Heart of Dogness

Taking the Dog for a Walk: Back to the Beach

Fall is my favorite season anywhere, but especially here on the Cape. The dogs can go on the beach again without incurring the wrath of the local gendarmerie, and there's something new every time you go.

Two weeks ago, it was the first Buffleheads of the season, and somebody walking a matched pair of Samoyeds. One of these was a sweetheart, and the other was a jerk just like Gus. Good thing everybody was leashed. Also met a Yellow Lab whose owner was convinced that JoJo's "let's play" act was a vicious attack. Like as if JoJo could hurt a Lab, or even get its attention.

One week ago, it was the first Brants of the season. About a dozen, tucked into the little cove down at the end of Long Beach. And we saw Flora, the World's Sweetest Golden Retriever. Very submissive, Flora, unless you're a dog and try to get in her car. She don't put up with that crap.

The day after Election Day, Gus and I strolled to the end of Long Beach and up the back side. We saw a raft of about a hundred Brants. Gus wanted to run after them, but he couldn't stay on top of the water. The sun had set before we returned, so we walked back under a rising full moon.

Yesterday, I took both Gus and JoJo. On a bright, clear and pretty-damn-windy afternoon, we met a pretty Golden, a really neat-looking white mutt with black patches around each eye and on the tip of his tail, and Flora again. Gus has become such a total putz that I automatically leash him when I see another dog. Can't tell if it's because his leg hurts (which it wouldn't if he'd stop eating it) or because he's protecting JoJo.

Down at the end, we saw about a half-dozen Buffleheads in the cove where the Brants usually hang out, and raised about fifty Brants, who turn out to make the same noise flying that they do sitting on the water: the sound of an equal number of twelve-year-old boys gargling bilge water before spitting it at each other.

And always, whatever the season, there are gulls. One of the winter species is shown above.

Joys of Dog Ownership: The Morning Walk

Taking the Dog for a Walk: The Beach Reopens

On September 15, the town's summer ban on dogs at the beach (can't let the tourists see what kind of loathsome mutts live here) expired. So we tossed the dogs in the car and drove down to Long Beach.

It was JoJo's first time at the beach, and to say she was in heaven would be to seriously understate her joy. She'd never seen so much space to run, or so many things to run after. As soon as she got to the water, she spotted the Sanderlings. These are the cute little birdies that run up and down with the surf, picking out bits of food from the sand. Most dogs will chase Sanderlings a hundred feet or so down the beach until the birds take off, then trot proudly back to their humans. JoJo didn't get this memo. She chased the Sanderlings a hundred feet or so down the beach until they took off, then kept chasing them as they flew out over the water, landed several hundred yards away, then took off again to avoid JoJo, then flew out over the water, then.... Eventually, they all ran out of beach and the Sanderlings took off for New Jersey, muttering something about "friggin' dogs" under their breaths. And JoJo went looking for something else to chase.

The something else was Gus. JoJo darted around, over, under and through the bewildered mutt until she finally got him to chase her. She did at least seven complete laps of the beach, and Gus did three. Gus lay down and slept all the way home. JoJo lay down for about thirty seconds.

We've been back to the beach several times since. JoJo's figured out she's not going to catch Sanderlings, which now number in the hundreds rather than the few dozen that first day. We've also seen Greater Yellowlegs, Ruddy Turnstone, a late-departing Willet, the first few of the coming millions of Eiders, and the usual aggregation of Gulls.

Gus finds a new hobby

One of the great dog-walking venues in my town is Hathaway's Pond, a local conservation/recreation area. It's one of the few places during no-dogs-on-the-beach season where an aquatically-inclined pooch can go to get wet.

Last week, to allow Gus to escape the rigors of a new puppy in the house, I took him to Hathaway's for a walk and a swim. After fetching a stick from mid-water several times, Gus started doing something I'd only seen one other dog do: pawing at the bottom and shoving his face under, blowing bubbles. He did this about twenty or thirty times before I realized what he was up to.

The other dog I'd seen do this, a Golden Retriever at Eagle Pond, liked to pluck rocks off the bottom and chew them. The object of Gus's attention, however, was a submerged log about four feet long and three or four inches in diameter. After his numerous practice dives, Gus plunged several times to try to get the log. Failing this, he began pawing at it, gradually moving it to shallower water until he was able to get a grip on it.

Gus then dragged the log ashore, where he contentedly chewed it and ripped the bark off it for a good half hour before deciding it was time to finish the walk. We've been back a couple of times since, and while he still chews the log, I haven't seen him blowing bubbles again.

Little Fluffy Dogs: an Appreciation

Little fluffy dogs, although derided by some as Rat Dogs, as Dog Food, or as Squirrel Surrogates, are in fact Dogs. With actual dog personalities and actual dog behaviors.

This was brought home to me recently when I got back from the Licensing Expo and took Gus for a walk at Eagle Pond, which is where we go in the summer when they close the beach to dogs. (I contend that the beach should be off limits to people without dogs the rest of the year, but so far the town hasn't conceded this point.)

While there, we met Abby, a Border Collie, and George, a Little Fluffy Dog (Shih Tzu or Lhasa Apso; I don't remember which.) Abby loves to fetch sticks from the water, and had five or six in her mouth when we met her. George took one look at Gus and decided he was going to take no crap from this hulking fuzzwad. So George went off on Gus. Gus looked amazed.

George's owners, naturally, were mortified, and at a loss to explain this behavior. I, having seen Gus pull the same stunt more times than I'd care to count, about fell out laughing. It's a wonderful thing these little penwipers are real dogs.

Taking the Dog for a Walk

Gus's favorite walk is at Long Beach, about five miles from here (there are advantages to living on Cape Cod). Yesterday, we took him at about three in the afternoon. It was cool, clear, not very windy, and nearly deserted. We saw five people on the entire walk.

We also saw the first Piping Plover of the year, at least two weeks earlier than I've ever seen one before, and the early stages of a bar fight among some Red-Breasted Mergansers.

One female, closely followed by one male, more distantly followed by two more males. The second-fiddle male kept making the hey-baby-look-at-me display, dipping the front of his body into the water and then splashing along at high speed for twenty seconds or so. The first male occasionally did this too, but spent most of his time keeping between the second banana and the female. The third male did the dipping thing once or twice, but mainly hung around hoping the other two would drop dead.

After about ten minutes of this, the female said to hell with it and flew off, followed in order by the three males. I haven't seen this kind of activity since I stopped hanging out in bars in DC.

Also saw one of the few loons we've seen this year, keeping its head down and evidently scoping for  fish. Most uninspired-looking loon I've seen in ages.