White Trash at Flat Rock

If you read any article about being a successful (fill in the blank – writer, athlete, bar tender, whatever) efficiency and organization are sure to top the list of desirable traits and habits. The two really go hand in hand. Like, do you know where your stapler is?

Dolly the pit bull knows my traits. Her morning goes something like this. We get up any time between 4:30 and 7:30. She gets breakfast and goes back to bed. So far, pretty tough. Phone rings, it’s Ken seeing if the Doll is ready to go to Flat Rock and play with Bubba. By now she is snoring again.

Here’s where the lack of organization on my part comes in. She knows it is not time to leave until I have gone out into the front entry hall at least three times: once to find my boots, another to look for keys and the third to find her leash and jacket. Any of these items may or may not actually be there.

Then she gets dressed and goes out. Usually just as far as the hall while I turn back to look for yet another misplaced item. This morning the keys are missing…

A dog of leisure

The continuing story of Dolly and Bubba – next episode March 7

“Ken,” I gasped. “He can’t swim!”

“I  know.”

We looked at each other. We looked at Peter. We looked at the dark, empty space where the black dog used to be. His face was just visible, a white blaze floating beneath the surface.

After what seemed an eternity, but in fact about the time it took us to say all this, Bubba popped his head out of the water and skedaddled to the safety of dry land.

“Oh, my,” Peter said. “That was scary.” 

“Bubba, are you alright?” I asked. Some dogs like to be addressed in complete sentences. Given Ken’s general formality, Bubba was probably used to being addressed like this.

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Ken reassured everyone particularly himself. “Come here, Bubba.”

“Oh, here. Here’s a treat.’

“DOLLY! Don’t jump.” Quickly things were back to normal although we now had new things to talk about.

“I don’t think pit bulls can swim.” Ken said. He postulated even further. “They don’t have enough fur to hold air and help them with buoyancy.”

“They can too swim. I saw them on youtube,” I responded. “Maybe some just don’t like to.”

The next day was Dolly’s big test. I took her up to the reservoir alone when no one else would be around to distract the social animal she had become.

I casually lured her down to the beach. Once there, I took off my sandals and walked into the water to just over my ankles. As nonchalantly as possible I called Dolly.

“Dolly, come here. Good girl, come on.”

Dolly, cookie! Cookie!”

Nope, no fooling that one. It was a nice spring day to go for a wade fortunately. I wandered around about a foot from the shore, scoping out rocks, holes and yucky spots I wouldn’t want to step in. Once I figured she had forgotten I called her, I went back to dry land. 

Dolly can be a trusting soul, and she bounded over to see what I was up to now. It was safe; I was no longer in the dog devouring water.

“Dolly, come on,” I pleaded. I tried reason. “I just want to see if you can swim. You don’t have to stay in.”

My pleas fell on deaf, or just uncomprehending, ears. Never one to be thwarted, I reached down and grabbed the ingrate by the collar. 

I harangued her a little just so she’d know who’s the boss. “You’re coming with me. Like it or not. I really don’t care.”

Walking cautiously because of the small rocks underfoot, I dragged her to the waterline. The front paws went out to brace against further forward motion.

Although she’s remarkably strong pound for pound, she’s no match for me and I accomplished my mission. By the time I hauled her to knee deep water she was in over her head. Recalling my childhood swimming lessons, I put a hand under her belly and swam her around me.

I released her and she was off like a shot, running to the land like trident-bristling Poseidon himself was after her. But I was happy; she could swim enough so she wouldn’t sink like her buddy.

Little did I know the dangers we were facing weren’t coming from anything nature could throw at us.

Dog life vests are available  like the ones here. http://www.kooldawgtees.com/fido_float_extreme_dog_life_vest.html

Dolly gets ready for her busy day.

It seems like we all have a proper name and then the name that people call us. Same thing happens with dogs.

Dolly’s real name is Dorothy Ann O’Connor. We call her:

•  Dolly
• The Doll
• Dollie-o 
• Dollster
• Duckie- this seems to embarress her
• Ding-Dong
• Sweetie
• Sweets
• Fierce One
• Trouble

and a few I won’t list here.

Please chime in. What do you call your best friend?

Come back Sunday, February 21 to learn Bubba’s fate.

Here’s a fun link about naming dogs. http://www.dog-names.us/database.asp

Remember to scroll on down to the first chapter if you need to catch up with the adventures

“Jennifer and I taught a class together a few years ago. And didn’t you tape some of the bike race events for us last year?” I reminded Ken. The Fitchburg Longsjo race has been a major international cycling event for half a century.

 “Oh, of course. Didn’t you have a place downtown for a while?”

 “Yeah, the coffeehouse. We had some excellent performers.”

 “I remember that. My wife Jennifer and I used to go there.”

 We were good to go. Dolly and Bubba soon had regular play dates. Everyone in the group took to Bubba, seeing as he was such an amiable fellow. Most of the time we got together up at Flat Rock, sometimes, if we were feeling adventurous, we’d go on a field trip to a different park. The dogs let us go along for the treats we provided. Besides, we had the car keys.

 Flat Rock is a magical place for dog walking. The reservoir is ringed by piney New England woodlands. The “beach” is accessible through several narrow pathways most of the dogs loved to run down. Many of the dogs were most excellent swimmers, chasing sticks thrown way out into the water from the shore. Some went down to the water more reluctantly, not caring too greatly to get wet.

 It took Dolly awhile before she was willing to put her front paws in the water to get a drink. Bubba was pretty cautious also. As spring turned into summer, the dogs got hotter and thirstier and trips to the water happened more frequently. Kody did the water buffalo, submerging himself to slightly deeper than belly deep and standing still. Star swam around, just a bit. The goldens in the crowd became enthusiastic seals. Two chocolate labs, not yet in touch with their inner water dogs, took swimming lessons with their human father.

 Dolly and Bubba cautiously remained on the outskirts of this but each day became a bit bolder in their water explorations. Soon they were standing in the water up to their elbows. One day Dolly got her belly wet. Big news on the pit bull front.

 “Look,” I said to Peter and Ken, “Bubbs is almost over his head.”

 “Oh, good boy,” Peter encouraged him.

 As we watched, Bubba disappeared under the surface. There was a slight sucking sound as he disappeared a few feet from shore.

 “Oh, my god, oh, my god,” someone said. Maybe it was me or maybe one of the men. Most likely, all of us.

 “BUBBA!”

 I started hitting my pockets, searching for items that could be damaged in water, preparing to use my decades old lifesaving skills. Ken and Peter jumped around frantically, probably checking their pockets for valuables too.

 The two are remarkable similar in body type. Both men are tall and rangy. Peter is a yoga instructor, but absolutely exercise phobic. Ken is a former rugby player with two replaced hips to prove it. They were in their shorts, leashes wrapped around their necks and wearing caps. Neither was usually an excitable type. Except when it came to their dogs.

 “BUBBA! BUBBA!”

To be continued…

Note: Prevent this from happening to your dog. check out http://www.dogtrainersearch.com/blog/2009/12/dog-swimming-teach-your-dog-to-swim/