My great idea involved our house dog (couch hound) a 90 pound Rhodesian Ridgeback named August. Ridgebacks are a lazy, privileged breed. They spend most of their lives sleeping, preferably somewhere soft in front of a heater. Despite their noble heritage as the brave lion hounds of colonial Africa, the modern Ridgeback does not tolerate discomfort. He will become visibly dismayed at the slightest inconvenience or irritation and will make his displeasure clearly understood to all present by way of a startling repertoire of sighs, whines, groans and huffs highlighted by a remarkably expressive floppy-eared face.
My great idea was that August could get some unaccustomed winter exercise by coming out on a sled run with us. I was convinced he would run happily along behind the sled, sniffing the snow and stretching his long lazy hound legs. He would love the sunshine and the company of the other dogs. He would get to see some new country. It would be beautiful. It would be idyllic. It could not possibly end in disaster.
Never mind that he is terrified of the team, especially the girls. Or that he has never in his life stayed anywhere near us when walking off-leash. Or that he is a nightmare to have on a leash. Or that the only command he follows with any degree of urgency involves getting on the bed for an evening cuddle.
[Augie struggles between his love for the couch and his fear of Dottie]Peter, who usually talks me out of these spectacular wild hares, was not home this afternoon. The temperature was sitting right at zero, and since Augie's temperature cut-off for outside time (with boots and a coat) is ten below, we were in the clear. I strapped his bright yellow coat, forgoing the boots since he doesn't need them at zero, and loaded him in the car for a quick release when I had the team ready to go in the driveway.
Things went relatively well at first. I had Augie on a leash for the first few minutes, to get us safely down the road. He got a little too close to the sled at first and quickly figured out to keep his distance when it clipped him. He also got a good snap in his direction from the girls, who are now my wheel-dogs, and this kept him away from the front of the team. As soon as we were on the trail and off-leash, he trotted along behind us just as I'd imagined he would. But he is a fast dog, and he loves to run. He was soon inching up and trying to pass. Initially, a look from me was all it took for him to drop back behind us. This grudging obedience lasted until we got to the ponds.*
As soon as we broke out of the trees, he made a break for it. Passing the team in two leaps, he landed back on the trail ahead of the team and took off. He stayed just ahead of the boys initially, but soon got bored with their steady trotting pace and disappeared into the cattails. My idyllic little run was already falling apart and we were less than half a mile from the house. I called for him to come back, then coaxed, then yelled. The next problem presented itself immediately - the last part of "Augie" sounds exactly like "gee." Leo plunged off the trail twice before I figured out he thought I was yelling at him.
Thankfully, August responds to both variations of his name ... if by respond, you mean looks at you meaningfully before resuming whatever he was doing before you called. Realizing that getting anywhere near a road safely was out of the question, I guided the team deeper into the marshes and towards the back half of the O'Brian loop. Augie ran gamely ahead, staying in view for less and less time. Pico and Leo picked up the pace, chasing him hard, but there was no hope of keeping up. Between the chase and the relative heat, all the huskies were panting and getting hot, fast. Worried that he would disappear altogether or run into another dog team, but with no way to secure him on the narrow trail, I started plotting and continued the chase.
Once off the ice and back on solid trail, I set the snowhook and dug into my pack for an extra gang line. Curious, Augie returned to the team and I caught him and tied him to the sled. I added a second gang-line to extended the team out, leaving Pico and Leo up front and switching several harnesses around so Augie had one that sort of fit. I then moved a harnessless Dottie up to the middle spot, clipping her in with just a neck line. Then I clipped Augie in wheel next to Sawyer. He would pull, and she would teach him how to run. I stepped back and took a look. I had a five dog team!
This lasted for about ten feet.
Augie had already been clipped by the sled twice while running loose, and was not happy about being strapped down with unfamiliar harness inches from the runners. He is also terrified of Sawyer and was now being forced by the neck line to stay within inches of her glowering growl. The sled dogs took off at a run, and as soon as the tension hit his lines, Augie sat down on the trail with a shake and a yelp. He was dragged and pushed along for a few feet. I stopped. He stood up. I let the brake go again, and he was dragged a few feet more. He then started a desperate struggle to back out of the harness and his collar at the same time. He was shaking with terror. I stopped the sled and set the snow hook, trying to come up with plan B.
Mumbling reassurance to all of us, I freed him and re-harnessed Dottie. I moved him up to the single middle spot, so he would be further away from the sled and have two ferocious (small, cuddly, geriatric) sled dogs at his tail to encourage him to keep moving. I was hoping that without the unfamiliar harness and Pico's familiar form just ahead of him to chase, he would simply submit to the leash-like pull of the tug line and run along with the team for a few miles until we could safely turn around and head home.
After a few false starts and lots of reassurance, he got the hang of trotting along between the pairs of dogs. We ran a mile or so and made a loop around to the trail again. August seemed content enough, even happy to be out. His ears were up, and he was trotting along in almost a puppy prance, wrists high and tail up.
When we turned around, however, he didn't know what was going on and in the confusion both his front wrists got tangled badly in the lines. I stopped the sled, but when Pico and Leo dutifully pulled the line taut they inadvertently cinched the rope around a suddenly frightened Ridgeback's legs, bringing him down hard in a tight tangle.
The tone of the run, at least for August, changed at this point. The gang line had become just that for him, and he shuffled along with his head down and ears flat to his head, occasionally whimpering in misery as only an indignant Ridgeback can. This was a doggie death-march, and it was all he could do to endure.
Even in his abject state, he managed to keep trotting along with the team until we were about a mile from the house. Then it suddenly became to much for him. He sat down in the trail and refused to move. I walked up and gave him a big, reassuring hug. I ruffled his ears and told him what a good boy he was. He stood up. I ran back to the sled. When he realized he was still clipped in and I was gone, his ears and tail sank. He trotted along for another quarter mile, then sat down again. I repeated my bribery of affection and encouragement. We got about another quarter mile down the trail, just a half mile from the house. He stopped again, but this time decided he'd had enough. Instead of sitting down, he backed away from the gangline and fought his collar until it slipped over his ears. Free now, he sat down in the snow and stared at the ground. He gave a trilling whimper of misery and did not move.
With no more ideas - I was sure he wouldn't tolerate sitting unrestrained in the bouncing sled - I let the team run on down the trail, Augie's empty collar bouncing through the snow between the huskies. I looked back at my forlorn hound sitting alone in the middle of the big pond, getting smaller and smaller as we slid along towards home. When he realized he was slowly being left behind, he rose to his feet and shuffled down the trail in our wake, head down, tail tucked, ears low. He was the picture of put-upon misery.
He made it back to the house intact, bolted for the door, in fact and made a crazy racket until he was let in. He immediately curled up next to the heater to repair the trauma of an hour-long forced-march in the snow, and commenced to ignore me for the rest of the afternoon. Peter reports this evening (I am at the fire station tonight) that although subdued, he is none the worse for his debut as a sled dog.
Although my dreams of a tag-along dog - much less a five-dog team - are dashed for now, I know that August enjoyed at least a small part of his adventure this afternoon. Also, I have never regretted leaving the video camera at home as much as I did today.
[Pico & August sharing premium heater space at forty below.]* I broke a new trail to the marshes, which bypasses the farm-trail and moose stomping grounds.
1 comment:
Ok, this post gave me heart attacks again.
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