Teen Stories
Annual shots day at the vets. Cold, pouring rain. We're early so we decide Greg will go in and register, I'll take Nee for a run in the fields behind the building. We snap on the 100 ft rope so she can run off some energy. She was so excited to get out and run -- didn't realize Greg had gone into the building. Got halfway into the field and after she had a pee, turned to look and discovered "NO GREG?!?" She always hated when the three of us were together and one had to go into the store, bank, whatever while the other stayed with her. That was an absolute no-no for her! Okay, no Greg. She started galloping back through the field, where I slipped on the wet grass. Somehow, this damned rope got caught around my ankle and I'm being dragged through the wet grass -- OOOOHHH NOOOOO! through the gravel parking lot. I'm getting rope burns on my hands from trying to hold the rope with one hand and untangle it from my ankle with the other - hollering at the top of my lungs. Greg heard the commotion and came running out in time to stop Neea-Kha and just about fell down himself -- from laughing so hard. Reminded him of the old cowboy movies where someone invariably gets dragged by a horse. Needless to say I was not amused -- I was soaked from head to toe and half freezing to death and had a huge welt on my ankle -- not to mention the rope burns on my hands. For some reason, the vet staff seemed to find the whole thing funny too. I can't imagine why. Revenge came a few months later when she dragged Greg hither and yonder with the same rope in the same weather conditions. The sad part is that I missed it and had to hear about it from an indignant Greg. Did I laugh at him? Darned right I did -- laughed my guts out!
My nephew Chad came to visit us on March break - he and Neea-Kha bonded so well; he played with her constantly and when they weren't playing, she sat staring up at him. One evening, we went for a walk in a downtown park -- parks in our small city are so wonderful. This one had huge evergreen trees, trunks large enough for three people to hide behind. Chad wanted to walk Nee but I told him there were too many squirrels around and she would pull him off his feet if she took off after one. He said he was big enough and strong enough to hold her (8-yr old boys!), so I decided to see how strong he was. I handed him the leash then sneaked over to one of those large evergreen trees and hid. Nee walked along for a few moments, then felt the difference at the other end of the leash. She looked back, saw Chad - then bolted. Leash flew out of Chad's hand, he almost tumbled over. She ran directly to the tree I was behind, as I expected her to do. Chad was not impressed with my trick, and never did ask to walk her again.
Except for the tiny collar she wore as a small pup, she broke through every progressively bigger and stronger collar we put on her. The day she broke through a heavy leather collar to get at a neighbourhood dog she really disliked (didn't hurt the dog, just got in his face barking, growling - daring him to pee on her lawn again), I decided to get her a halter and a retractable lead. Worked like a charm for the most part; my centre of gravity was directly over her back and if she lunged forward, her front paws would be lifted off the ground. She could paddle around in the air until she got tired. Then she learned how to back out of it. When she wanted to go after something, instead of bolting forward she would back up, shaking her whole body to allow the halter to shimmy up to her neck. Well, it never got farther than her neck because with all her carrying on to get out of it, I had enough time to grab the halter and pull back on it. She soon gave up on that method and became very adept at hiding her signals. If I wasn't paying close attention to what was around us, I would end up in some very precarious positions (I always counted it a blessing when I ended up face down in a huge snowpile, as opposed to kissing the sidewalk or impaled on a fencepost or hanging over a cement block). At those times, the heavy plastic leash handle would fly out of my hands, hit her in the backside and she'd just keep going. If I could spot something before she did -- a squirrel, a neighbour she liked - whatever, I would just say "Nee, walk good" and she wouldn't run. Once she was in the run, there was no stopping her. She always had a goal in mind; didn't run just for the sake of running. At these times, it was small comfort to know that the Shepherd in her tamed the Husky "wildness" -- the need to run.
While her collar was no good for a leash, she insisted on wearing a collar at all times -- yes, she did insist. Her tags were attached and she didn't want anyone messing with her tags or collar. I was in for a battle every time I wanted to wash her collar or take it off to give her a good brushing. She would dance around, shake her head, do her back-up dance until I became stern with her - that usually worked. She'd wait impatiently to get the collar back, then do her happy little yipping while I put it on. Same scenario when I exchanged the old tags - rabies, license tags - for the new ones. I didn't even take the collar off, just slipped the old tag off, new one on. Those were HERS, they belonged on HER body. She was the same with brushing -- didn't mind the brush, as long as she didn't see the hair come out. Then she'd try to grab the hair and eat it. Anything that was on her body belonged to her! The exception to that rule was anytime I needed to bandage her paw, tape it up and cover the tape. There were a few times she scraped her paw or stepped on something, or got a branch caught between her toes, cutting them. She'd let me go to all the trouble of bandaging her up, then she'd shake her paw and if it didn't come off, she'd lay down and chew it off. It was only on her very last grooming trip when the groomer had clipped her nail to the quick (without informing me), that inspiration struck and I went to a neighbour who had a wee baby and asked for a couple of baby socks. Stayed on for the required three days that time. It sometimes takes many years for inspiration to strike me! I tried doggie boots for her - a few times over the years. She'd look at me like "You have GOT to be kidding!" Two seconds after they were on, they were in her mouth where she'd promptly spit them aside. Her paws would get rough and cracked in the winter from the road salt -- we walked so much. I'd try to put Vaseline on them, but she loved Vaseline and would just lie down and lick it off. I insisted on pet-safe salt for any home we lived in, but not much you could do outside our parameters. We settled for her lifting her paws off the ground -- one at a time, fortunately -- for me to warm them up and remove the snow pellets that accumulated. Once home, I'd get a warm facecloth and wash the salt off -- tried to sneak a bit of Vaseline on but she always discovered it.
My nephew Chad came to visit us on March break - he and Neea-Kha bonded so well; he played with her constantly and when they weren't playing, she sat staring up at him. One evening, we went for a walk in a downtown park -- parks in our small city are so wonderful. This one had huge evergreen trees, trunks large enough for three people to hide behind. Chad wanted to walk Nee but I told him there were too many squirrels around and she would pull him off his feet if she took off after one. He said he was big enough and strong enough to hold her (8-yr old boys!), so I decided to see how strong he was. I handed him the leash then sneaked over to one of those large evergreen trees and hid. Nee walked along for a few moments, then felt the difference at the other end of the leash. She looked back, saw Chad - then bolted. Leash flew out of Chad's hand, he almost tumbled over. She ran directly to the tree I was behind, as I expected her to do. Chad was not impressed with my trick, and never did ask to walk her again.
Except for the tiny collar she wore as a small pup, she broke through every progressively bigger and stronger collar we put on her. The day she broke through a heavy leather collar to get at a neighbourhood dog she really disliked (didn't hurt the dog, just got in his face barking, growling - daring him to pee on her lawn again), I decided to get her a halter and a retractable lead. Worked like a charm for the most part; my centre of gravity was directly over her back and if she lunged forward, her front paws would be lifted off the ground. She could paddle around in the air until she got tired. Then she learned how to back out of it. When she wanted to go after something, instead of bolting forward she would back up, shaking her whole body to allow the halter to shimmy up to her neck. Well, it never got farther than her neck because with all her carrying on to get out of it, I had enough time to grab the halter and pull back on it. She soon gave up on that method and became very adept at hiding her signals. If I wasn't paying close attention to what was around us, I would end up in some very precarious positions (I always counted it a blessing when I ended up face down in a huge snowpile, as opposed to kissing the sidewalk or impaled on a fencepost or hanging over a cement block). At those times, the heavy plastic leash handle would fly out of my hands, hit her in the backside and she'd just keep going. If I could spot something before she did -- a squirrel, a neighbour she liked - whatever, I would just say "Nee, walk good" and she wouldn't run. Once she was in the run, there was no stopping her. She always had a goal in mind; didn't run just for the sake of running. At these times, it was small comfort to know that the Shepherd in her tamed the Husky "wildness" -- the need to run.
While her collar was no good for a leash, she insisted on wearing a collar at all times -- yes, she did insist. Her tags were attached and she didn't want anyone messing with her tags or collar. I was in for a battle every time I wanted to wash her collar or take it off to give her a good brushing. She would dance around, shake her head, do her back-up dance until I became stern with her - that usually worked. She'd wait impatiently to get the collar back, then do her happy little yipping while I put it on. Same scenario when I exchanged the old tags - rabies, license tags - for the new ones. I didn't even take the collar off, just slipped the old tag off, new one on. Those were HERS, they belonged on HER body. She was the same with brushing -- didn't mind the brush, as long as she didn't see the hair come out. Then she'd try to grab the hair and eat it. Anything that was on her body belonged to her! The exception to that rule was anytime I needed to bandage her paw, tape it up and cover the tape. There were a few times she scraped her paw or stepped on something, or got a branch caught between her toes, cutting them. She'd let me go to all the trouble of bandaging her up, then she'd shake her paw and if it didn't come off, she'd lay down and chew it off. It was only on her very last grooming trip when the groomer had clipped her nail to the quick (without informing me), that inspiration struck and I went to a neighbour who had a wee baby and asked for a couple of baby socks. Stayed on for the required three days that time. It sometimes takes many years for inspiration to strike me! I tried doggie boots for her - a few times over the years. She'd look at me like "You have GOT to be kidding!" Two seconds after they were on, they were in her mouth where she'd promptly spit them aside. Her paws would get rough and cracked in the winter from the road salt -- we walked so much. I'd try to put Vaseline on them, but she loved Vaseline and would just lie down and lick it off. I insisted on pet-safe salt for any home we lived in, but not much you could do outside our parameters. We settled for her lifting her paws off the ground -- one at a time, fortunately -- for me to warm them up and remove the snow pellets that accumulated. Once home, I'd get a warm facecloth and wash the salt off -- tried to sneak a bit of Vaseline on but she always discovered it.