So, Rez dawgs being what they are, take to snow plowing quite eagerly with full gear. Paws scrape, and scratch, and paw, the snowplow could not get to after yesterdays pounding. Whew! And on top of that, can you say? Minus 35-40 c? I did. Anyway, reminds me of the time tiny six inch legged Roger went missing deep in the tundra.
He was so far away, that it was doubtful he would trek home safe and into his crying keepers and favorite pet, Kenn. Yup. True. I bawled like a kid. As I was one, I guess it was okay. But back then, it was horrendus. Deep snow. Artcic chills, with the north wind thrown in, it was an emotional moment. Also reminds me of the time, Roger 2 died. Bawled again. Younger I was at that point. No amount of consoling could stop the lil boys wailing. No sir. Not for a long time. I rememeber standing there just a'wailin' away. What was I? four? Anywhooo, it hurt.
Exasperated, it was my ma and dad who said, okay, we'll get you another one. I think that stopped me midstream, get it? - and seemingly happy with that arrangement. To this day, dogs and dying are something I relate to. Bingo the snake killer was another doggie. Trained to strike and shake the bloody hell of any garter snake in the weeds around the whitewash log home on the farm I was raised-with no running water, and light by kerosene lamp, and heat by cut wood - Bingo was the first dog hero I have known.
Who taught him to do that? I have yet to see any dog attack and kill sidewinders. I think it was my Gramp's who taught him. Hmm, something to consider. This here pet shown above, all he knows is to play and dig tunnels in snow. Oh, and he chases laser beams of light in the dark. So, we still have time. I think. Either that. or I get him a harness and train him to pull sled or wagon. Yup. The thing dawg up there is still only a pup of twelve months or so and still growing. Nice dog. Let's call him Pooch.