Harry

Harry

Harry had been struggling with an infection, probably giardia, that he picked up at Marymoor Park in Redmond, Washington. Although a nice facility, a bit of country in the middle of the city, there are just too many dogs kettled into a small section of the Samamish River, especially in the fall when they try to protect the salmon. He had incredible pain two hours after eating for the last year-and-a-half. Although we visited ten or more vets, had every test possible done, and tried many versions of drugs, diets, and natural herbs, we could not beat it. Two weeks ago our local vet tried a drug, Albendazol, that gave him unbelievable relief for a week, then the pain came back in two days and in another two days he developed a high fever that could not be stopped.

Harry never let the pain get in the way of a spirit that was a force of nature. One hundred dogs at a dog park, and Harry would be the one to get them to play. I threw a stick for him once and instead he found a ten-foot tree someone had cut down, stripped the branches off, and paraded it through the parking lot. Honest.

All that spirit, yet an intelligent sweetness that was heartbreaking. I could tell hundreds of stories, but here is just one. Harry loved to run and chase with a jaw-dropping intensity. If there was nothing else to do, he would pick out a car a half-mile away and run flat-out toward the expected point of interception. It did not matter if there were fences, houses, whatever, in between, he ran as fast as he could until prevented from going further. He barked loudly at anyone he thought we should know about, even someone he knew, who, say, for some reason had worn a cap that day.

One day, with Rosemarie, at Marymoor, about a dozen people on a field trip in motorized wheelchairs came into the dog park. Since Harry barked at and chased even flies on TV, barking and a chase was expected. He looked at the people, all who looked and acted quite different, and checking with Rosemarie, sat, waited, and accepted touching, treats, and attention. No barks, no running. He knew what was appropriate. He knew what was right.

We will miss him every day. Forever. So, so badly.

Day 1 - We Did Not Kill Ourselves

You know how in “A Christmas Story” every time Ralphie says he wants a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas, he hears the same reply, “You’ll shoot your eye out”? It has been like that the last few weeks. Whenever I mentione Harry and I are going to try bikejoring, I hear the same response, “You’re going to kill yourself.”

But we did it. Before I go any further, I have to give the greatest compliments to Nooksack Racing, our specialized equipment supplier. The harness, line, and Bay-o-net all were just the best. Not too expensive, perfect for the job, with outstanding customer service. If you ever want to give this a try, be sure to contact them.

The day did not get off to an auspicious start. While getting rigged, our directeur sportif clipped to Harry’s wimpy round the neck collar. Harry, perhaps using knowledge acquired before joining the team, quickly assessed the situation, and determined that a few backward steps could possibly cast off all physical ties to the world of humans.

Perfect execution, resulting in Harry-heaven. Free run!

Dogs do have an uncanny ability to come really close to whomever they suspect—possibly on the basis of hearing a recent “Harry, come to me,” request—wants to end their freedom. But they never get quite close enough to risk actualization of capture. Luckily, a passer-by, unsuspected by Harry as an accomplice, was able after his bout of crazy running to grab his harness before the directeur sportif or I could. Ah, the power of precise verbal communication. Dogs, you should not left it out of your evolutionary development, perhaps.

Oh, my. It just occurred to me that perhaps the crazy full-out running softened up old Harry for the subsequent activities. Maybe, just maybe, in light of the numerous warnings... it even saved my life.

With that episode over and Harry reharnessed, one “Hike” is all it took. I had some concerns that Harry, with his life-defining propensity to chase cars, would try to loop behind me and chase the bike. But, that did not happen. This dog likes to run, and he likes to pull.

 Sure, there were a few bobbles. Harry has yet to make a sufficient personal commitment to bikejoring to forgo some distractions off the trail. But, we quickly worked those out. “Straight ahead”. “Get up.” The biggest problem was me, out of shape, heading uphill. In the years I have not been riding, nothing has changed. You don’t notice a road goes uphill that much until you ride a bike up it. We were able to practice “Whoa” several times.

Harry was quick to get into a pulling gallop. Downhill we were able to go full-out and keep the line taut. Our dog got the exercise he needs beyond the lame activities of the recent past. And, once going, we did not need to worry about dealing with Harry’s issues around “Come” that have restricted some physical activities.

We ended by a run on a public roadway, as defined in the loosest sense. Actually, it was the gravel road infrequently used by those driving the ridge that defines the east side of the Hood River Valley.  No vehicles encountered, only persisting, great enthusiasm.

It went well.

We did not kill ourselves.

It's Obvious... Now - Prelim 2

Why is the most obvious thing often the most unexpected? When you run with a dog, letting him pull you by just holding onto his leash, your anchor point, meaning your shoulders, is pretty high up.  You can be toppled over pretty easy. Let's get going downhill. Let's get into the pulling thing. Let's spot a car. Things can just get out of hand.

Our first wreck. All it took, on my part, was to start leaning forward a little and it was all over. I really did not want to let go of the leash, because this dog is nuts about cars and really loves to free run. Sometimes—well, usually—Harry seems to interprets "Come", in the most abstract, theoretical, and expeditious sense. I hit the grass at the side of the track, expecting to spend twenty minutes convincing him that submission to my control would be the best thing possible at that point in his life.

But that did not happen. He went maybe fifteen yards, turned around, and came right back. We are a bikejoring team.

We went about twice as far as yesterday. I need to review the proper commands for speed up and slow down. Right away. Harry is still somewhat incredulous that I want him to pull and lets the line go slack, I think, for my benefit—a concession to that whole don't pull on the leash human worldview. I think he is going to have little trouble compartmentalizing our home and bikejoring lives.

And, a couple times today, my oh my, he was one pulling dog.

Prelim: Hike!

We could have waited, but no, we really can't  because this is going to be great. We put the order in for the equipment yesterday, downloaded a basic training guide, read a few chapters, and we are ready. We don't need to wait for the tether, special harness (in purple), and the bike attachment, we just need to go. Plus, a little prep is always a good idea.

Our biggest concern today is how we compartmentalize the new activity. We have been working hard on the obedience stuff, making some progress, but this is something new. The guiding principle so far has been to not pull on the leash. Now, we are going to pull on the leash--as hard as we can, eventually. They told me at the kennel that dogs lead much different lives there than at home, kind of like kids at daycare versus home, and do just fine. So, bikejoring is going to be a new world for us, separate from hang around the house, running on the beach, or following the standard obedience commands.

Well, we did not do all that much, granted. The book said to be really careful about making the first few experiences good one. I changed out of my slip-ons into running shoes, which was of great interest to Harry. We walked into the orchard surrounding the house, and found a road--just a two-track path really.

Luckily, Harry always wears a  harness, not a real dog sled harness like the one ordered, because, well, we don't need to go into all that now, but it made things easier.  I just unclipped from his chest ring and reclipped to the ring on the back of the harness. I thought this would help make this a new thing for Harry. That, and a new set of commands. I got Harry pointed down the road and gave out the first of his incipient repetoire, "Hike!"

Fifty yards later, we did a whoa. This dog likes to run. No problem there. Granted the whole session was only a couple hundred yards down the path and back, but it went okay. Harry needed a few straight-aheads, but did just fine.

I clipped his leash back onto his chest ring. This is going to be great.