I just have to comment on a few things from last week’s dog-oriented issue.
We lost a basset hound to a wolf 15 years ago. You never really get over the shock of it, but you learn a lot about precautions. Our large, 4-foot high dog paddock has eased our nerves, though I know even that is not 100 percent.
I loved Max Simonowicz’ graduation picture with his handsome canine buddy. I know his family rescued the dog from a less than wonderful situation—and it sure looks like a winning move for all of them.
I’ve always appreciated Joan Crosby’s comments on her dogs. The day she described in her Over the Hill column that she took the time to simply enjoy the moment, must have been the same day I wrote the following email to the people I hike/walk dogs with:
You know I don’t believe in heaven, but for the exceptional moments we have in our lives. This morning counted! Jetty and I, with our dogs, Sheelagh and Scarlett, drove up to Two Island Lake, put on our cross-country skis and took off down the lake. There was not another soul present. The sky was blue, temperature about 25°, no wind, the snow looked like it had some shiny mosaics scattered in it, and the quiet was uninterrupted except for the swish of our skis.
The two dogs ran and rolled, ran and rolled, ran and rolled. Doggy snow angels accompanied our tracks.
We found the portage into Dick Lake and ran and rolled some more. Sheelagh only stopped running when I asked her to. Two hours of solid pleasure.
I thought the only thing that would make this more perfect would be to have Fiona, old Heather, Shasta, Sophie, Patches, Leo, Cesca, Rocco, Mari, Molly, Loki, Tuuli, Finny, Major, Melba, Lucy, Lucy, Libby, Casey and Quinn along with us too. That picture was in my mind’s eye.
The italics signify dearly departed old friends.
Karen Neal
Grand Marais
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