Every Inch a Sailor NOT!

Our second RV park on the pilgrimage to Duck Lake SK was a warm and sandy location on the east side of Osoyoos Lake. In the heat of summer, this part of the lake is jammed tight with tents, trailers and noisy jet skis. In June, deserted except for hardy Europeans with rented RVs. Turned out our beach was less than a click across quiet water from the border, an easy hop with leaking water wings. I took my kayak across the first morning without knowing about the dotted line and discovered later that I might have been confronted by armed guards if I'd tried to leave my boat.

Blarney got his first ride in a kayak that same morning. His lack of enthusiasm was pretty evident by the way he wiggled as he was handed across the water gap between us, but once he was in, he settled with a little help from my knees clamped over his rear end. After the first voyage and pictures, we took him in the bigger boat for a longer cruise, with Joan holding him firmly. He clawed onto her, head over her shoulder then head inside her life preserver. No amount of coaxing would make him relax. When the bow hit shore he turned ballistic in his attempts to get away. "Maybe a little practice and he'll get used to it," I said, not too confidently. For now, Blarney is not a happy sailor.

Blarn's Favourite Pose

I suppose begging is the most obvious trick to teach a dog. "You beg and you'll eat!" For a dog of normal proportions, that is, not long and wobbly, this position is probably no big deal, but for Blarney it's like balancing a (you guessed it) warmed wiener on end.

We arrived at the Manning Park Lodge for a break and play session only to discover the area was dotted with hundreds of gophers sunning themselves at their holes. The smell sent Blarney into a frenzy of sniffing every which way and set us off laughing. We were determined to get a picture of a gopher to match with Blarney. "Gopher" was almost his first learned word. "Gopher!" we'd say, before a treat or to claim a toy. He often "gophers" automatically for a ball or in hopes something will be offered.

This wouldn't be our only encounter with these critters. An area, in Prince Albert, adjacent to the RV park was bigger than a couple of football fields. It was a minefield of holes with little heads popping up willy nilly. Blarney ran free with a maniacal gait, trying one hole after another. In a small field at the Clearwater park, he dropped his ball down a hole. His head was invisible as he began to dig. More dirt went down than up and we had to use our throwing stick to clear the hole while we held him back. Another time, on a run for the ball, he fell into a hole and did a barrel roll coming out. No question he has earned the privileges of an upstanding member of the "Society of Standing Gophers"!

Mixing It Up With the Big Guy

Blarney always approaches big dogs with an attitude of dominance. "I may be small but inside I'm tensile steel with teeth! Mess with me and you might regret it." When reality unfolds he's putting every ounce of energy into his bark and heading for the Mexican border! I was walking with him one evening when we entered a closed in path. Suddenly a large dog appeared around the far bend. Blarney turned around and hightailed it back the way we had come. Took many ball squeaks and soothing words to bring him back.

Our friends Carol and Wilf have a big husky-malemute cross called Nook, that hangs with wolves and coyotes most of the time because they live in a wilderness area. He's the most gentle dog you could possibly imagine. His basic greeting is to lean his big head against you (about waist height) and hope for a scratch behind the ears. We tried to explain this to Blarney before we arrived. "You know Blarney, all big dogs aren't mean. You should give them a chance." Still, we arrived in a state of trepidation. Would Blarney make a big friend or bark himself into a nervous disorder? There were some tense moments while he cowered under the car and trailer or wrapped himself around our legs, but eventually peace prevailed. Once he actually followed Nook into the bush to pursue a coyote. Now that's brassy! He can't even see clearly over lawn grass. By the end of the visit he'd even developed a tolerating relationship with their horse... bark and run! If Blarney ever does apply to be a farm dog, he'll probably have to resign himself to middle management where words and barks really matter.
PLAYING WITH NOOK