HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

FLD Dutch wishes his mom, Indy, a very happy day!

Dear Mom,

I know you're probably worried about me, but I'm doing fine! I miss you, but most of the time I'm having too much fun to be sad about not seeing you. My puppy-raiser makes training a BLAST and she takes me all kinds of places. Just last week we went hunting for morel mushrooms (can you believe it?) And then we went to see our 2nd-graders and this time we walked with them to a greenhouse. I loved smelling all the flowers, but they wouldn't let me plant a marigold for you like the other kids did for their mothers.

Thank you for giving me such a good start in life, Mom. My raiser tells me all the time that I'm going to have a very important job to do one day. I'm trying real hard to make you proud!

love and licks, Dutch

FLD Dutch at work with his 2nd-graders.

Guster-buster rocket pup!

Cc'd Gus wants to make sure we wish his mom, Sienna, a very happy Mother's Day, too! As you can see, he is in his glory in our north woods, and still running to me like a shot.

FLD Dutch goes 'shroomin'

I was honored.

The "mushroom queens" invited FLD Dutch and me on a morel mushroom hunt.

Unless you live in Northern Michigan, you might not understand the significance of the honor. Morel hunters guard their sacred grounds with their lives.

Stephanie, her mom Fran, her sister Yevette and her daughter Lilly, (and Yevette's friend Jay) didn't even ask me to wear a burlap bag over my head as we drove to their secret spot deep in the Huron National Forest.

That, my friends, is an honor.

Lilly gave us all handmade name tags as we grabbed our onion bags to head out into the woods. My tag read, "Morel Adams." Another honor--I guess she thinks I take a lot of photographs!

FLD Dutch sniffs out some fungi on an old log. Those aren't morels!

The evening was warm, the woods dry, the morels small and elusive. Stephanie said, "We just need a bit of rain for them to really pop."

Stephanie holds up a nice morel. Her mom, Fran is on the left with her onion bag, and Lilly is to the right. Lilly is an eagle-eyed morel hunter!

After three or four hours, the veteran crew had a fairly good take. This rookie found three.

My first two were a pair!

This one stuck out like a sore thumb! (sorry)

Here's some perspective for you on its size.

I admit I became distracted.

A yellow trout lily.

Trillium!

Wildflowers bloomed. Natural springs bubbled. The setting sun cast long shadows through the hazy-budding trees.

FLD Dutch laps a drink in a natural spring.

I said, The rate of reinforcement isn't high enough.

My comment would have been funnier amongst a group of dog trainers.

If the morels were as copious as the deer droppings that Dutch sniffed out, I might not have lost focus. 

Deer-doo hunter* FLD Dutch looks at the camera. "What?" he seems to be saying.

*Dont' worry, FLD Dutch got lots of practice with "leave it" during our hunt and his ingestion of said morsels was very limited.

Take time to...

FLD Dutch smells the first blooming crocus daffodil in our front yard...

...and take a little taste! I don't think he likes it.

Inadvertencies

Four days ago, I left my back door on cross-country skis. A freak spring storm dropped four inches of sleet-sugar snow and I was not going to miss an opportunity. The trails through our 13 acres led me to the Rifle River Recreation Area and thousands more acres of wilderness.

I took cc'd (career-changed) Gus along. 

Gus approaches like he wants to herd me back onto my skis. I had taken them off so I could shoot a photo.

As young, strong and exuberant as Gus is, after an hour and a half I decided to turn toward home--no way was I going to be able to carry his 70 pounds back if he crapped out on me. Never mind what would happen if I crapped out on him!

It was a good choice. The last half-mile was a put-your-head-down-and-slide-one-ski-ahead-of-the-other slog back to the house. But we lived to tell about our wonderful last ski of the 2012/2013 winter.

Today

Yesterday's rain (and today's sun) is making the snow sigh like the wicked witch of the west, "I'm melting, melting! Oh what a life!"

I headed out my back door again, this time clad in hiking boots, not skis, this time with all three dogs. What a joyous, muddy, snowmelt mess! Water ran downhill like miniature waterfalls and filled the hollows into pools.

Dutch's pawprint in the last of the snow along the trail.

"Come on, keep up!" Dutch seemed to say as he looks back at me at the beginning of our hike.

Grousehaven Lake was still frozen over, but open water kissed the shoreline around Grebe Lake. I thought to take some pictures from the iced-in fishing dock on Grebe, which was accessible by a long pier.

The fishing dock on Grebe Lake.

Gypsy and Gus raced ahead. Dutch followed, attached to my waist by a long green lead.

KER PLUNK!

Just a few yards onto the pier, Dutch stepped off into open water; it was deep enough that he went all the way under. His head broke the surface like Shamu-the-whale, his front paws slapped the water like the fins of a circus seal. I guided him toward shore with the lead. He didn't have to swim much before his back paws touched bottom--he bounded onto dry land and shook himself silly.

"What happened?"

 SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL!

Dutch's first swim!

Toward the end of our hike, Dutch looks back at me. What do you suppose he is thinking?

What do you think they want?

Herding with their eyes.

Guess it's time to get off of the computer and take the dogs out into the woods...

Anybody's guess

Andy says, "Dutch is going to make it."

             (He means as a working Leader Dog.)

How do you know? I ask.

"Because if he can stand up to Gypsy, he'll be just fine."

With every new puppy, my crabby old mutt Gypsy makes sure everyone knows who's boss. Lip curled, her worn-down teeth bared, she snarls and growls. This usually causes a new puppy to keep a wide berth.

Not Dutch.

FLD Dutch considers Gypsy's threat.

From a safe distance, he give her a Golden warble back.

Another Gypsy-under-her-breath-snarl and Dutch decides to hightail it out of there!

After a couple of weeks, a growing-bolder Dutch ignores Gypsy's warning to "leave Andy's shoes alone!"

Last night Dutch was curled up tight in a ball, his back tucked against the blue dog bed under Andy's desk.

Gypsy was in it.

And she wasn't snarling.

      (You'll have to take my word on this. When I went for my camera, they both got up and moved apart.)

Gypsy looks at me as if to say, "What's with this pup?"

Dutch sings another Golden tune and works his charms on the old girl.

SCOUT UPDATE

YAY!

Just received this email from Leader Dogs for the Blind:

Patti,

I hope you are enjoying our autumn weather. I would like to update you on Scout is doing here, she has passed her entry physical, her hips are both good and elbows normal. They spayed her on the 26th and she is recovering nicely from the surgery. Our volunteers have commented that she is a very nice girl, she really likes to please people. Soon she will be back to playing with the four other dogs that she was playing with before the surgery. She is still due to start her phase one training on October 8th. You should be proud of her.

Thank you for all you have done in preparing Scout for this next stage in her life.

Lynette Brink
Kennel Administrative Assistant

(Guess my post from yesterday worked!)


I took the following picture of Scout on September 3, 2012, hanging out near our garden. I thought I remembered taking a similar shot of her one year ago...

FLD Scout, maturely resting near the garden.

...but once I found it, I realized the pose was a just little different. 

FLD Scout, getting crazy near the garden in 2011.

You've come a long way, puppy!

 

When you least expect it...

Scout whined.

Well, the sound she makes is not quite a whine. It's more of a muffled moan, under her breath, from deep in her throat.

This usually signals a need to "park," but lately I think she's really saying, "Come on, take me outside, I'm bored and tired of waiting around for you to finish writing!"

I wasn't yet done with my bowl of yo (as we used to call cereal when we were kids) and Andy just had the dogs out. She'd have to wait.

Scout stood at alert on the carpet just beyond the kitchen and moaned again. With a bit more emphasis.

Great. Andy's morning poop report for Scout wasn't great for the last two days, so I figured she needed to go. In a hurry.

I clipped on her leash and headed out the door. The cool morning air was refreshing and foretold of what is to come. (Yay!) I let Scout wander around up on the overgrown hill on the north side of our yard. Her nose got busy in the dry, deep grass as I gazed out across the vista of green hills and big sky.

The leash suddenly slackened as Scout jumped back, bumping my leg. She put her nose back down to the ground and inched forward. She jumped back again like something bit her. I couldn't tell what it was. She stuck her nose deep into the grass. And jumped back again.

What was that? I wondered and took a step forward, expecting a gardener snake to slither off.

Nothing.

Scout's nose went deeper, and this time I heard a rustle and caught a glimpse of movement. When she jumped back again, I kicked at the spot she was sniffing and three dark bodies went scurrying off in three different directions. Too big and dark for chippies.

Scout went berserk wanting to pursue them. I wanted to follow them too, but I couldn't let her get away with yanking me around. I backed up and tried redirecting Scout with a command.

Scout. SIT.

She sat! But strained forward, nose really working the air scent trail. I diverted my attention. Scout lunged against the leash. I anchored myself, struggling to get her back into a sit, and just caught sight of three baby rabbits as they broke free of cover and made for the woods.

I managed to get Scout back into a sit and was quick with a YES! marker when she looked at me. I dug into my pocket and was glad to find a few treats. Several treats later, Scout's focus was strong on me and we trotted back into the house. With a few glances over her shoulder.

When you least expect it...a training opportunity!

Be prepared.

The (empty) nest that Scout found.

  

The affecting effect of dogs...

...on people who don't like dogs.

This post is my submission to the 7th ADBC.

Sometimes, those of us who DO like dogs have a hard time understanding those who DON'T. What's not to like about the undivided attention our dogs give us (most of the time) ; their always-ecstatic-to-see-you greetings, whether you've left them for 5 minutes to walk out to get the mail, or you've been gone on another overtime work day; their curious way of sensing the world, knowing when laying a head on your knee is just the right thing to do; their joy in the moment--when you grab the leash and head out the door, they don't care where you are going, they are just happy to go. With you.

With you. Isn't that the best?

Sometimes, I find it hard not to be suspicious of those who DON'T. There's something wrong with that, I want to think.

And yet.

I find I must respect those who DON'T.

Perhaps a traumatic experience created a fear of dogs. Years ago, when my nephew was less than two years old, he was bitten in the face by a neighbor's dog. He developed a fear so severe he would not go outside to play if he even saw just a squirrel on his lawn.

We can understand that, can't we?

Perhaps an unpleasant experience somehow got associated with a "dog" and the very thought of a "dog" brings all kinds of suppressed feelings to the surface. When my father was a young boy, his father's bulldog would wake him up in the morning with a snorting, slobbering face wash. My father detests dogs. I wish I had a nickel for all the times I heard him say, "At least kids grow up and change their own diapers." Sometimes I wonder about my father's young life with a father who drank, a father who died when his son was only 17, My father left school in his senior year to get a job to help support the rest of his family. Later, he worked hard to care for his own family, which turned out to be seven kids! Dogs were an unnecessary expense and he could not/does not understand the attraction. I knew better to even ask for a dog when I was a child. Dad always said, "You can get a dog when you move out."

I guess I can understand that. To each his own.

My parents don't like dogs. 

There. I've said it.

Well. My dad doesn't like dogs. My mom, well, I think she's interested, but she lives with my dad. (Don't let her hear me say this!)

So this is what happened. I moved out. I got a dog. And then another dog, and another one after that. And 35 years later I have two dogs PLUS I raise puppies for Leader Dogs for the Blind.

Needless to say, this situation can sometimes be uncomfortable for me in my relationship with my parents. They don't like to visit, and now that we've moved so far away that a visit means: "overnight," I doubt they'll ever be back. (They came for one night last summer.)

I understand that my parents are getting older, and can't get around very well. My dad's back doctor told him he'd be in a wheelchair by the time he was 80. My dad will be 85 this June and still no wheelchair. My mom had her hip replaced in 2011. My dogs are big and a bump could mean a tumble. I take care to keep them out of harm's way. (My dogs, not my parents.)

I do NOT expect my dogs to be welcome at their house. If I visit for a few hours, I might bring the dogs to wait in the van. (They love coming with me, even if they are stuck in their "mobile" crate.") If I visit overnight, I come alone. My sweet husband, Andy, holds down the dog-fort back home.

And yet.

There's a curious thing.

(You know that "dog" spelled backwards is "god," don't you?)

My nephew grew up with my first dog. I lived around the block and "Aero" was less than six-weeks-old when I brought her home. The little black ball of fur won over his heart. Aero grew up to be a big strong dog (she was part Lab and Irish Setter, we think), and my nephew grew up to be mad about animals.

The dog did that.

Maybe 15 years ago, when my parents lived in Florida and we had a big house in the city, they came to visit. We only had one dog at the time, "Stoker," a small yellow Lab/beagle mix mutt who was an angel in disguise. Stoker's gift was making everyone feel that they were her best friends--even my parents! Andy and I came home after a long day of tending our business to find my mom and dad cuddled up on one of our oversized LazyBoy chairs. They were covered to the chin with an afghan my mom had knit for me as a high school graduation gift. Stoker was curled up on a corner of it at their feet. My mom was quite taken by her affection. My dad said, "She's alright. For a DOG."

The dog did that.

Now when I stop by with the dogs in the back of the van, my mom likes to come out to see them when I leave. Dad always follows. My old mutt, "Gypsy," howls and moans in greeting, like she knows that these people-who-don't-pet-her are "family" and part of her pack. I love to see my mom grin like a second-grader when Gypsy does this.

The dog did that.

My parents don't understand my love for dogs, but they accept me. And sometimes when we go out to eat I bring my Future Leader Dog puppy along. Mom is quick to tell everyone she sees, "That's my daughter. She raises puppies for Leader Dogs."

The puppy did that.

My mother and father snuggle on our love-seat during their visit last summer. FLD Gus was in his crate and you can just see the back end of Gypsy curled up in her bed on the floor.

Winter Break - Take 4 Rosie gets run over

Rosie lies on the living room rug working away on a previously-chewed Nylabone. FLD Scout wanders over, eases into a down, and faces Rosie.

Rosie immediately lets loose the Nylabone; it hits the floor with a muffled thud. Rosie gazes at Scout, who glares intently back at her.

Two black Labs lie sphinx-like in a nose-to-nose, mirror image stare down.

Hey, look at Scout and Rosie, I say to the girls and Andy, all of us lounging around on our comfortable couches. (I think the girls like that we ordered DishNet TV.) My mention of their two names does not cause either to look away. It's a wonder our five pairs of watching eyes doesn't break the spell.

Do I hear our clock strike the quarter hour and then the half? It seems that long, before...

We startle when Scout strikes like a snake to snatch the Nylabone from between Rosie's paws, but Rosie barely flinches.

Scout and Rosie's clacking teeth might be intimidating to those not familiar with dog behavior. But they really are playing!

Gus gets into the act the next morning.

"Rosie, come on, let's go!"

"No, not THAT way--over here!"

Winter Break - Take 3 Harmony

When Natalie started to practice, baritone notes careened off knotty-pine walls and our house echoed like a sound box on steroids. Sofia ran downstairs to snatch her trumpet and join in.

Quite the concert ensued, missing only the round sounds of Elaina's French horn.

I don't know why she didn't join in.

Nat and Sofia belt it out.

As if losing interest, Natalie slid to the floor from her perch on Andy's desk chair. Sofia  continued alone, tooting to class-lesson music spread precariously on the metal stand.

Suddenly, Sofia's tune turned peppy. Nat started bouncing along on her b*tt, the baritone nearly engulfing her.

It was like her fingers had a mind of their own. They danced on the valves. She licked her lips and kissed the mouthpiece with a smack. A jazzy slew of notes erupted, weaving in and out of Sofia's structured song.

Sofia and Natalie share a magical moment. Gypsy rolls her eyes.

Always the critic, Gypsy wasn't impressed.

But I was.

FLD Scout wasn't sure. Here she checks out that shiny thing that makes noise.

Winter Break - Take 2 Haiku

winter break in the "patch"

girls sleep in too long

black Lab alarm clock trio

brings the dead to life

Sofia and Elaina are up before Natalie. They decide she's had enough sleep and send the pups downstairs.

Natalie doesn't know what hit her. Scout howls "Get up!"

Gus and Elaina report, "Mission accomplished!"

Winter Break - Take 1

On a crispy winter-break morning, Elaina said, "I'm going for a run. It's conditioning for soccer." Natalie wanted to run with her. I said, Why don't you take Rosie?

 

Sofia said, "I'll walk," and agreed to take Gus. He's a very good walker, I told her.

 

I came along with FLD Scout, who, on this particular morning, wasn't a very good walker.

 

I don't think she liked seeing Rosie leave us in the dust.

 

Sporting a white and black panda hat, Sofia and Gus wait for me and FLD Scout.

 

It is exactly one mile from our house on the top of the hill south to Wiltse Road. Elaina, Nat, and Rosie were a half-mile gone before I caught up to Sofia and Gus, who waited patiently for me to walk Scout backwards every time she put tension on the leash.

 

FLD Scout and I never made it all the way to Wiltse Road.

Elaina smiles, in spite of her hill effort coming back from Wiltse Road.

 

Elaina came charging up the first hill on her return mile. Natalie trudged behind with Rosie. There are no hills like these in their downstate suburban neighborhood.

 

My nieces lead the way...it's uphill home, from every direction!

 

FLD Scout and I turned homeward--I figured with all my backwards-walking I got the distance in.

Go on ahead, I said to Sofia and Natalie. We'll get there.

 

Eventually.

 

My three nieces (and Rosie) came north with Andy when he came home from downstate business one Sunday night in February. Their mom, my sister Anne, would be up later in the week to spend a couple of relaxing days and then drive them back in time for weekend soccer games. Get ready for some picture-tales of our fun-filled week!

Take Me Home, Scout

The day before Valentine's Day...

I tie the red 15-foot lead around my waist so I can have my hands free to take pictures. FLD Scout is clipped to the other end. It is a crisp, cobalt-sky morning with a new dusting of snow.

FLD Scout on her red "play" leash before our hike.

Scout and cc'd Gus and I take to the woods for a three-mile hilly hike in the park abutting our land to see what has been out and about.  If I was a naturalist, like Jonathan Schechter (who writes his Earth's Almanac blog for the Oakland Press), I could identify what creatures made the tracks in the snow.

Alas, I am not. I can only imagine what scampered by in the wee hours before light.

I CAN identify coyote scat. Scout sniffs, but forgoes the snack with a hearty LEAVE IT from me.

Frozen scat.

"Forrest Gus" does his bit to keep the trail clear, and carries a long limb like a high-wire walker. Then he zigzags with it through the woods as an elk or moose might run, swooping heavy-antlered crowns between the trees.  I hear a CEEEEERRRAAAACK and turn to see Gus sporting a shortened limb after being waylaid, however briefly, by trees too close. There's something to be said for brute strength.

Forrest Gus grabs a limb.

He breaks it free, balancing it as he runs toward us.

Gus thinks his job is to keep the trail clear!

I hand Scout a smaller stick and she carries it with import. I am proud when she bounces out to the end of the long lead and eases up when she feels tension, but it would be nice to get a little pull UP the hills!

The sticky snow is tough going. Gus and Scout leave prints behind as big as bear paws. Gus trots twice the distance Scout and I hike, chasing scents off-trail, racing ahead only to turn and race back as if to hurry us up. He never wanders far.

When the trail curves left toward a section of sharp dips and climbs, I call right to the dogs. We veer off to take a shortcut to avoid the steepest of the hills. I cannot afford a fall with my camera, or my still-healing finger!

Scout, I say, take me home.

She plods ahead, stick in mouth, turning me a little more to the right. She finds the route that Jeff, my step-son-in-law, and I bushwhacked from the other direction on snowshoes last month with his two German Shorthair Pointers and my three dogs.

Scout weaves between towering poplars that squeak in the wind overhead, passes near woodpecker condos, and carefully steers clear of long, snow-blanketed humps that I know are tree falls by the naked roots reaching skyward.

She confidently leads me back to our "patch."

I am amazed. Our showshoe tracks are long gone (to quote Ernie Harwell) after rounds of thaw and fresh snowfall. Her pace quickens when we reach the well-worn paths on our property. We are a quarter mile from home.

Patterning. That's what Leader Dogs for the Blind trainers might call what Scout did in remembering the route home.

Here are some pictures of the tracks we saw this day.