Obviously I've got lots and lots of dog-on-a-mountaintop pictures; sorry, but I'm not going to show them all. But most of the pictures I show here are outdoor settings, along trails, in campsites, before, during, or after hikes. That's both because we did a lot of that sort of thing, and because those were the times that I had a camera out. Except for when Blanca was a puppy, I didn't take too many pictures just around the house.
September, 1994
On the way up Mount Massive (I think); Ebony uncharacteristically in back, and Blanca characteristically right beside me. She's probably so close to me that she's actually right up against my leg, leaning against me. I can practically feel her there as I write. I wrote earlier that Blanca preferred to stay a short distance from me, so that she could watch me. That changed when there were other people around, or other dogs. Then she liked to be right up close, pressing against me. She was just the right height that I could brush my fingers along her back. I think that wanting to be near me was part protection, part possession.
I know that I'm failing to depict the bond between us; it just doesn't come across well in words. But people we met noticed it almost immediately. I was always getting comments about how devoted she seemed, how much she watched me, how she clearly didn't care much for any other people, and so on. Or as our friend Nancy put it after knowing us for a day: "I'm glad I'm not the other dog in your house!"
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If we were visiting people and I had to leave for some period, Blanca would just- stop. She would try to find a window looking in the direction I left, and just sit, staring down the road. If I was gone a long time, she would eventually go to whatever bed I was sleeping in, curl up in it, and wait for me. She wouldn't respond to the other people in the house, or show any interest in eating or drinking. This was especially difficult for my mother, who found that she was unable to spoil the dog in my absence. As she grew older, and we visited the same people repeatedly, Blanca became more comfortable with being left with other people. So she did finally allow herself to be spoiled.
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I sometimes thought at I should have named her Lord, so that I could tell people, "The Lord my dog is a jealous dog..."
Blanca didn't care much for swimming, but she enjoyed wading, even in these mountain streams that were barely above freezing (or maybe because they were barely above freezing). But the real reason for this picture is to discuss that tail. Notice that it's all the way down in the water. Her tail was long enough to just touch the ground, when it hung straight down. She got that from her mother; Ebony's tail was so long that she had to hold the end curled to the side to keep it from dragging. The picture also shows how thick her tail was. And that's not just fur; the base of her tail was about 2" across. It's fortunate that Blanca wasn't a huge tail-wagger; she could have really done some damage. My sister (a vet, so she's seen a lot of tails) once said it was really a remarkable caudal appendage. (no, she doesn't really talk that way.)
Like I said, Blanca seldom passed up a chance to go wading. Belly-deep water was about the limit, though. Sometimes she'd just plop down in shallow water to cool off.
This little cow desperately wanted to meet Blanca, but Blanca would have none of it- that cow was just too big. This trail is near San Luis Peak, where we saw a marvelous example of canine behavior. We were walking up the trail, an open meadow on our left and a forested hillside on our right. Suddenly the hillside exploded into coyote calls- yips, yaps, howls, laughs, screams. I couldn't see a single coyote, but plainly a whole pack was just beside us. Blanca, of course, perked up with a "Cool! Let's check it out!" expression on her face. She wasn't going anywhere, though, if I had anything to say about it. We stood and listened to the coyotes, my hand firmly on Blanca's collar. I kept looking around, trying to catch sight of even a single coyote. I glanced behind- and finally saw one. It was a lone coyote, crossing from the open meadow into the forest maybe a hundred feet behind us. As soon as that individual made it to the safety of the woods, all of the calls stopped, simultaneously. All the commotion was just a diversion, providing cover for the separated animal to rejoin the pack.
Blanca and I were fortunate not only to visit beautiful places like this, but also to live in a beautiful place. There were some problems along the way, but overall, it's hard to imagine that we could have had a better life anywhere else. We had a home in a nice quiet place, with shady trees and singing birds, and open forests to hike through, right across the street. Just like me, Blanca disliked crowds and noise and traffic, and living in a city would have been like a prison to her.
Just a nice vista in the Big Blue, made better by Blanca.
I'm always a bit put out by wild places that put restrictions on dogs. People have traveled across this continent with their dogs for century upon century. We passed through the millenia in the company of dogs. Well-behaved dogs shouldn't be excluded; they belong as much as we do.
Winter, 1995
And then there was The Great Skijoring Adventure. Dave and I did some work in Alaska during the winter of 1994, and came away with the idea of trying the small-scale brand of mushing called skijoring. We bought harnesses for the dogs, belts for ourselves, and the elastic tuglines that tie things together.
Winter, 1995
With two strapping young dogs like this, how could we not wind up rocketing down the trail? When the dogs were willing, we did! That's Blanca in the red harness- she looks like she's really putting some effort into it. Jett looks like she's just along for the ride in this shot- surprising, since she was usually more of a go-go-go dog than Blanca. Maybe it's because they're wading through foot-deep snow...
These two together made a pretty wide team. The trail was narrow, and they barely fit. Fortunately they tended to walk right up next to each other whenever they were together, so there was no grumbling.
Blanca's in the lead again here, I suspect because she's trying to get back to me as fast as she can. She may figure that I'll know that she's just not meant for this kind of work.
Winter, 1995
But eventually things wound up like this. I guess real mushers actually train their dogs. Blanca's just being Blanca, here- she'll let Jett do the pulling, as long as she can be back by me. I think Dave cut off my head in the picture 'cause he was laughing too hard to aim the camera.
Winter, 1995
The end of a fun day: everyone's in the snow, laughing.
