was a little disappointed. Spencer, himself, was out being walked by Mrs. C’s daughter so we sat and chatted, awaiting his return.

Eventually, in comes Himself, feeling happy and cocky after a satisfying walk. Ever polite, he trots up to acknowledge his master, nudges his mistress then he sits and looks at me. There’s a little pause, maybe 3 seconds. Then…he explodes! He’s like a dog with an interior firecracker! He jumps, and barks, and sniffs, and spits, and licks, and wags, and wiggles and wildly cavorts on me, off me, at me! We laugh just as wildly at his antics.

To put it in Mrs. C’s words: “Well, I guess he knows who you are!”

It was nice to be missed if only by my little four-footed friend and wonderful to see how a dog can show you how much you were missed.

An Ode to Joy

Only in walking a dog who's been pent up for a while, can one truly enjoy a freezing, windy but sunny day. T and I pull on our woolly socks, wrap ourselves up the eyebrows, then pick up Spencer who is beside himself with joy at our coming to take him out for a walk. He stands still (sort of) only to have his little red coat and halter put on. Then we're off. Him looking like Santa's dog (all red and white).

When Spencer pulls you around the park and almost off your feet, you know it's been awhile since he's had a good run. And the snow. There's barely enough to cover the grass but it's enough for rolling in, and roll he does in doggy ecstacy! His head, his back, his belly. He licks it. He can't get enough then it's off on the run again. He outruns his nose, which stops immediately at an interesting scent but his body swings around as it receives the signal to stop a second later than the nose. You gotta laugh at his shenanigans.

We gingerly step out on the ice of the lake. Is it solid? How strong? I throw a big rock; it bounces off the ice. We step out and skate around, entice Spencer to skate a bit. He's not sure about this lack of sure footing.

We revel in his joy and enjoy the day so much more because of it. Our laughter chuffs steam in the cold, wintry air. Life is good.

It's......Froggin' time!

It's nights like these that remind why we choose to live by a lake. The sun had set, the sky was beautiful, painted as only God can. From the sounds of their honking, Canada geese were on the fly way down the lake. Closer, a pair of mallards did a very fast fly by. The martins were performing their acrobatics, on the hunt for bugs of which there were plenty over the water. The surface of the water steamed as warm met cool. It was quiet but not. Several families of martins had recently re-possessed their homes, a high apartment house beside the shore, and they were celebrating big time. But there was no human nor car traffic, just the wonderful stillness of Nature and Her sounds.

Spencer, unusually, walked beside me. He's not himself, suffering from an internal bug that's had him down the past four days. Usually, he's well ahead, beside or behind me, racing this way and that. To have him walk beside me is most unusual, poor lad. As the road rounds the corner away from the lake, it crosses a drainage ditch open at either end. This is where frogs be found. Could it be too early? Methinks not. "Frogs, Spencer? Frogs?" He's immediately at the search and is rewarded with one the size of my fist who is not afraid. Watching them nose to nose makes me laugh out loud. The frog jumps, Spencer jumps and the chase is on (Spencer being careful not to step on or bite at his little green buddy but on the scent nonetheless)! We find one more sitting kamikaze-like in the middle of the road. Spencere almost lost interest but then the leap-frogging began.

Despite those moments of fun, once the frog found the ditch, Spence was back to his listless self. He even let me win the race from the corner up to the house - which we all know he can win without the least amount of effort. Yes, my little white curly-haired friend is truly ill but he sits most gracefully awaiting his treat. Most days, this little guy has so much energy his coat can barely contain it; it's worrisome to see him so listless. P and R, his people, took him to the vet today for a shot; let's hope he feels better soon.

Lollygagging

Now that I’m working again, I don’t have time to walk Spencer daily but trust his master, Ron, will get him walking out to the mailbox and back. When my hubby and I pick him up tonight, the sun is settling in the West and Spencer is dragging along behind us. Definitely not in walk mode – most unusual! Normally, he almost pulls me along because he’s use to the faster pace of my being on skis. But today, you can almost see his spirit is down. He’s lollygagging along, not skipping along the tops of the snow banks as is his habit lately.

I run a bit and try to entice him with his favourite treats. Finally, as I release him to run in the summer park, he perks up a bit. But he’s still lollygagging. Then! He remembers a favourite scent spot along a line of cedars, and the energy level is right back up there! He levitates to the top of the snowbank and flies! He sniffs, rolls and cavorts with everything he has. Spencer is back!

We cut into a trail of footprints left in the crusty snow by someone daring enough to come check on the state of their summer trailer. Spencer skims over the snow; he’s light enough not to break the crust. We’re not as lucky. But Lady Luck does show herself when we find a crusty snowshoe trail to follow which leads us back to the main road without our sinking up to our knees.

Back home, we find out the problem: thirst. I guess the poor little guy hadn’t had his fill before we left and he was plain and simply thirsty! Lesson learned!

Spencer goes X-country

Having enjoyed skiing with sister in New Liskeard, I resolved to dig out, and dust off my old skis and boots from the back of the garage. There’s enough snow on the park roadways I can ski without having to create a trail for myself.

I ski over to pick up Spencer, wondering how he’ll adjust to the new “me”. Mr. Ever-ready darts out the door and stops to stare suspiciously at the skis lying in his driveway. He notices everything new. “What the Hell are those?” his cocked head implies.

We head down the road, I mean, literally down the road as it slopes towards the lake, and Spencer, intuitively, knows to stay well ahead and out of range of my noisy skis and my poles screeching in the ice. As I ski faster than I can walk, he’s already running and having a whale of a time. I’m already out of breath!

Spencer being bribed. Note the elegant red coat and black boots!

We head over to the summer park where I try to entice him into deeper snow, cutting a trail for him to follow. No way, José. He obviously remembers our last foray into deep snow and how long it took his nether parts to thaw out! He won’t even approach when I dangle a treat! I turn back and we follow the snow mobile trail for a while but ever vigilant as those maniacs come winging along at 100+ mph and we don't want to get caught skiing on their trail.

Off the ski-mobile track, we figure-eight our way around the park and its various streets, down Hardwood, around Lakefront, up Evergreen, along Roadside (no, I’m not making these names up!), down Woodside, along Red Maple Lane, and past Summerside.

We run into Pierre and Flo, just back from Cuba, and looking, well, let’s face it: just a tad shell-shocked at the cold and snow. Flo points out Spencer’s lost a bootie. Darn! Hopefully someone will spot it and pick it up. I retrace my steps but no luck. This might put a damper on our future walks as once impacted, those hard, little snowballs between one’s toes are no fun for Spence.

I drop him off and swallow two of Ron's beers in short order. Boy, I love the look of crossed X-country skis leaning outside my door. What incentive!

The Lake Talks in Winter

It's after nine pm when my dear little canine buddy, Spencer, and I finally head out for our daily constitutional. We're seldom out this late but the day was busy. Our usual route is very dark; only an occasional street light shows us the way but this permits the night sky to throw diamonds our way. Heavenful stars. Such riveting beauty. Just one of the wonderful perks of living outside the light-polluting realm of the city.

The road is ridged with icy grooves where tire tracks have frozen but made safe with gritty slip-saving sand. Ice crackles under every footstep and Spencer seems to take special delight, like a child, in breaking up any icy spots just to hear the crunch. As we turn the darkest corner, I stop, hold my breath. Yes, even the dog is holding his, his ears perked up. "Listen, Spencer! Listen!" We approach the shore. He listens, we listen, to the other worldly growling and groaning of the lake from under its massive load of ice.

This strange sound leaves me feeling a little vulnerable. I wonder if it's possible a coyote could creep up upon us. I'm not really worried; there are occupied homes close enough but there's that old primal brain signalling a survival "what if" when walking in a dark still wild place all alone but for the dog. We soldier on, creak-cracking road ice every step of the way.

Return on investment

Here's SPENCER!!







In government and business circles, there’s a phrase “return on investment,” which means in simplistic terms, the return or profit after having “invested” resources, money or time in something. I can’t help but think of the return on investment I've experienced from knowing Spencer and his people.

Every day, Spencer makes me laugh out loud, encourages me to exercise, makes me think and prompts me to learn. I experience nature in a more direct way. Every day, my walks with Spencer help me see and better appreciate my surroundings and how it changes, in big or small ways. I consider how to positively affect Spencer's behaviour, how to help him be a more socially acceptable little being in our small community and with his folks. He provides some routine in my otherwise routine-free day. I feel good about helping his Mister and Missus in this small way since they’re not currently able to exercise him as much as they’d like. Plus we’re building a friendship based on our mutual interest – their dog, Spencer! I’m learning how to train a dog and gaining some little insight into how one particular doggy brain works.

I get so many benefits from this little furry friend and he asks nothing in return but my commitment to spend some time with him. In a way, it’s like being a grandparent: I get all the joy and none of the responsibility (although I do care for his wellbeing while he’s in my care). In doing what others think of as a good deed, I’ve been the happy recipient of so much: unconditional affection, loads of fun and laughter, freely offered friendship, the loss of a few excess calories - bonus! - and a new attitude towards the wonder that is epitomized by this dog!

Deer Me!

Living in the country as we do, it goes without saying there’s lot of wildlife around even if they aren't always evident. One neighbour even reported seeing a bear ambling along our shoreline! We haven’t encountered that lumbering stranger yet, thank God but Spencer and I have encountered numerous skunks and he seems intuitively (that wonderful nose again) to know not to go after them.

One day, we had an unexpected bonus after a walk to the General Store. We strolled back past the Waba Cottage and Museum, then made a sharp left hand turn around an apple tree at Riopelle’s laneway and lo and behold, ran smack into two young deer who’d been feeding on fallen apples. One look at us and they flew effortlessly over the fence, across the road (I held my breath no cars would come), across the ditch, the other fence, then stood in Terry’s field opposite to stare back at us who had startled them. Spencer went crazy. He had a whiff of deer and was determined to get under the fence and give chase! Crazy nut…what chance? It must be the smell of “wild game” that drove him wild. What a walk that one was!

Spencer's First Love

My oldest sister was going away and we agreed to dog-sit her lhaso-apso'ish dog, Maggie. No problem. Our cat Dolly was relatively used to dogs, having had to endure many canine visitors over her 19 years of life. So long as they quickly grasped that she was the ruler of the roost all would be well, and it was so.

My youngest sister happened to be visiting us that same weekend and was agreeable to helping walk the dogs. She’d walk Maggie and I’d walk Spencer. But how would Maggie and Spencer take to each other? Well, it was love at first sight. Or maybe lust is a better word! Spencer wasn’t above making the sudden unexpected sexual advance despite his being spayed but Maggie’s snaps, barks and elusive manoeuvres managed to deter him. She didn’t hold his passion against him, however. Once past the sexual overtures, the two walked as though they’d been a pair all their lives; she, lively in her short, grey/black coat; he, in his woolly white. Spencer, of course, always tried to keep one step ahead of Maggie. Being male and dominant dog, perhaps this was typical dog behaviour. The walks were comical, amusing and interesting as both dogs sallied forth; Spencer showing Maggie his terrain, and Maggie enjoying her new surroundings, my sister and I doing the occasional waltz-like step around each other to untangle leashes. This idyllic arrangement lasted for 3 wonderful days until Maggie's folks came back and took her home.

It was almost heartbreaking to see Spencer’s anticipation as I harnessed him for his first Maggie-less walk. He thought she was waiting in the garage (which we pass through on our way to the street) as usual with my sister as had been the routine the last 3 days. He leapt from the doorway, flying over three steps and reaching the door in a single bound! No Maggie. He stood on hind feet looking out the window of the garage door. Maggie? Maggie? Out in the driveway, he frantically looked up, down, all around, sniffing at the same time. “Where’s my friend, where’s my friend?’

The good thing about dogs is they appear to accept newcomers with ease but also get over their disappointments more quickly than we humans do. Dejected, Spencer continued to look for her for much of the walk but by the time we headed home, he had accepted her disappearance with equanimity and was back to normal.

Maggie hasn’t visited again but I’m sure she will in the New Year, and when she does, will Spencer remember his first love? Stay tuned...

Mr. Mole

One wintry day with the land foot-deep in fluffy snow, my husband accompanies Spencer and I on our daily constitutional. Spence is doing his usual thing…burying his head in the snow, smelling what? Mice, moles, voles, frogs? Who knows. Next thing we know, there’s a little browny-black mole scurrying along the road. Somehow he exited but can’t find his entrance back under the snow!

Spencer is oblivious. I start to track the mole who now decides it must be safer under the arch of my husband’s boot! Now Spencer’s taken note and takes his froggy stance with the mole. As the inevitable chase begins, the mole repeatedly squeaks in terror “Eek, eek, eek!” This is not fun! This is life or death in his small world. We hold a very excited Spencer back until the mole finds an entrance to the sub-snow world and scurried safely on his way. Spencer gives us a look as if to say “You guys are no fun!”

Das Bootz

The Missus has bought Spencer dog boots – an early Christmas present! They pretty basic: black, felt-like material with vinyl pads on the bottom and elasticized Velcro to hold ‘em on. We introduce them slowly trying just the front paws for starters. Spencer stands patiently while I attach them. He takes big steps, lifting his front paws almost past his ears. He looks like some kind of prancing mini-horse. His tail is at half mast, never a good sign. “This can’t be good,” his body language says.

I entice him out to the snowy lane with a treat then take off running, “C’mon, Spencer. Let’s go!!!!” Usually the excitement in my voice incites excitement in him. He takes off in a flash, running to beat the band, front legs trying to meet back legs in an arch over his back...with poor old menopausal me on the other end of the leash gamely trying to keep up without doing a faceplant in front of the neighbours! Once away from the street light, all I can see are two little black dots against the snow as the rest of him blends in. I laugh myself silly as we slide around the first corner. Maybe this is the way to start jogging! Spencer has enough muscle to make a good sled dog! And the best thing is: he’s forgotten about the boots!

The next day is the full trial: I put the second set of boots on his hind pattes. This time he forgets about the front boots, he’s doing a serious high-step with his back paws, kind of like a four-legged can can dancer. His people and I laugh uproariously at his combination high-stepping and dejected body language. “I’m definitely NOT liking these boots!” he signals with his tail again at half mast. Yet again, never under-estimate the power of a treat and the excitement of the run. We’re off! Spencer’s approach to tolerating the boots is to try to run them off! Our “walks” are the fastest in our community! We go by in a flash! “Was that Santa?” People ask seeing the blur go by. “No, just that crazy lady and Spencer!”

At this rate, I’ll be running marathons by spring. But the best part is, no matter how fast we go, he can’t out-run those boots!

Let it Snow, Let it Snow!

The wonderfully warm and long lasting autumn turned instantly to winter with the first big snowfall. Snow!! Can there be anything better? Not from a dog’s perspective. Spencer jumped in, rolled in, scruffled along with his nose buried like some kind of weird little snowplow…he was all in! How he doesn’t inhale and choke on the soft, fluffy stuff is beyond me! He picks up on trails left by Heaven's knows what (I'm not proficient enough to read tracks but I'd guess deer, rabbit and perhaps, other dogs).

The Missus has left his coat long as extra protection from the cold and the groomer only trimmed him around his eyes and, of course, his bum for aesthetic reasons. He now looks more more poodle-like, and is creamy instead of white when contrasted to the pristine snow. His big curly afro is almost alarming towering like broccoli over his little brown eyes!

While the roads in our community aren’t salted - which is a blessing - the snow accumulating between Spencer’s toes created hard little snowballs that eventually hurt him and impede our walk. He stops frequently to chew them out; I interfere to help remove them but I think it hurts as I pull the “snowballs” from the fur between his toes. The Missus says she’ll get him some doggy boots so we have another new adventure to look forward to.

Joy of the Roll

What walk is complete without a roll or two? Now, chicken, we're not talkin' bread roll here! No, this is Spencer's all out assault on the grass. Spencer can’t make it around our full walk route without stopping periodically to throw his entire self, upside, downside, headside, tailside for a good old rub on the grass or snow! There is ecstasy in his roll; there is joy! His body goes into paroxysm of pleasure. Fastidiously (for I’d hate to take him home all smelly) I double-check the site just to ensure he’s not rolling in excrement or a dead fish. Nope. He’s a with-it kinda guy…he likes “eau de gazon”! Somehow his leash never tangles. He uprights like a spring-loaded kangaroo and once again, we’re off!

Hide and Seek

Fall arrived and with it new excitement as the ankle-deep carpet of maple and oak leaves made strange noises as we walked. At first, that noise startled Spencer but he quickly learned to dash through them with wild abandon, making them fly! Occasionally, a leaf in the wind would fool him into thinking he’d found another frog and the chase was on! As the summer park people had battened down the hatches on their mobiles and gone away, I took the liberty of freeing Spencer from his leash….ahhhhhh, the utter freedom of it. The utter joy. There is nothing so good for the soul as to watch a dog take to flight, front paws, back paws extended, out-stretched, back arched in the exuberance of free run, and tail wagging like a flag in a storm!

Spencer can run like the wind, turn, pelt hellbent for leather straight at me, then turn on a dime…there was no catching him but I pretend to try just to give him more reason to run. Not a spring chicken, I’m winded by these efforts!

One day I wondered what he’d do if anything happened to me? I watched while he was on a tear then stepped behind a large oak. It took a few seconds for him to realize there were no steady, leafy, schur-schurring steps behind him. He stopped, turned, looked intently, cocking his head this way and that. I thought he’d discern my peeking but no. Spencer advanced a few steps, still happy, still cocky; suddenly, his whole body seemed to deflate, his tail drooped. His self-confidence was seeping away at an alarming rate! “Where is she??!!!”

I hadn’t the heart to continue but called out “Come!” as I stepped out from behind the tree. What a welcome! If ever I wondered whether he was aware of his old dog-walker trudging along behind, that little test put the question to bed. His confidence returned, his swagger said, “We’re in this walk together – and don’t you forget it!”

Now hide and seek has become another good game for us to play. No more fooling that cracker-jack, Spencer!

Some are toads

One uneventful night…no frogs, no skunks, no friends…we encounter a large squat toad hunkered down in the middle of the road artfully lit by the street light. Spencer is oblivious. Sometimes he mistakes leaves for frogs and sometimes he mistakes toads for leaves. To his mind, if it’s not moving, it doesn't warrant his attention. No doubt, the toad is drawn to the bugs being drawn to the street light overhead. It’s probably Toad's dinner hour. I point Toad out to Spencer anyway; after all, a toad is a new experience. “Toad, Spencer, toad!” I goad, hoping the excitement in my voice will egg him on. It does. He sniffs. Backs away. Seems revolted. “This is no ordinary frog,” I imagine him thinking, “What the hell is it? I’m not interested in this one. It doesn’t even jump!”

I pick it up, knowing full well it’ll pee defensively on me, feeling its soft fullness despite its warty skin. Legend says human warts can be cured by toad pee. Or is it that warts are caused by toad pee? I believe neither is the case. I place it gently in the roadside grass where it’ll be safer. Spencer ignores it; after all, it’s no fun.

The next night, same route, same road, there’s the toad…well, what’s left of the toad. He’s now a flattened leather image of his former self, having been mummified by some truck tire and a day spent in hot sun. Spencer sniffs the remains. Does he smell death? He moves on. Well, at least we tried to save poor old Toad.

A Froggin' we will go!

Summer was in full swing and White Lake showed its health in a plethora of frogs. Now frogs are something Spencer’s never encountered before. I introduce him to numerous frogs sunning on the grasses by the lake. Sometimes we come across the same trio of frogs who routinely bask near a culvert on Lakeside Lane. See, Spencer; see??!! Get ‘em, boy. Get ‘em! (Now, I don’t want him to actually get them, but I do want to pique his interest in something other than the walk.)

At first he was oblivious to both the frogs and my entreaties but once he caught on, he was fascinated! I’m not sure he can really see them; they're masters of camouflage! Sometimes he’s almost on top of them before he actually notices them, but he must be able to smell them. He has no interest in taking them into his mouth or to paw at them; he just loves to jump when they jump! Sideways, backwards, forwards, up…whatever direction is needed. He’s never yet landed on one or hurt one; he just loves the jumping chases across the grass until they lose him in the water, of course. He still refuses to wade in even if those interesting little jumpers do head there. He stares dejectedly after the disappeared frog for a second or two before heading off to find another.

Occasionally he encountered a larger, more experienced frog. This type had a different survival tactic: simply sit still. It seemed to know if it didn't move, the danger passed. Spencer pawed at the ground an inch from the frog. No go. He tried it from the frog’s rear. No go. From the side. No go. I myself was amazed at this frog's behaviour. Spencer lay down, head resting on his paws, nose a mere inch from the frog and stared intently, after all, the smell was spot on! “C’mon, Spence,” I said, chuckling at his persistence “This one’s no fun.”

One evening there was an exception. It was just after dusk, really getting dark (I was late taking him out.) We proceeded on our usual route, around the park, into the summer park, past the drinking hole and along the lakeshore, his favourite frogging place. “A frog, a frog; I’ve found a frog!” his excitement and enervated body language made me laugh out loud as he cavorted looking froglike himself in answering his target’s jumps with jumps of his own. But then the unthinkable happened. He jumped right into the lake! Obviously he hadn’t realized where land ended and water began. With the leash, I reeled him in, hand over hand, like a big old flopping carp. He couldn’t seem to figure out what had gone wrong. But he’s never made that mistake again. Maybe we’ll work on swimming next summer.

Nothing like Lake Water!

Don’t get me wrong. Spencer knows full well how to drink. But until we walked with Maggy and her missus, it had never occurred to him to drink from the lake! He watched cute little Maggy race to the shoreline, wade in, then drink deeply. He followed tentatively, not exactly wading in, but standing with his front paws in the water, trying it a few laps at a time. You could almost hear him think: "Not bad."

It quickly became a must-stop place on our route as the strenuous running enabled by the retractable leash made him pretty thirsty! But he never wades in like Maggy does.

Here she comes!

“Spencer likes you, he really likes you” the Mister keeps telling me kind of paraphrasing Sally Field's famous Oscar comment. I’m not so sure. He only acknowledges me when I arrive to take him out or when I'm treating him. Otherwise on our walks, his nonchalance would make it appear, from his perspective at least, there is no one at the other end of his leash. He ignores me visually for most of walk; seldom looking back as he's hell-bent on discovering the dog version of "wassup?" Of course the world is just a much more interesting place than I am, I guess. How can I a mere human compete with odour of skunk, stray cat, mouse or turtle? In his own home, he grants me as much attention as anyone else in the room, even going so far as to sit in my lap or beside me, but outdoors, I’m persona non grata: leash holder or worse: someone to be dragged along.

The Missus tells me Spencer starts barking as soon as I round the corner at the head of their street! She thinks he knows I'm coming. It makes me feel good to know that just maybe he senses, hears or knows my step. How nice! But I'm still not sure I believe it.

Bribery

Even cat-lovers know a dog will do just about anything for a treat. I can hardly believe I’m walking a dog yet alone now buying him treats! The local pet store very helpfully recommended a “natural” treat -- turkey, beef, blueberries, carrots, etc., - this dog eats better than I do! --to help me get his attention and if all goes as planned, to have him obey me. So much for people thinking Spencer was untrained…at the first whiff of a treat, he came to “Come!”, sat up, back ramrod straight, well-balanced and making very good eye contact with, no, not me...the treat! Obviously the Mister and Missus had done some good work with him! Untrained, my eye!

Getting his harness on is always a bit of a trial as the excitement of the pending walk still overwhelms him. I resolved to train him to lie down and be quiet. This training paid off handsomely…on the street, even in pouring rain but he still ignores it when we try to harness him. Spencer is getting more responsive every day so there is hope.

Man! Can I run!

Now, I figure walking on a six-foot leash is really no treat unless you’re an old slow dog. And even though the new chest harness enabled Spencer to pull comfortably, he soon learned he didn’t like walking on his hind feet, so we were able to proceed at a fairly comfortable pace with him glued to the earth on all fours. But, hey! we were WALKING! Speed walking, but walking.

We’d seen other dogs on retractable leashes race ahead of their owners, and race back, RUNNING! Lots more exercise, that! Mister and Missus obliged their boy and soon Spencer too was happily running about at the end of a retractable, more or less under control, having quickly learned exactly how far “out” the leash would permit him to go. But this presented another problem: how to get him back to me and safely close by when other dogs, people or cars were about? Plus he still had the bad rep for leg-shredding to try to correct.