Yesterday, Hubby and I took Polaris on a little hiking trip. The incredible surge in senory data seemed to have blown a cicuit or two. She was literally trying to go in two directions at once.
There were sticks galore! For a momet, she stood agog at the embarassment of riches before her, and then tried to pick all of them up at the same time. Two, then three, sticks were packed into her mouth-- on the fourth, she ran into trouble.
Every time she tried to pick it up, her catch would tumble from her mouth. She picked it up patiently many times, but you could see the frustration building. She pranced around it, trying, apparently, to see if the back of the stick was somehow smaller. She tried bumping it with her nose (losing one of the sticks in her mouth in the process.) She finally turned to me and let out an agonized whine.
Seeing I was going to be no practical help, she went to Plan B and barked very sternly at the stick. The ones she dropped at her feet after unleashing The Stern Bark were utterly forgotten. Incredibly after hearing her VSB, the stick just lay there. Polaris was indignant. She danced before it, and barked again. The stick lay passively under this assault.
Feeling merciful, I picked up one end of the stick to entice her to take it in her mouth. She did, with an expression of wiggling delight. The fur-less had saved the day!
She put it down, and moved up to grip it more firmly in the center, and pranced what victory lap her leash would allow. She headed in the directions of two saplings.
At this point, I must admit to being a terrible person. Sometimes, when my puppy gets herself into things, or heads toward what promises to be a very amusing mishap, I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show. Oh, now I would save her from any harm, of course, but sometimes, a little devil inside me lets her be surprised by life.
She tried to walk between the trees. The stick caught bewteen them. Polaris was jolted, and very confused. Before her nose, the way was clear, but for some reason she couldn’t go forward!
Her eyes darted back and forth. I could see the gears inside her baseball-sized skull. She backed up, went forward again, and still found herself impeded. This truly was a quandry! She sat down and dropped the stick. She looked at the gap. She looked at the stick. Back at the gap, and then at the stick. Light dawned. IT WAS THE STICK’S FAULT!
She grasped it by one end, and went forward. The long side banged into the sapling, but her head turned at the same time. You’d think that she had just made the discovery her head could move. She passed through the gap with her head in the air, the end of her prize tracing a line in the dead leaves. I duly praised her ingenuity.
Then, she saw the creek. The sand was good for digging-- nice and soft. She liked the sand, but what about all this water? “Bath?” she must have thought. She inched forard and sniffed at it cautiously, keeping an eye on me to make sure I wasn’t coming up behind her to plunk her into it. No, this didn’t smell like bath. She stepped in, and watched the water ripple at her toes. Apparently liking it, she trudged around in the water up to her knees.
Her feet plunged over a deep spot, and Polaris found herself in water up to her chest. She beat a hasty retreat, looking at me with dark suspicion. I was the one who always insited on immersion in the bathtub-- I was the most likely suspect as to why the water suddenly became more like a bath.
She did get into the next pool. I stayed back and prentended to be greatly interested in the surrounding foliage. She carefully picked her way forward, and then saw a tiny shadow dart in the water. She froze. More of the appeared. She stared at the minnows, and then I could see her beginning to hunch up for a pounce. She darted her nose forward into the water, but came back up immediately, sputtering. Two other attempts also resulted in annoyed snorting and head-shaking.
I think she has some sled dog in her, because of how she pulled me up the stairs. Choking and hacking, she strained forward. Her front feet came entirely off the ground at some points. (Yes, we’re still working on Heel.) When I would induce her back to my side, she would look at me as if to say, “Well, this is much more comfortable. I think I’ll walk like this for . . . . BUTTERFLY!” and off she’d go.
When we got home, I gave her a chewie for being such a good girl during the car trip. Instantly, the treat fell into the BURY slot in her brain instead of the EAT section. She began her search, turning in circles and whining when no likely spot revealed itself. I could see her mind working. “*Gotta bury. No where to dig! Gotta bury. . . No place to dig!”
She saw me in my chaise and knew her problems were solved. She tucked the chewie under my knee, and used her nose to rake the upholstery to shove imaginary dirt over it. (She actually getting a callous on her nose!) She tugged on my pants, and then tried to loosen my flesh by digging into it with her claws. (We’re working on stopping this.) I put a blanket on the floor, and she happily buried her treat in its depths.
She lay down at my feet and sighed. It was a long groan of contentment. A couple of times during her dreams, her tail tapped on the floor. I like to imagine that’s when I show up in her dreams, picking up sticks, putting burying blankets on the floor, putting dog food into the bowls and other god-like acts.
What a lucky creature she is. It seems her dreams are happy, too.
. Polaris , Bean and Kai are all adorable . I love Kai’s opinion on the picture taking thing .
