Had the day off, and a few cold beverages, so I went old school this afternoon.
This was my dog's hill. Throw the stick, they run down the hill, jump the creek, run up the other side, grab the stick, run back down, jump the creek again, bring me the stick, get scratched behind the ear. Rinse, wash, repeat for hours on end while smoking a bowl or two, and it always ended up as a good day in the woods. I was surprised that my fire pit had been covered up. Sorry about the monochromaticism of the the pic, but its February in Illinois, I'm lucky its not all white.
The retriever/shepard/mutt mix or whatever she was would get anything I threw. My family and friends thought I was fucking crazy for how I trained these two. One moment I will never forget was at Starved Rock, when the shepard mix, Abby, aka Abs of Steel, was running up walls. Christ do I wish I had video of it. She'd make mountain goats shit themselves. There was a group of school kids there, and a little girl asked me if she was magical. I almost cried, but just said "Yes, she is".
Shit like this:
I don't remember why, but yeah, she was just chilling on a wall.
Abs would get anything I threw. I climbed a mountain with her in Colorado. I chucked a stick off the peak, just fucking launched it, off the top of a mountain. And off she went. This is shortly after finding fresh mountain lion tracks in the snow. She was gone for about 15 minutes. I was just getting high and drinking a mountain dew. But she came back, with the stick, as she always did.
I used to hide a tennis ball, a stick, and a chew toy. Sometimes inside, sometimes in the yard. I could tell her to 'get the stick', and she would. Or 'find the ball', and she would.
The Rott was another story. Sure, she'd get anything I told her to. But everytime, Every. Fucking. Time. She'd run to the stick or whatever I threw, and then she'd turn and look at me.
She was an expressive little rat. And after running down the hill, jumping the creek, running up the other side, without fail, she'd turn and look at me, and make me yell 'get the stick'. I may not speak dog, but the look on her face was clear every time. "When I bring this back, you're just throwing it again? Seriously, that's what's going to happen, isn't it, asshole?" And of course, thats what happened.
I miss my dogs.
This was my dog's hill. Throw the stick, they run down the hill, jump the creek, run up the other side, grab the stick, run back down, jump the creek again, bring me the stick, get scratched behind the ear. Rinse, wash, repeat for hours on end while smoking a bowl or two, and it always ended up as a good day in the woods. I was surprised that my fire pit had been covered up. Sorry about the monochromaticism of the the pic, but its February in Illinois, I'm lucky its not all white.
The retriever/shepard/mutt mix or whatever she was would get anything I threw. My family and friends thought I was fucking crazy for how I trained these two. One moment I will never forget was at Starved Rock, when the shepard mix, Abby, aka Abs of Steel, was running up walls. Christ do I wish I had video of it. She'd make mountain goats shit themselves. There was a group of school kids there, and a little girl asked me if she was magical. I almost cried, but just said "Yes, she is".
Shit like this:
I don't remember why, but yeah, she was just chilling on a wall.
Abs would get anything I threw. I climbed a mountain with her in Colorado. I chucked a stick off the peak, just fucking launched it, off the top of a mountain. And off she went. This is shortly after finding fresh mountain lion tracks in the snow. She was gone for about 15 minutes. I was just getting high and drinking a mountain dew. But she came back, with the stick, as she always did.
I used to hide a tennis ball, a stick, and a chew toy. Sometimes inside, sometimes in the yard. I could tell her to 'get the stick', and she would. Or 'find the ball', and she would.
The Rott was another story. Sure, she'd get anything I told her to. But everytime, Every. Fucking. Time. She'd run to the stick or whatever I threw, and then she'd turn and look at me.
She was an expressive little rat. And after running down the hill, jumping the creek, running up the other side, without fail, she'd turn and look at me, and make me yell 'get the stick'. I may not speak dog, but the look on her face was clear every time. "When I bring this back, you're just throwing it again? Seriously, that's what's going to happen, isn't it, asshole?" And of course, thats what happened.
I miss my dogs.
