1994
This picture is somewhere in the Pecos Wilderness, I think, but it could be almost anywhere, any day. Blanca and & I hiked literally thousands of miles together over the years. Almost every day we were out on the trails near our house, and weekends and vacations brought us all over New Mexico and Colorado, plus a few other places. Sometimes I was on foot, sometimes on skis, snowshoes, or a mountain bike, but with Blanca always trotting alongside or checking out things in front (often behind, actually, and sometimes too close, as she caught a hiking boot in the chin on occasion).
On one of our evening hikes in the Jemez Mountains- it must have been late fall of '93- Blanca saw her first deer. She gave chase, although I don't think she actually thought through what she would do if the deer didn't want to play that game. I doubt that the deer were seriously concerned, but they bounced off through the woods, anyways. And I was suddenly alone- and a bit distraught, since this was the first time Blanca had willingly been out of eyeshot. I decided it was best just to wait, and five or ten minutes later, back came Blanca, panting and happy. I think that was the only time that Blanca really tried to chase an animal- usually she'd just run for a couple of hundred feet, at most, until she was sure that she wouldn't be able to catch the critter. And maybe, she didn't really want to...
-
There was one time that I'm pretty sure she didn't want to catch the critter. We were working on an archaeological dig in northern Colorado, near the Cache La Poudre. It was evening, and we were walking the half mile or so back to our tent. Blanca's ears went up as she took an interest in something in the woods. She trotted off into the trees. I kept walking along the forest road, knowing that she'd catch up as soon as her curiosity was satisfied. A few seconds later, I heard loud crashing noises, and Blanca came rocketing out of the brush, running at top speed right past me, without a glance. She didn't stop until she was back at our campsite. Y'see, we'd heard reports of a bear in the area... We ate dinner in the truck that evening.
Winter, 1995
Not all paths are straight. The best part of trying skijoring, was that it made me teach Blanca right and left. And if you want to impress your friends, just show them that your dog knows right from left. Of course we used the correct terms, "Gee" and "Haw." Just one word, and Blanca would put her ears up (well, as much as she could put her ears up), snap her head in the proper direction, and then make a turn. If she was trotting along ahead of me, I could tell her which fork of the trail to take. Of course, I only had to do that on the way out- she always knew how to find her way home.
Just a random campsite picture. No matter how much work the hike in was, Blanca enjoyed herself lounging around our camp. She'd watch the birds and squirrels, keep a vigilant eye out for anything larger so she could protect me, and snooze. I usually had to pull her inside the tent at night; she would rather have stayed outside, taking in the sounds and smells all night long.
Another tired dog at the campsite. This is probably just before she curled up for a nap. At least here she had a nice bed of pine needles to sleep on. That awkward pose is kind of typical. When she was young, Blanca had an unusal way of standing up: first, imagine her in the Sphinx position. She would get up without moving her paws, by just pivoting directly forwards and upwards, sort of like a toy with hinges at the shoulders and hips. Lying down was just the reverse: no turning around or wasted motion, just a folding down to the ground. Later, after her knee surgeries, she would lie down more like she is in this picture, and get up by struggling her front legs underneath to lift her weight up and forward. It was tough to see my old friend have tough time like that. I also had to watch her around new people. Often they would try to get her to "Sit!," which at that point her knees wouldn't easily allow. It was especially bad if they'd tease with a treat at the same time, at which point poor Blanca would try to manuever herself down with the minimum of pain. I don't think she intentionally sat back on her haunches more than a half-dozen times after the spring of 2001.
16-MAR-2007
Along the Dolly Varden Trail. This was Blanca's consolation prize after I climbed up Mt. Wetterhorn. Blanca was old enough by this time- and had had ligaments repaired in both knees- that I didn't want to subject her to the stress of steep climbs and long distances. So I'd go out climbing, while she stayed in the truck. I'd usually have to kind of ambush her- grab her, lift her into the truck, and get the gate closed fast, before she realized what was happening. Then I'd have to listen to a chorus of "Hey! Dog's still in here!" barks as I hiked away. I think she settled down to sleep pretty quickly. And that was usually the way I found her when I got back- curled up sleeping, the food and water I left her untouched.
Even if I couldn't take her on major outings, she was still a big hiking dog. Our nightly walks were a mile or three, and an afternoon outing like this much more.
That pose, standing out in front and looking back at me, was a very familiar one. As I wrote earlier, Blanca liked to position herself so she could keep me in sight. She also liked to be out front on the trail. So, while out walking, she'd have to turn around periodically, so that she could make sure that I was still there. When she was young and running everywhere, she'd turn and come back to me, give me a little brush with her muzzle, and head off again.
I'd seen her in this pose so many times that I wound up putting it into one of my goofy little expressionist paintings. I started painting it in 2003, or so; it took me a very long time to finish it up. The more I painted, the more it felt like it a picture of Blanca leaving me. I decided to give her a nice bright golden place to go to, if she was indeed leaving.
Evening at the Spruce Lodge. Blanca and I would go up to Chama for weekends of backcountry skiing and snowshoeing. She was certainly a dog who knew how to take up a bed. I'd often have to sort of slide in sideways, scooting her out of the way, until I finally had enough room to (almost) stretch out. She'd usually eventually decide to move a little bit out of the way, but would make up for it but rolling over so that her feet would be between us. Then, just after the dog snores started, I'd be treated to little kicks in the night, as she trotted through her dreams.
July, 1997
In 1997 I spent a month in Israel, working on a dig. I came home to a very scruffy, somewhat reddish dog...with a faint smell of skunk. She'd been a little too curious one night, and got sprayed. My dog sitter did the best he could to clean her up, using a recipe that involved hydrogen peroxide. It bleached her to a nice red-brown. She looks a little guilty in the picture, but I'm not sure why- I was back, she had a bone to chew, all was right with the world.
This picture is the best I have that shows the major bane of living with Blanca- all of that undercoat! She looks slick in most pictures, but underneath that smooth hair was a massive amount of frizzy fuzzy fluff. She'd blow her coat several times a year (it was almost continuously, really), and the fuzz would come out in big clumps, making fur drifts in the corners of the house. Sometimes as I'd walk behind her, I'd just reach down and pull big clumps of fuzz out of her. Or I'd sit down next to her and pull out clumps until I'd have a softball-sized accumulation. Or two. Or three. Really, she had a remarkable amount of fur, most of it loose... At the end of an office visit, our vet once said, "If you want to know the meaning of infinity, just ask the owner of a big black dog." And he was only talking about what was left on the exam room floor- he'd never seen my house!
-
Between a few vacations and a lot of work trips, I wound up spending too much time away from Blanca. We were always fortunate to have good reliable dog sitters, but I know that she was depressed when I was away.
Blanca as Van Gogh. Those floppy ears made her prone to ear infections, and resulted in many, many visits to the vet. Mostly that was my fault, because I didn't keep up with the routine of cleaning and treating her ears. In my defense, it's tough to take care of a dog's ears when the sight of the ear-cleaning bottle makes her run outside. Once I just said the word "ear" out loud, and she ran away, with her eyes all big and scared. Rubbing her ears would just about paralyze her, except for the sound of those deep dog groans. We eventually found that part of the problem was diet, and had the infections under control her last couple of years. But as a young dog, the chronic infections and her ear flapping resulted in several surgeries.
I helped Blanca through continual ear infections, three ear surgeries, lupus, thyroid problems, two cruciate ligament repairs, and two malignant tumors. She helped me through failed relationships, the Cerro Grande Fire, losing my job, and my Father's death.
August 2, 2003
Uncharacteristically, Blanca's not right out at the edge of the cliff here. She'd usually try to stand at the very end of any overhang, and look over the edge. Scared the death out of me. Obviously dogs are sure-footed, but I'm not sure if they pay attention to how good or bad the ground is. I always worried that a squirrel or bunny or something would suddenly appear, and Blanca would lunge and go over the edge.
If Blanca seems to suddenly age at this point, it's because I bought a digital camera in 2003, and started taking a lot more pictures. For a while there, I didn't really take many pictures, except on major trips, which were times that Blanca generally couldn't join me. Other than when she was a puppy, I never took many pictures around the house.
September 1, 2003
Blanca was 10 by this time, and she spent a lot of time sleeping. She started to gray early, just like me. First her chin, then her eyebrows, around her ears...
She earned the right to snooze, I think. We'd already covered a lot of miles, in sun, rain, and snow; up hills, and back down. At 10, she had slowed down, but was still determined to keep me in sight. Not that I'd let her out of mine. We had many, many miles yet to go.
-
The wildflowers were Dawn's idea (L, not M).
September 1, 2003
This is the same day, you notice; I'm not sure whether the snooze preceeded or followed our hike up to this meadow high above Lake City. I know I could check, but I prefer not to know the answer. She's tired, with her ears pulled back, but seems to be enjoying the sage and chamisa.
