Hard learned lessons of life lost on snowbound family doggie pal
Saturday May 03, 2008
Wayne Marcino
I feel safe in my house and property. You see, I have a loyal guard dog protecting us from the many deer, squirrels, rabbits crows and even the occasional partridge that dares to enter our domain.
What would I do without him?
This morning for example, Spike stood in the snow at the end of his chain and stared down the deer as they took their daily stroll. The deer pass about two metres beyond his chain limit. Each stares at the other as the deer slowly struts by the dog, always looking him in the eye, ready to run at any time.
The dog stares back, unblinking and quiet – probably because of the electronic bark collar we had to put on him for the sake of quiet in the neighbourhood. Each combatant is ready for action.
If we happen to be in the yard, the dog with new-found bravado performs its duty and barks at the deer and rushes to the end of the chain. The deer puts up its flag and runs into the bush.
Such is survival of the fittest, city style.
Last Saturday, the dog got away from me. There were deer in the yard and he took after them, ignoring my calls and whistles. I could hear his squeak for maybe a half-mile from my house moving quite quickly, then quiet. I say squeak, as he was so excited he couldn’t even bark.
After giving him some time to return, I went out looking for him without success.
Again it was snowy Saturday. The snow was deep and wet. It was tough going.
I should tell you our dog is a little guy, about 15 inches high, a Snoodle (part Schnauzer and part poodle). He has longish hair. He is two years old.
About an hour later when I was scouting the trails, calling and whistling, he barked but made no attempt to come to me. I worked my way closer to the source of the sound and eventually found him, unmoving, on an old trail.
It was a snow dog!
The sticky snow had stuck to his coat as he ran. It was hard packed; each paw was encased in a large snowball. Under his stomach there was a huge snowball that went right down to the path and prevented him from putting all four paws on the ground at the same time.
The dog could not move.
I almost laughed out loud at the sight.
Spike was not pleased.
I took as much of the snow off him as I could but still had to carry him back most of the way. He was exhausted.
The snow was so hard packed the only way I could get it off him was to put him in the tub and wash off the snow with hot water.
Never before have I seen anything like this, and I have had a dog all my life. In reality, had I not found him he would have froze to death.
Which brings me to my point.
That is, I don’t have a point.
I am simply telling you in all modesty I am a hero. I went out in the sleet and snow to rescue my poor (dumb) dog, putting myself in danger of hypothermia (my socks were wet).
The next time nominations are called for unselfish acts, don’t forget about me.
However, if someone has an explanation of how a long-haired husky can race through the snow without it accumulating in its hair, please let me know.
A great thing about being a dog is, in spite of his near-death experience, Spike was again ready to go chasing deer later that day having totally forgotten his experience.
Sometimes I think it would be good to be able for us humans to consciously erase bad experiences from our minds just as easily.
Jim Blight
Publisher
publisher@kenoraenterprise.com
Proprietor and published by Bowes Publishers Limited at 33 Main St. S., P.O. Box 1620, Kenora, Ontario, Canada P9N 3X7
