We Were Wild Once

I grew up in rural southwestern Colorado on five acres, with another neighboring ten that remained vacant for most our time there. It was all my stomping ground for stream-wading, fort-building and bareback rides on my pony. We got our dog Poppy in the deep of winter as a tiny puppy and my mom had to remind me to let her rest - I wanted to show her my whole world on that first day. She followed me until she got tired, then would plop down in the snow and cry until I picked her up and snuggled her into my furry coat. In the summer I stayed outside with her every day until sunset. We ran through the scrub oak and sage brush inventing games of chase and hide and seek. I was an only child; dogs have always been my sisters. I'm sure we used one if we took her places, but I have a hard time remembering Poppy on a leash. 

Dogs Are My Fashion Statement

Boots by Frye, Elkhound by Denver Dumb Friends League

I found this picture a while back and thought it would be a fun Throwback Thursday share. Once upon a time I wanted to be a fashion blogger. I was obsessed with fancy shoes, clothes from Anthropologie and putting together unique ensembles. My Norwegian elkhound, Freya, was happy to be my model sidekick, but Lasya, whose posterior makes up the lower right corner of this photo, was always making a fast exit out of frame. I shopped online and created Pinterest boards and Polyvore collages and followed all the prominent fashion bloggers long before I discovered the world of pet blogs. Adopting Ruby changed my world from "life with dogs" to "life about dogs." 

I'm not ashamed to wear a shirt with my dog on it.

These days I have far less interest in fashion, although I still love a beautiful, well-made pair of shoes. You'll most often find me in shorts and a dog t-shirt, jeans and a dog t-shirt, or lounge pants and a dog t-shirt. (other favorite t-shirt themes are Game of Thrones geekdom, bands I love, literary allusions and anything with birds or horses on it). My priorities for shoes and clothing have shifted from "is it in style?" "is it a reflection of who I am?" to "is it comfortable to walk, play and lounge around with dogs?" I still have a closet full of high heels and beautiful dresses that I seldom have occasion to wear. I still like to get dolled up once in a while when I meet my friends for brunch or go to a concert, but the thing that is most a reflection of who I am is a dog (or two, or three) at my side.

The Company of Dogs

This is a typical picture from my childhood and amusingly enough, it holds true today more than thirty years later. I still rock a side braid, there is always a dog around, and my dad is always building something. He planned and built this house practically single-handedly, and we lived there until I went to college. We had five acres in rural southwestern Colorado and I grew up surrounded by animals and nature. I was an only child and our dog, Poppy - an Airedale-cattle dog mix - was my best friend. We would play outside all day long, hunting for crawdads or toads, building forts and playing hide and seek. Poppy was incredibly smart and I had no doubt that she understood most of what I said. I considered her my equal, my sibling, and I suppose it's no wonder that I refer to Ruby and Boca as sisters - primarily to one another but also, I think, to me. I have never known loneliness in the company of dogs. 

I Planned a Trip with My Reactive Dog Before I Knew She Was Reactive

Ruby checking out the accommodations

Last fall's trip to the Mountain Goat Lodge  is something I've wanted to post about, happening as it did in my pre-blog days, and today seemed the perfect time since it coincides with Throwback Thursday. 

I planned this trip just a few weeks after adopting Ruby, before her reactivity really became apparent. It was an extension of a work trip, a dinner meeting in a small Colorado town, and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to bond and spend some uninterrupted time with my new rescue dog. 

We took many walks in these foothills

By the time the trip rolled around, we'd decided to discontinue doggie daycare, been politely asked to withdraw from our group obedience class, and I was in full-on panic mode about what I'd gotten myself into with this challenging, high-energy dog. I was nervous about the trip and considered canceling, but thought a change of scenery might do us both some good. 

I packed her crate, dishes, all sorts of treats, food for several days, toys, antler chews, and the dog training book I was reading at the time, Control Unleashed. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew our destination was a family-run, dog-friendly bed and breakfast, and was determined to pull off this mini-vacation. 

Wrestling with Sookie

It was about a 3 1/2 hour drive and Ruby did some barking out the window at cyclists and motorcyclists. We arrived with just enough time to get settled before I had to go into town for my dinner meeting. Our room was homey and comfortable with a view of the Sawatch mountain range. The proprietors also had a goat farm, and we could hear them bleating from their pasture below. 

Ruby immediately buddied up to the owner's miniature Australian shepherd, Sookie. They had so much fun chasing each other around the fenced dog run and Sookie would come scratch on our door when she wanted to play. They were the same size and perfectly matched.

Goofy grin

I left Ruby in her crate while I was at the meeting, and I could hear her barking and whining as I went downstairs. I was gone for several hours and worried that she would not settle down. I didn't get any complaints when I returned, but as a dog-friendly establishment I think they had a high tolerance for that sort of thing. 

Some other guests had arrived, including a couple with a German Shepherd in the neighboring room. The dogs could see each other from our balconies and tended to set each other off. Ruby had trouble settling down that night, and I considered cutting our trip short, but the next morning was so beautiful that I decided to stay on. All things considered, Ruby was doing quite well and seemed to be having some fun. 

Incredible sunsets

I got some breakfast downstairs and visited with some of the other guests, then spent the day reading, taking Ruby for walks on the property and letting her play with Sookie and meeting the resident goats. Ruby was afraid of the goats, which is probably why I didn't get any pictures of them. 

We made a quick trip into town for some fast food that evening and took a stunning sunset walk. A man with three terriers arrived after dark and Ruby was very upset by them. I remember being discouraged during parts of the trip, thinking how such activities would be limited for us, but in hindsight knowing just how reactive she is, I think she did remarkably well.

Tuckered out at last

After another delicious home-cooked breakfast of goat-cheese omelet and fried potatoes, we left the next morning and Ruby said goodbye to her blue-eyed friend Sookie. As I packed up our things, one family was downstairs visiting about Game of Thrones while their teenage son played the piano. Another couple had arrived with a Great Dane and the atmosphere was one of camaraderie and leisure. I was reluctant to leave and wished we could stay a whole week, knowing that Ruby and I were both just starting to relax.

While traveling with a reactive dog is probably not something I will choose to do very often, with careful management and realistic expectations as well as dog-friendly businesses, I am happy to know that it can be done.

TbT: Hiking with Lasya

Hiking at Horsetooth Reservoir in Fort Collins, Colorado with my Chow/GSD mix, Lasya, not long after adopting her in 2000. I had no idea what I was going to do after college, and it wasn't the smartest time to get a dog, but my family had just lost our young GSD mix, Ripley, to a rare form of leukemia and life just didn't seem complete without a dog in it. I actually turned down a really cool job offer in upstate New York because I couldn't bring Lasya.

She grounded me during uncertain times and kept me company as friends dispersed to summer and post-college locales. We moved many times together and she always adapted easily, staying with friends and family and getting along with all other dogs. She loved being outdoors and was a wonderful hiking partner. You can't tell in this picture, but both my sandals and Lasya's leash had a moon-and-stars pattern!

Rescue Puppy

This photo was taken in June of 2007 in Grand Junction, Colorado. I had just driven four hours with this sweet little elkhound puppy in order to meet her new forever family. She was left in the "night drop" at a shelter in the Denver area, and for the short time I knew her, I couldn't imagine why. She was perfectly behaved in the car, slept in my lap most of the way and didn't make a peep. Her only fault was her great need for a bath after sleeping on a concrete kennel floor. Her pungent odor prompted me to call her Stinkahontas for our journey,  though she was also known as Sasha. 

My mom drove to meet me and make a little getaway weekend of it, and it was so hot that we decided to take the puppy inside a shopping mall to wait in the comfort of air conditioning. She got so much attention, everyone wanting to know what breed she was, and every time someone came up to her she would sit and wag her tail. I desperately wanted to puppy-nap her, and even my mom who had not yet been won over by the breed admitted that she was smitten. I received updates and photos from her new people for some time afterward - she was adopted into a small family with another older female elkhound and fit in wonderfully.  

I loved being involved in one chapter of this darling's happy story, and not-so-secretly hope I can be so lucky as to find a similar Norwegian elkhound puppy to rescue someday! I highly recommend "driving for life" - volunteer transport - as a way to contribute to rescue efforts, getting dogs in need to foster and forever homes.  My own Ruby was brought all the way from Arkansas to Colorado by way of volunteers and I'm so thankful that there is such a network. 

TbT: Trio

Clockwise from upper left: Freya, Bjorn and Lasya in 2005

In keeping with my fostering theme this week, I wanted to share a photo of my three-dog days.  Bjorngenstern the Destroyer (Bjorn) was my first foster dog through Norwegian Elkhound Rescue. I took a leap with him because Freya was dog-reactive, but they were fast friends and obviously cut from the same cloth.  Elkhounds have a long history of moose-hunting, and their job was to venture out ahead of the hunters and hold the moose at bay.  Freya and Bjorn had an adorably similar play style filled with bouncing and body-slamming.  Lasya got along with everyone but was mostly happy to let the two greys wrestle.  Bjorn lived with me for several months, and although the casualties included curtains, throw pillows, a comforter, a telephone and a t.v. remote, I loved having three dogs in the house.  True to breed, he was extremely affectionate and also a howler who gave the best hugs.  I sometimes walked all three around the neighborhood and they made an impressive trio, attracting comments and compliments wherever we went.  Bjorn happened to be adopted by a woman who lived in Durango, near where I grew up, so I was able to deliver him to her over the holidays that year when I visited my parents with a big red velvet bow around his neck.  As far as I know they lived happily ever after. My first foster experience was a good one, and I'm grateful to have shared that time with sweet, funny B-Boy. 

TbT: Lineage

I've said before that my love of dogs is genetic.  This is my mother in my kitchen with Freya, Lasya and Scout in 2009. She is about to dole out some liver treats, and you can see that they are all in a state of rapt attention. Dogs always listened closely to her. There are other, similar pictures of my grandfather, surrounded by dogs. Everyone in this photo is now gone. My Gotcha Days with Lasya and Freya would have been celebrated this week. I miss them all very much. They were such a beautiful trio, all together - silver, black and gold, with my mother the voice of love, kindness and wisdom. 

TbT: The Face I Fell In Love With

Photo courtesy of Colorado Animal Welfare League

This isn't too far of a throwback, but I wanted to share the picture that started it all as I scrolled through Petfinder last summer. Something in her expression and unusual markings stood out above all the rest of the small, young female dogs searching for homes.  I couldn't stop thinking about that irresistible, inquisitive, intelligent, impish face, or those impossibly giant ears.  Ruby (formerly known as Foxy Roxy) turned out to be all of those things and more.

TbT: Poppy - An Only Child's Companion

Poppy was not the first dog I had as a child, but she's the first one that liked me.  Before I was born, my mother had a three-legged hound mix called Ohm who was afraid of children.  She thought he would eventually warm up to a new family member, but he never did.  He growled at me for his whole life, even when I became old enough to take on feeding the dogs as one of my chores.  He never snapped or bit - I knew to give him a wide berth.  Most people would have given him away or dumped him at the shelter; I think that is a testament to exactly what kind of animal devotion is in my blood.  It certainly didn't give me any fear of dogs - perhaps due to the exemplary companionship of our next dog. 

When my parents bought our property in the country - five acres outside of Cortez, Colorado - they decided it was time for a puppy.  Some friends had an accidental litter from their Airedale, Terry, (in a ranching area, it's fairly likely the father was a cattle dog) and we brought Poppy home on a snowy February day when I was six years old.  I was an adventurous and outdoorsy child, and whether it was building snow forts or collecting bug specimens, Poppy was always at my side.  I taught her to dig on command, which was very helpful for finding salamanders or excavating my pretend archeological sites.  Poppy once brought me a tiny baby rabbit; in hindsight I know that she probably plucked it from its nest, but she gave it to me unharmed.  She loved sticks and tennis balls, and had an almost uncanny affection for my best friend, who often slept over.  If I got up before her, Poppy would not let any of us back in the room - as if she wanted to let my best friend sleep in! Again, this is probably behavior that some would frown on, but we found it endearing.  We said they knew each other in another life.  It was an almost maternal connection.

Poppy accompanied us on many camping trips and horseback rides as well as trips to my grandparents' home in Coal Creek Canyon near Golden, Colorado, and later Farmington, New Mexico.  She was a smart, perceptive and loving family dog.  When I went off to college for the first time, saying goodbye to her was one of the hardest parts of leaving, and life never felt complete without a dog around.  She lived a long life, past fifteen years, and remains one of the best dogs I have ever known.

TbT: Beautiful Lasya

This is my Chow/GSD mix, Lasya, in 2006.  I'd had her since 2000 but at the time of this picture I was living by myself for the very first time in a charming little duplex in my favorite neighborhood in Denver, along with my other dog, Freya, and my cat, Nina.  The Purple-Tongue Clan often get a bad rap, but she was an amazing dog.  She could be aloof and was definitely independent, but I could trust her around all people, dogs and children.  She had wonderful social skills.  A little girl once whacked her on the nose for no discernible reason and all she did was blink.  I love how her mahogany eyes stand out in this picture.  Lasya was my first dog as an adult, and I could not have asked for a better one. 

TbT: Scout - Sweet Golden Boy

I think that Throwback Thursdays are the perfect opportunity to write about dogs I've known and loved through the years.   Scout was our last family dog, chosen by my mom from the Santa Fe animal shelter after a trip to an Airedale "breeder" that turned out to be a puppy mill.  A New Mexican mutt, probably part cattle dog, Scout was a smart, extraordinary boy.

For most of his life he got to run free on forty acres that he knew was his own, accompanying us on trail rides, chasing rabbits, and going for eventful trips to town. He visited Denver often with my mom, not altogether loving the city dog's life on a leash, but enjoying sleeping on the day bed and playing with his cousins. They made such a beautiful, tri-colored trio. He was never very fond of Freya and merely tolerated her, although I think she admired him like the cool guy in town, but he and Lasya had a special bond, having known each other since he was just a puppy. She was with him for the first few weeks and would let the ruddy butterball puppy take food right out of her mouth. They were inseparable when we'd visit Mancos for the holidays.

He got to take a road trip to Northern California after my mom finished the first round of chemo - they stayed in hotels all along the coast and Scout got his first look at the ocean. My dad, who initially thought it would be a hassle to vacation with a dog, said it was the best trip they ever took. I don't think I got many emails from my mother over the years that did not include a mention of her Scoutie, and their plans for the day.  

Scout was special in so many ways, but he had an uncanny affinity for music. He loved to howl along with my dad's harmonica playing, and had very distinct preferences when it came to CDs. He could never resist harmonica, but he also enjoyed saxophone and muted trumpet. There were certain songs he would sing to that didn't fit any of his usual tastes, but he would sit down and throw his head back to harmonize whenever they came on: "Beautiful Blue Bird" by Neil Young, "Lucky" by Radiohead, and "Many Meetings" from Lord of the Rings when I would play it on piano. When he sang he would seem almost embarrassed, like he couldn't help himself, but would also look for your reaction when he was finished.

We lost Scout in 2012 to cancer about two years after losing my mother to the same.  I don't know that my dad will get another dog, but he seems to enjoy Ruby when he visits and dog-sits for me.  I considered calling Ruby "Finch" as an homage to Scout, since his name was from To Kill A Mockingbird, and I still think it's a fantastic name for perhaps another dog down the road. 

TbT: Snow Dogs

Lasya and Freya, my beautiful doggessses, in 2009 on my parents' mountain property.  They were made for winter - double coats and furry paws, the curled tails of Northern breeds - and there is nothing like tromping through knee-deep crunchy snow between the evergreens with your loyal pack of two.  If I sent out holiday cards, this would be mine. 

TbT: Bad Dogs Are the Best Dogs

I have been thinking about and missing my Norwegian Elkhound, Freya, lately (you can read a little more about her on my Pack in the Sky page).  I've even called Ruby "Freya" by mistake a few times, which is odd as they look nothing alike, and Ruby is a very different dog personality-wise.  The only things they really share in common are leash-reactivity (though Freya's was only dog-triggered and Ruby's includes anything that moves) and some fearfulness (one of Freya's many nicknames was "Afraida" as she was literally scared of flies. A moose-hunter she was not).

I lost both Freya and my other dog, Lasya, this July, only ten days apart.  I will write more about Lasya in the future - she was my first dog of my own and gave me little preparation for the larger canine challenges to come as she was so naturally good, nearly perfect.  Freya sounded like a screeching Banshee every time we encountered another dog on a walk.  She snapped at several people in my home.  She had to wear a muzzle at the vet's office.  She was the cause of two trips to the emergency room for poor Lasya.  She was not an easy dog.  Why, then, is it Freya that is on my mind more?   I feel a little guilty that this is the case, but there is something to be said for the dogs that take us out of our comfort zone - there is a saying about that being where the magic happens.

While Lasya was independent and self-sufficient, it always felt like Freya truly needed me.  The way she looked up at me with those dark brown liquid eyes - it was clear that I was her favorite, and it's hard not to be flattered by that.  Freya didn't care where she went or what she did, as long as it was with me.  Freya taught me how to creatively avoid other dogs, how to manage a dog that is wary of strangers and one with food-guarding behavior, and most importantly, how to love the imperfect dog.  She is in my heart on this first real snowy day in Colorado, and every day.