In true Minnesota fashion, the tiniest glimpses of spring we got have been interrupted by another snowstorm. We received a blanket of snow overnight that has yet to let up today. Thatcher and Boden are ecstatic the blustery winter weather has returned. I let them out into the backyard this morning and then poured myself a cup of coffee. When I glanced out the door to check on them, they were both just lying in middle of the yard, contentedly munching on the fresh snow. I bundled up to trek with them to the fields up the street. In fresh, fluffy snow like this, walks end up taking double the time they normally take because every four seconds either a.) the dogs are lying on the ground trying to dig the snow clumps out of their paws; b.) the dogs have stopped to scoop up a few mouthfuls of snow; or c.) Boden is digging out a buried stick or branch.
While on our way to the fields this morning, Boden unburied what looked like a pretty solid stick and carried it for our entire walk. He pretty much always has a stick in his mouth on our walks, so I didn't really pay much attention - not that I could see well anyways with the blowing snow in my face. He frolicked around with this stick the whole time at the park and all of the way back home. As we got back to our yard, I noticed something unusual about it. This stick was actually a shovel. A small, metal gardening shovel. He was so proud of himself, he wouldn't let me or Thatcher get near it. He just pranced around happily, flipping it up into the air and swinging it around. My apologies to the poor neighbor who's now missing their little shovel. Feel free to come claim it, if you can manage to get it away from my proud little puppy.
Mailmen have a tough job. Rain, snow and sleet make no difference - they have to go outside and get the mail delivered. Although I appreciate the work they do, I've always thought that I would never have the motivation to do their job. Yet as I trudged through pouring rain with the Newfies this morning, I realized that being a dog owner is actually pretty similar to being a mailman. Doesn't matter what kind of extreme elements you have to battle (and there are plenty here in Minneapolis), the dogs must be walked. The major difference, of course, is that mailman are at least getting paid to face the elements. Not us dog owners. It can be blizzarding outside, but I rarely give it a second thought as I bundle up to trek through the snow. The dogs could care less if I get frostbite from trying to scoop up their poop, which requires removing my mittens, in 15 below temperatures. And they definitely don't care if I can't see where I'm walking because my glasses are splattered with rain drops. They just want their walk. So while I respect those brave mailmen, I can't help but think that being a dog owner is one of the most hardcore "occupations" out there.
The last few days have finally felt a little bit like spring. Sun shining, temperatures in the high 40s to low 50s. During the warmer parts of the day, we've been opening windows just to clear the stale winter stuffiness out of the house. Thatcher and Boden now post themselves in front of any open window and monopolize the cool breeze that floats in. They sit with their chins resting on the window sill, sniff out new scents in the air and keep an eye on the ever-increasing squirrel population in the front yard. The snow is mostly melted, except for the few spots of the yard that are shaded from the sun. So Mr. Garbage-Disposal (aka Boden) has taken it upon himself to eat any stick, leaf or clump of dirt he can find. And whenever I let the dogs out to use the bathroom, I find them a few minutes later lying next to each other in the yard, basking in the warm sun. Instead of calling them inside, I let them enjoy this lovely weather all they can before the hot summer months roll around.
We were finally able to touch base with the vet today, after a weekend of playing phone tag. If you're wondering what I'm talking about, here's the post about our recent health scare. After examining the test results and doing extensive research, the vet thinks that Boden is fine for now. I won't list the million details of the vet's findings, but he basically said we shouldn't worry. There are many possibilities for the abnormalities in his blood, but as long as he isn't displaying any symptoms (like lack of appetite, potty issues, etc.), there doesn't seem to be any serious problem. The abnormalities in his bloodwork are not completely consistent with some of the more serious problems that it would typically be in older dogs, like early signs of cancer. He did say part of the reason for the abnormalities may be the fact that he's growing at such a fast pace. So we are just going to be extra cautious going forward and keep an eye out for any irregular behavior. I'll consider this my Easter blessing.
In the blur of worrying about Boden's health, the rest of March whirled by. Obedience classes have been going great since using our new training collars. For the last two weeks, we've focused on mastering what we've already learned. Next week they'll be tested in order to graduate. Boden's biggest challenge will be the staying. He always does ok on the sit-stay, but for some reason the down-stay is just agonizing for him. For the test, he'll have to stay in the down position for three minutes straight, with me standing about six feet in front of him. We practiced this in class last Thursday, and I was literally crying with laughter. He did ok for about the first minute. After that, he started having an emotional meltdown. He stared at me and groaned loudly without stopping. The instructor even walked over and told him "shh!", but that made him become even more vocal. The noises he made did not even sound like a dog. Thatcher, who was
 |
| Well, we tried. |
all of the way across the room with J., heard Boden and started whining back to him. So that was what the last two minutes of the stay was like. All of the dogs in the room sat perfectly silent and still, while our Newfies gazed mournfully across the room at each other and crying. Every person in the room was trying to stifle their laughter, while I sent evil looks to Boden and telepathically told him to zip it. During the exercise, we are only allowed to tell them "stay" twice, and I had used those up in the first 11 seconds. Time ticked by until we had only 30 seconds left. I thought we were going to make it, but no. Boden finally had enough and sprinted over to me like a prisoner breaking out of jail. There's about a fifty-fifty shot he won't pass this part next week. We'll see what kind of crazy mood he's in.
Saturday morning we woke up to the first thunderstorm of the season. The booming thunder began around 5am, right when J. was getting ready for work. Thatcher, who still associates every loud noise with terrifying fireworks (see this post), hid in the doorway to our bedroom as usual. Boden, who has never really experienced thunderstorms yet, didn't know what to make of the loud crashing and bright flashes of light. Boden climbed into bed with me and snuggled until the storm passed. I didn't mind - snuggling a warm puppy and listening to the rain fall is one of the best ways to fall asleep. Later that day, we took a daytrip up north to get my cracked windshield fixed at J.'s dad's. By this time, it was sunny and 50 degrees, a beautiful change from our recent icy, gray weather. The Newfies had a smashing time pretending to be country boys for the day. They tromped through the swampy fields, competed over who could find the biggest sticks (or logs), ran up and down the river banks and chased the neighbors chickens (unsuccessfully). Their activity of choice was splashing around in the many ponds the melting snow had created in the low parts of the field. Boden, a natural water-lover, was utterly fascinated. He enjoyed diving face-first into the water to search for treasures. Thatcher just walked into the shallow part and layed down, enjoying the mix of cool water and warm sun. No better way to spend a Saturday.
