My eleven-month-old labradoodle girl bounced like a springbok through a foot of fresh snow, dark eyes sparkling with delight. A new game was born in an instant: Snowplow! Burying her slim nose in the white stuff she broke into a trot; a largish white mound immediately piled up over her eyes, making her snow-blind. Clunk! She bumbled into a tree trunk, backed off, shook herself vigorously and sneezed out snow. With a little yip of excitement she dropped her front legs and pushed off again, using her shoulder as a plow. Fun!
Next? An enthusiastic roll, until every inch of her was snow-coated. It was sheer delight to bounce and bounce, snap up an icy mouthful, floof it out, grin, then bounce around again.
However.
After a few minutes she stopped dead and cocked her head. Something wasn’t right! Large rounded ice balls clung to her lush eyebrows, pulling them down over her eyes. Weighed down whiskers drooped; wavy white fur harbored quarter-sized balls, which stuck like cement around her mouth and fought for dominance from paws to elbows. Her toes were wedged open by ice globs. Actually, snow-stiffened Bryn looked bizarrely festive.
Baffled, she twisted herself into a pretzel to gnaw at the mess. Didn’t help. She vigorously scooted her muzzle along the packed snow to scrape them off. Instead, more balls formed.
She tried rolling, then vigorously shaking. None dislodged; she’d simply gained more weight. But now her teeth showed, not by choice. Dime-sized balls had tightened her curly mouth fur so much that her lips were pulled up. She looked around, trying to locate me, but dangling balls banged her eyes: she truly couldn’t see. I ran over to rescue her.
Eyes squeezed shut she stood stock-still while I worked on her eyes and lips with my bare hands in 18-degree weather.
She tried to help by offering encrusted paws. Heavens, those balls were tenacious! Patiently I worked my way up her sturdy, feathered legs to her elbows until my fingers went numb and I was forced to stop. But she could at least see, and walk. Done with the park we made our way toward the car through foot-deep snow. Balls immediately ensnarled her fetlocks and crawled between her pads. It was maddening! Again, she assumed impossible positions to lick and bite them off.
I was freezing though, and hurried her miserable self along toward the car’s relative warmth.
“Try Mushers Wax!” a pet owner yelled from the other side of the fence. Of course! Alaskan dog mushers would have a solution! At home Bryn’s balls melted into a large puddle while I looked for the product on Amazon; sure enough, a little round can offered exactly what I needed. Bonus: the wax wouldn’t stain carpets. But wait! Maybe PetSmart, here in Traverse City, might stock it. I went in; they offered ‘Paw Pad’ in a can that closely resembled the one online. ‘Prevents Damage & Conditions Paws,’ I read.
If this worked, I’d have a source right here in town.
Hmmm…Would Bag Balm do just as well? I love this salve, found at any pharmacy, and use it constantly on myself.
Fine. I’d try both. Those balls, especially on her paws, would slip-slide away.
Joe and I also purchased little blue rubber paw booties. To our amazement she somehow knew their worth, and played at the dog park unbothered by their tight grip. They did tend to shred as she dashed around, but are quite effective for our more sedate city strolls.
Bryn’s suddenly starving all the time. She used to eat to live. Now, practically overnight, she lives to eat. She used to scatter nuggets all over the kitchen. I’d step on one in my stocking feet and yelp. Now, every single one is crunched gone, straight from her bowl.
Wow! I might have a bigger dog brewing here.
Curious adolescent Bryn is drawn to anything she sees on, or near, the floor; dropped pens, discarded mail- it’s all tooth fodder. We installed a nice canvas sling to protect our car’s back seat, and threw in a new, comfy dog bed. Then we treated ourselves to a restaurant lunch, leaving her there to enjoy a bully stick. When we returned 40 minutes later, that bed’s white foam padding had been teased out of a gnawed hole and chopped into a zillion fat chunks. She looked surprised at our howls of dismay.
The other day when I left the bedroom for a minute, she shook my nice down pillow to death. I returned to a snowstorm of floating feathers. Some hung from her mouth and eyebrows; most blanketed her white coat. When her tail swished, air-light duck down floated lazily around before resettling into little piles on the carpet. She was entranced by the effect. I was not.
Accidently dropped pens are crunched. She twisted my favorite glasses into a pretzel. (Foolishly, I’d left them in an open slot between the car’s front seats.) Magazines removed from trashcans are meticulously torn into long strips (always near the big kitchen window, so she can keep an eye on foraging squirrels). And yesterday I found her wasting money. A dollar bill, dropped from my jeans pocket, lay in fragments on the floor, torn into so many tiny pieces that it took over an hour of careful work to reassemble it (just to see if I could). One tiny piece had vanished, though.
The next day, I spotted a flash of faded green, nestling in her poo. Laughing, I rinsed it off off and finished the mosaic. That dollar is certainly resilient!
Tuesday, exploring the bathroom, she teased out one of my undies from the shelf, wormed her head through a leg hole and managed to work it around her neck, probably by rubbing her face along the floor. I came up from the basement to find Bryn draped in dangling panties. I laughed and laughed while she sat there, looking dopey and clueless.
Check out her ‘panty raid’ Kodak moment!
Next? An enthusiastic roll, until every inch of her was snow-coated. It was sheer delight to bounce and bounce, snap up an icy mouthful, floof it out, grin, then bounce around again.
However.
After a few minutes she stopped dead and cocked her head. Something wasn’t right! Large rounded ice balls clung to her lush eyebrows, pulling them down over her eyes. Weighed down whiskers drooped; wavy white fur harbored quarter-sized balls, which stuck like cement around her mouth and fought for dominance from paws to elbows. Her toes were wedged open by ice globs. Actually, snow-stiffened Bryn looked bizarrely festive.
Baffled, she twisted herself into a pretzel to gnaw at the mess. Didn’t help. She vigorously scooted her muzzle along the packed snow to scrape them off. Instead, more balls formed.
She tried rolling, then vigorously shaking. None dislodged; she’d simply gained more weight. But now her teeth showed, not by choice. Dime-sized balls had tightened her curly mouth fur so much that her lips were pulled up. She looked around, trying to locate me, but dangling balls banged her eyes: she truly couldn’t see. I ran over to rescue her.
Eyes squeezed shut she stood stock-still while I worked on her eyes and lips with my bare hands in 18-degree weather.
She tried to help by offering encrusted paws. Heavens, those balls were tenacious! Patiently I worked my way up her sturdy, feathered legs to her elbows until my fingers went numb and I was forced to stop. But she could at least see, and walk. Done with the park we made our way toward the car through foot-deep snow. Balls immediately ensnarled her fetlocks and crawled between her pads. It was maddening! Again, she assumed impossible positions to lick and bite them off.
I was freezing though, and hurried her miserable self along toward the car’s relative warmth.
“Try Mushers Wax!” a pet owner yelled from the other side of the fence. Of course! Alaskan dog mushers would have a solution! At home Bryn’s balls melted into a large puddle while I looked for the product on Amazon; sure enough, a little round can offered exactly what I needed. Bonus: the wax wouldn’t stain carpets. But wait! Maybe PetSmart, here in Traverse City, might stock it. I went in; they offered ‘Paw Pad’ in a can that closely resembled the one online. ‘Prevents Damage & Conditions Paws,’ I read.
If this worked, I’d have a source right here in town.
Hmmm…Would Bag Balm do just as well? I love this salve, found at any pharmacy, and use it constantly on myself.
Fine. I’d try both. Those balls, especially on her paws, would slip-slide away.
Joe and I also purchased little blue rubber paw booties. To our amazement she somehow knew their worth, and played at the dog park unbothered by their tight grip. They did tend to shred as she dashed around, but are quite effective for our more sedate city strolls.
Bryn’s suddenly starving all the time. She used to eat to live. Now, practically overnight, she lives to eat. She used to scatter nuggets all over the kitchen. I’d step on one in my stocking feet and yelp. Now, every single one is crunched gone, straight from her bowl.
Wow! I might have a bigger dog brewing here.
Curious adolescent Bryn is drawn to anything she sees on, or near, the floor; dropped pens, discarded mail- it’s all tooth fodder. We installed a nice canvas sling to protect our car’s back seat, and threw in a new, comfy dog bed. Then we treated ourselves to a restaurant lunch, leaving her there to enjoy a bully stick. When we returned 40 minutes later, that bed’s white foam padding had been teased out of a gnawed hole and chopped into a zillion fat chunks. She looked surprised at our howls of dismay.
The other day when I left the bedroom for a minute, she shook my nice down pillow to death. I returned to a snowstorm of floating feathers. Some hung from her mouth and eyebrows; most blanketed her white coat. When her tail swished, air-light duck down floated lazily around before resettling into little piles on the carpet. She was entranced by the effect. I was not.
Accidently dropped pens are crunched. She twisted my favorite glasses into a pretzel. (Foolishly, I’d left them in an open slot between the car’s front seats.) Magazines removed from trashcans are meticulously torn into long strips (always near the big kitchen window, so she can keep an eye on foraging squirrels). And yesterday I found her wasting money. A dollar bill, dropped from my jeans pocket, lay in fragments on the floor, torn into so many tiny pieces that it took over an hour of careful work to reassemble it (just to see if I could). One tiny piece had vanished, though.
The next day, I spotted a flash of faded green, nestling in her poo. Laughing, I rinsed it off off and finished the mosaic. That dollar is certainly resilient!
Tuesday, exploring the bathroom, she teased out one of my undies from the shelf, wormed her head through a leg hole and managed to work it around her neck, probably by rubbing her face along the floor. I came up from the basement to find Bryn draped in dangling panties. I laughed and laughed while she sat there, looking dopey and clueless.
Check out her ‘panty raid’ Kodak moment!
