Boston Strong

I thought it would be appropriate today to post the picture of Hathaway at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. It took us until fall to make our pilgrimage to Boylston Street and pay our respects. (Of course, it turns out that after dragging him on the train and around Boston for 3 or 4 hours, he was sick with an abscess growing in his head.)

Most days, Hathaway wears a Boston Strong collar, and it was the Marathon tragedy that finally spurred us to actually earn, rather than just talk about earning, our therapy dog certification. In the grand scheme of it all, that's probably a little thing. But for the people we visit, and for us, it's a big deal to even make a little bit of a difference.

We need a bigger bed

It's been three and a half years and there's still a pit bull in my bed. But like any couple that's been together for awhile, we don't always see eye to eye on certain things, and that has nothing to do with Hathaway being only knee high. For instance, he thinks it's his bed. (He can get his own blog.)

More often than not these days, he takes up all the bed, or at least two-thirds, leaving me a little tiny sliver of space with not enough blanket to cover my bottom. It's winter in New England, it can get a little drafty.

I'm not really sure how he manages to nudge me out as much as he does. I get in bed first, and stake my claim close to the middle of the bed. He has his own pillow and part of the fleece blanket he so loves, but I have most of the bed. Once he finally moseys upstairs, he snuggles up in either the crook of my knees or in what would be my lap -- the yin to my yang and all that metaphysical stuff.

But during the course of the night, he manages to inch me further and further from the center toward the edge, and I wake up on the short end of everything. Have you ever tried to move 70 solid pounds of stubborn dead weight? You need a plan.

What has evolved is our own little midnight waltz that involves strategic timing and hip checks so I actually get some space, some covers and a pillow. If I squirm enough, he is roused from his beauty sleep and has to reposition himself. When he starts to move, I throw a hip check one way, perfectly timed with pulling the covers the other way. Voila! Back to center. Often, I end up with a pit bull on my hip, but it's a bony hip and not very comfortable for him, so he has to move.

He doesn't move far, just repositions himself in one of those niches where he feels safe. At least until he scoots up and stretches out. Most mornings I wake up to whiskers and a cold nose on the pillow next to me, attached to a warm pit bull contentedly snoring away.

Back where he should be

Do you 'ear what I 'ear?  Hathaway was resting comfortably after ear surgery and tooth removal yesterday. For a little while anyway. Let's just say he hates the Cone of Shame (picture to come) and can't get comfortable in it. I have to admit it was kind of funny watching him try to navigate down steps and through doorways, but after the stress and worry of the last couple of days, I think I'm allowed a chuckle.

Anyway, a fast-growing lump was removed from his left ear. We weren't sure how much tissue they'd have to remove and cropping the ear was a possibility. Fortunately, it didn't come to that and he still has two floppy Dumbo ears.We should have biopsy results next week.

Pit bulls deserve a break today

Dear McDonald's,

Wanna know what's risky? Offending pit bull owners across the country.

Social media was all a-Twitter today with the McDonald's radio ad for its new menu item. Several of the pit bull groups I follow via Facebook posted a notice as well. The radio spot says trying a new menu item at the fastfood chain isn't risky, and suggests somethings that are ... like petting a stray pit bull.

I wanted to embed the YouTube clip here, but guess what -- it's been pulled.

See, McDonald's underestimated the response not only of owners, but animal activists, rescue organizations and many others. It's pretty amazing that a company that big, didn't have one person who stood up to say "Hey, should we think about this for a minute? Getting breed-specific can be pretty touchy." We are hoping this doesn't affect the rescue efforts of the Animal Protection Center or other shelters.

The ad could have simply said, "You know what's risky? Petting a stray dog. That's risky."

Instead, they went the other way. I hope the fallout is huge and lasts a little longer than the usual outrage over stupid advertising mistakes. Responsible pit bull owners work too hard to change the image that media continues to perpetrate to have it blown with at 30-second commercial for an artery-clogging conglomerate.

Casey-Leigh Stock, an organizer with the New England Bully Breed Club, drafted a fabulous letter to the company, reminding anyone who reads it that this is an old and noble breed made up of war heroes and "nanny dogs."

There's a nagging little part of my brain that says McDonald's new what the fallout would be and was banking on the free media. In a way, I feel like I'm playing into their greasy corporate hands.

At the same time, I don't really care. My daughter has refused to eat a that place since seeing "Super Size Me," although I've tried to point out everything in that movie that was manipulated to make a point. Now, she has a real reason, as does the rest of my family.

The only reason I'll take them to McDonald's after today is so Hathaway can make his own little golden arch on the sign out front.

Eight days a week

Alas, my days of Hathaway have turned into weeks. Whether it's a matter of being lazy or being busy, I'm not sure. Maybe being busy makes me lazy. And being lazy makes me look up quotes.

It's the first thing they teach you in Journalism School -- leading with a quote is cliche (read: lazy). Sometimes if I'm stuck for a lead, I'll look up a quote just to kick-start the battery; it's kind of like jumper cables for my brain, a little spark for the thought process.

So, I looked up quotes (at brainyquote.com no less) about days and weeks and found some from some fellows I find quite insightful and downright entertaining, like Mark Twain:

"I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up."

And George Bernard Shaw:

"Few people think more than two or three times a year; I have made an international reputation for myself by thinking once or twice a week."

I do think at least once or twice a week. I'm finding that sometimes, it's the remembering that's the problem. This morning, for instance, I got the kids up and fed and off to school with snacks and lunches and homework. I got the dog fed and dressed and walked and relieved and settled. I got myself together and to the train on time. I put in productive hours, got home, shoveled the driveway, finished some unfinished business and got the dogs together for their afternoon excursion.

And I couldn't find Hathaway's sweater. I took it off him after our morning walk and hung it up, just not in it's "spot." The sweater has a "spot" so I neither have to think nor remember when it comes to dressing the dog on a cold morning. And the spot was empty. I looked all over, but couldn't remember where I left it, no matter how hard I thought. The kids couldn't find it either.

We took our walk without the sweater, and thankfully without much shivering. The dogs ate, and I sat down to blog, without an idea beyond googling "week."

And sitting here typing, being neither lazy nor busy, not necessarily thinking and certainly not remembering, I found the sweater. Hanging on the bedroom closet door at eye level. In the right place (closet door) but wrong spot (different closet).

I'm guessing there's probably a moral to this story. Maybe I should google "Aesop."

12 Days of Hathaway - Day 7

No, I don't know where the time goes, but we'll get to 12 days one way or another. This was supposed to be posted for Christmas day. So merry, merry and all that.

I hope all our friends and followers had as nice a holiday as we did. Notice the juxtapositions in the picture between Nina/Hath and Josey/Josh. Yep, the looks on their faces pretty much sum it all up.

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 6

Just a picture tonight because I'm tired.

This is Hathaway and his kids sitting on the raft that's about 20 yards from shore at my Dad's house. Hath swims in the lake on the summer, but this was his first time at the raft and he walked on water, so to speak.

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 4

Yes, we're out of order, but we're no longer out of sorts.

The big boy started slowly, but was mostly back to normal by the end of the day. We'll still keep a close eye on him for another 12-24 hours in case it was something toxic, but so far, so good.

And you would have thought that regurgitation followed by nearly 24 hours of continuous sleep is the formula for awakening the superpowers within. When we went for our morning jaunt, both his nose and his hearing seemed sharper.

He was following scents like our bloodhound buddy Lucy and attentively listening like (fill in the blank). Is there a dog breed known for its hearing? Or a superhero for that matter? I think the bionic woman had a bionic ear.

Wait! There's actually a whole list of superheroes with super-hearing (thank you Google, the most powerful superhero of all). Superman tops the list on comicvine.com but I think God wins because He comes in at No. 6 and No. 12, and it IS the season and all that.

Anyway, Hathaway was listening this morning,not to me and my commands, but to what was going on around him. I think he was just happy to be up and out in his world after a day of misery. Call it his new leash on life.

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 5

(We'll come back to Day 4.)

Hath has been sick all day today. He hasn't eaten since Saturday, and didn't finish his food then.
He went right to sleep on Josh's bed when we got home from the dog park this morning, and threw up the cookies he had snacked on. Mr. High Anxiety didn't know I had left the house, didn't come down when he was called by one of his favorite people and was shaking.

He finally curled up on the couch and slept there for nearly 8 hours. He sat up and gave kisses to the kids when they got home, and went outside for a brief walk. When we got inside though, he took a drink and was back on the couch and didn't even open an eye when I yelled "Fumble!" or "Touchdown!!"

In my well-dog book, just about every entry for which listlessness is a symptom is extremely serious and in more than 2 years, Hathaway has skipped maybe one meal. So far, we're up to 3. (FYI -- it also says you can give them Pepto-Bismol for tummy problems.) Josh, who had a similar day earlier in the week, said "Maybe he got my bug Mom." Maybe he did.

In some ways, it's harder than having a sick child because he can't tell me what's wrong. I can touch his various parts (paws, legs, shoulders, belly) to see if they're tender, but pit bulls can be rather stoic. At most, Hath will flinch slightly if something hurts. Fortunately, he didn't.

As the evening wore on, he started acting a little more like himself. He got up and stretched. Had some water. Wagged his tail for the kids and curled up with us for stories. I think he's on the mend, but I won't be sure until I see him eat something.

12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 3

OK, I'm cheating a little because I'm going to post twice today, but as long as I get to 12 by Christmas, nobody will know, right?

Our walk yesterday morning was a real turkey. Actually, its highlight was the neighborhood flock of turkeys (16 in all) that we happened upon during our walk.

Hath is usually off leash in the cemetery and I noticed the birds long before he did. But he's not impulsive, and was more interested in watching them than meeting them.

So there we were, watching 16 turkeys and 16 turkeys watching us. Some of them thought about making a getaway over a berm and down a hill, but a scout turkey flapped up into a tree to keep an eye on us and the turkey-in-chief led his platoon in the opposite direction, off into the middle of the cemetery. We walked past the group, the scout turkey in the tree to our right, covering their flank, and the rest heading off to our left. I think they had a vague idea we weren't a threat because we passed within just a few feet of them.

Once we were past the turkey in the tree joined his group. However, the road we were walking makes a loop, and when the flock realized we were passing them again, he flapped up into a different tree. It was fascinating to think that the turkey had an assignment, and it was rather comical to see what was probably a 15-20-pounder balancing on the skinniest, lowest branch of the scrawny sapling.

That road that led us past the turkeys also took us down a hill. Part way down, we heard Canada geese passing overhead and don't you know, Hathaway stopped and watched the geese as they headed southeast, flying in formation.

I don't know if he could link the idea that the geese were similar to the turkeys, but I do know he'd never stopped to watch them before walking through that flock.

12 Days of Hath -- Day 2

Disclaimer: This picture is in no way posed or Photoshopped.

Is there such a thing as doggie porn? Possibly the funniest thing about this photo is that Hath was asleep ... snoring. I felt a little like Larry Flynt taking the pictures, but this one especially does make me laugh.

And it makes me think of Burt Reynolds, circa 1972. Google "Burt Reynolds Cosmopolitan" and you'll see what I mean. Reynolds did a nude photo shoot for the magazine back in his heyday. The pictures should actually show up as part of your Google search. Look closely: Similar pose on an animal skin.

Goodness, that was 40 years ago. Is Reynolds still alive? If not, did "Bandit" (or was he Smokey?) come back as my pit bull?

Now, please note: I am not old enough to remember the Burt Reynolds Cosmo pictures. However, I am old enough to remember the David Hasselhoff Cosmo pictures in which he posed with some strategically placed Shar-Pei puppies. (First thought: Hasselhoff is probably more wrinkly than a Shar-Pei these days.) At the time, much reference was made to his predecessor's pictures.

I don't know if Cosmo is still doing photo spreads like these. I just wish they had stopped before they got to that unknown male model named Scott Brown, now known as U.S. Senator Scott Brown.

12 Days of Hathaway, Day 1

I was going through pictures recently to make the grandparents their annual kid calendar (oops, I hope I didn't ruin the surprise), and found a bunch of goofy Hathaway pictures that I thought would be fun to post in the days leading up to Christmas.

This one is from last Christmas. He liked to sit at the top of the stairs amongst my step-mom's Santa Bears. This is a pit bull version of "Where's Waldo?"

"There's nobody here but us bears ..." is also entered in a contest on the Bank of Easton Facebook page. It's a benefit for the Animal Protection Center of Southeastern Mass. (APCSM), which needs all the donations it can get right now. Hathaway has generously suggested that should he win the gift card prize, he will give it to the shelter as well.

So like the good folks in Chicago, vote early and often. Share the link with your friends.

Catching up

I was making my traditional holiday calendars for the grandparents the other night and came across a bunch of great photos ... of the dog. Not so many of the kids as they start to get older, but lots and lots of the dog.

My mom doesn't mind that one of her grandchildren rarely bathes, has a wet nose, is a quadruped and thinks the world is his bathroom. My step-mom, however, states emphatically over and over that "the dog is not one of my grandchildren!" Of course, this makes my sister and I even more emphatically insist that she is, simply for the pure entertainment value.

The irony is that the dog (mine or my sister's) is probably the best grandchild ever. He'll eat whatever you want to feed him without being picky or complaining. He doesn't want you to chase him around the house all day unless you want to. He's happy just to lay at your feet while you play Scrabble on Facebook or do "research" on the computer. He doesn't fight with his brothers or his friends or his cousins and he doesn't pout. He doesn't leave his stuff all over the house. You can read the books you're interested in and he doesn't hog the TV or the video games.

Of course, he prefers crunching Legos to building with them and he's kind of a sloppy eater. And he can't call to say hello or thank you or 'I got all A's on my report card." He can -- and does -- give just as many kisses and hugs and never gets tired of sitting in your lap.

Aware and enlightened

I had wanted to post something for Pit bull Awareness Day Oct. 9, but Sunday came and went without a minute to spare. So imagine my delight when I found out that October is actually Pit bull Awareness MONTH! Woo hoo.

Truth be told, however, Hathaway and I try to make every day of every month Pit bull Awareness Day so people start to realize how incredible these dogs can be. We have made friends at the dog park and around the neighborhood, at the soccer fields and the pet store. People I have never seen before call out his name and rub his big head. And on Saturdays and Sundays at sporting fields teaming with hundreds of kids and adults, Hath is usually laying on the sideline, watching the action and getting his belly rubbed by child after child after child, or sometimes an entire team at once.

Puppies climb on him and toddlers standing at eye level pluck his favorite ball right out of his mouth and he plays or waits or chases, whatever he understands his job to be at that moment. We have taken the first steps toward teaching him to be a therapy dog.

And still we have moments, like the lady at the dog park a couple of weeks ago in her fancy clothes walking her trendy Lab. As I was talking with my friend Beth, another regular with two small schnauzer types, Hathaway was stretched out in the cool grass, chewing his rubber ball like bubble gum. He wasn't on a leash. He rarely is.

When the woman was about 20 yards away, she waved and very sincerely called out, "Is it safe to walk by?"

Caught off guard (being in a place where everyone knows Hath's name), I looked around for a moment. When I saw it was only me and Beth standing there, it was clear she was asking about the dog.

I waved back and just as politely said "Of course" and turned back to my friend. Beth bit her tongue for as long as she could, so the woman had passed us but wasn't completely out of earshot when she burst out with an "Are you KIDDING me? Did she mean Hathaway?" followed by a few more colorful words.

I just shrugged. It happens -- not all the time, but regularly enough. For some people, it doesn't matter that he is an AKC-certified Canine Good Citizen or how much training he's had. For some people, it won't matter that we will eventually be visiting nursing homes or helping kids to read. They'll hear the word --pit bull -- and the rest won't matter.

So every day, if we can meet someone new or play with another kid, if we can be out around town and in stores, sitting for pats and playing with puppies, we might change one more opinion. That might mean one more dog is rescued and that's why every day is Pit bull Awareness Day for us.

Oh deer!

Yes, I'm way behind. This working-for-a-living thing really has its drawbacks. On the bright side, Hathaway has a brand spanking new, personalized (!) mat under his dinner dishes that is keeping the kitchen floor much cleaner ... that is on the days he doesn't rummage through the trash.

Those days are fewer and farther between. Our encounters with wildlife this fall, however, are definitely more frequent. No, we haven't had any more coyote adventures thank goodness. But there are the squirrels and turkeys and deer, oh my!

Our deer encounter was by far the coolest. Bambi wanted to play.

In late September, Hath and I took some early morning walks, usually strolling through the cemetery across the street just after the sun came up, enjoying the last bits of summer before the autumn chill set in.

I usually have him off the leash over there, since we are away from the cars and he's really not too spontaneous. He never bolts after anything, and he comes when he's called. So we are walking along. He's sniffing and peeing. As we came around a bend, I see two fawns about 30 yards away. I'm so surprised, I stop in my tracks, hoping to have a moment to look at them before they run off.

The deer, however, aren't paying much attention to me. They are watching the fawn-colored pit bull walking along the edge of the path. Hathaway, oblivious, is sniffing and peeing. As he got closer, they got curiouser, still standing quite still, but raising their ears and twitching their tails. Their noses were sniffing like mad and the bolder one took a step forward.

Though he was now only about 10 yards away, Hathaway still hadn't noticed his company. I hadn't moved much, wanting to see what they would do.

When the deer finally started to move, Hathaway looked up and stopped. His tail went up and he sniffed. He looked at me, and looked back at them, then tentatively took a couple of steps forward, then a couple more. I was getting a little closer to take pictures with my phone, but Hathaway got to within about 5 feet.

The bolder deer, to my amazement, not to mention awe, stretched his front legs forward, neck bent, butt raised, in the classic play position. "Bring it on, pit bull," he was saying. "We want to run!"

Hathaway doesn't even chase squirrels, so he certainly didn't know what to make of these two creatures who were more than twice his size. He watched them and sniffed then, and then he did it -- he chased them.

Sort of. He trotted forward, at not even half speed. The deer took off, running about 10 yards, then circling back to wait when they saw he wasn't following. They did it again and again -- Hath sort of chasing, the deer running away, then coming back to wait for him.

The three of them played for nearly 15 minutes, working their way through the cemetery until I finally put him back on his leash. They were getting closer to the busy street at the bottom of the hill, and I didn't want any of them taking this game into traffic. We did another lap around the cemetery and one of the deer followed us a for a short distance before running off.

People who have pets know that animals are very effective communicators. They let us know many times a day what they want, what they need and what they do and do NOT like. They may not use words, but their body language says it all.

They do it between species as well. The deer told Hath that they wanted to play, and he obliged them with a little game of chase. It was the most incredible moment (to date) in a series of special moments with this dog.

Rescue Me

People always ask if we've had Hathaway since he was a puppy, and they're always amazed when the answer is no, he's a rescue.

The kids and I are celebrating our year anniversary with our big boy, and looking back to when we got him, thinking about many of the months before that, I think it's more accurate to say that he rescued me.

Last year was not a good year, from divorce and the tsunami it creates, waves and earthquakes rising up in places you never expected; being laid off without the option of filing for unemployment; the instability of freelance work; to minor health issues cropping up one after the other and running out of the resources to adequately address them, basically it sucked.

With all that to deal with, of course the logical solution is to adopt a dog. Or better yet, a 2-year-old male pit bull that has been surrendered twice, right? Friends said "Think about everything you're dealing with right now. Do you really need to deal with how people are going to react to a pit bull as well?" Family said "Pit bulls kill people in Detroit."

But we brought him home anyway, and what he's given us in the last year -- besides teeny tiny pieces of what used to be our stuff (cell phones, stuffed animals, food, reading glasses for starters) -- is the comfort of unconditional love and the sheer joy that comes from the very center of the heart. He is always happy, always ready to play or lick your face or just curl up next to you and find peace in the warmth of the connection.

He's given us -- me especially -- peace of mind. When we started walking, getting back to the exercise was not just good for the body, but helped clear the mind and restore the soul.

He helped me find a refuge where the only thing you are judged by is how you treat your dog. The dog park -- bark park -- is my sanctuary, whether I need to be alone or in the center of the canine mayhem. It is my reset button, regardless of how the day went.

And Hathaway has brought a world of new people into my life, a safety net of sorts. Friends and love I wouldn't have except for my dog. It all has revived feelings long ago given up for dead.

A group of us were walking the other day and somebody noted how amazing it is that we all found each other -- all with similar needs or voids to fill. And here we were, walking, needs met in many ways, filled with the simple joy of watching the dogs play and run and wrestle.

So yes, my dog may be from a shelter, but the real rescue is me.

Eat, pray, love

It always cracks me up when I offer Hathaway something to eat and he sniffs it first, like there's the remotest chance he will not take it.

The only thing thing this dog has declined is leafy greens without dressing. Even then, because he is always the gentleman and his manners are impeccable, he will still daintily take the lettuce or baby spinach, just to spit it out when he thinks I'm not looking. The same thing goes for raw mushrooms; he prefers his fungi sauteed or on pizza.

Still, offer him things he loves: a nut or a bite of bagel, piece of apple or his favorite -- banana -- and he will take a whiff before accepting your offering. Maybe he's checking the vintage. Maybe he's whetting his appetite. Regardless, his devotion and his pleasure are food. Indulge him, and he will worship you. He eats as we all should: with love and gusto as evidenced by his prolific and appreciative drool, if not by his svelte body.

Maybe we should all follow our noses.

Go jump in the lake

Five days of our vacation are being spent at a lake-front property. It's rough, let me tell you. All this swimming, fishing, paddleboating and lounging. (Hathaway is laying at the edge of the water as I type, watching the butterflies.) It's exhausting.

Back in November, I wrote about Hath's dislike of water. As the weather got hot early this summer, he actually started dipping his paws in the ocean to cool off. Next he started chasing his pals, splashing along the shore. Then I started throwing a ball for him, and voila! the pit bull can swim. It isn't always pretty, especially since his head and shoulders account for about 45 of his 64 pounds, but he retrieves better than some of the retrievers.

Now swimming is a regular part of his daily walk, vacation being no exception. I think he likes the fresh water better than the ocean's saltiness. The water is also calmer, so I throw the ball farther. It's also warmer, so it's not a big deal if I have to go rescue him. He charges into the water with a big splash and power paddles his way out to the ball, leaving a wake like a motorboat.

The day he found a 4-year-old to throw the tennis ball for him was like a dream come true. She was as tireless with her tossing as he was with his fetching. He'd bring it back and drop it at her feet. Again! And Cassie would squeal and laugh and throw it. Again!

Even though he thinks he's a Lab sometimes, he's still a pit bull at heart. Despite all the swimming and fetching, I haven't yet been able to get him to jump off the end of the dock.

And he still avoids puddles at all cost.

Bedtime story

Another day, another new place with new adventures.

Just when Hathaway was getting used to the farm, we came to my dad's lake house. New smells. New dark corners. New beds to sleep on!

Our room has three beds: A double for me, twins for the kids. When it was time to use them, Hathaway tried them all, and it was like watching Goldilocks.

This one's too hard. This one's too soft. This one's where Mama sleeps, so it's juuuuust right. At one point before curling up, he jumped from bed to bed to bed without ever putting a paw on the floor.

What we have always loved most about our boy is his joie de vivre and this vacation is no different. I was worried he'd be anxious, and there are moments of that. But for the most part, it's like traveling with another kid, full of excitement and wonder. It's all an adventure and he shows us something through new eyes each day.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

I was a little ... what's the word ... wary, I guess, preparing for our annual summer trek to Michigan this year. The 750-mile drive was to be Hathaway's first long road trip, our first border crossings with a pit bull, first time staying in unfamiliar houses for any length of time. With cats! (And toddlers, horses and chickens ...) There was a lot to be prepared for.

Silly me. Mr. Laidback rolled with it, the way he pretty much rolls with whatever situation we throw at him. Six hours in a car? It's a good time to catch up on some sleep. Motel room? New beds to sleep on. Customs? They barely looked at our passports, forget about the dog's papers. Strange house? Lots of corners to explore and stray snacks to find.

About a half-hour after we got into Dodge, er Romeo, the kids and I walked Hath over to the pool to meet my sister-in-law and nephews, who are almost 5 and almost 2. He won Jill's approval, was pretty much ignored by the boys and made a new BFF, Sofie, in a matter of minutes.

I was a little hesitant to let him off the leash around the pool, around the boys (who at their ages are very similar to bowling pins around a tank like Hathaway) and Sofie. But we got a tennis ball and the dogs played and ran -- exactly what he needed after two days on the road.

He was puzzled by the kids playing in the pool, thinking that they might be in distress, and started to get worked up and anxious. He looked like a canine David Hasselhoff, running up to the edge of the water, ready to jump in and save the children, but I really didn't want to find out if he'd actually make the leap.

I leashed him and headed back to the house, followed faithfully and unexpectedly by Sofie, who would not turn around and go home. She ran along in front of us, urging Hath to play. Of course, the minute after I let him off the leash, a huge doe sprinted across the road in front of the dogs. Sofie knew what it was and charged after it. Hath stopped for a minute, then followed his friend in futile pursuit.

He's afraid of the horses, likes chasing the chickens and finds the boys finger-lickin' good. He spent the dinner hour under the table, licking knees and snuffling for scraps. We ended our night with an unheard-of 2.5-mile walk filled with lots of new smells and territory to mark.

And, of course, some very loud snoring from the foot of the bed.