Walking the Dog
Where Max and Hiromi and me are concerned, walking the dog is entirely a euphemistic term. Max does not walk. Hiromi and I walk. Max runs ahead to the corner and around it onto Illinois Avenue while we're still hitting our stride, hoofing along a quarter mile behind him. Or he ranges out into the fields beside the road, pausing only to relieve himself and mark his territory in one easy application--or three or four easy applications in the first quarter mile. He romps through any standing water he encounters, mouth open, tongue hanging out, sometimes showing his teeth in an exuberant smile. When we reach the cottonwood trees by the draw that crosses Illinois Ave., he often crosses from one side of the road to the other, via the culvert, splashing noisily as he goes.
He chases after birds, even when they're flying yards above or in front of him. I don't know who was more surprised yesterday--Max or us, but he caught two birds in mid-air--one in Tim's field, and one in Morris's. I alternately scolded and called him--anything to divert him from eating those birds--blackbirds, I think. I didn't want him to develop any longings for the young guineas we have here at home, and I didn't think Grant would find bird eating a useful fascination in a hunting dog. Hiromi thought I was wasting my time. I don't think Max ate the birds though. However, I noticed a few feathers dangling from his chin after the first encounter, so I know he had the bird in his mouth.
Only rarely does Max walk sedately with us, usually after we've called him to us from the other side of the road when we notice a vehicle approaching. If he has good vehicle avoidance instincts, they aren't immediately apparent. Sometimes we hang onto his collar till the vehicle passes. Walking sedately is probably a stretch for describing how he acts when we do this, but it's as close as it gets.
We live along a blacktop county road. These roads are about five miles apart in these parts, with well-packed sand/gravel roads bissecting the area at one-mile intervals in between the asphalt roads. State and US highways, of course, do not follow these regular patterns, criss-crossing the area willy-nilly, and at odd angles. The road past our place is nice for walkers, except that there is more traffic than on the "dirt" roads, so we usually head off onto a dirt road as soon as we reach it. Occasionally we do an entire two-mile walk at 6:30 A. M. with not a single vehicle passing anywhere on our walking route, so when I say "more traffic" on the blacktop, this is a relative term. I'm throwing in these details in case anyone is mentally condemning us for not keeping our dog on a leash. It might be a good idea, but most of the time it would seem more compulsive than prudent.
When Max races to and fro on our walks, we keep hoping that all the energy he's expending in covering five (?) miles while we cover two will pay off in more calm behavior "back at the ranch." I think maybe it's almost working, although why he felt the need to carry his stainless steel water dish from the garage to the front yard yesterday is anybody's guess.
*****************
Yesterday while Hiromi and I were cleaning up part of the outback, Hiromi dumped a container with a small amount of fertilizer in the bottom. It had accumulated water after the lid of the container blew off. "It stinks," Hiromi informed me as he did so. "I guess the weeds here will either grow big or die."
Soon after, Max discovered the damp spot and carefully scraped away the vegetation with his claws, and hollowed out the spot, then plopped down belly first and then legs-in-the-air, and on his sides, and every which way to get every spot on his body nice and cool.
"Max, you'll need a bath. Don't you know that stinks?" Hiromi told him.
We left him to his own devices, and went on working.
The next time we noticed Max, he was indeed taking a bath. A half-barrel storing used potting soil had also accumulated water, probably about 6 inches above the surface of the soil. While we weren't looking, Max had climbed into the barrel, and was twisting and turning and trying to lie down in the barrel to get every spot wet--just as industriously as he had earlier done in the dirt. He didn't fit very well. Only by curving his length into a "C" shape could he come close to lying down, but that didn't keep him from trying.
I don't know if the water in the barrel stank or not, but Hiromi must have suspected it did. Which is why on this morning's walk, Hiromi again told Max, "Go take a bath."
He obligingly raced rhough the next puddle he came to. They're a little harder to find since last week's sunshine and 100 degree temperatures dried things out.
He chases after birds, even when they're flying yards above or in front of him. I don't know who was more surprised yesterday--Max or us, but he caught two birds in mid-air--one in Tim's field, and one in Morris's. I alternately scolded and called him--anything to divert him from eating those birds--blackbirds, I think. I didn't want him to develop any longings for the young guineas we have here at home, and I didn't think Grant would find bird eating a useful fascination in a hunting dog. Hiromi thought I was wasting my time. I don't think Max ate the birds though. However, I noticed a few feathers dangling from his chin after the first encounter, so I know he had the bird in his mouth.
Only rarely does Max walk sedately with us, usually after we've called him to us from the other side of the road when we notice a vehicle approaching. If he has good vehicle avoidance instincts, they aren't immediately apparent. Sometimes we hang onto his collar till the vehicle passes. Walking sedately is probably a stretch for describing how he acts when we do this, but it's as close as it gets.
We live along a blacktop county road. These roads are about five miles apart in these parts, with well-packed sand/gravel roads bissecting the area at one-mile intervals in between the asphalt roads. State and US highways, of course, do not follow these regular patterns, criss-crossing the area willy-nilly, and at odd angles. The road past our place is nice for walkers, except that there is more traffic than on the "dirt" roads, so we usually head off onto a dirt road as soon as we reach it. Occasionally we do an entire two-mile walk at 6:30 A. M. with not a single vehicle passing anywhere on our walking route, so when I say "more traffic" on the blacktop, this is a relative term. I'm throwing in these details in case anyone is mentally condemning us for not keeping our dog on a leash. It might be a good idea, but most of the time it would seem more compulsive than prudent.
When Max races to and fro on our walks, we keep hoping that all the energy he's expending in covering five (?) miles while we cover two will pay off in more calm behavior "back at the ranch." I think maybe it's almost working, although why he felt the need to carry his stainless steel water dish from the garage to the front yard yesterday is anybody's guess.
*****************
Yesterday while Hiromi and I were cleaning up part of the outback, Hiromi dumped a container with a small amount of fertilizer in the bottom. It had accumulated water after the lid of the container blew off. "It stinks," Hiromi informed me as he did so. "I guess the weeds here will either grow big or die."
Soon after, Max discovered the damp spot and carefully scraped away the vegetation with his claws, and hollowed out the spot, then plopped down belly first and then legs-in-the-air, and on his sides, and every which way to get every spot on his body nice and cool.
"Max, you'll need a bath. Don't you know that stinks?" Hiromi told him.
We left him to his own devices, and went on working.
The next time we noticed Max, he was indeed taking a bath. A half-barrel storing used potting soil had also accumulated water, probably about 6 inches above the surface of the soil. While we weren't looking, Max had climbed into the barrel, and was twisting and turning and trying to lie down in the barrel to get every spot wet--just as industriously as he had earlier done in the dirt. He didn't fit very well. Only by curving his length into a "C" shape could he come close to lying down, but that didn't keep him from trying.
I don't know if the water in the barrel stank or not, but Hiromi must have suspected it did. Which is why on this morning's walk, Hiromi again told Max, "Go take a bath."
He obligingly raced rhough the next puddle he came to. They're a little harder to find since last week's sunshine and 100 degree temperatures dried things out.
posted by Mrs. I at
12:50 PM
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