Ninety-nine percent of dog-walking is uneventful though I do try to remember that all of these minutes are a gift not to be squandered. I have stopped more than once and chided myself for slipping out of the present; even apologized to my dog for yanking him from what is his all-time favourite pastime, smelling everything!
Dogs are always in the moment; their senses tuned to smell, noise and mood. Luca can sense another dog on the other side of a high snow bank, launch into defensive mode at a plastic bag half a block away or stop dead in his tracks because we have passed the house whose owner often has treats for him.
Despite my somewhat arrogant belief that I know my dogs and their idiosyncrasies there have been times when that confidence has been stretched to the limit.
Ikwé was a prime example.
One cold, winter’s day in January, I went walking along the frozen shore of the Assiniboine River with my friend Sandy. Ikwé was off-leash and running up ahead as usual. I never worried about her as she never strayed far. This particular morning the city had cut down a large Elm tree and we had stopped to count the rings. When we looked up Ikwé was nowhere in sight.
A black dog in a sea of white should be easy to spot and that was when Sandy screamed and pointed toward the river. There in the middle of a supposedly frozen expanse was a hole, and in it, head bobbing in a desperate attempt to stay afloat, was Ikwé. We yelled her name and started running.
Sandy shouted at me to get on my stomach and crawl, fearing thin ice, but we were both still too far away for that too work. Next thing I knew Sandy had run to the edge and was down on her belly hauling Ikwé out by the collar.
It was terrifying and miraculous at the same time. If we hadn’t looked up when we did Ikwé would have disappeared forever and we would have never known what happened to her. A heartbreaking possibility for any dog lover.
Rivers and lakes are my favourite haunts and definitely not the sort of places I expect to have terrifying experiences. Sadly the ice hole wasn’t the first one. Years earlier, while camping, my partner was playing fetch with our dog when the ball bounced off a tree and into the river beneath our campsite. Shantih, the dog, was after it in a flash and was soon floating down river at break-neck speed. Thankfully he was a strong swimmer and obedient, and managed after what seemed ages, to haul himself back to shore but not before we had grown hoarse from screaming.
Another time friends were babysitting Shantih while at their lake house. They decided to go canoeing and left him behind. Sometime later they were paddling across the lake when one of them said there was a heavy panting sound coming from behind them . They turned and there was Shantih close to the stern , trying desperately to catch up. He’d chewed his way through the screen door and dog- paddled half way across the lake. He was one tired pooch when they hauled him into the canoe.
My friends were so traumatized by the possibility of his near drowning that it took them months before they told me the story. I then had to confess that it wasn’t their fault. Next to chasing things, canoeing was one of Shantih’s favourite activities!
Bonnie Dickie lives in Winnipeg, the Elm capital of Canada. In a previous life she worked for CBC in Yellowknife, NWT before moving South to freelance as a documentary filmmaker. Her work has taken her across the Arctic as well as China, Africa and Spain. Today she is semi-retired and aside from her dog walking exploits is focused on learning to play the ukulele-a talent she has yet to fully grasp.
Lovely memories of three dogs in your life, and the wonder they brought.
… and bring.
I was very glad that each of these dog adventures had a happy ending, Bonnie! Thankfully, too, the other “ninety-nine percent of dog-walking is uneventful”!!
Wow! Heart-stopping moments with heart-warming endings, thankfully.