When Bryn was nearly seven months old she was brought to Lake Michigan’s edge one lovely summer morning. Sand was a novelty: paws lifted high she bounced around like a skittish colt, intrigued by the odd sensation of moving on shifting, yet firm ground. One bounce brought her toes in contact with water; she leaped away as though scalded and barked at it, unnerved.
We were surprised. Bryn’s genes reeked of Labrador retriever and poodle. A winning waterdog combination, surely. Yet- that one, wet touch seemed quite enough; we couldn’t persuade her to venture out into the alien cold, where the ground stopped being firm.
A year later we are reluctantly beginning to accept that swimming does not make her joyful. Last week Bryn, now eighteen months old, stood at the water’s edge to watch us frolicking and doing laps, upset that we were out there- and she was not. Little howls, whines and low moans poured out as she paced up and down the beach. She tried lapping the water. She lapped and lapped and lapped, but after waaay too much intake, figured out that downing that huge bowl of water might be impossible. So then she tried to distract herself by digging furiously, or biting the odd branch bit, or chasing a leaf, or her tail. (We’d assumed she’d love the water because she’ll chase a stick, but only if she could retrieve it without going in deeper than her elbows. She’ll expertly measure stick distances, and won’t bother to fetch it if her calculations come up ‘deep.’ She’s always spot-on.)
I kept calling from the lake, “Come in Bryn, you can do it! You know you can!” But only her soft howls moved over the water.
We finally gave up.
Yesterday Joe simply picked her up –she weighs 50 pounds- and we three walked into the mirror-calm lake. Happy in his arms, she didn’t struggle. When he finally set her gently down in nearly neck-high water she knew exactly what to do. Without hesitation Bryn swam doggedly toward the beach, but not in panic. Never that. She simply arrowed toward solid ground with fierce determination but zero alarm. Bryn knows she can swim, but it’s so –alien!
One needs to feel solid ground under one’s paws.
And that’s that.
I sighed. “ Give it one more try. Let’s turn our backs and look out onto the lake and splash our arms, and make happy sounds.” We did this. Feeling left out and unable to get our attention she anxiously waded in, a step at a time, crying and yipping, gradually moving deeper and deeper in, toward us, fighting the urge to reverse course. It was a titanic battle.
Turn back!
Keep going!
Turn BACK!
Keep going!
Howling, she forced herself to continue until her feet found themselves paddling. She swam toward us, wanting our eyes on her. (Our backs were still turned, but I’d followed everything from the corner of my eye.) Reaching us, fifty feet into the water, Bryn looked hard at me, and then-turned around to face the beach. She swam back with no hesitation.
The message couldn’t be clearer. This is not fun for me, Boss. Not.
I can do it, yet I don’t ever want to do it.
Sorry, Sorry...
Oh, well. We praised her effort, and left the beach outwardly cheerful, but inwardly glum. Each creature has its favorite things to do, we mused. I love gardening. Joe loves motorcycles. Bryn loves land.
Fine. We’d respect that.
But darn it, it’s hard. We can’t take her to the beach, then just leave her on the sand. There would be too many people around. Furthermore, we know of no beaches that allow untethered dogs to be parked (she’d ‘stay’ if given that command) with no owner right there.... She’d have to remain at home.
We cheered up, remembering that Bryn’s an integral part of our cycling excursions. The Bike Tow Leash we’d ordered off the web is a five-star wonder! She’ll now actually tow me. Joe leads our little parade, which rarely moves past a fast dogtrot. It’s a wonderful world, crammed with unlimited sights and sounds. We always see and hear other barking dogs and flush tons of rabbits, squirrels, birds and cats, and occasionally there is the faint, delectable perfume of eau de poop- not to mention fascinating kitchen odors that waft toward us from open windows.
As Bryn trots along, tail waving, ears perked and nose in high gear, she often glances up at me, her eyes radiating happiness.
Hey, Boss, now THIS is fun!
We were surprised. Bryn’s genes reeked of Labrador retriever and poodle. A winning waterdog combination, surely. Yet- that one, wet touch seemed quite enough; we couldn’t persuade her to venture out into the alien cold, where the ground stopped being firm.
A year later we are reluctantly beginning to accept that swimming does not make her joyful. Last week Bryn, now eighteen months old, stood at the water’s edge to watch us frolicking and doing laps, upset that we were out there- and she was not. Little howls, whines and low moans poured out as she paced up and down the beach. She tried lapping the water. She lapped and lapped and lapped, but after waaay too much intake, figured out that downing that huge bowl of water might be impossible. So then she tried to distract herself by digging furiously, or biting the odd branch bit, or chasing a leaf, or her tail. (We’d assumed she’d love the water because she’ll chase a stick, but only if she could retrieve it without going in deeper than her elbows. She’ll expertly measure stick distances, and won’t bother to fetch it if her calculations come up ‘deep.’ She’s always spot-on.)
I kept calling from the lake, “Come in Bryn, you can do it! You know you can!” But only her soft howls moved over the water.
We finally gave up.
Yesterday Joe simply picked her up –she weighs 50 pounds- and we three walked into the mirror-calm lake. Happy in his arms, she didn’t struggle. When he finally set her gently down in nearly neck-high water she knew exactly what to do. Without hesitation Bryn swam doggedly toward the beach, but not in panic. Never that. She simply arrowed toward solid ground with fierce determination but zero alarm. Bryn knows she can swim, but it’s so –alien!
One needs to feel solid ground under one’s paws.
And that’s that.
I sighed. “ Give it one more try. Let’s turn our backs and look out onto the lake and splash our arms, and make happy sounds.” We did this. Feeling left out and unable to get our attention she anxiously waded in, a step at a time, crying and yipping, gradually moving deeper and deeper in, toward us, fighting the urge to reverse course. It was a titanic battle.
Turn back!
Keep going!
Turn BACK!
Keep going!
Howling, she forced herself to continue until her feet found themselves paddling. She swam toward us, wanting our eyes on her. (Our backs were still turned, but I’d followed everything from the corner of my eye.) Reaching us, fifty feet into the water, Bryn looked hard at me, and then-turned around to face the beach. She swam back with no hesitation.
The message couldn’t be clearer. This is not fun for me, Boss. Not.
I can do it, yet I don’t ever want to do it.
Sorry, Sorry...
Oh, well. We praised her effort, and left the beach outwardly cheerful, but inwardly glum. Each creature has its favorite things to do, we mused. I love gardening. Joe loves motorcycles. Bryn loves land.
Fine. We’d respect that.
But darn it, it’s hard. We can’t take her to the beach, then just leave her on the sand. There would be too many people around. Furthermore, we know of no beaches that allow untethered dogs to be parked (she’d ‘stay’ if given that command) with no owner right there.... She’d have to remain at home.
We cheered up, remembering that Bryn’s an integral part of our cycling excursions. The Bike Tow Leash we’d ordered off the web is a five-star wonder! She’ll now actually tow me. Joe leads our little parade, which rarely moves past a fast dogtrot. It’s a wonderful world, crammed with unlimited sights and sounds. We always see and hear other barking dogs and flush tons of rabbits, squirrels, birds and cats, and occasionally there is the faint, delectable perfume of eau de poop- not to mention fascinating kitchen odors that waft toward us from open windows.
As Bryn trots along, tail waving, ears perked and nose in high gear, she often glances up at me, her eyes radiating happiness.
Hey, Boss, now THIS is fun!