Clearly it's time for a walky. We haven't been doing walkies much lately. Truth is we haven't been doing walkies at all, because Uncle Joel is always too sore. But the wash has run twice in quick succession, which means the Kettle must be full of water, which means the boys can go for a nice swim and there's plenty of time to dry off before bedtime. They've been really good about all the confinement they've endured lately.
Let's go! When they were sure I wasn't kidding about the walky thing, they charged off like Obama had just decreed everything must be done at a dead run from now on. Up the wash to the canyons! Up the little canyon! Ghost took a right turn at Albuquerque, followed by LB, and they both disappeared over the rim for a while. Let'em run.
When I got to the Kettle I was disappointed: The water apparently picked up a big load of sand somewhere and dumped it all right at the bottom of the fall, so that what should have been a nice deep pool was just a fringe of water surrounding a mud pile. It might take decades for it all to wash out. That's a drag. But when the boys returned they didn't seem to mind. Ghost's face lit up like he'd just learned the true meaning of Christmas really is greed, and with a running start he dove right in. LB was right behind as usual, and even with the Kettle in its pitiful condition they managed to spray water on rocks everywhere. Headed back after they'd had their fun.
I've got a little trick I pull on them when they get too independent. They wandered off on the wrong side of the wash and wouldn't come when I called, so I went off my track, found a comfy rock, and waited quietly. If they follow my scent I can't fool them but if they just assume they know where I'm going I get to watch them trot off in the wrong direction. Then they have to figure out where I went. After five minutes or so I watched them trot together in the direction they thought I'd gone, and they disappeared over the wrong ridge. Took them a while to circle back, and when Ghost finally found me he walked past like he'd known it all along. LB was a bit more demonstrative that he doesn't like that game very much.
We were almost back home when Ghost saw the inevitable rabbit in need of chasing. Galloping noises, disappearing in the distance! They didn't stay gone long this time, though, and LB was waiting for me in the Scriptorium (where there's a nice big bowl of water) when I got there.
Now it's back to the project, hopefully with a clearer head and less frustration.
4 comments:
Thought you were supposed to turn left at Albuquerque..?
Q
Don't know if you've ever mentioned LB's breeding...but that hanging tongue looks like he's at least a small part Chow...
If so, that would account for his occasional "hard headedness"...
I've speculated at some length about LB's parentage. His mother is a big mutt, visually about equal parts Shepherd and Doberman. His two possible fathers (within the pack) are Border Collie and Akita. If I didn't know all that, I'd think he was mostly Newfoundland, which is what he mostly resembles except he doesn't have that much hair.
Basically, he's a mutt and I don't know how far down that rabbit hole goes. I've stopped worrying about it.
I can understand that...but there's a part of me that always wants to speculate about breeding backgrounds.
When you think about what breeding has done to create the variety of dog breeds we have from Chihuahuas to Great Danes - it amazes me! And I've read somewhere that some massive percentage of breeds have been developed since something like the 1880s. Even more amazing!
We have a Dobie - she came from a rescue group - and a ??? who is a very miserable specimen of a dog physically, but he doesn't know it. He's very friendly and just wants to sleep most of the time. I think he's about 14 - he was abandoned, so I'm not sure. But he's old. Somewhat deaf, getting cataracts...but he sure knows if there's food anywhere around!
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