This is the story of my life with a big black dog named Blanca. It begins on a snowy summer day in Colorado. It ends the way all dog stories end. In between is nothing out of the ordinary: just an assortment of mediocre snapshots, all I have to illustrate the experience we shared. Our story has no tales of heroism, no amazing adventures, no real drama. But like all dog stories, this arc of ordinary events is of life-changing importance to one person. Many people know parts of the story; only one person knows all of the story. So I decided to write down at least a portion of it, the part that can be expressed in mere words.
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By the way, I've turned off comments for this gallery, because this is my place to write about my dog. I am interested in comments, though. If you would like to make comments, please leave them in the Guestbook area. Thanks.
July 4, 1993
Our story starts in Stevens Gulch, near Georgetown, Colorado. I had arranged to meet my friends Dave & Dawn up there for the long weekend- with the puppies. The puppies at that point were little black fuzzballs, just over a month old. Their mother, Ebony, was Dawn's dog. There had been a third pup, a male, who died within a few weeks of birth, of a condition that made it impossible for him to swallow properly.
The two female puppies were just about indistinguishable, and like all puppies they spent their time eating, sleeping, and wrestling. I had seen them earlier, actually- when they were only a few days old. But this was the first time that I had seen them as lively little dogs- and the first time they had seen me. Not that they cared much- I was useless for eating, sleeping, or wrestling purposes.
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The photograph was taken that July 4; we were out camping in a blizzard. So the puppies didn't spend much time outside. But it was the first time Blanca and I saw each other. At least I think she saw me; mostly, the two of them were interested in playing together.
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Little did either of us realize how much we would depend on each other in the coming years.
August, 1993
Dave and Dawn wanted to keep one of the puppies, and offered one to me. They knew that having a dog would be good for me. I spent a long time agonizing over the decision, looking ahead 13 years as I always do.
Blanca came home with me in the most embarrassing way- in a cat carrier. It was a rough 15 miles from Jacona to Los Alamos- the poor little girl turned out to be prone to car-sickness. She started out afraid of the car- a bad thing, since we had many miles ahead of us. We had a few bad trips, and a few that were made bearable by a bit of Ace, until finally she was able to ride without incident on all but the twistiest mountain roads. (It may sound crazy, but as part of the cure I'd sit in the car with her, in the driveway, listening to the radio, petting her, and giving her treats. I guess it worked, 'cause she lost her fear of the car.)(I only did that under cover of darkness, by the way.)
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For the rest of her life, people would comment on how good she was in the car, how she'd just curl up in back and be quiet the whole time. Well, that wasn't good behavior- it was nausea.
August, 1993
The stairs were new and scary. Lots of things were scary. I wouldn't rank Blanca as one of the braver dogs I've known. She'd turn into a wild-eyed stone dog when necessary. And even when unnecessary, like when we were at the vet. Sometimes I'd have to get a technician to help drag her out of the car (chase, actually; the tech would roust her out towards me). Her fear of the clinic developed over a number of years. At first she enjoyed visiting the vets, especially since a couple of them had been our next-door neighbors when she first came to live with me. But after a few visits to take care of ear infections, she decided that they were running a chamber of horrors.
August, 1993
The stairs were eventually mastered; within minutes, really. That was fortunate, because we always lived in 2-story houses. She'd fly down the stairs all at once, maybe running or maybe just falling-in-control.
She mastered many of her fears (or just ignored them long enough to get back to me), but some stayed with her all of her life- like thunderstorms. She'd always get agitated during bad weather, and stay in whatever room I was in. Sometimes if a storm started at night, I'd wake to the thump, thump, thump of Blanca finding her way up the stairs in the dark, followed by the loss of some vital real-estate on my mattress. Later in life, when her knees were bad, I'd sometimes have to carry her upstairs to be with me (so we'd both get some sleep), or safely back down. (And this is an 80-lb dog, mind you.)
August, 1993
Anything significant about her love of rawhide? No, not really; it's just a cute picture.
August, 1993
All of the new experiences finally wore little Blanca out. We still had a lot of learning to do, like how to use the dog door, and a lot of learning about each other. We rapidly became attached to each other, obviously. Our new situation was positive for both of us, me especially. Blanca grew up to be very much a one-person dog. She had friends, of course, but didn't much care for crowds, and would tend to hang close to me, particularly if other dogs were around. I often wondered if that was nature or nurture, and how she might have grown up differently if she'd stayed with Dave, Dawn, Garrett, Ian, Ebony, Jett, Langmuir & Pecos (adults, kids, dogs, & cats, in order).
This first day was the start of a good life.
August, 1993
For the first couple of months, our usual playgrounds were Urban Park and Mountain School, just a couple of blocks from our house- full of nice soft cool grass, and big enough for a pup to run around, chase things, and go crazy until she was good & exhausted; and big enough that she couldn't get out into traffic. By the time she could outrun me, we started spending more time walking in the woods, usually up the Mitchell trail.
This was a pose I'd get used to over the years: Blanca curled up a few feet away, watching me. Especially when she was a puppy, if I'd sit next to her, she'd get up, walk a few feet away, and curl up again where she could see me. It was like she had to know that I was there, but didn't want to be too close. She'd always keep an eye on me, though, at home or out on the trail. Sometimes, when she was enjoying herself outside, sleeping in the sun or in the shade, she'd trot inside, find me, say Hi, and head back outside to resume her regularly scheduled nap.
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I suppose most dogs are like that; they like to keep tabs on their person. But Blanca was like that much more than most. Many people we'd meet would comment on how closely she watched me, tell me how much she stared at me. It really was that noticeable. It doesn't come across in words or pictures.
August, 1993
I promise not to show every puppy picture that I've got. But just like any family, there are lots of baby pictures, some adolescent pictures, and just a few grown-up pictures.
This was Blanca's official baby picture, the one I sent to family & friends to show how cute my dog was.
September, 1993
A tennis ball was a favorite early toy, even when it was almost as big as Blanca's head. She's already looking less like a puppy than a miniature dog. This is fromone of our many trips to Colorado springs, to see our firends Dawn, Perry, Drue, Mitchell, Bron, Brett, and Yttle. It was fun to look back through these and see how cute Blanca was as a pup, but I was shocked to see how scruffy I looked- why didn't you people tell me to get a haircut?
But forget tennis balls- for a couple of months, I was The Best Toy In The World. I couldn't sit down without being attacked with those little needle teeth. Right here, it looks like I'm attacking Blanca, but trust me- she started it! And I guarantee she's got her teeth sunk into my arm.
Aaawwwww....
But who could get mad at that face?
Take a look at that right ear (her right, not yours). It's just starting to stand up; in earlier pictures, if her ears look like they're sticking up, it's just 'cause she's running. You'll see that ear go up farther and farther in later pictures.