I grabbed a large stack of towels and several leashes and collars from the dog closet. The other dogs, knowing the meaning of these items, pranced with excitement as they followed close behind me. A backpack with a change of clothes for me, a small ziplock back with a handful of dog kibble, a second pair of shoes, another stack of towels and we were almost ready.
I carried Mossy and Buddy's dog crates from our bedroom, through living room and out the front door. Since I hadn't planned on taking your giant wire kennel, that left me with 2 large kennels, and Buddy's extra large (Godzilla-sized) kennel to chauffeur all four dogs. Mossy, being so little, would be able to share a kennel with Buddy. But this would give both you and Henna your own kennels for this trip.
I let everyone outside to make sure they had all relieved themselves before loading them all into the back of the truck. It was drizzling outside, but the sky was bright, and I was hoping the rainy stuff might just let up long for a few more hours while we played.
You watched as first Buddy and Mossy jumped onto the tailgate of the big white truck, and quickly settled into their kennel. Henna, being older and a having a fragile back, was lifted up and placed in the truck. She dove right in her kennel, made a few circles inside, and lay down. Uncertain as to what was next, you looked at me inquisitively. You had only been in the truck twice before; both times for a trip to the vet. Taking note of how much heavier you seemed since the last time I had done this, I picked you up by wrapping my arms around your chest and rump and muscled you up onto the tailgate. Once there, you whipped your head around looking for the nearest escape route. It was perfectly understandable since neither of your last trips in the back of the truck had ended in any sort of fun.
I swung the door of your kennel open and with of a bit of insistence and helped guide your head and shoulders inside. While you weren't exactly the most willing participant in this affair, eventually you resigned and stepped inside on your own. I was sure to remind you what a good boy you were, and assured your that we were headed somewhere much more fun today.
Once the truck was loaded we sped off from the peninsula where we lived and toward the city to pick up a friend. My good friend, Suzanne, and her Black Labrador, Piper, were going to accompany us this day to take advantage of some good ol' off-leash play in the wide open spaces of this park.
Over the last year, Piper had figured out the sound of my big diesel truck. She alerts here mom to my arrival well before my feet reach the doormat of their front porch. Suzanne says she can hear me blocks away, and starts to dance around in anticipation. To her, the big truck almost always means we're going on an adventure.
When I opened up the tailgate, the usual sounds emanated from the back of the truck. Buddy's tail made a loud thump, thump, thump on the sides of the kennel. Mossy whimpered; excited to see her favorite friend. Henna made a small noise to make her presence known, but greeted her friend with alert, sparkling eyes and a happy pant. There was just one thing that was out of the ordinary on this day. The kennel nearest the rear gate held a different brown dog, and this one was barking excitedly. You weren't sure what to think of Piper, and she wasn't sure what to think of you. Your mixed bag of happy and warning barks quickly ceased off after I warned you with a sharp, "Quiet," slapping my hand against the side of your kennel to get your attention.
Piper climbed into her special corner against the cab of the truck on her favorite thick travel blanket. Piper was the only dog in the bunch who became a nervous wreck when put in a kennel, so she regularly rode in the corner behind the driver, tucked close to the other kennels. She was a shy, reactive, rescue dog who would shut down and tremble with fear whenever she was pressured into an uncomfortable situation. Suzanne had made great progress with her in the last few years using positive reinforcement to help her gain confidence and overcome many of her fears. Piper's confidence had improved through involvement with doggy daycare, obedience classes, agility, and DockDogs. Being in Taj Mahal-sized soft crate was now finally acceptable to Piper, but a smaller hard-sided crate still created a unfathomable reaction in which she became overwrought with fear.
As we drove the 45 miles north, Suzanne and I laughed as larger and larger drops of water splattered against the windshield. It was pouring down rain, and I had left my rain jacket at home. This adventure might just be a little wetter and muddier than I had intended. Fortunately the several swimming holes alongside a local river would provide a nice rinse off feature, at least for the dogs, before heading home.
Just as we reached the parking lot a large van, with business logos covering it's sides, pulled up right beside us. I saw the female passenger waving happily at us through the window. She and her business partner, who ran a successful franchise dog training company , were coming to the park to meet with a perspective client. She said she immediately recognized my big white truck with decals and a website address on the windows of the canopy that read dockjumpinglabs.com. We chatted for a few minutes about local dog events and our upcoming DockDogs season.
She shifted her eyes to the back of the truck and said, "How's that puppy? Did you bring him?" I tipped my head back and chuckled. News sure travels fast in the local dog world, I thought. She wanted to know which dogs I had brought to play, and we chatted while I systematically unloaded each dog and asked them to sit and wait at the back truck. I unloaded you last, since I knew you weren't quite ready to manage a sit/stay at the entrance to the dog park.
Once inside the dog park, I knew our friends had work to do, so we said our goodbyes and headed off across "Soggy Doggy Bridge", down a bark covered path, and into the rainy afternoon. You were busy zooming from one dog to the next, saying hello to anyone, with two legs or four, that would give you so much as a hint of attention. A field whistle hung around my neck. My whistle is one of my most favorite tools. With it I can call my dogs without yelling and stop them dead in their tracks with a sit command; a handy skill for them to learn that can be used in an emergency.
Every so often I'd give a few sharp tweets to remind you to take a pause from your busy socializing and check in. You seemed to enjoy Piper's company, too. With a new dog to learn from, the two of you explored tall grass along the fence line together and checked for any signs of the bunny that Suzanne had seen cross the field only a few minutes earlier.
The five of you made quite the striking pack. The sound of twenty paws thundering across the earth reminded me of the sounds one might hear as the horses cross the finish line during a race. Five tongues dangled, with drool flying every which way. Five sets of wild, sparkling eyes danced with excitement. Five sets of soft Labrador ears happily bounced with every step. It was a beautiful thing.
As we made our way around the outside edges of the 40 acres, you came upon a large black Bouvier dog. You danced around him, trying to engage in play. He was nearly triple your size, and startled you when he lunged into a play bow. You quickly turned tail and ran back to the protectiveness of your own pack. We giggled at your silliness.
About half-way through our walk, we came upon a large crossroads. To the right was a pack of nearly a dozen dogs. We suspected they were part of a day care or dog exercise group, since there were only two women with the pack. You wanted to investigate, and sprinted over to check out the fun. You played a quick game of chase, enjoyed a playful wrestle, and even greeted one of the women. I watched from a distance and admired your outgoing personality. I was delighted with your good nature and fairly confident social skills; something that can be a struggle to reestablish with some rescue dogs.
When it was time to move on, I hollered your name and called you to me. You were far enough away that the sound of the rain and noisy play from the other dogs nearby muffled my voice. But I thought you should have heard me. I was prepared to have to walk over and enforce my recall request, but decided to try plan B first. I reached down and brought the bright orange whistle to my lips and gave a series of sharp tweets and paused. That got your attention, and you immediately looked over at me. I stretched my arms out wide and called you loudly, "Oso...Here!" You came bounding across the grass, over the barked path, and straight to me. I gave you heaps of praise. You responded with a happy wiggle as I mussed up the wet fur on your side. Then, quickly, you jetted off to be with your friends.
The last leg of our journey took us by the river within the park. This was the perfect spot to have a last bit of fun and rinse off the mud splatters. A wonderful thing about having dogs with solid brown coats is that most of the time they always appear clean (even when they're actually filthy). Often the best way to tell if they need a bath is to just run a hand over their coat. This usually leads to one of two conclusions; clean and smooth, or filthy and chalky with dust. But when there were spatters of mud, there was no question. You, and your compadres, were taking a dip in the river before even thinking about getting back in the truck.
The other dogs had picked up stray tennis balls along our trip around the park. I had seen you carrying a tennis ball earlier, but you seem to prefer to running with a stick most of the time instead. We kept busy throwing the balls far out into the river. When the other dogs were a good distance from shore we took turns tossing a ball just a few feet from the edge for you to retrieve. You wanted to play so badly, but you were still struggling with that transition from wading to swimming. You were having fun, all the same, so other than encouraging you to retrieve the ball, I didn't push you to swim. All in good time!
Ironically the rain began to let up just as we headed back to the truck. Despite your time in the water, you and your other furry companions still managed to get plenty muddy on the way back to the truck. The green, earth toned, towels I used to dry you off were now covered in muck by the time I rubbed down your undersides. We laughed at the ridiculous pile of dirty towels tossed in a heap in the back corner of the truck. One to wipe off the majority of the mud, a second one to prevent rubbing more mud back into their coats, and yet a third dry towel in the bottom of each kennel to lay on. No need to do the math here. Plain and simple, each outing like this is generally at least one whole load of laundry (and sometimes at least two).
I was cold and wet and now was the time to dig into that nice dry change of clothes. Sitting on the seat of the truck with the doors propped open I carefully scoured the parking lot for any signs of life. With not a single soul in sight, I quickly stripped off my soaking wet jeans, slipped into something a whole lot drier, leaped into the drivers seat, and cranked the heater. Ahhhhh!
It was time to head south. Oso had a quick vet checkup at 4:30; giving us just about an hour to beat rush hour traffic and get there on time. After we dropped off Suzanne and Piper at their home, we made a quick trip across town and arrived at the vet office just in the nick of time.
When I walked Oso through the door, the vet tech stood up and peered over the counter at him. "Oh my gosh," she exclaimed. "Is that the puppy?" She raved about how much better he was looking. She commented on how nice his coat looked, and how much healthier he looked in general. I walked him over to the large scale and had him sit so take his weight; just a little over fifty pounds.
"Wow!" I said out loud, "fifty pounds!" You had gained roughly nine pounds in the last 17 days. The tech made a note in your chart. Apparently the three meal a day program had worked wonderfully. I had done some reading online when I first brought you home about how to safely put the weight back on an undernourished dog. My research had suggested feeding two main meals, and supplementing with a third mid-day meal. Besides the kibble, I had been feeding you cottage cheese, Natural Balance roles, and boiled sweet potatoes. Gradually, as the weight began to level off, the suggestion was to taper off the middle meal. I think we had now reached that point. Success!
Since we were already at the vet, and Dr. W had some open time in his schedule, we decided to take care of Henna's yearly check up. He gave her a clean bill of health and asked me about how her arthritic back was doing. I explained that occasionally, after long hikes or a hard day of play, Henna required her anti-inflammatory pill. But other than that, she was doing spectacular. He warned me to keep her lean and try to keep the dry land jumping and rough and tumble play to a minimum to help protect her prematurely aging joints.
It had been two winters since Henna's incident with her back. After an average day of play in the yard she went to sleep one night on her bed. The next morning I found her laying in the hallway outside our bedroom, and unable to get up. When I tried to pick her up she yelped in pain and snapped at me. We made daily visits to the vet for injections into area around her spine for almost a week. We scheduled a cat scan at a specialty clinic to investigate the damage. She had severe arthritis, and she had broken off a few pieces of bone in her back that had previously been fused together due to arthritis. Her bones were essentially twice the age of the rest of her body. Dr. W feared the degeneration in her spine had gotten so bad it was compressing her spinal cord, and suggested I might consider her quality of life and put her down.
She was unable to stand or walk on her own for nearly a week solid. I would help her up by using a sling under her back hips to help support her enough to stand in order to relieve herself. As a medical professional, I was determined to give medicine more time to work, and hope for the best, before making any rash decisions. There were a lot of teary nights those first few days. Henna was just 5 1/2 years old.
One night, about a week later, I was making up food bowls in the kitchen and just as I turned around, Henna had wandered from her bed in the living room and was standing gingerly in the doorway. I was so thrilled, I nearly dropped her food dish.
We enforced a strict, six weeks of crate rest in hopes that her condition would improve. During those long six weeks, I researched ideas on therapy and information about canine orthopedics. I learned a lot, and began a regular routine of stretching and slow, low impact, exercise to build her stamina and core muscles after her six weeks were up.
Six months later, Henna soared 24' 1" (her farthest jump ever) during a National DockDogs competition in Oregon. Her spirit blew me away. She proved everyone wrong about her original grim outlook and repeatedly broke her own personal best Big Air (long distance) record that entire summer season.
Now, in partial retirement, every single clean bill of health gave us a reason to celebrate. Another year older, another year wiser, and still just a wiley Labrador pup at heart. We shared the news with Chris when we got home, fed everyone dinner, and spent the evening relaxing in front the fire.
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