First: Dixie took off -- for long enough that I skied all the way back to the truck and forced myself to go to the side of route 27 and check, hoping not to see her body on the side of the road. Thankfully, she was fine, was way up ahead and ran back to Barry while I was looking.
Next, Phoenix took off. For about 15 minutes, finally he returned.
Later, both of them took off together, chasing deer. We could see them take off, could see the deer and then we could see them no more. This time they were gone for nearly 45 minutes. I was stressed, knowing that if someone shot them while they were chasing deer, that someone would be justified. Dogs should not chase deer, but at the same time, it is their instinct, and both of my dogs are wild and full of survival instinct. Eventually we decided to head over toward one of the two dirt roads that surrounded the trail we were supposed to be skiing; we could hear dogs barking. Although they did not sound like my dogs, they could be barking because of my dogs being near. We skied down the side of Cold Grove Road, hollering to them the whole time. Finally they came out from a camp driveway, and Dixie was splattered with blood. I checked her over to find out that it was not her blood; I learned it was another creature's. I have no idea what she got. My first guess is chickens, but I have no way of knowing. I feel badly, regardless of what it was.
This is Dixie , licking her bloody chops, looking back up the road at Al and Jack - that's the blood on the side of her face.
From this point on, they were on leash. I walked them (they pulled me) down the side of the dirt road, and then I tethered them to my CamelBak. They pulled me along the trail for about an hour.
We skied through the sunset, and it was absolutely beautiful out there.
Barry, coming up the trail at sunset.
Sadly, the story does not stop there. I had them leashed to me until about 15 minutes and a BIG downhill from Al and Barry's. At the top of the hill, I thought I would be safe to unhook them, and that I would be much safer heading down that hill without being attached to them. Once we got within sight of their driveway, Phoenix caught scent of yet another freaking deer. I called and called, but no use. I skied down to my car, grabbed the necessary, after-skiing beer from my car, took off my skis, threw Dix in Al and B's house and thought to myself, well, at least I can look for him while enjoying a beer. By the time I was back at the top of the driveway, I had Phoenix and we returned back to my car. I put him in there and ran in to quickly use the bathroom, grab Dix and say to Al and Barry, "See you at my house in about an hour." What self-respecting Maine girl, parking in the middle of Somerset County DOESN'T leave her keys in the ignition?
I got out to my car to find a very excited Phoenix, standing on the side of the door, having already hit the automatic locks, locking himself inside with the only keys I had with me (after a 3+ hour adventure - I had to just laugh and thank the universe that I have the husband I do). Barry and I tried to unlock the door, using a coat hanger, and little bandit man watched intently, when he was not licking the condensation off the inside of the windows. We could not unlock it, so I called Jimmy and he made the 25 minute drive up to Al's bringing me my spare key - without a sigh or a word of complaint (he seriously is awesome). For the day, well, for the night, the adventure was over.
We made it through Christmas and the days that followed without any problems. They were kept on leash most of the time, and when they were not, they behaved well and stayed with me.
Then came the Nor'Easter. Jim and I headed out toward Varnum Pond at the height of the storm and spent a beautiful bunch of hours thanking our Gore-Tex and enjoying the storm. It was dumping, and it was awesome.
Jim - switching up layers.
Dixie - off trail and loving life.
Jim - way ahead in the distance.
Near the end of the ski - roughly two and half hours into it, Phoenix returned to us full of porcupine quills. Yup, like 25 of them in his nose and lips. Awesome. We tried to get some out right there (every other dog I have helped with this cooperated, but not my rescue boy). It became incredibly clear that he would not allow us to help him and so we headed back to the car, hoping for better luck once home.
Face full of quills, checking on me!
I sat in the back with him to keep him from smashing his face all over the place as he tried to get them out. Yup, that porcupine, out in the storm (for whatever freaking reason!) got him good.
At home we tried our hardest to get them out, and we did a pretty good job. We got all but 9 (that took us roughly two hours), but it was increasingly crystal clear he would not allow us to get the remaining, broken quills. I called my vet, the Farmington vet, the Clearwater vet, the traveling vet, but NOTHING. My vet recommended the emergency vet in Lewiston, so at 5:00 pm, with the wind whipping and the snow still coming down hard, we took a trip to the Dirty Lew. They were not busy and got us right in.
Of course they had to DOUBLE-DOSE him, to get him properly sedated. The vet told me that after the first dose, he just looked at them like, "I know what you are going to do, and I am not going to sleep." They dosed him again and removed the quills. Three hours later we were home with a very drugged dog.
This is Phoenix just standing in the middle of the kitchen - super buzzed.
Standing, mid-stride, as if he had forgotten where he was headed.
Sleeping - completely out of it.
The next day I had plans to spend time with my niece in Portland (I was taking her to a great Mexican restaurant in the Old Port after she helped me shop for jeans), so I was on a bit of a time-crunch. I got up early to ski with the dogs (and for myself - no doubt) before heading to Southern Maine. It was a perfect morning for skiing - the day after a Nor'Easter - no one had been out - it was ideal.
See what I mean? 7 am - beautiful.
And yes, they ran off AGAIN. Instead of spending a blissful quiet hour in the woods, getting exercise, I instead spent 45 minutes yelling for them, retracing my steps, tracking them in the woods - seriously. I almost cried and almost gave up, ready to head home and ask Jim to help me. But lo and behold, as I was scooched down on the side of the trail, looking at the tracks where they went off trail and into the woods, out came Dixie first and then Phoenix about a minute behind her.
I wanted to KILL them. But you can't do that - you have to be HAPPY they have returned. And so I was (because really I was happy they were okay). I leashed them and made it home, vowing to never ski with them free again.
Since that vow, since forcing Phoenix to pull me behind him with his harness and my ski-jouring gear, no problems. (I am knocking on wood.)
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