Up north

We are at the family cottage in the Upper Peninsula for a week of sleeping in, fried whitefish, and cherry pie.

Walter is with us, of course; this is his favorite vacation spot. There’s a lot of fun to be had here for a dog. That’s why we know, from sorry experience, that there is an excellent veterinarian here in St. Ignace. Every time we come here, Walter eats something, breaks something, rolls in something, or something, all of which require medical assistance. The most memorable was the time he ate something on the beach and barfed all night long. About six a.m., the morning haze just clearing off the lake, the birds just starting to sing, I watched  as a baseball-sized lump rose on top of his head in the space of—I’m not kidding—three minutes. The vet said he had strained a muscle from all the barfing, and gave him some Valium. Some things you just can’t make up.

These days he’s too stiff and tired to get into much trouble. He won’t even swim anymore, which is sad; in his day you just couldn’t keep him out of the water, whether it was river, pond, Great Lake, or roadside ditch. My, he was yar. He could swim as fast as I can; we used to race sometimes in the lake. And strong: I’ve seen him swim for an hour without touching the bottom even once.

On the other hand, he’s never once had a bath without looking utterly miserable and shuddering with fear. Context is everything, apparently.

Today we went out by the water and hunted for rocks and shells and edible weeds. Henry and Joe sat and watched the gulls fishing, using the wind to hover above the water, then diving straight down to snatch a fish. Walter used to do the same thing, minus the flying part; he used to stare into the water, searching for minnows, then—pounce! Chomp! Yum! He could do this for hours, his stumpy little tail wagging frenetically and sending out a fountain spray of water like a garden sprinkler.

Today he curled up on the warm rock next to Henry, and took a nap, till we came inside for a lunch of fresh hot homemade biscuits with cheese and dandelion greens.

(I have pictures to illustrate this story, except of course for the barfing part, but I'll upload them when I have a faster connection. In the meantime, here's my recipe for biscuits:)

Fresh, hot, homemade biscuits

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Sift together 2 cups of good flour, 2 teaspoons baking soda, a teaspoon of  sugar and a half teaspoon of salt (or to taste).
3. With two knives, cut in about a half a stick of sweet butter until the mixture is the texture of oatmeal.
4. Add whatever else sounds good--grated cheese, herbs, spices, etc.--although sometimes a plain old biscuit is all you need.
5. Pour in just enough buttermilk, or fresh milk mixed with a little vinegar, to moisten the batter.
6. Stir just enough to thoroughly mix it all together. Minimal handling is the key to tender biscuits.
7. Drop by the spoonful onto a buttered baking tray. Sorry, but the extra butter is necessary.
8. Bake until slightly crispy on the bottom and springy on the top.
9. Serve immediately--if you can stand it, with more butter, and honey or golden syrup.

Comments

[-- V]

Molly, my first dog and first Corgi, drew a firm line between "natural water" and "unnatural water." She loved the former and anathematized the latter. Retrieving from Torch Lake was her favorite thing in the entire world, and ... she wouldn't come outside at all if the hose were visible.....

She loved balls so much that she would get in the wading pool to retrieve them, if there was absolutely no other way to get them, but wading pools were definitely Unnatural, in her view.

Our shepherd/husky, Spot (Bob's dog; Molly's older "sister") loved to retrieve enormous rocks from under the surface of water. She wanted you to throw a small rock into the water. She'd run after it, then would feel around with her front feet to find a suitable large rock, which she'd dunk for and retrieve. Generally they were larger than her head, sometimes by considerable.... Spot shared Molly's distaste for Unnatural Water.

Sophie and Buzz were/are more catholic in their fondness for water. Both loved/love to chase hose water, and thought/think wading pools are just fine, though they drew/draw the line, firmly at the threshold to the bathroom.....

Wilbur the beagloid boy, in contrast to all the above, has Candy Toes, which would surely melt if exposed to the least dampness, so he is as careful as possible to never allow them any contact with water. Wet grass in the back yard? No way.... Wet pavement when he's on a walk, though, is fine.......

ps -- strained a muscle from barfing? This is the stuff of legend..... One of my friends has a lab who wagged so much she temporarily paralyzed her tail.....