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March 9,2007
"Wait'il the gang back there at the humane society hears my success story.
Remember me? My name was taz, short for Tasmanian Devil, but my kind Mom gave me a much nicer name, Smoky.
My parents, Dennis and Grace Brooks, new comers to The Pas, Manitoba, plucked me from the Humane Society and kindly took me into their home. That was seven months ago when I was four months old and I haven't been back to the shelter since. I am now eleven months old and have had a lot of adventures with my Mom who walk me every day-even in the winter when the weather isn't too terribly cold. The only time she doesn't walk me is in the summer when the temperature is too high. She doesn't enjoy the heat- neither do I and that's another trait of my supposed breed- I prefer moderate to cold temperatures.
I enjoy walks, or at least I do now that my Mom has trained me good leash manners. I know how to walk on a leash, she has patiently taught me to respond to "sit", "stay", "come", and "down". I still have 'come" to master. My Mom thinks I'm slow at obeying this. I circle the yard instead of coming to her; or if out on a walk, run the other way.
I love meeting people and dogs on these excursions. People are very kind, even children fall over each other to get a chance to pet and meet me.
June 23, 2007. One group of children stopped us and asked if they could pet me; of course my Mom agreed. One of the group asked if I was a show dog. Hummmmmmm.
The other day we walked along, me a good pup on a loose leash, when a butterfly flying just ahead of my nose. me being a playful pup, just had to chase it. The insect kept just out of reach, up and down, up and down. This drew the attention of a man cleaning out the back of his truck in the ally way. he stopped what he was doing and after watching for awhile, commented. "She just has to chase that butterfly."
The three of us had a good laugh.
Walking isn’t the only way I get exercised. You see, I’m a tall. lanky, some might even call it skinny, dog, built to run and speed.
My Mom has a bicycle and she rides for miles, sometimes as far as eighteen miles at a time, and she takes me with her. Wow what a great time I have! I can really stretch my long legs.
Don’t think I’m allowed to run free, this is not so as my humans worry if I was loose, I could get hurt, poisoned and there’s always skunks and porcupines wandering about, along with bears and bear traps and moving trains. She has an apparatus attached to her bicycle called a dog bicycle leash. It’s very simple, it attaches to the bicycle and leaves the rider free to steer the bike, the leash correcting any lunges or any other wrong movements by me. That eighteen speed bicycle can really move.
Meeting dogs on our walks isn’t as exciting as meeting people. Once my Mom and I walked through an area we’d been through many times before. It was a public walking area but this time a huge Malamute was tethered there in a grassy area, and before My Mom could haul me out of the way to safety, the dog attacked me. The leash, a flexi-leash, burned her hands, leaving huge white blisters and her helpless to do anything to get me to safety.
The dog jumped on me and soon I was on my back in the grass and the big brute shaking me by the neck. She shook me like a wolf shakes its prey to kill it. I thought sure I was going to die. I yelped and screamed for help but with her blistered hand, my Mom could not do anything. Anyway, how does one person stop a dog fight?
Suddenly the Malamute stopped shaking me and let me go. She must have realized a human being was around, or better yet, occurred through divine intervention. Then as my Mom untangled the cable the dog had been tethered with, the owner of the Malamute came along and yelled at my Mom about how much better it would be if people kept their dogs on a leash. I was on a leash! Other mean, vicious dogs have also run out and tried to attack me while I was following my Mom on her bicycle. One, a tan coloured terrier mix is all I can give him credit for being, lives just across 7th Street from us and he’s always running out yapping and snarling, sometimes when we’re just walking. It’s obvious the vicious brute just wants to get a fight going; and someday, I hope I’m wrong, he will cause a terrible accident, perhaps even injury to me and/or my Mom. I’m wondering why people can’t keep their animals under control.
note: Tragically, one or both, of these dogs across 7th. Avenue, on Settee Street, have been involved in the death of another animal. The black dog with the curly tail chased another dog, a lot smaller than him, right out into the street and under the wheels of a car. The smaller dog wasn't killed outright but died later from his injuries. This dog lived next door to us, to the north, and in one part of their yard, just across the fence by our step, is a perment reminder of where he now lies. An evergreen tree and flowers mark the place where he rests.
I know my Mom sometimes get frustrated because I am such a high-energy dog. I realize she’s been ready, at times, to take me back to the Humane Society and trade me in for a less feisty pet; but she hasn’t yet. I know she thinks I’m as close to a perfect dog as you will get here on this earth. And guess what you guys back there at the Humane Society. I feel that way about my parents, too. I hope she will keep her vow to adopt me and make it her retirement years the time to teach me to be a good canine citizen."
August 4, 2007
"It is almost a year since I came to live with Mom and Dad Brooks. They are my permanent parents as they have adopted me. I am so happy I can't keep my paws on the ground. My adventures continue. Wow, what an adventure my Mom and I had while out bicycling the other day. We were peddling slowly along a gravel road running along side a railroad track; actually humans call it an access road to the freight trains parked there, I call it a good place to go with my Mom to run and stretch my restless legs.
Anyway, box cars are parked on the tracks waiting for an engineer to come along and make the lifeless cars into a train. The cars can hold any kind of cargo, even grain. And sometimes this grain leaks, drawing all kinds of wild animals. The day I'm talking about was a gray, overcast afternoon, threatening rain.
As I said, we moved slowly as the road was rough, but we'd come to the end of the potholes and my Mom looked up-right at one bear coming out of the bushes onto the road, and then two yearling cubs, only feet away. My Mom let out a yelp, slammed on the bicycle brakes, coming to an instant stop. She looked at me and I looked at her. It didn't take her long to decide the best thing to do was turn that bicycle around and get out of there. That she did and we were moving at full speed the same direction we'd come in a flash. The road being narrow and the ditch on one side being filled with stagnant water, my Mom could not look back to determine whether the bear followed or not. But I could. Faster and faster I urged her to peddle until I ran as fast as I could and she peddled as fast as she could. Twice she tried slowing down but I lunged against the leash to indicate she shouldn't stop yet. I WOULD NOT ALLOW HER TO SLOW DOWN.We'd run and peddled two km before I allowed her to slow down and stop and rest. She breathed a sigh of relief when she looked back and saw the road clear although I'm sure she could see the forms of the three animals in the shadows of the box cars. If the mother bear had not given chase, then she would not have been able to so much as make out the forms.
I felt so proud and wanted when my Mom hugged me and petted me and told me I was a hero and that I'd saved her life from the mother bear and her two cubs. I liked that but I liked even better the huge treat I received when we arrived back home. We haven't peddled down that road since the encounter with the bear. We started down once but lost the nerve to continue."
August 30, 2007
"I really feel for my Mom. The yard is fenced but still people, not just children, but adults too, stop and lean over the fence to fuss over me. My Mom and dad don't like this. But worse yet are the people who throw meat scraps for me and the resident dog, Tasha. If neither one of us is outside they simple throw the scraps over the fence, thinking we will find them. And we always do. Someone did this overnight and my Mom was bringing me outside first thing in the morning. I guess she'd paused to make certain the screen door closed properly but I knew exactly where some meat scraps had landed overnight. I lunged and the next think my Mom knew she landed in a heap on the concrete walkway five steps below.
My Mom went to the emergency ward at the hospital. No fractured bones but the doctor did order a support bandage on her knee.
That was three days ago and painful spots are still popping up."
September 5, 2007
Yesterday was such a beautiful day, sunny but cool; at least in the evening.
My Mom and I went for another bicycle ride. My Mom started down the road where we had encountered the bears before. I didn't like it. She kept going and I could tell she was nervous about continuing. I breathed a sigh of relief when she stopped. We waited while a truck approached us from the south. It was an official railroad truck with a railroad official driving. He stopped and rolled down his window and immediately warned us about proceeding further; that there were a lot of bears in the area. I almost danced with joy when my Mom promised we would turn around and go back. We did immediately when the railroad official moved away.
We finished our ride without incident. Even when we took another route, which involved dodging traffic as where we went; they were repaving the route. But my Mom very skillfully got out of the way of huge transport trucks, pulp trucks and other, lighter traffic. After that, after waiting patiently for a train to clear a crossing, we completed our ride without harm.
Sept 6th, 2007
"Some people may think I'm staked in the yard and my only duties is to act as an decoration or that anyone can come along and lean on, or over, the fence to feed me and make a fuss over me. Not so; THIS IS NOT A PETTING ZOO. I might be what is called a HELPER DOG. My Mom got me in the first place to accompany her on her walks. You see, she has Type 2 diabetes which is controlled by exercise and diet. She walks regularly to control the disease. And according to the Doctor, so far, the diabetes is under control because of her diligent exercise schedule. Can you imagine how happy it made me feel when I heard her say to my Dad that I was certainly doing my job- and well.
And another time I felt warm all over again. this compliment came from my dad. On one of our walks, it was a cool drizzly day, we didn't expect to see anyone, but on the walkway along the banks of the Saskatchewan River I caught sight of a man going through the garbage; for what I don't know. Food? Clothing? Drugs? Anyway he couldn't stand up he was so out of it. I don't think my Mom noticed the second man in some bushes by a bench so we kept on walking, her thinking all would be fine if we kept out of the way of the drunk, or stoned, man. We passed the bushes and suddenly the second man stepped out. He came close and asked my Mom if she had some smokes. Of course she didn't because she doesn't smoke. I didn't like the looks or smell of this man so I quickly got between her and my Mom and let out a "wow wow, wow". The man quickly retreated. What would he have done to her without me there to protect her? Would he have mugged her, or worse? When My Mom told my dad about this he said "She really is earning her keep, isn't she?"
I am convinced it is not me that looks after my Mom. After being through so many tight spots with her, I know it's a host of heavenly angels that keeps her safe from any harm.
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