Byron Brumbaugh

Freezing rain!

Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.

-Lao Tzu

Two days ago, the temperature was in the low to mid-thirties and the ground was patchy with hard, glossy, slippery ice. Today, it’s seventy degrees and the ground is ice-free, though a little wet here and there where it melted. New England weather is amazing and follows the quip, “Don’t like the weather, wait a minute, it’ll change.” Seventy degrees, and it’s mid-January!

A few weeks ago, rain in temperatures slightly above freezing was forecast. I dressed in rain jacket and pants and expected to get wet and cold. It was a bit nippy, at least on my only exposed skin, my face, but the rain suit kept me pretty dry. After about an hour of walking, I noticed the rain that collected on the edge of my hood wasn’t falling. Drops just hung there, immobile. My attention went elsewhere in an unfocused flow-of-consciousness-directed-at-the- nature-around-me sort of way and another hour passed. Looking up, I noticed that those drops had grown into icicles! My entire jacket was covered in a thin sheet of ice. It gave it a stiff, kind of crunchy feel. I’ve seen the results of freezing rain with eighth inch thick tubes of ice encapsulating the branches of naked trees, but, on that day, I learned what it was like to be the tree.

Waldo looked like he was covered by a thin dusting of snow, but when I petted him, I learned that the whiteness was going nowhere until it melted and ran off. It was ice, not snow. By the end of the walk, the icicles hanging from my hood grew to several inches long! Still, I wasn’t uncomfortable, just amazed and amused. Waldo, he didn’t seem to even notice – he just went about his stick-gathering business.

Today, I’m out here on the trail in my shirtsleeves, sweating. Waldo is panting, but otherwise unchanged from any other walk we’ve been on. A major difference between our walk in the freezing rain and today is the number of people we meet. On that rainy day, we passed only one other person. Today, there’s a traffic jam of human bodies, dogs and bicycles. It is a little strange, too, to be so warm and yet see the trees in their wintery hibernation – mere sticks pointing skyward, no leafy bushes, no weeds and just short yellowed grass buried in dead oakleaves. Tomorrow, the forecast is for temperatures to return to the low to mid-thirties and by the end of the week, we’re supposed to have five to eight inches of snow.

Waldo and I have walked this trail nearly every day for almost a year. We know it well. So well that I can find, even in deep snow, where someone painted “2.5 [Miles]” on the east side of the path by digging a hole no bigger than the painted message. I know how far the next barrel is where I can reposit Waldo’s deposit as we go on our way. I can even tell you where the cracks in the tarmac are and how far you’ve traveled and how far you have yet to go wherever you are. I recognize the sticks that Waldo had in his mouth, yesterday and the day before, then dropped when he lost interest. And yet, our trek is never the same.

The differences are not just due to the vagaries of the weather, nor the number of people we pass, nor even the evolution of the seasons. Even if all that were the same, there’s enough variation in nature that every walk is different. Nature is so vast and rich in the experiences it has to offer that I can never take it all in on one, or even a thousand, trips. The nests in the trees I saw today, for the first time, were there yesterday and last month, I just didn’t look up to see them. I remember being entranced by a pastel dawn over Fort Meadow Reservoir, seeing it for the first time after looking out over the same vista on innumerable afternoons. Then there was the fall day after a wind storm when I realized, for the first time, there were black walnut trees along our route after discovering their tennis-ball-sized fruit on the ground. And Waldo, on every walk, he sniffs the ground like he has never smelled it before and explores niches in the undergrowth just off the trail where he has never gone before.

No matter how many times we do it, every time we walk the rail-trail, it’s a new and different place we explore together.

2.5 mile marker in the snow.

Surprisingly, that is Waldos leash, not a pee trail.

The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, not to worry about the future, or not to anticipate troubles, but to live the present moment wisely and earnestly.

-Buddha

Waldo lets me know when he has to go outside. Sometimes I think this necessity is born of boredom and he just wants to go out and run around. We do live on the third floor and the only way he can relieve himself is for me to take him down the stairs and out the door, so I don’t often test this. Rarely, when he drinks a lot of water on an empty stomach, he does have accidents in the apartment before we get outside. A couple of days ago, he peed twice in the few minutes it took me to get dressed in my cold weather attire. Then, shortly after we got outside, he peed for a good twenty seconds. This got my attention.

I remember him seeming to need to relieve himself more frequently and in larger volume over the few days before that happened. The change happened slowly, so it didn’t grab me. I thought back and remembered that he wasn’t drinking more water from his bowl than normal, but that doesn’t mean much when there’s snow on the ground because he eats so much of it. It was the sheer volume he excreted that got to me – it was quite remarkable. My immediate reaction was, oh my God, he has diabetes.

In the past, I had a dog with diabetes. Until we got his blood sugar under control, he would pee buckets. Even after we started the medication for him, the disease was a real problem to control. There are no oral hypoglycemics for dogs like what can be used for some people. All there is insulin that must be injected at least once a day. That’s not the problem. The problem is that you have to monitor the blood sugar level and its not easy to get blood from a dog for testing it. In people, you can prick a finger to get a blood sample. Dogs have thick cornified pads on their feet that are not so amenable to giving blood. There is a marginal vein going around the edge of the ear that is supposed to be usable, but I could never get blood from one. Dogs have large veins and you could do a venipuncture for blood, but you wouldn’t want to poke a hole in a vein once or more times a day. Think of the tracks that IV drug abusers leave in their skin from doing just that. I had a hell of a time controlling the dog’s diabetes. I really didn’t want to put myself, or Waldo, through that.

But, “Man proposes, God disposes (Thomas a Kempis),” so there was nothing for it but to go to the vet and get Waldo tested. I was convinced he had diabetes and I was just going to have to deal with it. Waldo is my companion, my friend, my charge, my responsibility. He depends on me for everything and I certainly was not going to part with him just because he was sick. So, I called the vet and made an appointment.

They asked that I bring them a urine sample, so I took a small container I had and collected some just before we got there. This was not a problem, he was still peeing up a storm. I handed it to the staff and they went into the back and tested it. Soon after, they came back and told me that he had no urinary tract infection and, more importantly, his urine dipped negative for glucose. That meant that he did not have diabetes and it was not the cause of all his peeing. I was so relieved, I wanted to dance, and I never dance. We discussed the other causes of so-called polyuria and decided that the thing to do was just to wait and watch. I had them give him a yearly checkup exam as he would be due in a month any way. This included blood tests for lyme disease, heartworm and anaplasma (like lyme, a tick born disease – I do give Waldo flea and tick medication, but these don’t prevent ticks from biting — they just kill the ticks once they do) among other things. I left the vet, walking on air.

Later that day, they called me and told me that he tested negative for everything except anaplasma. The symptoms of the infection are fever, joint pain, vomiting, diarrhea, and rarely, seizures. Waldo had none of these (especially not the lethargy!). I looked it up online (anaplasma can infect humans, but I’ve never seen it and know of no one who has tested a human for it, although I’m sure that Infectious Disease specialists do on occasion) and it rarely can cause polyuria in dogs. Since then, Waldo’s urination has returned to normal and he has no long-term consequences of having the disease. The infection is self-limited and doesn’t need treatment if he has no symptoms. Another crisis dodged. Damn ticks, I wish there was some way to avoid them altogether.

I would do almost anything for Waldo, but there is a whole lot that I am really grateful I don’t have to do.

And that is a stick, not some other kind of trail. Such hubris!

Where did all the snow go?

The fire is winter’s fruit.

-Arabian proverb

In just a few days, more than a foot of powdery white precipitation disappeared, except in the deepest piles. Temperatures went from a high in the upper twenties to the upper fifties. These warmer days, along with a light rain, washed away all the snow and ice left by the unseasonable storm of a few days before. Crunchy ice under foot-mottled packed snow, slippery to the incautious, one day magically morphed into bare dry solid ground the next. My Waldo-walking attire changed from a down parka, gloves and gaiters to a light jacket. Our pace on the rail-trail went from thirty-minute to slightly more than twenty-minute miles. My hunched, braced-for-the-elements posture straightened to something more erect and I’m able to appreciate more of my surroundings than what is just at my feet.

Waldo, I think, is a bit disappointed. Although still very eager to jog along and explore every interesting piece of the natural world he comes across, and although he is now able to find sticks without effort, he has lost that joyous, bounding gazelle-like leap that carried him from footfall to footfall in the deep snow. Even so, he is still very much in his element out here on the rail-trail. He lives for these walks. They’ve come to structure my day as well.

We pass more people and dogs than when it was colder. We always meet a few people and a dog or two on the trail. Even on the worst-of-the-weather days, there are two or three others out here, something that reassures me that I’m not totally crazy to be out in the cold and wet. Some are frequent flyers like ourselves and some are newbies I don’t remember seeing before.

Today, we meet an elderly couple who we’ve seen before. The man is clearly demented and doesn’t say much, he just laughs and makes gleeful sounds as Waldo wag-waddles up to him to say hello. The woman holds onto his hand as if to make sure he doesn’t wander off and smiles at us. I’ve exchanged a few words with her and she seems to be a kind caring person willing to share her warmth with others as well as her husband. I wonder if she realizes how much seeing her care for him brightens my day.

We pass a group of three women walking and chatting together. They seem to be as eager to meet and pat Waldo as he is to meet them and lick them. This is the usual scenario, but his attentions are not always so welcome – a few people are afraid of dogs and we’re careful to give them a wide berth. There are also those who, for whatever reason, ignore a friendly “Hello” from both Waldo and me. One man in particular tickles my ER-spidey sense into believing he has some psychiatric issue. He always carries a backpack and I’m guessing he’s homeless. We’ve passed him several times and the best response I get from him is a cursory, but pleasant, mumbled “Hi,” always avoiding eye contact. Some we pass wear Airpods or earphones – talking on their phones or just listening to audio of some kind. They, too, ignore our greetings. There are those who are jogging or riding bicycles that give no more than a quick panting “Hello” as they race past. By and large, however, the people we pass are friendly, warm and happy to be out here in nature.

The dogs we meet are a bit different. I don’t think we’ve ever passed a dog who ignored Waldo. Usually, they are excited, pulling at the leash, trying to get close to Waldo. Waldo always approaches with his submissive, head low, ears back, waddling butt gait. I haven’t seen any of the other dogs try to appear so submissive. When close, they do the doggy sniffing thing and then either growl or try to initiate a playful interaction. Waldo, in all of his border-collie exuberance and hyper-energy, can be overpowering for some dogs, leading them to bark and tell Waldo to back off. Whatever the case, the meet-and-greet lasts for only a few moments and Waldo continues on down the trail with a been-there-done-that refocus onto what’s in front of him.

Whatever the case, that’s not why we’re out here. We’re not here to socialize with people or dogs.

We’re here to enjoy a walk in nature and each other.

Come on, old man.

This is not so bad.

To appreciate the beauty of a snowflake, it is necessary to stand out in the cold.

-Aristotle

Marlborough, the town where we live, is good about plowing the rail-trail. Our usual trek also goes for about a mile into the next town, Hudson, which does not plow the path. The temperature has warmed up a little and the two feet of snow has shrunk to about six inches or so, something that should be quite manageable, and I decide we should go down the trail until we’ve been gone for about an hour, see how far we get, then return.

I’m all prepped in gaiters, gloves and parka and Waldo is raring to go. I’m looking forward to experiencing nature covered in white stuff and watch Waldo with a jealous eye as he charges along, leaping, burrowing and rolling in it. The air is still, the temperature cold without being freezing and the sky overcast. The hood on my parka falls down on my face which makes it difficult to look up. The path, although plowed, is still quite slippery and I have to watch where I put my feet. The result is that I spend most of my time looking at the microcosm at my feet and I take only fitful glances at the beauty around me. But at least I’m surrounded by nature’s purity, sullied by man’s presence, but not obscured by it. I think the local fauna are all hiding away in burrows somewhere, wondering why this human fool is out and about in this weather, because I see no evidence of their presence, but I know they’re there.

My frequent glimpses into the shrubbery shows a lot of vertical branches poking their way skyward. Some are clean, thin and straight, some are thick with gnarly boles that collect clumps of snow and ice and have branches that are covered in a white blanket. You can see much farther into the undergrowth when the leaves are gone — the coniferous trees and bushes are few and far between and don’t conceal much. I am able to get a better sense than I ever have before about how much nearly pristine wilderness surrounds this trail. Right in the middle of a city. What a truly beautiful gift.

I glance at Waldo. Somehow, somewhere, he’s found a stick that isn’t solidly rooted to the Earth. Almost a log, actually. He prances proudly along, carrying the thing, one end dragging on the ground, as if it’s the greatest treasure he’s ever found. His head is atilt a little from the weight and it’s clear he hasn’t yet learned enough about physics to know that the thing would be easier to carry if he were to hold it more in the middle than on one end. But I shouldn’t criticize. It’s his project, not mine. It’s not long before he drops the thing, it disappears into the whiteness and he’s on to his next adventure. He pokes his nose deep into a hole in some rocks on the side of the path and I pull his head out with the leash. Who knows who lives in there and the last thing I want is for him to get bitten. He pauses a moment, then continues on down the path, looking for the next thing to grab his attention. I take his cue, slow down even more and look around me. Wiping my mind of thought and stilling my flow of consciousness, I reach out with my awareness and soak in the moment as well as I can. I listen to the stillness, feel the cold dampness, smell the clean air and gaze without focus into my surroundings. I don’t judge, but just dwell where and when I am. Sigh.

We only make a mile and a half down the rail-trail and an hour has gone by. Time to turn around and head home. Waldo seems ready and follows my lead without hesitation or complaint. I watch him closely for signs that he’s getting tired of being out in the cold wetness. I look to make sure he’s not shivering, slowing down or lifting his paws like they are hurting him. He shows no sign of being bothered by the weather or the exercise.

Still, I know we will both be ready to eat, then curl up and chillax in warm toastiness once we get home.

Look! A stick!

Winter is here.

All heaven and Earth

Flowered white obliterate…

Snow… unceasing snow

-Hashin, Japanese Haiku

The snow kept coming, hour after hour. It never came down heavy, but after a couple of days, more than two feet accumulated. I was forewarned by an app on my cellphone, so I bought a pair of gaiters that go over my shoes and more than halfway up my calves. I have boots, but they’re not water-proof and my hiking shoes are. The gaiters work well to keep the snow off the lower parts of my pants and out of my shoes. Added to the rest of my cold-weather wardrobe, I am prepared. So, first thing in the morning, after the last of the storm, I in my getup and Waldo in his sable coat, we are ready to go and brave the elements.

We have a path around the property, about a half-mile long, that we habitually follow. It goes over the lawn and around the apple and pear trees. In places, we follow the sidewalks, but not for long. I figure the way we go is more interesting for Waldo than if we stick to parking lots, driveways and sidewalks. Waldo doesn’t need to be told where to go – he is a creature of habit and he is out front, leading the way, the same way we go four or more times a day.

The groundskeepers haven’t had time to deal with the snow yet, except on the driveways and parking lots, and our path is pretty much undisturbed when we start out. The air is still, the sky is cloudy and everything is covered in a thick white blanket. I hear no birds and the white carpet has not yet been disturbed by the wild rabbits that cohabitate with us. Waldo porpoises gleefully through the stuff, arcing into the cold air, then nosing down into a placid sea of white. At times, all four of his paws are in the air, out of the snow. I pick up my feet, I have to lift them high before taking each step, and plod along behind him at a snail’s pace. It feels more like I’m climbing a mountain than walking on the flat, and I’m soon huffing, puffing and sweating inside my downy cocoon. It feels strange to have most of my body overheated and my forehead, cheeks, and chin numb from the cold. Great white clouds gush from my mouth and grow icicles on my mustache while sweat drenches the armpits of my shirt. I dressed for a simple walk in the cold, not a mountaineering expedition.

Waldo is going from bush to bush, forcing his way between the top of the snow and the bottom of the bushes to where there is less of the stuff. Looking for sticks, I’m sure. Unfortunately for him, the only sticks he can find are still attached to the rest of the plant and they aren’t going anywhere. The fact doesn’t keep him from trying, though. He continues on his way, stickless – instead he fills his mouth with snow, dropping his jaw and scooping up a mouthful of cold, fluffy solidish water as he bounces along.

We don’t go halfway and I’ve had enough. I direct Waldo out into the parking lots and we continue on our way. They are one of the first places that get plowed and the going is much easier. We have to dodge the occasional car, its’ driver braving the ice to get to work. Somehow no one is stuck. Even though our route is plowed, maneuvering on the powdery white slickness requires a pace that ensures I don’t fall and it takes us at least twice as long as usual to finish our trek. At least I’m breathing slower and my core is starting to cool down.

We get back to the apartment and I disrobe. No rail-trail today. Not because the snow is too deep to walk through, mind you. I figure we could go for the same length of time we usually do at whatever pace I can manage. Time in the wild is what counts, not how far we go. The thing is, I’m pretty sure we won’t find a place to park. There’s no street parking and I know the available parking lots haven’t been cleared yet and may not be for a day or two. If I try to park there, I’ll get stuck for sure. We’ll just have to make more trips around the grounds at home.

While I was still employed, the weather was something I had to deal with to get to and from work. It now shapes, for a large part of each of our days, the world that Waldo and I live in. Nature is not just some inconvenience we have to move through to get from point A to point B, but the destination itself. It has morphed from being a wall to be penetrated to being the sea in which we swim.

And, hot or cold, wet or dry, sun or snow, we are the better for it.

The easy path.

It has not yet begun to snow.

“What good is the warmth of summer without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”

-John Steinbeck

We were hit today with the first real storm of winter. It started in the wee hours of the day with cold temperatures in the high teens. It slowly warmed to the low thirties and then sparse small-flaked snow wafted slowly toward the ground. By the end of the day, there was an accumulation of four to five inches – the estimates over the next two days is for as much as fourteen inches. Quite a storm for so early in the year.

Waldo and I hit the rail-trail just after noon. The temperature was thirty degrees and there was very little wind. My step, at first, was forced and (for me) fast, trying to build up a little body heat. Waldo was more energized than usual and was quite happy with the slightly faster pace. He is pretty good at not pulling at the end of the leash now and we’ve had several walks where I didn’t shorten his leash even once. But today, he just wouldn’t settle down. He was bouncy and tugged incessantly at the leash – not terribly hard, but more than I like. It’s a bit of a catch twenty-two because, although I want to train him to not pull at the leash, I do love to watch him get excited and have such a good time on our walks.

I never dread going to the rail-trail, but I do worry about whether I will be miserable halfway through our two-hour-and-twenty-minute trek because I didn’t dress right. Weather.com and a little experience, however, makes it possible, sometimes with layers, to anticipate what I’ll need and I always end up being grateful for being out in nature, with my friend Waldo, despite the weather. There is also the satisfaction of, once we are done with the long-walk, settling in my beloved chair, back reclined, legs up sipping on a warm cup of cappuccino, Waldo curled up on the couch next to me.

Later in the day, while out on one of our half-mile poop and pee walks, the snow, which barely started as we were finishing on the rail-trail, has accumulated to more than ankle deep. It’s dark out and I’m all wrapped up in my heavy parka (with hood up), fleece jacket, heavy gloves, gaiters and water-proof boots. It’s slow going and the newly-fallen snow is deep enough that I’m huffing and puffing a bit while blazing a trail through the stuff. My breath steams in the light of my headlamp and fogs up my glasses. It brings back memories of playing in the winter-lands of my childhood – skiing, sledding, snowball fights and all the rest.

Waldo is out of control. He runs, does gazelle leaps, and rolls in the snow — all the while gulping down mouthfuls of it. He rushes to the end of the leash and pulls at it fiercely, sending me the message, “Let’s go! Let’s go!” I can almost hear him shout, “Wheeeee!” as he races about. This dog really loves the winter. Maybe he, too, is reminded of his earlier time as a puppy on the farm in Pennsylvania where he was born. I’ll probably regret it later as it’s breaking training, but I give him more slack than normal about pulling on the leash. It seems a crime to interfere with his fun, and I can’t help but relive something of my own rollicking in the snow as a kid while watching him. I, too, once ran through and jumped into piles of the cold white fluff, made snow angels and ate it by the handful. But, God knows, there is no way I can actually reenact my early carefree wintery joy – the spirit is more than willing, but the flesh shouts, “No way! Try it and you’ll regret it!” I’m more than content just watching Waldo.

We get back to our building and I am grateful for the fact Waldo has not been able to find a stick under all this snow. He, with a lot of patience and work, has gotten better about dropping his sticks before we go in, but tonight, there are no sticks to drop. Or apples. Or pears. Guess I won’t have to worry about that again until the spring thaw.

We go inside and I strip off my clothes, clean up the snow and water on the floor that has fallen off my coat, pants and boots. Waldo, of course, has already shaken off the snow on his coat and dried up his paws on the carpeted floor in the hallways leading to the apartment. The mess is all mine. I send Waldo off to bed and settle back into my recliner to do a little writing before I follow.

Winter is here and today has set a pattern that I’m sure we’ll be following for the next few months.

Still snowing. Waldo is in love.

Fall has fallen.

People don’t notice it’s winter when they’re happy.

-Anton Chekov

It suddenly turned cold. Unseasonably cold. A mass of winter air charged down from the arctic and ensconced itself over New England. Damn. I was hoping for a little Indian summer. But, one day, the high was in the mid-fifties and the next the low was three degrees with windchill. I dress in heavy sweater, 850-fill parka, with hood up, waterproof shoes and gloves. Waldo goes as he is and we leave for a poop and pee walk. I’ve only seen Waldo bothered by the weather twice, and I watch carefully for it. Once was when it was raining hard and he did his best to go from tree to bush to avoid the worst of the wet, and once when it was -18 degrees with windchill, ice was everywhere and it hurt his feet (had to pick him up and carry him home – which is why I bought him booties). Today, he’s his happy-go-lucky self, tail wagging, investigating every smelly thing he can find and carrying as many sticks as he can in his mouth.

Later, we go to the rail-trail. It warmed up a bit, eighteen degrees with windchill, definitely cold, but bearable with the proper clothing. We waited until the heat of the day, around noon. I really didn’t expect to see anyone else there, but we did meet a few brave souls. We passed a runner who wasn’t wearing much at all. When you’re working hard, you don’t need to. I remember once, I went jogging at night in eleven-degree weather, wearing only a jersey workout jacket (with the hood up to protect my ears), jersey pants and a pair of gloves. The first three miles were cold, but after that, I was quite warm enough. The one or two others we passed were warmly dressed in winter coats. One other person was walking her dog.

A storm blew through a couple of days before and denuded most of the trees of the few leaves that still managed to cling to their branches. It struck me – these trees are built backwards. When I get naked, I get cold. When it gets cold, they get naked. Arboreal skeletons mixed with a few conifers, and the rare tree or bush that still had a few leaves, surrounded us. What once was a verdant tunnel of living green morphed first into a surreal pastel-colored Oz and now was a winter-land of gaunt hibernating life. I’ve become very fond of watching the change of seasons on the trail, to the point that the weather just becomes another point on the spectrum of this change. Not disagreeable, just different.

Waldo seems to experience all this in another way. He trots along, nose an inch or so above the ground, surveying his way along with all his senses. I’m sure he feels the difference in the weather, but he ignores it for the sake of what’s more interesting. What’s important is what is in nature, in the moment, right in front of him. Waldo tunnel-vision. He seeks out, finds and picks up sticks and carries them in his mouth until he exchanges what he has for others. I wonder what he’ll do when all the sticks are buried in a few inches of snow where he can’t find them. He’ll probably be too busy making snow-angels and eating the snow to notice. That’s what he did last winter. And he is really enjoying himself. His tail is up, bouncing his way along, sometimes literally, without pause or rest. I must be doing something right to have a dog that is obviously so happy.

When we’re done, I drive us from where we start the rail-trail to the store to buy some food. It doesn’t take long and I leave Waldo napping in the car while I’m gone. Once we’re home, I peel off my extra layers, feed and water us, and stretch out on my chair, all warm and toasty. After six miles, it feels really good to my back and legs to recline with my feet up. I can almost hear my body say, “Aaaaah.” I’ve always thought the best part of prolonged exercise is the relief I feel when I stop.

Waldo is curled up on the couch next to my chair. His eyes are closed, he’s napping. This won’t last long, but, for now, he seems to be feeling the same way I do. I close my eyes and relax fully. Walk and food shopping are done.

I feel content — I have done my duty to dog and pantry.

Where did all the green go?

This is MINE!

True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity, before it is entitled to the appellation.

-George Washington

Waldo is one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever known. The only time I’ve heard him growl is when he’s playing. His bites are love nibbles. He wants to meet every dog and person we meet on the rail-trail. If the other dog(s) growl, or in some other way show aggressiveness, Waldo just shrugs it off and continues walking. If people show body language that says “Leave me alone,” then, again, he just goes on his merry way as if they weren’t there. He’s a sweetheart.

But, there’s always a but, he is stubborn, and that can cause problems.

We spent some time in training getting Waldo to release his grip on things he holds in his mouth. When I first got him, we quickly learned how to play fetch with a tennis ball. I guess he got bored with that because it wasn’t long before it turned into keep-away, where he would fetch the ball and then not return it to me and not drop it. So, we learned drop it, but on his terms. It was difficult to teach him because nothing is more important to him than keeping whatever object he has. He ignores pleas and treats, and I know for a fact that he understands what I want him to do when I say, “Drop it.” It just isn’t a game he wants to play.

Finally, we made some progress, playing with two tennis balls. I would throw one and he would gleefully chase after it. Once he got it, I would bounce another and command that he drop the other ball. He loves to chase balls, so he soon learned that if he dropped the ball he had, I would throw the other one and he could go chase after it. That lasted for a while, then he decided he would drop the ball he had until I threw the second ball, then he would grab the ball he just dropped and ignore the ball I threw. Now we’re looking for a treat that is so enticing that he’ll drop what he’s got for it.

When it’s sticks he has in his mouth, this is more than a game – for me. As I’ve mentioned before, he loves to pick up sticks (and other things) and carry them in his mouth as we walk along. This is okay for me until it comes time for us to go in the house. The past couple of weeks, the damn dog has gotten it into his head he doesn’t want to drop the sticks. I am not letting him take the sticks in the house, so I try to get him to drop them before we go in. Treats don’t work. At first, I would pet him and wait. After a bit, he would drop the sticks, but as soon as he did, he’d pick them up again. So, then I would shorten his leash so he couldn’t get his head down to the ground to pick them up. His response was to refuse to drop the sticks. Frustrated, I put my fingers at the base of his jaw and forced his mouth open, removing the sticks. He let me do this for a while, then he clamped down harder and wouldn’t let me open his mouth.

The other night, I tried to grab the sticks and force them from his mouth. He growled softly and tried to get a better grip on the sticks, but bit my hand instead. I lost it and yelled at him. He let the sticks go. I shortened the leash so he couldn’t pick them up again and brought him inside, all the while fuming. He followed obediently and then came up to me, licking every part of me he could get close to.  Almost sheepishly, he entered the apartment without any other problem.

Jesus, how could I stay mad at that?

He seemed to understand that he’d crossed a line because, afterword, he was more willing to drop the damn sticks. For a while, anyway.

Now I need to continue to work with him, enticing him with treats, and show him that he’s going to have more fun doing what I want him to do, and getting rewarded for it, than doing what he wants to do. I do not want him to feel that he has to do what I want him to do or there will be consequences.

I am not alpha to him, I am his friend.

I am a good boy!

I am ready! Time to go!

There is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.

-Ranulph Fiennes

It’s been a cold rainy week. High winds have nearly made the trees bald, at least those that were ready to lose their leaves anyway. The temperatures have ranged between the low-thirties to the mid-fifties. Before I go to sleep at night, I look at the forecast on weather.com and come up with a plan to navigate our rail-trail walk. The rail-trail is my favorite for walking with Waldo because it is paved, I never have to worry about mud-puddles. Puddles, yes, mud-puddles, no – except those off the trail that Waldo gets into. And he avoids those pretty well.

But, because we’re out walking for at least a couple of hours, there are other considerations. There is no reason not to avoid the rain, if possible. Walks can be arranged around the wet hours, unless it’s raining all damn day. I also have to plan what to wear. This is complicated by many factors. If we walk in the morning, the temperature usually rises rapidly, so being dressed to be warm and comfortable at the beginning of our walk, when I haven’t yet warmed up, will mean I’m overdressed and hot at the end. Dressing in layers helps some, but then you have to carry what you take off. And if the wind is blowing, this not only effectively drops the temperature through wind-chill, it also bites right through your jacket. Forty-eight degrees in windless conditions is nothing like forty-eight degrees in a twelve-knot breeze, unless you’re wearing something that will block the wind. Like a rain suit. However, that means that your body’s ability to give off heat once you’re warmed up is also impaired. And it also makes you feel sweaty because sweat doesn’t evaporate through the moisture blocking material. Gloves, and a hat that will cover your ears, are really nice if it’s cold or wet or windy. Fortunately, if no longer needed, they can easily be stuffed in a pocket. Unless, of course, the only pockets they’ll fit into are those in your jacket which you want to take off. It’s all multifactorial and complicated.

I have years of experience using weather forecasts to plan activities. Much of pre-flighting a small plane trip involves carefully using weather forecasts to plan when and where to go. This typically involves more math than prepping for a rail-trail walk — calculating fuel needs, making sure runway lengths and the plane’s crosswind handling is adequate to the conditions, but you’re still looking at the same factors. Temperatures, winds, precipitation and so forth.

I also rode motorcycles for many years and have a lot of experience in making layered-clothing choices. Fortunately, my bike had saddlebags where I could put the layers I didn’t need. But still, it didn’t take me long to learn what temperatures would require what clothing and when I would need it.

Come to think of it, much of my life was in preparation for walking with Waldo on the rail-trail.

Waldo, on the other hand, has less need for weather forecasts. His preparations are more along the line of jumping, all four feet off the floor, in front of the door leading outside, walking over my shoes while I try to put them on and pouncing on my legs and the door (why in the world he thinks this will make our leaving happen quicker, I don’t know). He also trots around in small circles in front of the door, always in a clockwise direction, until I physically stop him so I can put on his Halti and leash. Once on our walk, his ritualistic preparations seem to have worked well. Hot or cold, wet or dry, he’s out there at the end of the leash, tail up and wagging, prancing gaily along, enjoying life. However, there are limits and soon I know I will have to get him some doggie boots for when it gets really cold and icy. He also has a doggy back pack that will double as a jacket that will keep him warm when it gets bad out.

Forecast tomorrow is mid-forties to fifty degrees, sunny, but windy, with speeds to 13 mph.

We’ll be ready.

I wanna see what is over here!

You still there , Old man? You wash away?

You can have good times with anyone, but it’s really different and much more interesting when you look at how you get through the bad times with someone.

-Kenya Barris

It’s raining, a little windy, and chilly – the temperature is in the high forties. This will not stop our daily walk.

I’m dressed in a waterproof rain jacket with hood and pants. I’m also wearing waterproof hiking shoes, although the water rolling off the pants does get onto the top of the shoes and then runs into my socks at the laces. Underneath the rain suit, I’m wearing two light jackets and, on my hands, I’m wearing a pair of cloth gloves – not enough to keep my hands dry, but enough to keep them warm. I am prepared.

Waldo was born prepared. His coat is dark and heavy enough to keep him warm. The hair’s natural oils make the water roll off them quite well and, though he does get wet, a quick doggy-shake dries him enough so that he doesn’t get really soaked, even when still in the rain. His feet are thick with pads and hair so that they’re not uncomfortable except in the coldest of temperatures. I can’t really tell any difference between how he walks in the rain and how he walks on warm dry ground.

It’s raining when we start our walk, throughout the full 5.5 miles, and after we’re done. It’s a typical Massachusetts rain, more of a drizzle really. There is a breeze, but it’s nothing like the gusts that thunderstorms produce, winds so strong, they can wad a light plane up as if it were made of paper — I’ve flown Cessnas in this drizzly kind of storm without trouble. Fortunately, thunderstorms don’t usually last that long and we can wait them out and time our jaunts around them. This storm will last all day and into the night, but all we have to worry about is getting wet.

I have been in rainstorms in Colorado where the water was coming down so hard that I couldn’t even see the white line in the middle of the road, let alone the edge of the road, through the windshield of the car I was in with the wipers going full tilt. There was nothing to be done but to stop and wait until the storm passed. They call these torrents gully-washers, for obvious reasons. I’ve also watched a wall of rain approach my house in Ethiopia during the rainy season. It came toward me like a thick, well-defined curtain of water, going from little or no rain to a downpour that rumbled the building’s corrugated tin roof. Within minutes, the trickle of water that ran across the unpaved road that led to the house became a river thirty or more feet wide and several feet deep, rushing in a rapids so hard that it was impossible to cross. We were stuck where we were for hours, until the storm passed and the water level fell.

But this storm is nothing like those. It’s just a nuisance. And, being dressed as I am, it isn’t that uncomfortable. I don’t think Waldo likes it much, but dealing with it is preferable to not going on a walk. He loves our walks, especially down the rail-trail. The rain will not melt us.

As we start, Waldo charges up front, as he always does, to the end of the leash. He seems to be pulling more than he usually does, and, even though I’m trying to train him out of this, I cut him some slack. I want to get this over with so I can go home, get dry, warm up and relax. This will not be a walk I can enjoy, but one to endure. I put my head down so the rain doesn’t hit me in the face and walk fast with as long a step as I can manage. The distance falls behind us, slowly building to our usual trek. Waldo’s not sniffing every nook, cranny, and lump in the ground as he usually does, but he’s prancing along, tail up and wagging, clearly enjoying it. I’m not paying as much attention to my surroundings as I usually do, but, when I’m not focusing on fighting the cold wet weather and focus on the nature around me, I see there is a beauty to bad weather.   It would be a lot easier to appreciate through a window in a warm, dry house, however. Waldo’s happy, but he, too, seems grateful when we return to the car.

This is just one more story, a good one, although a dreary one, we add to the annals of our shared experience.

Rain? What rain? Catch up, will ya?