Category: dogs

Posted in dogs

It’s a bird…it’s a plane…it’s the moon

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My wife and were sitting out back admiring the half moon hanging out in the southern sky. The evening was just a few degrees cooler and a bit less humid, so it was a beautiful evening on the patio.

We weren’t alone. The Great Dane was with us, sitting on the stone pavers, looking up at the moon. She did not simply look up and then head off to sniff something, but saw there and gazed up for a few minutes.

I never thought dogs saw the world two-dimensionally. She is usually focused on what’s in front of her, or at least what’s in front of her nose. But she notices birds sitting up on utility poles and wires. She hears and watches single engine planes pass overhead. She scans the pine trees at dawn, hoping to catch a glimpse of the owl hooting overhead.

l’m fascinated by what our dogs notice as we walk through the neighborhood or a nearby park. I don’t think her eyesight is all that great, but she never misses a motionless bunny by the side of the road, a tiny lizard stuck to the side of the house, or a hawk gliding just overhead.

Posted in dogs

The big, ferocious dog behind the window

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

He either smelled us coming or he heard us. All I know is he was big, had a substantial woof, and was not happy that the big dog and I dared to walk on the road in front of his house.

My Great Dane was mildly interested in what he had to say, but was quickly distracted by the brave bunny sitting very still by the side of the road.

I was entertained by the beast in the house, wildly jumping, barking, and pawing at the window. With each lunge he got hold of some curtains, pulling them from the rod.

I asked my dog, “What’s he saying?” And, “Why is he so upset?” I assume all dogs speak the same language, but none of my dogs have been willing to translate for me. I can only assume it’s a fierce warning to move along and never, ever return.

We’re soon out of sight, but we’ll be back tomorrow. And I have feeling we’ll have the same conversation.

My big dog isn’t concerned by neighbors walking their dogs. But she hears the beep when someone pushes a key fob or starts up a truck or opens a garage door. Then she’s got something to say. Probably a big woof that means, “Who’s that? What was that? Did you hear that?” Thankfully, she doesn’t paw at the blinds. She just leave a bunch of nose prints on the window.

Posted in animals, dogs

Turtling

Posted on by William Douthwaite

We’ve got a turtle in our neighborhood. Sometimes he camps out in our driveway, driving our little dog nuts. Other times we find him in the middle of the street, just daring the traffic to drive by. This morning, our big dog encountered the turtle!

Yeah, he quickly shut himself up tight as a drum when that big nose came in for a sniff. The big girl was fascinated by this elusive playmate who wouldn’t come out to play. It wasn’t until we were thirty feet away that the turtle poked his head out to see what was going on. We watched from a distance as he moved surprisingly fast into the wooded lot just up the street.

Why are turtles so fascinating to dogs and to people? They are easy to catch, but hard to get to know. They are both secluded and right there in the middle of the street. They are always at home, their houses on their back. But they withdraw when you try to get to know them.

Who else carries their home with them? Snails, hermit crabs (borrowed homes), and full time RV-ers. Backpackers on the Appalachian Trail? Cross-country bike riders? I find that self-sufficiency fascinating.

We used to have a hybrid camper trailer. The ends folded out into the tent-like sleeping areas. If we didn’t want to open up the ends because of a storm, we could just shut ourselves in safe and secure, a technique called “turtling.”

I’ll bet we all have moments when we want to “turtle.” Just pull our heads, hands, and feet in and shut ourselves off from the world.

Just for a moment.

Posted in dogs

Another batch of friends at the dog park

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Yesterday’s trip to the dog park was fun. You can tell I enjoy these outings because I like to write about them. We went before lunchtime since lots of storms were predicted for the afternoon (none of which materialized, by the way.)

These are my two, enjoying our morning outing.

Only one dog was wandering around the park, and from a distance it looked like another Great Dane, a harlequin, white with big, beautiful black spots. Once we got closer, though, he just didn’t have the size or the head shape of a Great Dane. His name was Duke, and when his owner brought him home from the animal shelter at eight weeks, she thought he might be at least part Great Dane. But it wasn’t in his DNA. Her previous dog was a Great Dane, and she was so thrilled to see Willow, our dane.

They had to leave after just a few minutes chasing around with our dogs, but a few more came right after. There was Cotton, a little white, one-eyed, fluffy Havanese. When Winston, our slightly larger White West Highland Terrier looked at him, it must have been like looking in a mirror. Cotton’s owner used to take him to the adjacent small dog park, but the little dogs wouldn’t run around. They just laid there near their people. So she started bringing him to the big dog park, where there’s lots of action.

He was accompanied by an eight-month-old Basenji named Fawn. She had a wonderful curly tail that looped around twice. I learned that a Bazenji doesn’t shed and is hypoallergenic. The four of them raced and hopped around getting to know each other, but it soon became clear that the smallest, Cotton, was the Alpha of this impromtu pack.

Before long, we were joined by Buddy, a small black Lab/Shepherd mix sporting a vest which announced, “In training – do not pet.” His owner and trainer had walked him around the outside of the dog park before bringing him in, letting him acclimate to these new surroundings. He was very friendly, approaching all the owners, hoping for some attention, but we all respected his restrictions.

We were joined by Samantha, an older, affectionate, mid-sized mixed breed who soaked up all the petting and scritches she could coax out of the humans.

It was a typical hot summer day, so the dogs spent as much time drinking water from five-gallon buckets as they did running around with each other. I find it curious and amusing that though I left knowing the names of all the dogs I met that day, I didn’t get any of the owners’ names. I need to make sure I get to know them as well as their dogs!

Posted in dogs

A hot afternoon at the dog park

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I’ve often said, “You can tell how hot it is by the length of their tongues.” Today’s 90-degree afternoon prompted lots of long-tongue panting after just a few minutes of racing around the dog park.

A beautiful black lab and a friendly springer spaniel greeted us at the dog park gate. They had been there a while, so they were a little tired from the heat. Before long a couple of airedales joined us, but they were all about swimming in the pond.

Two five-gallon buckets and a small bowl of water were under the pavilion. All the dogs lapped up what sounded like quarts of water every few minutes.

The spaniel was on high alert, racing after electric bikes and scooters on the other side of the fence. Our great dane joined him for a few chases, but soon tired of that game. The same spaniel jumped the fence and took a dip in the pond, too.

The lab must have been there for a while. He laid down in a nice cool spot in the dirt and watched everyone else run around. His owner shared that the far gate to the pond was only held shut by a bungee cord. His dogs knew how to push their way in and out when they felt like taking a dip. I told them not to teach my dogs any tricks like that.

A Disney-themed birthday party was in full swing in a pavilion just outside the dog park fence. Partiers were surrounded by pink and purple balloons as familiar movie songs filled the air.

When I took a walk around the pond to prompt our big dog to sprint and burn off energy, I saw no dogs in the adjacent small dog park. Zero. Too hot I guess.

My two happily trotted to the gate when I said, “Ready to go for a ride?” Half-an-hour was enough to wear them out. When we got home, they continued to pant for another thirty minutes, before stretching out on the cool tile floor.

I’m glad we went for a short ride across town to the dog park on a steamy afternoon. They’ll crash for the rest of the night, tired and content.

Posted in dogs

We are safe and sound

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The barking was incessant. Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip. What in the world is going on out there? I looked out the window at the little dog (Winston, the White West Highland Terrier) aggressively yapping at a spot in the grass.

I had to go out and see. It was probably a lizard. Or part of one. Wrong. It looked like a mouse. How in the world did he catch a mouse? Wait. That’s not a mouse. It’s a mole. Winston had caught or found a squinty-eyed, pointy-snouted, long-clawed mole somewhere in our backyard. A mole? I’ve never seen a mole in our yard. Where in the world did you find it? I scooped it up and tossed it over the fence. You’re not going to torment him (or her) any more.

I got back into the house to find the big dog (Willow, the Great Dane) barking and scratching at the porch floor. Now what? I called her away only to find a dead lizard on his back, covered in drool. Great. Just what I need. I tossed him (or her) over the fence.

Suddenly, these dogs who spend most of the afternoon snoozing have channeled their inner hunter and pursued the latest predators in our yard. They have successfully protected their home from invaders!

Posted in dogs, Life

The teeny, tiny service dog

Posted on by William Douthwaite

There was no one in line at the paint counter at Home Depot. Sweet! With paint chip in hand, I knew exactly what I needed: two gallons of interior flat.

Just before I described what I needed, a woman held out a white electrical outlet and asked, “Where do I find the paint to paint this?” Caught a bit off the guard, the paint guy pointed and said, “Down that aisle on the right.”

“What kind do I need?” she asked.

The paint guy took a close look and said, “Gloss. Down that aisle.”

“Is it OK to paint this?”

“Sure,” he said.

Her service dog was watching the whole exchange. Her service dog was a five-pound Yorkie, wearing a tiny “Service Dog” vest. I looked down at her. She nervously looked up at me. Neither of us was interested in the situation.

I said, “That is a tiny dog!”

I do not believe English was her first language. She simply smiled at me. I said, “I have a Great Dane.”

Her eyes got big and she said, “I saw one when I was four years old. I remember looking way up at him.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “She’s about a hundred pounds heavier than your little one!”

That little dog weighed less than the amount of food I feed my big dog in a day. I now know there’s no minimum weight requirement on being a service dog. That little canine shook so much when I looked at him, I think he needed an emotional support dog of his own!

If he can do the job, more power to him. However, if it were me, I’d want a large dog to be watching out for me. But that’s just me.

Posted in dogs, Life

A new dog park

Posted on by William Douthwaite

We (the dogs and I) checked out a new dog park yesterday.

The one we usually go to was still closed for repairs and maintenance. The work was supposed to be completed two weeks ago, but the gate was still locked. The dogs know when we’re getting close. They start woofing as we turn into the parking lot. Sorry guys, you’ll have to be patient. We’ll try out another park on the south side of town.

The one we ended up at was adjacent to a racket sport complex. There were no other dogs in the large open area beneath some imposing power lines. A small canopy provided some shade for a few benches. Other than that, we were out in the sun.

Both dogs did a quick run around the area and drank from all the water containers scattered around. Before long, a few more dogs arrived. We greeted Captain, a Norwegian Elk Hound, Vinnie, a handsome German Shepherd, Bo, a black Labrador retriever, Rocky, a spaniel mix, and Nico, a Belgian shepherd with long, beautiful, cream colored fur.

Temperatures were in the 90s, so after a little running and lots of drinks, the dogs all found shady spots to lay down. I tossed a few balls and a frisbee, but no one was interested in running. With long tongues hanging out of their mouths, their look said, “Are you kidding?”

I chatted with the owners as the dogs got to know each other. Everyone is a dog expert with plenty of unsolicited advice to share. The dogs were all people experts, greeting and treating us all as their new best friends.

A small brown curly haired puppy watched from the neighboring small dog enclosure. He so wanted to run with the big dogs, but his owner was off talking on the phone.

One thing is certain. After a half and hour at the park, my dogs are tired. They crash as soon as they get home. It is definitely worth the time and the trip to let them run with a pack.

Posted in dogs

How dare that storm come into our yard!

Posted on by William Douthwaite
This isn’t Winston, but you get the idea

Suddenly, it’s thunderstorm season. After a dry early spring, daily showers soak the yard, and everything is turning green again. However, our small white dog Winston takes umbrage at the loud rumbles echoing across the sky. With a endless barrage of barks, he waits at the back door, ready to take on the storm.

“Hey, it’s pouring rain. You don’t want to go out there.”

Yes he does. He doesn’t give up. Finally I give in. “Alright. Go get ’em!”

I open the door and he sprints out into the pouring rain. In less than a minute, he’s soaking wet, running along the fence, giving the storm a stern barking lecture about getting too close to our yard.

I didn’t realize it was raining so hard. “Hey, get back in here.” He didn’t even glance back at me, determined to get to the source of that thunder. I whistled. No response. I closed the door. He’ll let me know when he’s ready to come back inside.

Ten minutes of torrential rains later, I heard a yip at the back door. Finally. I grabbed a towel and caught his collar as he scooted inside. I dried him off as much as I could. I released him to roll around on the carpet for a bit.

The next thunder came right on the heels of a big flash of lightning. It was very close. Winston returned to yapping at the back door. “No way. You’re not going out there. Cool it.”

Ten minutes later, the storm had moved on, just distant flashes of lightning over the ocean. It was quiet. Winston was fast asleep on his side. He had given that storm what for. Another job well done.