White Trash at Flat Rock

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…

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The saga of Dolly the pit bull continues. If you are new to the blog please read from the bottom up so you can follow the story. Enjoy!!

Doll- The Social Butterfly

As advertised there were dogs running free and their people were good with it. The pack welcomed Dolly on their own dog terms; butt-sniffing, running in circles, gratuitous barking and other expressions of general canine joy. Dolly sniffed, ran and barked with the best of them. She was a young and exuberant dog but the other dogs accepted this. After all, they were young once also. If she got too rambunctious somedog was sure to give her an “errr” and straighten her right out.

I was overwhelmed by the statements and advice being batted around.

 “Watch out, there is a woman who comes up here who is afraid of pits,” someone to my right said.

I turned to my left. “Well, Fiona is the alpha female, she’ll put Dolly in her place.” “NO! STAR BENNETT!” I stumbled in a startle reflex. Guess that was one of the dogs getting yelled at.

“Look, Dolly has a crush on Bruno. He’s awfully handsome but there’s nothing between his ears.”

The owners and dogs were a motley crew. A young family with a double stroller and three children gathered in the shade at the edge of the thick woods surrounding the reservoir.  Several women walked with leashes draped around their necks for easy access. One of them used a cane. A tall, thin man in a raggedy sweat suit kept watch over everybody. The dogs were just as diverse. A white standard poodle with an unfortunate haircut, several small dogs who stood their ground and didn’t say much. An older german shepherd mix was a slow-moving object. Large bounding dogs and some mid-sized models rounded out the canine mix.

The group gathered us in and took us for a walk around the pond. Sounds innocent, doesn’t it? Here was this pit bull, a dog with a “bad rap,” playing just like any other dog. The people broke into groups of two or three as the trail narrowed. The dogs cavorted and gamboled through the undergrowth, ran ahead on the path and came barreling back for treats. I kept a close eye on my dog, what if some other dog really annoyed her and something happened? What if she knocked over the woman with the cane?

As the group circled back to the parking area, the others took stock of us. We were the new kids on the block. The owners looked at each other, the dogs sniffed and butted. Nothing was said, but apparently we received the stamp of approval.

“We usually come up here around 10,” the man in the sweat suit said. “Every day.”

“Kody likes Dolly,” he continued. “She plays with him.”

“Um, who’s Kody?” I asked, still confused by the crowd. “Oh, him,” he replied pointing at the ambling shepherd mix.

“Oh, okay. We can come up sometimes then, but sometimes I have to work,” I said. “I know Dolly had a good time.”

I glanced at my watch. “Oh, my god. I’m going to be late for work! Dolly, get in the car, come on Dolly!”

Even before I left the shelter I knew it was a done deal. “Anne and a pit bull bitch would make a wonderful match,” my friend Paul happily informed the dog officer. I always used Paul for a reference. You can depend on him to say just the right thing. I called Laurie at the shelter. “Okay, she’s coming with me. Can you call her Dolly until she gets home?” It turns out Dorothy was really too long of a name to call a dog, but Dottie was out of the question. My cousin’s wife was named Dottie. So Dolly the Dog she became and a good thing too, because people could sing “Hello Dolly” to her if they ran out of things to say.

As it turns out the list of rules for a newly adopted pit bull is endless.

1. No heavy duty playing for a few days. She just had her operation.
2. The dog enters the house behind the person.
3. The dog cannot go on the furniture until she earns the privilege.
4. The dog walks beside or behind the person, not in front.
5. Never leave the dog loose in the house.
6. No tug of war.

I did my best. Dolly came home, followed me inside and checked the joint out. Dolly went on walks around the neighborhood. Dolly chewed through three leashes, five dog toys and one chair arm the first week. Dolly chewed through the wiring for the tow hitch in the back of the Jeep the next. At some point she gnawed a bit of molding into oblivion.

Then she learned to sit and to come. She learned to walk on a loose leash on the sidewalks and snowy paths. In just a short time she learned to walk without the leash on the trails. She lost two pounds of pound excess during her first few months home. She met her grandparents and tried to chase their cat. She charmed Cathy and John downstairs into waiting for her to come home so they could give her a cookie. Their cat chased her.

I kept a close eye on things. Dolly never was allowed to play with more than one dog at a time at the shelter and never with another pittie. She became nervous if people loomed up at her out of the dark. That quirk was okay with me. Iignored the fact if I didn’t have to walk the dog each night I wouldn’t be out in the dark in the first place.

One fateful day we went to a different entrance to walk the trails. Several cars were parked at the end of the road near Flat Rock Reservoir but I decided to walk there anyway. There really wasn’t enough time to drive somewhere else that morning. A bit leery, we leashed up and headed out. Immediately we met up with a group of three large dogs and their person. Off leash. Uh-oh.

“It’s okay, let her go,” the woman urged. “Was this a ‘try it, you’ll like it’ tactic, would these big dogs maul my now-slimmed down pittie?” I wondered. If one of those mammoth dogs was injured would there be another “pit bull attacks innocents” story in the local rag? Needless to say I was cautious but didn’t want to cheat Dolly out of any play time.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s lots of us up here. We meet at 10.”

“But I’ve never had her loose with other dogs,” Lucy countered.

A pitiful whine came from down below. The leash was stretched taut and the dog was quivering.

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

Life was never the same.