I’ve had quite a number of puppies in my life. When I was born, my brother had a new puppy, Tanya. She was a Golden Retriever that came from a good stock of genes. Tanya gave birth to a litter of puppies that could have been Golden Doodles before they were a breed, but a hearty male Golden got to her first. Then we got Kerry, an Irish Setter that was healthy and huge. She was, however, terrified of thunder and spent many a day in the basement on sedatives with music and a fan on. Then came Shane, MY first puppy—that is, the first puppy I could call my own. He was Kerry’s son, and a beautiful, healthy, and even larger Irish Setter than his mother. He was my buddy and I spent the years from age 10 until I left for college with this sweet boy. He died when he was 12 after a life of less-than-ideal commercial dog food. His healthy hips deteriorated into former shells of themselves, and the poor guy could hardly get around in his latter years.
My partner and I got our first dog together when I was in my second year in college. We’d met him at a D&D party, where he crawled into Scottie’s lap and promptly fell asleep and snored like a lumberjack. He was about the size of a rat, maybe 8 weeks old, and a male pitbull. Black and white patches over his eyes made him just about the most adorable thing we’d ever seen. But we were looking for a Lab. Besides, we’d lived next door to some dangerous and abused pitbulls when we lived between Coal and Lead on Edith in Albuquerque. They were neglected and unhappy dogs, from what we could see—towing a chain the width of my thigh and a quarter length of a football field. Those poor pups barely saw a bowl of fresh water, and were nothing more than a false sense of protection for the owners. Yet, because of these dogs we were wary of pitbulls.
Somehow, the Labs never panned out, and Chillum’s owner kept asking if we wanted him. Finally, we said sure, and traded the dog for a burly Himalayan sweater. Chillum bonded with us as if he’d never lived with anyone else. He was the best dog we ever had. A Frisbee dog extraordinaire—pictures published in dog books. He would ride along-side us on our bikes for miles, and had his own shortcuts for when we embarked on long trail rides. Chillum could hang with most any other dog, and was an awesome friend and companion. Even Scott’s father, who really is not a dog person, loved and respected Chillum, especially after the night Chillum prevented Scott’s dad from walking out the second floor sliding glass door when he was sleepwalking, and the deck had not yet been installed.
When Chillum died as a result of developing peritonitis after surgery for the bloat, he waited hours for Scott to get home, and then died within seconds of his arrival. His death hit me like a punch in the gut for years. Every time I thought about it, I literally felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. I remember not wanting to vacuum my house for months, because the thought of removing my last physical remnants were more than I could bear. He was our first baby. Our first canine beloved.
We had Truchas, and Puck, and we dog-sat Tasha for 2 years, and then we got Boghee. We found Truchas a mountain home, when we discovered we were not especially suited for Shepherd breeds. But Puck and Boghee endured. Tasha was a complete ding-a-ling Rottie, but she had a good heart and loved us all the same, and eventually she went home to her owner—who promptly lost her in Tacoma (we have kicked ourselves many a day for ever saying goodbye).
Puck developed cancer, and Boghee ate too many socks and underpants. But both were awesome and beloved friends. After Boghee’s death, we were caught up in kids and life and stuff all over the floor. I felt like taking a break from picking up dog poop was warranted, and I was already consumed with life.
H
owever, in the past one and a half years, I’ve been solo on many a hike and run. I’ve pined for a canine buddy to accompany me on those trails when my children choose not to. I’ve missed my bike buddies, who eagerly accompanied me on mile after mile.
We weren’t actually looking for another dog, but one came into our life. The timing was auspicious, and she had been on the shelter market for less than 8 hours before we adopted her. We actually thought she was a boy due to a shelter snafu and mislabeling. After we’d already forked over our cash we discovered the he was a she. The name I’d considered, Django, just didn’t seem right anymore. On the ride home, I said “Nuptse” out loud and she looked at me long and diligently. Nuptse seemed to fit. I’d been reading Steve House’s Beyond the Mountain, and the Himalayan names were forefront in my mind.
And here she has been. Two weeks already, but it already feels pretty comfy. A new pup is so easy compared to raising children. Children are complex and I spend countless hours of brain work so that I can be a more gentle, more mindful, more peaceful person when interacting with my children. I strive to be the best Mama I can be, but I’m well aware that I’m human and will sometimes make mistakes. Puppies are easy. Consistency, gentleness, lots of their own things to chew, quiet time, good food, lots of walks, and lots of love.
Having spent all these countless hours working towards bettering myself as a human Mama, I’ve discovered that I have a different perspective towards raising this pup. Maybe it’s the Mama-of-human-children perspective that has influenced this change, but I’ve discovered that having a puppy just feels easier, somehow, at this point in my life. A pup just fits into our life, and we are enjoying all aspects of puppyhood—the chasing to find the stolen shoes, watching her learn how to go down stairs, get used to the car, take hikes, play ball, find sticks, meet other dogs - - it’s all good!
Sunday we hiked into Canyonlands and Nena bombed it up a small Via Ferrata just when I thought she'd want to turn around. I'll post pictures as I get a chance. I (of course) forgot my camera while in Canyonlands, but took a couple shots on my phone.
Tuesday we hiked the beginner loop on the Slickrock Trail, watched a bunch of new mountain bikers cut their teeth on the awesomeness of the Moab slickrock, went to the musical instrument park and listened to Daddy perform for us, and then I hiked the Portal Trail with Nuptse in an effort to thoroughly wear her out. We ate at Eddie McStiffs, shopped on the town, tried to swim at night but the water was just too dang cold, and ended up watching a cool show on the History Channel about ancient cultures documenting visitors from space hundreds and thousands of years ago.
