I Almost Killed Bambi's Mother

So, I almost killed Bambi's mother today. Well, actually, technically speaking, Drake almost killed a dozen baby ducks, but it felt the same.

You see, it happened this way. We went to the lake, as we've done almost every day since Drake learned to swim. We made our way along the trail to the little beach, and I unhooked Drake's leash.

As I finished, I noticed that something was bobbing in the water, just on the other side of the massive log that floats in front of the beach. After—naturally—the leash was off, I realized it was a mother duck and what looked like a dozen baby ducklings. They were cute and fuzzy, and Drake was after them like a shot.

I said, "Oh, crap," and started to wade in after him, several beats behind. And all of a sudden, we switched genres. We weren't in Bambi, and Bambi's mother wasn't about to die. Instead, we were in a textbook nature show.

Because as soon as Drake leapt the log, the ducklings all peeled off to the right, and the momma duck swam to the left. I've seen ducks swim. They can swim faster than this. She was keeping it intentionally slow, to stay just a few feet ahead of Drake. They can also swim smoother than this, and quieter. Momma Duck was splashing as she swam, to keep Drake's attention, and letting out a continually changing stream of duck sounds.

qua-Quack-ak-ak-QUACK, mix and repeat.

Drake was hypnotized. He swam after her all the way along the beach, until the public property ended and the sand was replaced by grass and a dock. Momma Duck could have flown away at any time, but she led him all the way past the sand, turned left up the grass, and led Drake out of line of sight of the water. Only then did she fly away, up and over the bushes, and past me in the air as she headed off to the right where every one of the ducklings had successfully disappeared.
Drake spent some time looking for her, thus confirming her victory, and then eventually ambled back to the water.

That was one skilled Momma Duck. The ducklings were much slower, and far more vulnerable. And she saved each and every one of them.

Drake Learns to Swim

When we first got Drake, he was bizarrely and emphatically opposed to getting wet. If he stepped in a puddle, he'd jump into the air. If it was raining, he'd slap his but down on the porch and refuse to step out into it, even if it meant holding his pee for hours. He never had an accident, but he never let himself get pulled out into the rain, either.
He's slowly gotten better. He will now walk in mist, and he doesn't jump into the air when he gets a paw wet.

Well, about 10 days ago, there was a breakthrough. Drake learned to swim. We were at an off leash dog park, and some of the impromptu pack were chasing one another along the shore. Drake followed.

One of the other humans there threw a ball for her dog. The dog swam out to get it. And Drake followed.

The dog came back, and someone else threw the ball a long, long way. The dog swam out after it. And Drake followed…until the dog decided the ball was too far away and turned around. The dog swam back to shore, and Drake lurched on. He wasn't good at swimming, and he was splashing in every direction. I got ready to swim after him, but he got the ball, motored around, and wheezed his way back to shore. It may be the first time a pit bull has ever out swum a lab. It was more stubbornness than sense, but it was impressive.

That's Not a Trail

Drake and I have an ongoing disagreement.

He thinks that any gap in the underbrush should be considered a trail, and that we can walk that trail.

I think that for something to be considered a trail, I should be able to a) stand up and b) not bleed while walking on it. Thus far, we are still arguing over who is right.

It's not that I'm not willing to crawl to take him on a "walk." I've done it before. Actually, I did it this morning. It wasn't that long a crawl, after all, and how else could we get through the space in the bush that Drake had leapt through? He was already on the other side, hot on the scent (literally: he was panting after some deer trail), and trying to coax him back didn't seem the best idea. Since the bush got really thick about three and a half feet above ground, I crawled. No problem.

It's also not like the trail has to exist at all points along the way. At one point in Whatcom Falls Park, there's a trail that has eroded away, so that it's just a flat vertical surface on the cliff face at some points. It wasn't the wisest thing to do, but I have slung Drake over my shoulder and streeeeeched from foothold to foothold. We didn't die.

Likewise, I'm willing to bleed if I have to. I actually don't begrudge Drake the time he jumped as I was trying to go uphill, and I landed on the edge of a cut stump and sliced my shin open. That was mostly my fault; I hadn't slowed him down.

But crawling and bleeding: that's where I draw the line. And you know, it's particularly hard to get stinging nettles out of your flesh when you're crawling on them. Or maybe that's just me.
So, the disagreement: that's not a trail. He's willing to meet me part way. He'll take another trail if it is a better trail. He'll take another trail if he can't get through (and a trail that's so thickly overgrown that an energetic young pit bull can't get through is, no questions asked, not a trail). He'll take another trail if he'd have to walk in especially cold water. But then there's that fuzzy gray area where we're still negotiating.

Say it with me: That's not a trail.