Time changes everything

You've no doubt heard that time heals all wounds.

And no doubt you've heard the corollary of that; time wounds all heels.

That came to me while I was reminiscing about Buddy, the German Shepherd I had when I lived in Durham. I grew up with dogs, and I'd had other dogs before Buddy, but Buddy was the first dog I'd been soley responsible for as an independent adult.

I used to leave Buddy in the garage during the day when I headed off to work. Spring came along, and now and then, if it wasn't forecast to rain, I'd leave him outside, tethered to the deck.

One night I came home, and Buddy was tether-free, awaiting my arrival. Also awaiting my arrival was a hysterical phone message from the neighbour behind, about how Buddy had attacked her daughter and dragged her down the street by her hair...

Well!

Without waiting to hear Buddy's side of the story, I immediately gave him a bad-dog thrashing.


On calm reflection, with the passage of time, it dawned on me that Buddy could not be guilty as charged.

Not that he wasn't guilty. I fully understand and acknowledge that he may have dragged that kid down the street by her hair... but he was just playing!

Those neighbour kids behind used to cut through my yard on the way to school. In hindsight, I should have taken that into consideration. But I didn't. Nobody's perfect.

Those kids had a good relationship with Buddy. I imagine that a couple of hours after I left for work, he was thrilled to see them coming through!

And they would have been thrilled to see him too! Possibly thrilled enough to let him off his tether.

At which point Buddy's exuberance may have got the better of him... hence that unfortunate phone message.

I thought things were OK between me and Buddy after that, and for awhile they appeared to be. I even got him little Charlie, a black lab cross, as a playmate to while away those long hours in the garage,

Then one day, when we'd taken our morning ramble through the Durham Conservation park and into the countryside beyond, Buddy disappeared.

He disappeared right around a deer yarding area, and I assumed he'd just got busy chasing deer.

I always hoped he'd come home, and he sort of did.

Three or four weeks after Buddy went missing, me and Charlie were heading off on our morning walk, and there, stretched out on the walking path right in front of us in the dim light of an early morning, was good old Buddy!

I was thrilled!

I didn't make too big a deal of it. No "bad dog" shit on account of having gone missing for a few weeks. I just let things ride.

Alas, Buddy only lasted a few more days with us; he disappeared for good the next time we passed that deer yard.

I figure that on his first awol, after getting tired of chasing deer, he'd found a local farmer who knew a good dog when he saw one, and fed Buddy accordingly.

That would have seemed a much better deal than being cooped up in the garage all day, with or without his new pal Charlie.


I think Buddy just came back to say goodbye.

Phun with Phil

Here's a tip for dog lovers. Having a dog is great. Especially a dog like this.




Phil is just a joy. She loves the heated front seats in the Subaru. Of course she's not allowed anywhere near the front seats when the Farm Manager is riding with us, but when it's just me and the hounds, well, what the hell...

Why would you want to let a heated seat go to waste?

Having two dogs may or may not be even better. Around here we're fond of the two-dog model because when we have to step out, they've got one another for company. These were our two dogs BP, or "before Phil."



Here they are on the shore of Colpoys Bay awaiting the next stick toss.

But don't ever get sucked into having three dogs. Nosiree, three dogs is a dog pack. A dog pack is more than the sum of its parts. A pack develops a pack mind that can have a completely different personality than any of the dogs may have individually. That's why you read those sad stories about the little old lady who was ripped to shreds by her pack of schnauzers.

Individually, each of those dogs loved her.

As a pack, they woke up one day and their pack mentality told them she was the prey.

That's something we hope to avoid here at Falling Downs.

Puppy tricks

We had to step out for a spell today and the Farm Manager was concerned about leaving the dogs alone after only a couple days getting to know one another. The Brindle in particular has been prone to bare her fangs and make ominous growly noises when little pup is getting too frisky with her.

So we devised a plan. The old girls would cosy up on the couch in front of the fireplace in the living room, per usual. New pup would be locked in the front hall, door to the living room shut and a baby gate blocking off the stairs. Seemed foolproof.

We get home a few hours later and little pup had totally laid waste to our plan. And a bank of potted plants in front of the living room window. And Uncle Henry's carpet runner, barely visible under an inch of potting soil.

The little shit had vaulted the baby gate, ran up the front stairs, down the back stairs, hopped a second baby gate between the kitchen and the living room, and then spent the afternoon partying hard with the old girls in front of the fireplace.

This put the FM in an incredibly foul mood...

My f@cking plants!

Uncle Henry's carpet runner!...

Ya, and your dog, I was tempted to add.

But I didn't. Instead I pitched in with the clean-up even before being told to. By the time we were finished I had convinced the FM that there was a silver lining.

We don't have to worry about the old girls harming the new baby. They'd just spent the afternoon together, without any human supervision whatsoever, and everything is A OK!

Well, at least dog-wise.

Next time we'll just leave them all on the couch in front of the fire.