Who's tracks are these?

Two months have gone by without me posting anything about Maya, and in a way there isn't anything new to say from the last post in October. She continues to progress, but basically still favors her damaged leg an awful lot. If I walk her on leash she's pretty good about using it and walking on four legs, but when she's running around the yard or in the woods she's very protective of it. I figure that's good. She knows it's vulnerable and she is taking care of it. I also think it slows her down, so when she's running free she just gets along faster on three legs, though there's also times when she is running and it appears both back legs are in play. I'd probably need to film her a while and analyze her strides, though realistically I'm not going to do that.

If anything Maya has slowed some, which in most dogs would be expected at about two years old, which Maya is as of Dec. 18. Since Maya is an Irish setter, and typically they have a longer adolescence, I suspect her injury and long convalescence are probably more to blame. She tends to stay close to me, though not exclusively, and she's definitely more nervous, both when she's out and when she's surprised at home. She barks a lot more than she did before and is less friendly with people coming into the house, though sometimes it's hard to tell if she's just ecstatic about seeing someone or concerned.

Dog or coyote tracks?

Friday we went to the mountain but got out late for this deep into winter. It was 3:40 pm when we started out on the trail and Maya was none too happy about it. She was OK for the first 15 minutes, but then began to hang back. After taking a side loop we got back to the main trail and she stopped—facing in the direction to go back to the car. I ignored her and headed farther up the trail. She joined me but kept along side me, stopping from time to time. Once she let me get way ahead and around a bend and only came when I finally stopped and called her. This is the same place where Maya has been spooked before, particularly around dusk, which it was. I also came across some tracks that I wasn't sure if they were a dog's or maybe coyote paw prints. They merged with the main trail and all I knew was Maya didn't want to be there. I stopped and tried to listen. I heard lots of sounds off in the wind that I couldn't discern. Maya with her dog senses was surely hearing and smelling more than I. So, only a half hour into the hike, we turned around and headed back. Maya was very happy. She stuck with me but was definitely on a mission: get out of there! Walking back was heading west so the sunset was lovely—and the woods of course were "lovely, dark and deep."

It was a 45 minute walk across a crusty inch of snow and it was enough. Maya sacked out as soon as we got home. She had to be called for dinner. Yesterday we got another two to three inches of snow and we'll try another jaunt in a little while. The sun is out, though it's still slightly below freezing. The cold's gotta be tough on that leg, so I'll watch her carefully. Maybe the other day it was just too damn cold and windy for a smart dog.

Afoot again

After more than six months, Maya is out of a bandage and beginning to return to her old life, as much as she can anyway. In the photo, she's got all four paws planted on the ground and while she continues to baby her damaged leg a lot, especially around the house, she is using it more and more on walks. Tonight she was using it consistently on our walk around the neighborhood, the best she's done in the week and a half since she got her bandage off.

On Monday, I let her off leash on the mountain for part of our three-mile hike. Initially I kept her on leash so I could let her pull uphill and thereby force her to use her injured leg. Then I let her go on flatter terrain. Until tonight she tended to resist using her injured leg on the initial part of our walks, but after 15 or 20 minutes she would get used to it and start walking sort of normal with it. Let's hope tonight is a real turning point.

Her vets have indicated she should pretty much regain use of it, except she can't bend the ankle. So, we'll proceed working her leg and hoping eventually she'll have sufficient strength so that it really supports her. Now, it's almost more for balance than her putting any real pressure on it. On our walk Monday, she took a spill making a turn at a run when apparently she inadvertently relied on the weak leg too much. I think she needs to learn what she can do and can't.

Still waiting for her hair to grow out over where she was shaved for surgery, but all and all for what she's been through, she's looking pretty good.

Comfry compensations

I've stopped putting Maya into her crate at night. It's just too small for her now that she's wearing that big plastic cone on her head again after her latest surgery—and she's definitely entitled to some creature comfort. Her preference is the futon couch in the TV room. Her crate's in there anyway so it's sort of "her room."

After: The pin

Before: Plate with screws.

Last Thursday the poor girl went in for another procedure on her leg, this time to take out the metal plate that was supposed to remain in to help support the fused ankle. But the wound just wouldn't heal and kept opening. If I understand it clearly, it's her long, narrow legs, which aren't all that meaty to begin with and then she lost a good bit of muscle and tendons when she was hit. The hospital vet said he could try closing the wound again, but wasn't optimistic since it has failed to heal over twice now. Instead he removed the plate and those huge screws and put a large pin down the bone to give it some reinforcement. It's ghastly to look at in the X-rays and was even more so when the vet described inserting it from Maya's knee down to her ankle. The good thing is that now the wound should heal over just as it did right after the accident. He also said the bone will continue to build up and strengthen as she grows, since bone will reinforce where there is stress (Wolff's law, he says). That would be good since I worry about her over-exerting herself when she's better and doing what she loves best, running free through the woods. I have to say the vet, who—according to our regular local vet—is one of the best in this area of animal orthopedics, has been very caring and generous with Maya, comping her stay during our vacation and now not charging to remove the plate and put in the pin. His compassion for Maya is obvious, as it is with all the staff at the hospital. The vet's assistant always boasts about Maya being their best patient, always behaving herself and as docile as can be. Smart of her to ingratiate herself with the staff and fortunate for us that she's so little trouble for them!

I'm not sure how long it will take before she starts putting pressure on her leg again, but I'm letting her baby it all she wants for now. Letting her sleep outside of her crate is part of that babying. If she wants to curl up on the TV room couch, where she can stretch full out, roll over on her back and just plain sack out free and comfy, I figure it's the least I can do for her—along with the tramadol she gets at night to help ensure her a painless night. She's not getting TV privileges though.

This is been an ordeal for Maya, but her spirit is good and she's actually bounding back with a fair bit of energy. The other evening, Meche and I took Maya out for a short walk and got caught in a sudden downpour. Maya left no doubt that she preferred to get home quickly and was grabbing the leash in her mouth and pulling me. I didn't really want her running but she wasn't using the leg at all so I don't think it was much of a problem. She's always been a wimp in the rain. I know, it doesn't make sense for an Irish setter to have issues with rain. Just like with the kids, I'm going to have to start emphasizing more the Irish heritage of this family! No more Spanish and everyone's going to have to learn Irish—including Maya. In Spanish, dogs don't go "bow-wow" or "ruff-ruff" but more like "wow, wow" but spelled I think like "guau guau." I wonder what the onomatopoeic word for dog barking is in Gaelic?

Stiltgrass and high steppin'

Sometimes I feel like it's one step forward and two steps back with this dog.  A couple of weeks ago Maya was truckin' along using her damaged foot and generally making great progress after three weeks in the hospital with the best of attention and physical therapy while we were in Peru.

Then, from one day to the next she stopped using her leg. It seems she irritated her paw by gnawing on her nails, so, I guess like cutting a nail too short or maybe breaking one off, she didn't want to use it. The first week was pure setback. Then last Friday the vet left her foot uncovered to allow the irritated paw to air and cure itself, but in the time it took me to drop her off at the house and head to the office, she managed to rip into her bandage and bleed all over the place—despite wearing a big cone-shaped collar on her head! We had to rush her to the local vet and get her bandaged up again. This week she's been out of her cone hat only to go for walks and occasionally to eat.

Today, finally, she showed signs of getting better. I took her up the mountain—the second time this week—and by taking the hilliest route forced her to drop the leg now and then. At one point, on a soft, flat stretch, she voluntarily dropped it for four or five steps and did that two or three times during our ascent. As reward I let her run free for the walk back down, and in total we covered 2.35 miles. She was in her glory while free and even occasionally seemed to let her damaged leg hit the ground, though it was a bit hard to see for sure. Anyway, she didn't let it deter her from enjoying a romp through the woods.

This was the second time this week I've taken her to the mountain. Sunday, while Meche and the kids were at the beach, Maya and I went for a hike. We met a guy with a Brittany spaniel and I unleashed Maya so she wouldn't be disadvantaged. They ran around for a while but since the Brittany was a roamer—and had a small cowbell on her collar and a GPS tracker—she and Maya didn't spend too long together. Maya's good at coming back and even though the Brittany took off and was out of hearing range for a good while, Maya stayed obediently close by. Good girl.

I'm pretty sure this is Japanese stiltgrass.

Maya in stiltgrass.

From the Brittany's owner I learned about Japanese stiltgrass. Bummer. That lovely, bright green, feathery looking grass I've been seeing on the mountain is an immigrant! Damn. Apparently it came in during the early part of the 20th century packed around pottery from China! As I walked today, it really changed my perspective. I've always liked that the mountain is so obviously old farmland. I can easily imagine someone moving their dairy cattle
up and down the slopes to different pastures during the year. And this being an old settled area of the country, it has been farmed since well before the American Revolution.

Yet, who am I to be prejudice? We're all invasive species, no? Even the Native Americans can't really claim they are completely original to the area, and are descendant from early invaders traveling the Bering land bridge. Migration is the story of humanity. Still, I understand whitetail deer won't eat stiltgrass, so it is taking over and displacing other "native" grasses. Hummm ... and then how long have some of the other grasses and such been here?

Worst yet, I recognized it immediately as the same thing cropping up in my front yard. The good thing is it rips up easily.

Stiltgrass or no, it's great to be getting Maya out on the trail again.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ...

I had expected an exuberant reaction from Maya when we picked her up from the vet on Saturday after being away from her for three weeks. What I didn't expect was her lapse in recognition. How easily they forget!

After meeting with us and going over how Maya was doing—very well thanks to the wonderful care and attention she received, including another surgery that closed up the open wound over the metal plate in her leg—the surgeon vet went and got Maya. She basically pulled right past the little examining room we were waiting in, hell-bent on getting outside for a bit and the vet had to pull her back. We went to her and she didn't recognize us. She shied away and cowered a bit before approaching me apprehensively. Then, boom, she was jumping all over me and Meche and whining and quivering. Poor thing, she must have thought she would never see us again.

Bionic extremity

 The vet showed us her xray, which is pretty impressive. I can imagine why she isn't too comfortable using that rear leg. The metal brace inside her skin is huge, with big screws clamping it to her bone. Dios mio, I can imagine I'd be favoring my leg and limping like crazy if I had a plate like that under my skin! Apparently the screws extend into the other side of hard bone, though it isn't that hard to see in the picture. Otherwise, according to vet, they might wiggle loose.

Four-footed cat huntin' in basement daycare.

So she came home with meds and a physical therapy routine that includes making her walk uphill so she pushes off with the leg and walking in a circle clockwise, which makes her use the leg, especially if I give her lazy butt a nudge now and then. When she's excited or wanting to play she totally forgets the leg and has it firmly planted on the ground, such as in the picture above in which she nearly snagged the cat. (Note extended, wagging tail, a clear indication of desire to engage. Translation: cat at 2-o'clock!)

The first couple of days home she was pretty much a wimp about the leg but the last couple of days she's been keeping it down a lot more, and tonight I took her out for an evening stroll and she was planting it firming on the pavement the whole way up our hill—about a good 10-minute walk. Back down again was another story but she was tired by then. I'm feeling a lot more optimistic. She can use it with certain vigor when she wants. I suspect she will tend to favor it for a long time, if not forever, but I'm no longer worried that she'll just let it atrophy. I'm now hoping we'll be back out on the trails by September. Maybe not off leash but that will come.

Good girl, Maya.

Going to the ...

What with all the dogs? Everywhere I turn now I find people we've known for years, who like us have lived perfectly happy lives, at least each according to his or her ability, without the need for a canine. Now it seems like everyone I talk to has gotten a dog. I don't think it's just because I am suddenly more aware of dogs in this world—I am but that's not the reason. The empirical evidence is just all over the place:

My longest, best friend from high school tells me one day on the phone that he and his wife have gotten a dog. This was shortly after we'd gotten Maya and he and I hadn't talked in probably a year so it couldn't have been cross-pollination of thought. A coworker also got a dog about six months before we did, though I can't claim lack of knowledge on that one, nor can I say his actions didn't help push me toward accepting one.

Meche's uncle's dog, Chicucha, an unshaved schnauzer, in Cuzco, Peru.

Now, here in Peru, I'm finding many of our old friends are going to the dogs as well. Our friends Cesar and Aglae informed us they have a schnauzer, as does Meche's uncle with whom we stayed in Cuzco. The two dogs have very different temperaments, though, and her uncle had one previously.



Then on Sunday we go to a cookout at her cousin's house in the campo south of Lima and he picks us up with his son and their six-month-old schnauzer-terrier mix, or at least that's my guess as to what it is. Meche's cousin calls it an ex-schnauzer.

An ex-shnauzer named Chaska

Then at the barbecue—called a parrillada here—some other old friends show up with their dog, a mixed breed of I don't know what called Sour. I learned that day that Sour was their second dog and that their first dog, a lab-boxer mix, was stolen. The stolen dog's name had been Pisco, a grappa-like spirit distilled from grapes and used in the national cocktail, the Pisco Sour. Thus the name of the dog that followed the dog Pisco.

Sour, a spirited dog named for a spirit.

I have made a feeble attempt to captures some images of dogs in Peru, particularly in Cuzco, while on this trip. My underlying agenda—spurious as it is—was to find traces of Irish red and white setters in Cuzco and confirm my brother-in-law's belief that Maya is the spitting image of his former dog Stroll I. I didn't find anything much like Maya there but did find a few white dogs with patches.

Most of this effort consisted only of lifting my camera in passing as we went about visiting friends and family. Even then, I missed a great shot of a dog jumping into the fountain in the main plaza of Cuzco for a bath because my camera was uselessly stashed inside my knapsack. We did carry out one dog-specific mission this trip, though, and that was to visit Stroll II, my brother-in-laws second Stroll, which bears no resemblance to Maya.

Stoll II, guardian of his domain.

He had to be left behind when my in-laws and their two boys moved to the States. It broke their hearts, especially my youngest nephew who pleaded for years for his father to go to Peru and bring Stroll II back. For a lot of reasons that wouldn't have been feasible, one big one being Stroll II was used to wandering openly around his neighborhood.
Also, he was adopted by the new owners of the house and later by neighbors across the courtyard, where he now resides. He's a big, brave dog who became the de facto guardian of the little complex of houses and survived poisoning—the vet clipped the ends of Stroll's ears so he would bleed out and get rid of the poison—and not long ago survived testicular cancer. Although I don't recall having met Stroll II before, the girls had and, believe it or not, he appeared to remember them, at least according to the neighbor who says unknown visitors don't usually get such a friendly reception.

Then there's Rose, an English woman who has lived in Peru for 25 or 30 years and has been a staunch defender of animal rights, particularly in working to improve treatment of dogs and cats. She works with a group called Vida Digna, a Peruvian animal welfare association. She spends a good amount of time rescuing injured, abused or neglected dogs, especially ones hit by cars, and has about 20 dogs under her care boarded with various friends and sympathizers around Lima. Below is a link to a touching story she wrote about a handicapped boy with a big heart for our best friend. Note the color of the dog in the pictures; not exactly an Irish setter red but ...

http://www.care2.com/causes/deaf-boy-in-shanty-town-rescues-burned-homeless-dog.html

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Here are some more photos of Peruvian dogs, mostly from Cuzco, though, the last patriotic pooch was wandering around the center of Lima with his owner on the country's Independence Day. He's actually a working dog, because we saw him a couple of days later in a similar part of downtown in different attire, something akin to traditional Peruvian campesino, including a chullo, the well-known Andean woolen hat with a pointed tassel and ear flaps. His owner dresses the dog up in these costumes and then waits around for tourists to notice and take pictures. He collects tips for the favor of posing his canine friend, who doesn't seem to mind the work.

A Peruvian hairless pup

A Peruvian hairless dog in national colors in Cuzco plaza.

Far from Maya

-->

Meche and I arrived Friday in Lima as part of a trip the family has been planning for the past year, timed to Molly’s 13^th birthday. Since her older sister got to travel to Peru the summer she turned 13, it was only fair that Molly get the same opportunity. The thing is, Fionna is much more adventurous than her younger sister and went for six weeks without us, something Molly wasn’t going to dare. Since we haven’t been back to Peru together as a family since 2003, it became a full-blown affair—one that Maya and her accident almost derailed.

Had Maya been hit by a car before we had purchased tickets to Peru and began this spiral of out-of-pocket hospital, surgery, medical and therapy costs (ha! I should say "out of plastic" costs), this trip would never have gotten off the ground. Maybe a much more modest trip of a month for the kids themselves (staying with family and friends here, of course), but I doubt Meche and I would be here. But, as the saying goes, things happen for a reason and this morning I’m happy to be back in Lima, the city where I met Meche and where Fionna was born.

Maya, meanwhile, is boarding at the hospital. The veterinary surgeon who is treating her offered to board her for free when it became obvious six weeks ago that Maya needed surgery to fuse her ankle. It was a very generous offer and had he not done so, I wouldn’t be here because she needs too much attention right now to expect any of our friends or family to do as a favor. Her stay the next three weeks at the hospital is far from cheap, nonetheless, with physical therapy, bandage changes, medicines and a special vacuum-technique they plan to do use to promote skin growth over the metal implant they’re using to stabilize her ankle until it fuses. At one point I considered cancelling my part of the trip to care for Maya, especially as her recovery from the last surgery has lagged. The wound has been stubborn to close because of tightness and scarcity of skin there.  But she’s in the best hand now and we’re here, though I’m embarrassed to meet old friends and Meche’s family because I’m so paunchy, having blown off not only running by my frequent jaunts in the woods that had been Maya’s and my routine for the year prior to her injury.

I’ve a secret mission here actually: look for signs of Maya’s race in Peru. My brother-in-law swears he once had a dog that looked just like Maya. I’ve seen a blurry photo of his dog, Stroll, and there's definitely a resemblance, though I’m dubious about the breed since he was living in Cuzco when he had this mascot and I just don’t think Irish red and white setters would be found here. Impossible? No, as the British ran mines, textile mills and the railroads in Peru for years so it’s not impossible someone brought over red and whites of one line or another. I plan to keep a look out when we’re in Cuzco next week. I’ll be shocked if I see any.

Wouldn’t it be cool if Maya were here in Peru with us, though that’s a rhetorical question on multiple levels. For one thing, Maya’s slow recovery and the other is I just wouldn’t risk that even if she were better. Lima traffic is horrid. It’s a lovely idea though to be up hiking in the mountains around Cuzco, but that’s not the trip, not with my lovelies. It will be enough to get them explore a few ruins, notably the fortress of Sacksayhuman at Cuzco itself, Machu Picchu and Ollantaytambo, which is my favorite as the one place the Incas managed to defeat the Spanish, at least in the first battle. The following year the Spaniards came back with a much larger force. Plus the town of Ollantaytambo is old and precious and a great place to drink chinca, the local homemade brew.

We’re off tomorrow to Cuzco, the Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu. I fell in love with Meche while exploring those magical places over New Years of 1992. I remember the night after our tour of the Sacred Valley we had dinner at an Italian restaurant on Avenida del Sol in Cuzco. When we finished the bottle of wine, Meche told me blow into it, covered the top with her hand and told me to make a wish but not to tell it to her. My wish was one day I'd marry her. It was more than a wish; it was a premonition.

Another round

Since I believe hope is as essential to the human spirit and psyche as healthy food is to the body, I'm giving myself a pass on believing Maya was going to bounce back without needing surgery on her leg. It's basically healthier to believe things will work out than not to, just as you can survive on a poor diet but not thrive. So, we lean toward hope.

I hoped she wouldn't need the operation she ended up needing a week and a half ago, which basically fused her ankle into one bone at a 140 degree angle. Our regular vet was never very optimistic about it, noting not too long ago that Maya was "crazy," meaning she is excitable and runs around like a maniac, which is true. He felt she would put too much stress on the weak ankle and easily injure it again. The hospital vet had said maybe Maya would be one of the 5 percent with that type of injury not to need surgery. As it was, two months after the operation she was still in pain when the vet applied a little pressure to the ankle and she was favoring it much more so than when it was supported by a hard plastic splint. The recommendation was to stabilize it by fusing it and let her heal and get over it.

I was partly inclined at first to see how she'd do without the operation, but both vets said she would suffer arthritis in the injured ankle and that could be debilitating for her later. Both said it wasn't if, but a question of how soon. That relates to hope. Somehow hoping that the arthritis wouldn't be too severe or develop too quickly wasn't really hope but resignation.

With the surgery, the chance of arthritis in that ankle is zero—since it's no longer an articulated joint—and she'll be able to walk and run pretty much as she did before because most of the movement in a dog's leg is in the knee and hip. I watched for this as a I walked her the week after her bandage was removed before deciding on surgery.

Were I a younger man, I might not have thought so much about the arthritis, and while I don't have that many aches and pains, I'd be a liar if I wasn't aware of stiffness and soreness in some of my own moving parts. And without Maya forcing me out every day or so, I have to admit I've slacked off badly.

Even after her latest surgery she's doing wonderfully. She needed her cone—the collar that is supposed to keep her from gnawing her leg—for only the first day. Her actively is severely restricted—walks to bathroom and back only for the first week and this week no more than five-minute walks. But the last few days she's started to put her foot on the ground again, and yesterday greeted me by putting both front paws up on my shoulders (very uncharacteristic of her even before her operation and not something I've ever tolerated). I don't want to encourage that yet, though the vet said lifting her front paws would be a good way to help her strengthen her weak leg, but not just yet!

So here's to hoping Maya is back out on the trail by the end of summer—and her lazy bones owner by the end of spring (which is only a week away).

Back on track, or simply, "OFF!"

Meche has decided to reimpose discipline on the Maya, whose convalescence is coming to a close. It's been seven weeks tomorrow since she was hit by a car in front of the house and last week the vets at the hospital removed the splint on her leg. She's still bandaged but it's not as rigid. So she's babying her leg more.

In another week she's supposed to get the bandage off all together. But, thank St. Roch, she'll return to normal, minus one toe. (Nah, I didn't really invoke St. Roch for Maya's recovery, but a Google search turned him up as the patron saint of dogs and those who love them, so ...) Now, I have investigate dog physical therapy for real. She might yet need surgery, but it's a time-will-tell deal.

So, while I'm in D.C. this week meeting with like-minded colleague and trying to convince congress people to do the right thing (i.e. give a shit about the underdog—pun intended), Meche has banished Maya from the furniture again. Out of sympathy for her suffering we couldn't bring ourselves to boot her butt off the sofa. She still responds to "Off!" begrudgingly. We've been reintroducing her basic commands as well—and reviewing her training fundamentals. After all, she's back to prowling the daycare area after hours in search of something to chew up and even dared to scuffle up a hole in the yard after I slaved at filling in her craters and reseeding during her recovery. If she's feeling up to her old mischief she's up to behaving again.

Meanwhile, discovered another dog blog today by someone I met here in D.C.—the reflections of a cute little pooch named Trudy: trudydogblog.wordpress.com

I thought I might be the only person weird enough to blog about his dog. Duh ...

On the run

Maya may get her bandage off tomorrow. But as the following video taken at the parking lot where I work shows, she's clearly recovering.

Dog gone good!

The girls say they can tell Maya's getting better: she's annoying again!

She has definitely regained some of her energy and gotten more demanding of attention. All good. But better than that, the vets say she's truly amazing. The hospital vet said on Saturday that he was so impressed with Maya's progress that he projected she'd be out of her bandage in another couple of weeks, which would be six weeks from her accident. Furthermore, she may yet escape surgery to fuse her ankle bone. While most dogs with this type of sheering injury to their foot need surgery because of the loss of tendons, Maya's foot seems to be improving enough through scar tissue. "Maya may be one of the 5 percent not needing surgery," he said. Good girl.

What she may need is specialized physical therapy and I've gotten more specific exercises for her leg. To get Maya to use the leg, the vet advised the reverse of heeling—letting her lead and pulling her back at the same time to get her to plant her rear leg to push herself forward. Guess you could call it the anti-heel.

What I hadn't realized was how much and how quickly she had lost muscle mass in her thigh on the injured leg. So what do I do? Over-walked her on Sunday.  We went up the mountain, since I figured she needed an uphill pull to make her use the leg. She was really wiped out that night. Yesterday I laid off.

Today we got out for only a little walk, and initially she wasn't dropping the leg much at all. Then we met some of her old friends from her puppy-day walks around the neighborhood! The old Maya emerged and she forgot all about her injury. She was standing and walking on all fours as she nuzzled her old buddy Leo, a sweet, friendly rottweiler. I was going to separate her because she was getting so excited but changed my mind seeing her walking around on all her limbs.

A sad note, though, was finding out that Leo's companion, Taz, had died in his sleep a couple of weeks ago, apparently from a heart attack. Leo was the first rottweiler I met after getting Maya. He and Taz changed my opinion of rotties. Poor Taz; he was only three years old.

It's interesting how my opinions of and feelings toward dogs has changed since getting Maya. Used to be I couldn't imagine having a smelly, obnoxious dog around. Besides, at heart I'm a cat person, as is Meche. Oh well, open your mind and your heart expands as well.

Therapy dog

Today, three weeks after Maya was struck by a car in front of the house and spent the following week in doggie intensive care, she went for a 15-minute walk in the woods—on leash—and was incredible! With her right rear leg tightly bandaged in bright green, she enthusiastically headed out on the trail. I kept an eye on the time, since the hospital vet had said we could start taking her for short walks but not too much.

The Ridge isn't my favorite place to take her because last year when she was still a pup I took her there and she came back covered in ticks—not literally, but far more than I could stomach. The Ridge is off the road that leads to the girls' dance school and since I knew Maya couldn't go for long and had to be leashed I figured not much harm. And there wasn't. Our walks are always discoveries and today I found that leaving her seat belt harness on wasn't a bad idea. She was pulling at her collar, even though I use a training collar with plastic ridges to keep her from hurting herself, and so I clipped her leash to the back loop of her harness. Wonders! She stopped pulling and ambled alongside me rather contentedly. I don't know why, but I'll experiment more with this.

At one point I had to pick her up and carry her across the rocks over a small stream. She might have crossed on the rocks but I certainly didn't want her bandage wet. That would have been a major problem. The plastic bag I had on it to begin with didn't hold up.

The best thing, though, is she was walking on her bandaged rear leg! At first she held it up and only occasionally dropped it. Then when the trail turned uphill, she needed the extra footing and, lo and behold, she started using it with vigor. From then on I was counting two, three and four steps with the bandaged foot to one lifted. Clearly, it has to be hurting her some, but that she's starting to use it is supremely encouraging. Maya is rapidly moving into her physical therapy phase. The vets have recommended working her injured leg by extending and bending it and massaging it when we're sitting around at night. Doing that plus her own willingness to use it is all the right stuff.

By the way, the Ridge has some phenomenal stonework, including an old stone dam some 20 or 30 feet in height, with a small pond behind it and a stone tower or some sort of building alongside the pond. I've looked on the web but haven't found much info on it. I'll check into it more at some time. On an earlier trip, Maya and I explored the dam, so I know it has iron pipes and remnants of barbed wire on top, but I'm not sure that ages it because those could be later additions. It's an awfully high dam for one of stone in a narrow steam channel so I'm thinking it had to have had some commercial use maybe 60 or so years ago. Just guessing though.

After a quarter-hour walk Maya was panting and hanging her tongue out. She was happy to be back in the car. It's like having her as a pup again, though, if truth be told, I pushed her pretty hard when she was but a little bitty thing. She ate ravenously when she got home, which is also a great improvement as her appetite has been a half or three-quarters her usual.

Thinking of her as a pup is a good way to approach this convalescence. She needs babying—and maybe Kevlar booties. A friend and coworker was telling me he uses those on his dog because his pet is always cutting up its paws. When Maya's ready, that might be a good option, maybe sooner.

Breakfast in bed

I can't believe I fed Maya breakfast in bed today.

It certainly wasn't part of the plan, but after Fionna rudely awoke me at 8:20 to tell me she had to be at soccer at 8:30, and then rushing her to her game (sorry but I couldn't stay on such short notice), I set about getting breakfast for her mother and sister. Molly had a game herself at 10:30. Maya got up long enough to do her duty and returned to her crate. What could I do?

I made eggs, ham and cheese on English muffins (except no ham for Molly who doesn't eat pig—her sister says that's because it would be cannibalism). When I couldn't entice Maya out of her crate with bits of ham I started bringing it to her. Like who's top dog in this pack?

That ham was meant for Elsie's Canadian bean soup, which I was making as part of my post-Easter tradition, but there was enough left over to spare for a convalescing canine. Besides, Elsie would have done the same if she were still with us.

Actually, Maya is doing extremely well, and both our local vet and the hospital vets rave about how well-behaved and docile she is. But she doesn't have much energy and after getting up for a bit will usually return to bed—unless one of the cats is in sight, in which case Maya can't help but over-exert herself hobbling after it. The hospital vet who changed Maya's bandage on Saturday said we could stop the pain medication unless we noticed Maya was uncomfortable. I did skip it once but she seemed agitated and bothered by her leg so I continued giving it to her. This afternoon, though, I gave her only one of the two and she seems fine. Poor pooch, no point in pushing her cold turkey.

The vet also said they did not use sedation to change her bandage, which is great progress, and she said Maya behaved wonderfully. She said they saw no need to continue using the special dressing because the wound has closed and they're very happy with the progress and will see her again in two weeks. I asked if it was certain that Maya would need her ankle fused and the vet  said they were not completely sure. She said as scar tissue forms it may improve the stability of the ankle but they have to wait and see. Also, she recommended not allowing Maya too much exercise so as to help scar tissue form but said the splint was holding it fairly immobile now. She said we could take Maya for 10 minute walks if we wanted. But I notice even now if Maya's out for even a few minutes she wants to come back in and lie down (exception noted above relevant to small furry distractions).

Now, about breakfast. Of course, I considered that Maya might just have been playing me. After all, she saw me serving the other women in the house and she's nothing if not one smart ... eh, dog.

Slow road back

Maya is home and on a slow road to recovery.

She got out of doggie hospital the end of last week, with one toe amputated. For now, she's going to the vet every other day to have her bandaged changed. Fortunately, our local vet can do that now so we're spared the longer trip. She has to be sedated for them to do the change but as she heals better that shouldn't be necessary.

Maya at home with Easter basket art painted on her dressing
painted by one of the vet techs after her bandaged was changed
on Saturday. Today the local vet transferred the art to new wrap!

The vet at the hospital says she'll need surgery to fuse her ankle bone to keep it stable because she lost ligaments attaching it. I don't have any reason to doubt what he says, and they're top-notch surgeons there, but still I am getting a second, and maybe a third, opinion before we do that. But her wound needs to heal more before they can do any more on her so we have some time.

Since I don't have Maya with me I don't go traipsing around the Wilderness or the Mountain anymore. Almost everyone who goes to the Wilderness is walking their dog or dogs, and the Mountain has mountain bikers and a few other hikers, but most of the few people I meet there are likewise walking a pooch. It just wouldn't be the same without my buddy and would seem a bit maudlin. I don't want to get sappy about my dog, but, in truth, I feel bummed when I'm running these days and see others running or walking their dogs. I ran six miles today and it seemed like I met three or four other runners with their dogs. I felt like saying, "She'll be back." Just don't know when.

Glacial erratic

So, I run more, trek less and am still finding interesting stuff in the woods. The other say I saw a small sign off a little used trail that I was walking just to cool down after an hour run. The sign said "Glacial Erratic." I know what they are—odd, out-of-place boulders left by the last ice age 10,000 years ago. So a detoured to see it. It was cool.  Maya doesn't appreciate these things, so I'm not feeling guilty about finding it without her. She just tags along and humors me. She has other interests, and probably feels likewise: that I'm good company but just don't fully appreciate some of the best parts of our adventures. Another day ...

'Maya, heal'

At training before Maya's accident we were working on teaching her to "heel" and obey that command to stay behind our left heel while out walking. She was doing pretty well—as long as she was getting treats and felt like it. Now, it's "heal" that she has to obey.

She remains in hospital—doggie intensive care—but the prognosis is greatly improved from what it seemed a couple of days ago.

Maya up and about for a patient visit. She tries to put her
foot down but I don't think she's got any weight on it.

The vet is convinced she will keep her leg but has lost one of her toes. What remains of it will have to be removed. We're hoping to get her home or at least to our local vet soon, but with exposed, sheered bone and flesh that still needs some debriding, the vets says it's too much risk she'll get an infection. She still has be to be anesthetized in order for them to change her bandage and treat the wound. They're talking about us being able to take her home but having to bring her back for daily bandage changes and then eventually surgery to fuse a bone because the ankle is unstable.

I'm hoping if we can get her home and allow the wound to heal that maybe she can avoid the surgery, but I won't know that until she's farther along in treatment and, of course, get some other opinions. The great thing is I'm not thinking about having a three-legged dog anymore! But I am thinking I'll be driving my good old Buick from the last century for a lot longer now than I'd planned a week ago. That's cool. It has a Maya seat belt too.

The higher consciousness of dogs

Maya remains in hospital but appears to be making good progress. The vet said this morning that she greeted him standing and walking even on the bad leg! But we were warned to be cautious because things can go well and then not so well. They are still debriding the wound of dead flesh. I won't share the photo of her leg the vet sent me on Saturday. It's ghastly.

What I will share is what a friend, mentor and former teacher of mine wrote to me upon hearing of Maya's accident:

Very sorry to hear of the suffering of your dog. My friend in Nebraska had a dog who lost her hind leg in a similar accident and she still had a happy, joyous life. The great character trait of a good dog is they have no self pity or entitlement issues. They tend be be very "Buddhist" in their outlook. In fact, David R. Hawkins says that dogs when they are wagging their tales with enthusiasm generally register at a consciousness level over 500—that is at unconditional love. This why good dogs are inherently therapeutic.
     You guys can look forward to many, pleasant, refreshing, joyous times together on your zen walks together, sharing one of the great gifts that you can give each other. Remember, there is redemptive value in all suffering. What matters, is the level of consciousness we bring to it.

My friend knows and admires Hawkins http://www.veritaspub.com/index.php?page=about. As an aside, I've been promising him for three or four years now that I'd read some of Hawkins' work, and this so intrigued me I ordered one of his books yesterday. I'm not sure what that says about me. Am I aspiring to the consciousness level of my dog? I'm sure Meche would tell me that's a good idea as it beats my usual level: that of Snow White's little friend Grumpy!

The entitlement my friend talks about above, by the way, isn't the same as the feeling of entitled mentioned a few blogs back. I think my friend means that dogs don't feel they're owed something from life, the way many people do. The term used in training refers to the pack structure, where the higher-ranking dog is entitled to unclaimed food, things or resting places over lower ranking dogs, but even the higher ranking dog knows his or her place if there's other dogs above it in the pack.

I was very aware of missing Maya on my run today, my first time out since her accident. I went on the carriage roads on the old estate, where I took Maya running a few weeks ago after setting my Lenten goal of losing weight and getting back into running. We ran three or four miles that day, if I remember correctly, and various similar runs since then. Last week we did a five-mile run up on the mountain. Today I did six, which puts me back at my normal run when I'm into it. Last time I did that was a year and a half ago, before going to China. It's tough pushing this fattening old butt out to run again, but all the walking with Maya over the past year made it a lot easier. If she can keep her leg it's going to be months before we're doing this again. If we have to adapt to some limitations, then that too.

Poor Mayaboo

Friday Maya was hit by a car.

She got out when someone (I won't get into who or why, etc...) opened the gate. By the time Meche grabbed the leash and got outside she had been hit.

Her right rear leg is badly damaged, with sheering of a lot of skin and part of the bone. She may lose a toe and could even lose the leg. We'll know more tomorrow, though the latest we have from the vets is she is doing well.

I saw her only briefly on Friday and then saw her on Saturday morning. When I got home it sort of hit me and I missed not being able to grab her and head out for a walk. The thought that she might have to get on with only three legs is upsetting, though they say she can do fine if it comes to that. I hope to know more tomorrow. I'm sad and angry but she's alive and I'm keeping optimistic.

Report card

Maya (and me) got a report card of sorts at K9-1 dog training. We flunked.

She (we) were judged in six categories: toys, food, furniture, pets, play and walks. There were three possible "grades": provided (which was passing), entitled (which was failing) and question mark (meaning isn't wasn't clear).

The idea is the dog shouldn't feel entitled. In the pack structure the leader provides for the rest of the pack and a family dog has to know the owners are the pack leaders and the dog is low on the pack hierarchy.

Does the dog get to have its toys when it wants?
Does she get her food whenever she wants it, rather than when the leader allows?
Does she get on the couches or beds (a big area of potential problems should she decide later to defend her space from someone trying to move her off the furniture, especially someone she doesn't know very well, or a child).
Does she get attention on demand?
Does she demand play and get it?
Does she scratch at the door or otherwise indicate when she wants to go out or come in?

Maya failed four and got questions in play and walks.

Look, in fairness to me, Molly had to admit she was the culprit when it came to giving Maya attention on demand, and, if truth be told, Meche is the one who leaves food out for Maya in the morning and doesn't pick it up when the dog doesn't eat it. Besides Maya really only eats dinner and that's partially because she prefers her dry food with a little bit of canned food and some water. But, hey, I had to buck up and take the rap.

We're working on the rest, especially the furniture and are doing really well with that, particularly with the living room couch. On the basement couch, she still likes to join us to watch TV but we tolerate it a lot less and she's being really good about getting off when told. Also, she's consequently taking to using her crate more regularly on her own just as a resting and sleeping place with the door open in the middle of the day. That's great progress!

Failing Maya

Some days I feel like I'm failing Maya. I take her regularly for training, but then during the week it's difficult to keep up the practice. I come home and there are so many other distractions, dinner, the kids, errands and just generally being tired. Fortunately, Fionna gave her a good walk yesterday, all the way to the high school and environs and back. That's at least three miles, since it's 1.5 miles to school. And I walked her another day, both those times on a leash—not her preference—and I tried to do heeling with her, but she was pretty rambunctious. Eventually she settled down.

She's pretty good when in class, once she calms down! Last week there was a new dog in training, a sweet Rottweiler—with an intact tail!—and it was killing Maya not to be able to visit her. She's called Bella, a very popular name for pups these days, which I'm sure is after the Twilight twit. Another guy has a nervous German shepherd that's also named Bella. She's also sweet but very leery of other people and dogs. She's okay with Maya to a point.

No choice but to redouble effort to work with Maya more. We need to get to the next level, with its heavier obedience, which she needs. In fairness, I see improvements in her behavior. She's much better about staying off the couch these days, at least in the main living room, and in the basement gets down readily when told. She's also getting better about how she greets people and is getting better at going to her space when told, and has lately taken to voluntarily going into her crate to rest. All in all, I guess it's more positive than I was thinking when I started this entry. As I headed it, Failing Maya, she's not failing, but I'm failing her. She's smart and learns readily. On the other hand, she's just a little more than 14 months old. That's like being 10 years old. She like a fifth grader! She's in her prime learning age—and is staying in school!

Sheep crossing?

Found the strangest thing one day in the wilderness. I wandered off the trail a bit, mostly out of boredom, and I found the stream that ran along side the trail just disappeared at one point into the ground. The closer I looked I realized it wasn't natural. Someone had laid huge flat stones over a section, maybe 20-30 feet or so.
 
Then at the other end, it came out of a little channel, since the grade sloped downward there. I was really amazed at who and why someone would do that. It seemed logical that is was a sort of crossing, probably for animals since given the stone walls that abound there, it was most likely fields probably a hundred years ago, maybe less.

Then across the stream, maybe another 30 feet was the ruins of some sort of foundation into the side of the hill, with the entrance clearly on the inside of the hill. That made me think it was probably a pen for the animals, but it was fairly small and not too well reinforced. Too small for cows, I think, but maybe not for sheep. But I'm not sure because I think sheep would be more sure-footed and less likely to need a smooth walkway across the rather rugged stream. Time to do some more research.

This enclosure seems too small for cattle but maybe might have adequately sheltered sheep from bad weather, when once it was covered and more built up.

Ribbony way

My rambling adventures with Maya continued over the weekend when I found an obscure mountain biking trail on the backside of the mountain. It was a wonderfully ribbony switchback and eventually connected with the main trail to the top. As we were ascending about 4:30 p.m. on Saturday it began to snow, a granular snow propelled by a hard wind coming across the reservoir. I was happy to have dressed warmly with gloves and was confident the trail was going to hit the main one—there wasn't really any other option—or I'd have been worried about getting caught in a storm in the woods. The reality is that I know what roads border the area and I could easily find my way out, though if it were dark the walk could be treacherous. We ended up hiking 4.5 miles and coming out just after sunset. We've had such little snow this year that it was great to be out in it and Maya seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself, following the trail like she'd been there plenty of times before.

The ribbony switchback trail on the north side of the mountain, taken just as the trail began to ascend. From high up the curve of the trails isn't so clearly discernible as it climbs somewhat sharply. Shortly after the photo was take it started to snow.

Maya with her 'trench coat' at the wilderness the morning after a light snowfall.
That's really the first time she's worn it outside and it is already a bit tight on her.

The day before at the wilderness we ran into Kay and her Lab named Maggie, one of Maya's first friends from our outings. Kay first told me about the wilderness and I repaid her by tipping her off to the mountain. On Friday she told me she and her family had been away for three weeks and boarded Maggie at a place upstate with acres fenced in for the dogs to run, and for only $30 to $35 a day. We're planning to be in Peru this summer for maybe up to three weeks and this may be just what we were looking for, as I've been hesitant to commit because I just didn't know what to do with Maya. Meche and I are going to check it out and leave her overnight one weekend next month. We'll use that as an excuse for a little get away by ourselves. Plus, I really like heading north where it's more rural and even more wooded. Fionna is going to camp up in the Adirondacks over July 4th weekend and knowing we might have a nice place to board Maya will give us an excuse to stay over a few nights ourselves and explore. Maybe I'll go even farther north and visit my mother's family. Haven't seen them since her funeral. Maybe we'll do that when we pick up Fionna, as I want her to get to know a little more of Grammy's side as well.

Good girls

A half hour of tossing a ball with Maya in the yard tonight was quite effective. She's mellowed and sacked out. Molly walked her for about 10 minutes after school as well. Good girl! Both of them.

Dog tired

For two days Maya has been behaving extremely well in the evenings. Then again, we walked four miles yesterday, meeting up with another dog walker and her beautiful gray Weimaraner, who gets along great with Maya. So last night Maya was sacked out—unfortunately still on the downstairs couch as we haven't come up with something else for her to sleep on down there while we're watching TV.

Today, since I was off from work, I took her for a long walk on the mountain, going around the north side where we eventually came to an incredible meadow. On the way back we veered off onto a mountain bike path and came out at the top of an abandoned rock quarry. That was a bit nervy—finding Maya looking over the edge. The area is all wooded over now but it was clearly dug out and strewn with broken rock. Anyway we went four and half miles, and Maya slept the rest of the afternoon in her crate, and is still sacked out downstairs. Cliche but true: A tired dog is a good dog.

Pack structure revisted

Sometimes you have to go back to basics. I think we need to do this with Maya, with whom we are having some pack structure issues, most notably over her getting up on the furniture. Unfortunately, we've lapsed in keeping Maya off the couches and the other day we had a problem with that when some friends were over.

We tired to keep Maya off the couches, though allowed an exception in the basement family area, while trying to keep the main living room for us. The problem is that while the daycare is in session in the basement, Maya is alone upstairs in the living room and dining room area. For a while we laid baby gates across the sofa and love seat to keep her off, but somehow that practice lapsed, in part because it meant removing them to sit down ourselves and they were unsightly. Besides, Maya is such a good dog and generally got down without much resistance. We even put a blanket there to keep the couch clean while she was on it.

Well, when DV was over the other night with his wife and kids, he was sitting on the couch and Maya kept jumping up. He pushed her off and for a while she found something else to entertain herself, but later she returned and was much more insistent. DV was much rougher in pushing her than I am with her and in fairness to Maya, I think that was provoking her. She may have thought it was a game. I ended up putting her in her crate. DV—whose pup Sibirius is in the same dog training that Maya is—reminded me that the trainers aren't in favor of letting dogs on the furniture, except when invited and then only briefly, and that it was a key part of maintaining pack structure. Because Sibirius is in puppy class, when a lot of the basics are explained, he is hearing these things now, while we've passed that and are into more advanced training. Obviously, he was right. I can't have Maya insisting on her right to the couch!

Basically, dogs respond to pack structure by nature—they innately understand the rules—and this applies to dogs living with human families, which become their pack. They expect to follow the leader of the pack—the alpha—and will either try to take leadership if it's not clear or will become confused and insecure, leading to behavior problems, particularly if they're basically a submissive follower.

The incident with Maya and the couch has forced me to rethink how we're handling this. Meche and I agree we have to reassert this and I just reread the whole section on pack structure on our trainer's web site: www.k9-1.com

Access to the details of the web site is limited to those who are members, but the following is an excerpt from the portion on pack structure that deals with furniture.

 

Resting areas are considered prized possessions in dog society, so the subject of allowing your dog use of furniture and human beds is closely related to the rules used for other possessions. ...

 

Not letting the tail wagging members of the family on the furniture and beds will help clarify that it is not the dog’s possession. In a nutshell, we need to create boundaries for our dogs. If we treat our dogs like people they are prone to treat us like dogs. When Skippy growls and snips at another dog for going on his little dog bed it is considered normal, but when he does this to the face of a toddler on the family couch it is unacceptable. If dogs are not allowed to share our resting places there can’t be any ownership disputes with humans involving furniture. ... Thousands of dog bites can be avoided per year if dog owners just followed this rule. There are countless documented cases ranging from a tiny Pomeranian killing a baby to a Pit Bull killing an adult—all the result of dogs with no boundaries having disputes as to who owns the furniture. ...

 

Some of you reading this rule will find it conflicting with your desires to endlessly stroke your soft coated pooch as you sit back on your couch and watch “Gone with the Wind”. This is normal for us since we are primates and that’s what primates do, sit around and groom and stroke. If this is what you must do, just know it does nothing for the dog but create an unnatural addiction, and make it almost impossible to create the leadership and mental balance that the dogs needs to excel in a human world.

 

It is not an impossibility to have a well balanced dog that will go on furniture and beds—strictly when invited as a privilege—but you would never want to do this unless you have a dog that is not having any behavioral problems and is used to living as a follower of humans. To give that privilege prematurely, will make it almost impossible to troubleshoot any problems and train your dog easily. For dogs with a history of aggression toward humans or of a breed that is capable of causing serious harm to a human I would recommend a permanent ban from these places.

 

So, back to basics, Maya. Now, to figure out the logistics of that ...

A tick in time

Many people would find it hard to complain about this predominately spring-like winter, except avid skiers, of course, and perhaps the dogs. It means tick season has been virtually unending. We've taken two dog ticks off of Maya in the past two days, despite having put anti-flea and tick treatment on her earlier in the week! Fortunately, those gross gray suckers aren't as dangerous as the tiny dear ticks and are easier to find, but, still, they're awfully high on the disgusting scale. Maya already had Lime Disease late last year and so I'm particularly concerned about it—for us as well as for her.

It is supposed to get colder this weekend, and I would just as soon have a good, deep cold snap. Drive those parasites into hibernation, or whatever it is they do when it's cold, and kill off a lot of other sickening germs and viruses and whatnot. I'm not sure it's true, but I subscribe to the folk wisdom that a cold winter is healthier than this less than half-hearted season. The weather forecasters say it's due to El Nino weather pattern in the Pacific that is keeping the jet stream up in Canada, and a friend of mine in Lima, Peru, told me last night that the city had gotten heavy rain, something I never saw in the six years I lived there. It doesn't rain in Lima usually. It just sort of mists. But my desire for cold might be a mixed blessing for poor Maya. She has thin hair without an undercoat, which I suppose is fine enough for the milder Irish winters and perhaps more apt to dry quickly from all the rain there, and so she might not do too well in the bitter cold. It doesn't seem to stop her in the snow, though. She loves it.  And if need be, she has a jacket.

Hole in the hill

We had no idea we'd be stumbling across a piece of U.S. history on Saturday when DV and I took our dogs out together for the first time since he got a new pup. Walking along an old mining road that is now part of a state park we met a man and a woman who were also walking their dog. While chatting with the guy he told us how to find the old iron mine, which was easily reached along two paths that used to be the rail lines up to the mine. We had walked by them so many times! It's amazing what you don't see sometimes. The mine—a gaping hole among an otherwise typical rock outcropping—apparently fed a now razed foundry that existed a few miles west on the river. It made armaments during the 19th century, including supplying cannons for Union forces during the Civil War.

I tried to find some information about the mine on the Net but learned only that this area was heavily mined for iron until the technology was displaced by steel production in the later part of the 1800s. I picked up a piece of ore that fit nicely into my hand. A magnet slaps to it tightly. That's high quality ore. It obviously was worth all the work they put into getting it.

To be honest, the mine was both fascinating and scary. It's big triangular hole going down into the hillside, and where the vein of iron was you can still see wooden beams placed there, I suppose, to keep the other strata of rock from caving in, though I doubt it would have done much good. The intrepid explorer Maya ventured down in, though only DV was close enough to see her and she came right out when called. DV wants to go back without the dogs and scale down inside with some rope. I dunno 'bout that. One might say the signs weren't good for such an adventure, since DV fell while taking pictures of me at the opening. The fall was outside the mine on the slope leading away from the lip of the cut in the earth leading down to the hole but some might take that as a bad omen. Not that I'm superstitious, though if I recall correctly, folks who toil around such tunnels into the earth tend to be. DV had to hobble out for more than two miles of the 6.37 miles we hiked that day (according to the Nike Plus I used to log our distance).

Despite DV's injury—he felt like he twisted his knee—it was a great outing. The weather was fantastic in this, probably the warmest winter I can remember, and I'm still psyched about finding the mine. Our dogs got along really well. DV's Shiba Inu named Sibirius is a feisty little guy. Sibi, who is about four months old, I think, kept asserting himself with Maya, but she was cool, as long as she has someone to play with she doesn't care about who's boss. DV says he usually has trouble keeping track of Sibi, who tends to run ahead and doesn't readily respond when called. From what I've read and heard that's typical of Shiba Inus, a Japanese breed that is known for independence. Maya had a positive influence and Sibi stayed fairly close to us. I'm looking forward to more outings with DV and Sibi. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep." ... and so full of archaeology and history. In all the places Maya and I hike it seems the past is there, just waiting to be recognized.