Teen Years
Neea-Kha had an innate intelligence. Her understanding of language never ceased to amaze me. As she grew, she would help me find things I'd misplaced...if it suited her purpose! She always had that sense of "what's in it for me?". If we were getting ready to go for our morning walks, I'd be looking around for my glasses, and say "ok, we'll go as soon as I find my glasses" ... or my purse.... or my shoes. She would lead me directly to where those items were, sometimes in plain view (but not in my view), sometimes in another room. Different story when I was trying to get out the door to work and couldn't find something. She'd just lie there looking at me rushing around to find the missing item, muttering all the while "I can't find my glasses; where's my purse?; Nee, have you seen my shoes?" She wasn't going to help me if I was going somewhere without her. The words milk or ice cream - even if used casually while talking to someone else - elicited much jumping around, pawing, whining, barking. I started spelling out the words but she eventually came to know what I was saying even then. If I told her we were having visitors later, she would spend the time alternating between the windows and the door, watching for her visitors, barking every time a car passed. Of course, she knew the words treat, car, blankie, walkies, ball, rope, eat, squirrel. When I played tug of war with her, I'd say "squirrel" and she'd let go of whatever we were playing with and look for the squirrel and I'd laugh at her. When she did catch on, she'd be torn between holding onto the tug toy or looking for the squirrel. Eventually she settled on keeping the toy and quickly looking left and right and manoeuvering her body around so she could see if there was a squirrel behind her.
Oh, did she love to play. Greg was her primary play pal. He suited her rough and tumble kind of play, while she was much too strong for me -- even at 35 pounds! He fashioned a tug-toy out of some heavy duty fabric (must have been heavy duty, I still have it in her memory box). They would play for hours -- Greg swinging her around in the air, she holding on for dear life; she would NOT let go. Then, of course, there were endless games of keep-away and ball toss. The one thing she didn't like at all was Frisbee. I don't think she cared for getting hit in the mouth with the hard plastic the first time and just refused to play. On a quiet day in the house, her game was "pull the socks off Greg's feet and run like ...well, you know"; or pull Bev's slippers off (don't have to run quite as fast). She never tired of pulling Greg's socks off. When she and I were on our own, no socks of Greg's to pull off, she substituted my "unmentionables". Not that she tried to pull them off me, but should I have a bra or flimsy piece of nylon undies (oops, I guess they're not unmentionables anymore) sticking out of my dresser or in the laundry hamper I had forgotten to put out of her reach, she would grab them and run and the game was on! I went through a lot of lingerie during her lifetime.
Greg never did jog with her as was his original intent (a dog he could go jogging with), but we would hike for hours -- up steep inclines, through thick bush, down into the ravines, along the riverside. While she loved wallowing in the muddy shoreline, Neea-Kha did not like swimming. To encourage her to swim, I would go into the middle of the river while Greg held onto her with a 100-foot rope he had fashioned for her. She'd just stand there watching me -- for once, not insisting on following me. When I got to the middle of the river, I'd start splashing around, calling "Help! Help me Nee!" That little girl would jump in the water, swim her heart out and try to lift me out of the water. I'd hold onto her while she led me back to shore, where she got lots of hugs and kisses for saving me. Did that encourage her to swim? Well....NO! After the third time of trying that, she caught on and wasn't having any part of it. Good thing I never did almost drown, 'cause I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have tried to save me. (NOW I remember the story of the boy who cried wolf.)
On one of our long excursions, we were walking along a concrete path -- river on one side, other side steep hill (no pathway) leading into thick bush. Walking along, just enjoying the beauty of nature when Nee stopped, nose in the air, sniffing frantically. Uh oh, we knew something was coming but couldn't see anything. Fortunately, Greg had the leash because all of a sudden she was sprinting down that hill into the thicket with Greg trying to stop her -- yelling, fighting to hold onto the leash, frantically trying to stay on his feet. Then I spotted the deer. Dog's barking, running all over the place to get this deer, Greg is trying to ... do something; I am gingerly making my way down this steep hill, praying Nee wouldn't get loose and that Greg wouldn't let go of her and that I wouldn't break my neck getting down the hill. Fortunately, with all the barking and yelling and panting, the deer was soon out of sight and after another few minutes of tracking the scent, Nee gave up and she and Greg just sat down in the bush for a well-deserved rest. I was only half-way down the hill, so I just headed back on up. I wasn't even winded!
I was soon to get a taste of what it was like to be on the other end of the leash with a wild dog.