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LOVE OF DOGS and FAMILY

By Lynn Cameron                       March 28, 2016                     Adirondack Mountains, NY

Deep in the woods on the shore of a mountain lake live a man, a woman and their beloved pets. For a long time they have lived in this forest place. There’s the dog Wolfie, born here nearly eighteen years ago who now can’t see or hear and barks to find his way around.

Also here is his child bride, Rosie, who came to help with his grief at the loss of his mother, Stella. And, surprising us all, there’s their first-born son, Gundar, the magnificent –big, beautiful with dense fur of glimmering white – same color as his parents. There’s a white and black cat, too, with a single toe on his left hind leg, but Sly mostly stays home.

It is the Saturday before Easter Sunday, and the ice on the lake has not been safe for a couple weeks. All but these snow dogs are looking forward to Spring.  Everybody’s inside overnight, and as of late, Wolfie wakes us all at dawn, regular as a rooster and just as annoying. Saturday started with his same characteristic woof-woof-WOOF – a sound that wears badly because it goes on and on all day long. We imagine it to be a form of echo-location for him to get his bearings. The daily routine begins as I roll out of bed and make my way to open the back door. Gunny lunges, Rosie’s right behind and Wolfie totters after Rosie, woof, woof, WOOF. By the time they get back from their urgent morning business, I have their “boneys” ready to hand out. Wolfie gets a softer jerky version because of teeth problems. Off the kids go for their ten mile run before breakfast; I push the coffee maker button and stop for my own urgent business before climbing back under my cozy comforter for a couple more hours of shut-eye.

Midmorning I give the critters their “breakie”. Wolfie is nowhere to be seen, and I am reminded that I had not heard his usual woof-woof-WOOF in my dawn dreaming.  After Jim’s coffee is delivered for his daily read in bed routine, I step outside into a beautiful morning with a rarely cloudless and miraculously blue sky but still don’t see the Wolfster.

The ice sparkles and the snow-covered High Peaks are bright with sun in the distance. It’s too chilly for bird calls yet. Hand-clapping is the method to get his attention, but this is not working for the first time ever. It occurs to me that this might be the day I’ve been preparing for after I decided first-born, Gunny, was a keeper because his dad was already fourteen years old, and Rosie was to be spayed. Raising puppies takes much energy. We’ve always had two Samoyeds over these past forty years.   

Gunny, Rosie and I keep looking for Wolfie. I figure they know where he might be, but they’re not sharing. I should mention that Gunny and daddy do not get on well together. Gunny tore his scalp nearly off over a bone before I recognized the issue. That happened one Thanksgiving and was expensive.  Wolfie would actually woof-woof-WOOF  in Gundar’s face for hours every day until a fight ensued; he would lose every time.  Rosie, as leader of the pack, was always agitated by this behavior.  We searched everywhere around camp with no sign of our elderly daddy dog anywhere.

 I thought how poignant it was that he may have chosen this cusp of Spring renewal to leave us.  His going was not unexpected, and I was glad we’d given him extra attention throughout the Winter. Nevertheless, I kept clapping and calling out loud just so Rosie and Gunny would know they should help me keep looking. They were happy to be out for a run with me, but there’s a reason herd dogs aren’t used as trackers. Rosie came as a tiny pup to comfort  Wolfie after he literally cried for six months when his mother died. He was devoted to Rosebud; he even took up hunting and brought her his first kill ever the morning she birthed their four puppies. Lately he mostly napped outside connecting to the earth which, I think, kept him going as long as it did - woof, woof  WOOF and then inside to sleep some more.  His appetite was still robust; his indomitable spirit truly admirable, and he always made it outside to do his regular business. Today, though, there was none of his presence, and for the first time in memory, Beowulf of Northpoint missed breakfast.

 Our best friends, Laura, a cousin once removed, and Michele arrived by ATV about three p.m. saying they’d seen no sign of “Boo-boo” on the trail. Wolfie had that nickname from a dear dog-loving friend, deceased now for too many years, because Franny couldn’t remember how to say his real name.  Most folks never did get the hang of pronouncing the W with the German V sound I had intended at his naming day. Wolfie was born before I had reached my half century mark - yikes. His mother, loyal Stella-bella, rests out by the labyrinth. and his brother, Sailor, had already left his human family.  Thankfully, Gundar’s sister, Stormy, went to live with Sailor’s family, and she gets to frolic regularly with their sister, Sydney, living close by.  It’s such a comfort to know when my pups are well and happy. Michele, because it is her noble nature, helped last Fall to dig a hole for Wolfie near Stella and Ursa. We needed to have a place for him if he decided to leave us in deep winter. It never occurred to me Beowulf might have the idea to go walk-about and not go to his final rest in the place of my choosing.

Around tea time, still enjoying the welcome and rare sunlight from our porch, we noticed no white dogs at all within sight or sound. This being normal, we gave a few shout outs. A little while later Rosie was spotted way out across the lake on the ice out near Ward’s Island. Shocked, because I thought the open water at the shoreline was enough deterrent, I called to her and watched anxiously as she ran home and arrived panting and soaking wet with swamp mud clinging to her fur. We expected Gunny to appear behind her as he always does; he’s too big to match her speed but never in his nearly 4 yrs. has he been far from her. We called, we waited, we watched, we called some more– no Gunny-bear. Now two dogs were missing and concern had left the four of us in a quandary, concerned and mostly mute.

It was then that we heard the sound of barking – more barking. It turned into demanding petulant barking as we all kept calling. Gundar, Gunny-Bear, come-on home Gunny! Rosie joined the chorus and was quickly snatched up to be put on her rope run where she continued her own urging for him to come home. She certainly didn’t need to be going back over there – that’s all I needed.

 We were sure the sounds came from the far side of that island that’s between us and the far shore. Of course, it’s completely out of our sight besides being so very inaccessible to us this particular time of year. It’s swampy and sticky muddy on the back side of that island. The ice will be unstable and easy to break for leaping dogs–and we have no safe way to get over there to help.

 I feared he was stuck in swamp mud like what happened to his brother Sailor who almost died in the woods a few summers ago before being rescued by John Reid, ironically another one owned by Samoyeds, out for a run who heard his cries.  Gunny’s grandmother, Stella, also got stuck in muck way out back and was rescued by our niece, Ashley, after many hours - a struggle which ultimately damaged her insides and shortened her life, we surmise. Ursa, so named by Jim’s mother, Judy (a stargazer), fell through the ice off shore down by our boathouse one winter a couple decades ago. I went through into the icy water that time which is guaranteed to immediately drive all thought from your mind of rescuing anyone other than self. All shrinks to a tiny dot of immediacy to get out of there NOW.  Jim worked to exhaustion to save both of us that fateful day… just as the light was going.

Over the course of an hour the four of us listened, cringed and strained to hear again his barking, yipping, crying and howling with Rosie continuing to respond frantically. Jim wanted to believe it was another dog; I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. As the sun moved towards St. Regis Mountain, Gunny’s pitiful and plaintive cries continued, and it just stabbed at our hearts. Rosie was answering and turning to look at me each time with questions in her eyes like “aren’t you going to do anything? He’s crying for help. Let me loose, I’ll go to him”. I thought, “please, please not two dogs in the same day – not my beautiful strong boy, too”.

What we needed was an airboat.  If only we could call Laura’s father, Ranny, Jim’s  cousin, now deceased.  He would have come;  in 1941 he’d saved from burning to cinders the two original buildings left in our camp and remained ever available to help his neighbors – an ideal obviously passed to his family.

It was getting late. Was Gunny to be left to die all alone abandoned by those entrusted to care for him? How was I to bear the long dark night coming in the knowledge that the father was gone, and I was leaving his only son to slowly die alone and suffering on this special day of the year?  Would he still be alive Easter morning? And what would I do then that I couldn’t do now? Nothing, nada. Two dogs gone. This is hell. My time window is closing. The light is going. 

Peter arrives by ATV from Red Pines to fetch Laura. I see how affected he is by our dilemma; Michele leaves on foot still looking for Wolfie. Now Gundar’s folks are left anguished and alone. We haven’t heard him cry in awhile. Rosie has stopped howling and is resting dejectedly. Jim has buried himself in Gomer Pyle on YouTube. I’m so distraught that I head for my labyrinth hoping, as I walk, I can somehow send calming, loving energy to Gunny and bounce it back to me. Maybe urge him to relax and slowly get out of the muck. I have learned to have confidence in intuitive answers gleaned by this method and emerged from this earnest meander strangely calm but with little real knowledge. I did have two odd bits of info, though, and a timeframe – between 6:30 and 7:00 p.m. I imagined him standing on a small mound so I urged him to swim to the island and run home. I visualized this scene as vividly as I could. His life force dowsed 95% so I knew he was not only alive but holding strong so far.  I tell myself that he’s in prime physical shape with his heavy winter double coat for insulation. I’m thankful the panicked hopelessness has subsided, and I go up in tears to share my improbable hope and new faith with Jim.  And to watch for our boy to come running home across the ice to us.

 It’s nearly six as I approach our cabin, and the phone is ringing. Laura tells me that her daughter, Cheyenne, at this very moment is in her kayak ready to move over the thinning ice. She will start from the open water at Pulpit Rock some yards down from their camp and will cross the main body of the frozen lake to Ward’s Island point – the first hurdle in a rescue attempt.  I can go out on the porch and watch her progress now. WHAT?!? RESCUE?!

Hope in Action – we’re to be saved by the courage and determination of a six foot tall beautiful blond maid! Blessed are we!  Of course, the binoculars hanging by the door for the last 25 years are NOWHERE TO BE FOUND! Nevertheless, I am jubilant with every confidence in this strong young woman so like her granddaddy. This is what Duncans do, I’m reminded, and am so filled with relief and hope. Now we wait.  This goddess has a phone.

Holy mud, my mother used to say, and how strangely appropriate mud will be for this hoped-for miracle this day.   From the porch, I spy Chey with my naked eye, and she looks to be makin’ real good time – just a- slippin’ and a-slidin’ across that ice like greased lightin’. She’s sitting in that boat reaching out rhythmically with a claw hammer in each hand. Shortly after losing sight of her behind the island, Laura phones with the update that Gunny has been spotted still alive in open water surrounded by ice - surely too exhausted to break any more.  He’s already had several hours in icy water.  Dual effort and real danger still lurk ahead before he and his saviors get home safely.  Strangely, I think of the Titanic and remind myself of his strength and dense undercoat.  I resolve to spend more time grooming it when he comes home to us.  Time and stamina remain overriding factors.   

Cheyenne reports she can’t get to him.  Taking time to backtrack and portage the kayak to the other side of the island through thick brush, she will then paddle out to him in the swamp.  She also signed off reporting because she didn’t have the breath to chat about the plan she was formulating as she ran.  Guess this means no time for selfies, either.  And the light is going.

 Michele, married to Cheyenne’s mother, sets out from Pulpit Rock in a kayak with her headlight – another strong woman, immensely capable and brave.  Michele hasn’t been on the ice in the past six weeks because she doesn’t think it’s been safe!  I’m not the only one that’s relieved Michele will be on scene, but I am the one with the most heartfelt gratitude and know it’s the love for her own Boxer, Horatio, and knowledge that Chey needs her help that urges her on. Now comes the slow wait for news. I think that it’s good she has blankets, but wish she had something sweet with her.

The strength and stamina needed to transport - in a kayak over unsafe ice – at speed – an 80 lb. saturated & exhausted Samoyed is not to be underestimated. All  after getting him out of the water. The nitty-gritty of this mission is still complicated and difficult, but faith and competence pair well. 

Michele arrives to find Cheyenne standing knee-deep in shoreline ice water trying to shatter thick ice with a paddle so Gunny might continue on to shore.  Cheyenne said when she first got there that his black eyes were just visible looking to his rescuer with confidence and relief - his nose between his paws resting there on the ice, helpless and too near the end of his strength.

 How much longer could he have waited? These rescuing angels now faced the ordeal of pulling his sodden weight out onto land whereupon he collapsed unmoving.  They pulled, heaved and urged him to stagger along the shoreline to the remaining kayak waiting on the ice further towards the island’s point.  They dried what they could, wrapped him up and settled him into the kayak cockpit where he took up the whole space. Then they took off - like marathon runners back across the creaking ice making for Pulpit Rock & the rescue boat waiting there.   

Cheyenne, first at the scene, told me Gunny’s back legs appeared to be supported by a small mound of mud which was all that had kept him from going under forever.  I’m glad now that I don’t clip their nails or trim their pads in winter. Those big hind dewclaws often removed from pups at birth, today served the function Nature put them there for.  The girls took turns pulling 100 lb. of wet but halleluiah still living dog from the water. Poor Chey had freezing wet feet, and when she went to take her shirt off for Gunny, Michele told her to keep it herself because the skimpy tank top beneath was not gonna keep her warm enough.  I know I’d have seen more of this canine rescue if I could have just found those doggone field glasses.  

Missy, Laura’s elder daughter, with Peter’s baby son strapped to her chest, has driven the Boston whaler up the shore from Red Pines to Pulpit Rock and stands ready with honey as I had asked.

I knew from Ursa and my own brush with the frozen wet that low blood sugar after 3 hours in freezing water posed a secondary danger. Laura has drawn warm water into their camp’s only bathtub; he’ll need to walk up to there, though. 

Gunny is alive and safe back on land …it is 7:00 p.m.  It was later recounted that frightening ice noises snapped beneath them most of the way over and back.  Gunny-bear was saved, and so was I for the rest of my life, at least as I viewed it now! All are so blessed by this Easter miracle, but the two goddesses who saved our dog get my everlasting love along with a blessing every time someone reads this tale.

Jim has the ATV ready for the trip through the woods to fetch our pup. I never got ready to leave the cabin faster than that Saturday night. I want to take Rosie but change my mind & leave her with Sly.  I take a jar of raw milk for Gunny to drink, an Amazon gift card I got for my birthday for Michele, and some cash for Cheyenne who’s a freshman in college with needs.  Completely inadequate recompense, I know.   Chey had a long hot shower and, I heard, slept most of the next day after Easter services.   Her Aunt Barbara mentioned she had sustained numerous bruises and scrapes.

Gundar is just emerging from his warm bath when we arrive, and his tongue is pink again. What a good boy – a brave boy! He’s not dry, but Michele is busy fluffing his thick winter coat which allowed his core temperature to maintain so long in freezing water, and the glucose of the honey quickly brought oxygen back into his brain. When he went immediately for kibble and drank the milk, I knew he was okay because this dog was born to eat.   The humans shared Holy Saturday supper – 2 hours delayed because of this wondrous miracle.                                               

One tired pup rode quietly on my lap as Jim drove the trail home. Rosie and Sly were just inside the cabin door waiting. Sunday was a peaceful day. Our hearts are full. Gundar sleeps even more than usual and whimpers every now and then. Wow, is he ever clean!  Neither dog is dry 24 hrs. later so Rosebud, the agile, met with a swim of her own over there on that island.

Dear Wolfie’s spirit will permeate Northpoint for the rest of our days here in camp - the senior canine guardian keeping good company with the rest of the beloved animal family who have blessed our lives here in this enchanted forest. I’ll put his bed in the place we made for him under the birch tree near his mama.  He will be so welcome to come round every now and again – maybe with Jake, his yellow lab best friend of years past. We think of him more than every day. Rosie seems to wonder where he’s gone and stays close.    Gundar seems to have happily adapted. Things are easier with just the two young ones. My tears fall, and my heart is full knowing that our beloved animal companions have never really and truly gone away.  Right?!