Mt. Roberts

Happily for Lilo, there was a warming trend over the weekend and by the time I returned home from breakfast with a friend on Sunday morning, conditions were pit bull-approved! We loaded up and headed for Mt. Roberts on the Castle in the Clouds property.

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Lilo has been struggling a bit with hiking over the last few weeks. I’ve found it demoralizing. She did well through the shoulder season and seemed to love winter hiking last year. In retrospect, last year was mild in temperature as well as snowfall and as a grad student, I was able to cherrypick the fine-weather days to take her out. I really wanted to have a good outing with her and was a little apprehensive starting out, especially when the trailhead itself — surrounded by open fields — proved quite windy. Not her favorite!

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She settled in nicely once we reached the trails proper. Note to folks thinking of hiking this trail with dogs: it does start and finish near a horse pasture. If you don’t know for a fact that your pup is good around horses, please assume they’re not and keep them leashed. Lilo has spent a lot of time at barns in her life and I know she’s trustworthy, but I’ve also done my fair share of waiting for people to remove their dog from under my horse’s belly — so it’s a word that I try to spread when I have the chance!

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The trail up Mt. Roberts is clearly well-traveled. On this day it was largely hard-packed and in a few steep, sunny spots, actually down to leaves and rock instead of snow. We also saw some easily-avoidable water ice. This route, from Ossippee Park Road, climbs steadily but not relentlessly. It got my underfit heart pumping, but never felt stressful, and the grade moderates frequently.

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Sunday was gorgeous, with a vibrant blue sky and little wind at elevation. I’m sure that contributed to the incandescent happiness of nearly everyone we met on trail, including a very polite and handsome Malamute (I think) accompanying a pair of trail runners. I was fortunate enough to share the summit with a group of three who arrived just as Lilo decided that I, in the middle of changing my socks, looked like a good place to sit…

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I normally prefer loops to out and back trails like this one, but the views made for a thoroughly enjoyable descent. Even Lilo, who normally does not approve of prolonged stopping because we have places to go and why are we wasting her time when we could be going there, was happy to find a sunwarmed snowless patch and drink in the scenery.

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Greeley Pond

Here’s one more blog-relevant goal: I’m going to try to be better about responding to comments starting now. I always intend to and often do in my head, but I keep thinking, “I’ll wait until I get back to my laptop,” and then…don’t. Going to try to carve out a bit of time going forward to actually make that happen, now that running up to the office no longer means locking Titus back in his crate as it has for most of the time post-TPLO. I appreciate everyone’s thoughts and input so much.

Anyway! Last Saturday Titus and I met up with a group of friends to hike Greeley Ponds from the Kancamagus Highway. I’ve heard wonderful things about this scenic, gently rolling route, but had not quite gotten around to it yet. It turned out to be a perfect fit for a companionable amble with two hikers (one human, one canine) who are coming back from injury.

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I waffled all week about whether to bring both dogs. Between Titus’s redeveloping manners, a recent spike in Lilo’s reactivity for reasons not clear to me, and the narrowness of winter trails making it difficult to get out of the way of passersby, 1:1 dog:handler ratio is optimal right now and this trip was originally planned to be Titus’s show. Lilo knows what the pack means, though, and it’s hard to leave her behind. In the end, the weather decided me. -1 degree F at the start is way too cold for this pit bull.

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The trail was in great shape aside from one minor blowdown at the start and contrary to this hilarious recent trail report. Heavy use and a recent thaw/freeze cycle had the footpath well-developed. Stepping off did mean postholing and I may have at one point ended up in double postholes above my knees while returning from a bathroom break. Luckily — since Titus was busily trying to steal a mitten from the friend I’d left him with — I managed to free myself without too much trouble!

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The little guy did me proud. This was his longest hike since October and second-longest since July(!). 4.4 flat-to-gently-rolling miles seemed like a reasonable next step from his recent adventures (mostly not documented here), but I watched his gait like a hawk and was prepared to turn around in the event of any change. He finished up tired but not noticeably sore. Even more important, he still looked good several hours later when the adrenaline and joy of being out! on! a hike! wore off. And he handled himself beautifully on the trail. We did have to discuss alternatives to pulling like a lunatic early on, as the poor mite was Very Excited (and the other dog with the group was definitely taunting him). Once he grokked the rules, though, he was a joy to hike along with and even demonstrated admirable patience when the group stopped for socialization and snacks.

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He was also his usual weird self, of course. Wouldn’t have it any other way!

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Hike Dreams

I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions as such. Mostly I think that if there’s something you want to do, then you should go ahead and get started already. That may mean the very tiniest of steps! It may not look anything at all from the outside like meaningful pursuit of your end goal. But for me, it’s both important and motivating to take concrete action. I can (and if I allow it, will) plan endlessly. Movement matters.

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Judgment matters, too.

But I do love the symbolism of the holiday with its the arbitrary turning of the page and its invitation to reassess and reaffirm. In that spirit, here are my relevant-to-this-blog intentions for 2017.

1) Return to the New Hampshire 4,000 footers. What with one thing and another, I’ve drifted away from the higher peaks. Note that the focus here is hiking these mountains and reminding myself that I can, not necessarily checking off the list. Just climb Tecumseh a couple of times would count. That would be very silly of me, but it would totally count.

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Not a 4,000-footer, but…

2) Sleep outdoors three times. I miss backpacking, you guys. This is not a backpacking goal. I think Titus will be ready to sleep in or outside my tent without eating my sleeping bag this year, but I don’t know that for sure. I want to leave myself room for car-camping with his soft crate to feel like a worthwhile thing. But yes: tent, sleeping bag, dogs, outside. Go.

3) Work on the paw-protection puzzle. We’ve done well thus far with bare paws most of the year, Musher’s Secret in winter, and rare occasions of minor on-trail first-aid. Lilo would appreciate a bit more protection for even just local walks on very cold days, though. Titus lost most (all?) of his paw conditioning during his layup. And there is a lot of rock in this state, yo. I would feel more comfortable with a set of boots in my pack. We’ve already started the proof-of-concept testing with a loaner set from Paws of Peaks. Now that I know that Lilo doesn’t mind wearing boots, I’m ready to start trying to find her the right fit. For Titus’s part, our initial work will be just the ongoing effort in increasing his comfort in having his paws handled at all.

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Tango of Paws on Peaks, showing off his fancy feet.

4) Hike in Vermont, New York, and/or Maine. I really love New Hampshire, but our nearby states are full of equally scenic and interesting trails. I want to continue to expand my adventures and explore new-to-me options outside of what has become my geographic comfort zone. I have a few ideas already; I look forward to coming up with more and then following through!

5) Train each dog in public once per week. I take a lot of pride in having well-trained good-citizen dogs. They’re easier to work and live with. Both of mine really get a kick out of training. And I am also very vain; I find it very reinforcing to present a flashy heel or fast recall. But we’ve fallen off the training wagon since Titus’s injury to the extent that I’ve been writing a blog post in my head titled “On Having the Bad Dogs on Trail.” It’s time to knock off the rust, including confirming that our work holds up in the real world. What this effort looks like will vary by dog, day, and context, but the point is that I want to reestablish the habit of doing more than just hiking and noodling at home.

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Practicing the voluntary sit-stay of “I can’t even believe those goons are playing on the ladder when we could be zooming down this hill.”

6) Invite the possibility of new hiking buddies on four separate occasions. I’m an introvert who likes people. This is sometimes a problem. I really enjoy solo hiking. Under most circumstances I have no reservations about soloing, especially with a dog or two along. But I also really enjoy hiking with good company and there are certain situations — winter hiking along remote and/or high-elevation routes in particular — where it’s just smarter to have (the right) companion. And I can get a little weird in my head about the tap dance of making new friends. So this goal is in service of getting a little more practice in finding hiking buddies. The invitation is what counts. The outcome will be whatever it is and that’s fine; I just have to put myself out there enough to ask.

(For an actual write-up of the hike behind these pictures, please visit Paws on Peaks.)

Bony Healing

Titus’s eight-week x-rays looked good!

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There’s one small spot (circled) left to fill in with new bone, but everything is in place and healing well…despite, at times, his very best efforts! Now we work towards a return to normal life. We celebrated with a family walk to Aresthusa Falls. The road to full recovery is still long and all paws are crossed for the continued health of the other CCL… But we are totally delighted to have made it this far!

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Temptation and Doubt

Christmas morning, Lilo and I stood on the Osseo trail near its junction with Lincoln Woods and watched a single snowmobile buzz along the latter towards trails to Owl’s Head and the Bonds. The driver saw me watching and raised one hand in acknowledgement. I don’t remember if I waved back. Motorized vehicles are prohibited on Lincoln Woods. I thought I saw a shoulder patch, but couldn’t read it from where I stood.

For a moment, it stopped my heart.

But there was no search effort staged in the parking lot when Lilo and I returned: just a single Fish & Game truck with trailer ramp down. I mentioned it to a couple of friends, but “that was weird” seemed to be the end of that.

And then Monday morning I got back in the car after a nice toddle with Titus and a friend at Diana’s Baths and looked at Facebook and saw that a hiker had died on Bondcliff. That snowmobile had been exactly what I first feared and then discarded: the beginning of the effort to find and bring him home.

Here are three things that I’ve been thinking about — none specific to or meant as judgments of this event or individual; only things that I’ve been thinking — since.

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One.

A few years ago I switched from galloping horses at solid obstacles back to endurance sports. I had this idea at the time (though it wasn’t the reason I switched) that the latter would feel not less risky, but less pressured, at least. I don’t mind playing with margin of error; it’s actually something that I really value in my hobbies and that informs my professional life, too. Flippantly: if it’s not at least a little dangerous, I’m not interested. But part of me liked the idea of reducing the urgency of decision-making. Of allowing more time to gather and process information.

What I didn’t realize until I was in it was that time can be its own trap.

That is: when you have to decide, you have to decide. The consequences of making the wrong call can be dramatically catastrophic. But so, it turns out, can be the consequences of not making any call. Of waiting. Deferring. Continuing on just a little further to “see how it goes.” There is such a thing as a point of no return and the thing about endurance sport is that sometimes that point slips by without you realizing it.

We talk a lot about watching for red flags and changes in the weather and signs that it’s just not your day. All of that, I endorse! More and more, though, I think that maybe we’re wrong-headed. Maybe we shouldn’t be waiting for signs to turn around. Maybe we should be seeking green flags instead: reasons to continue. Maybe, when we’re shaving the margin, the question shouldn’t be, “Why am I stopping?” but rather, “Why I am not?”

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Two.

It could have been any of us. Bad things happen, even to people who are smart and skilled and capable and prepared. Being all those things can reduce the likelihood and improve the chance of a good outcome. Being all those things is well worth doing! Not making a reasonable good-faith effort to be those things is irresponsible at best.

But beyond a certain threshold, all you can do is all you can do.

And all you can do is not a guarantee.

I don’t think that’s a reason to be afraid or not to pursue the things that you love, whatever they may be. I don’t think it’s a reason not to learn all we can from those things that do happen or a reason not to be as compassionate as we can towards those who live through them or towards those who don’t. I just think it’s a thing to know, to live with, to look at with clear eyes, and a thing to which we’re all of us, one way or another, responsible in the end.

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Three.

This stunning Runner’s World story about the Mount Marathon runner who simply disappeared. This excerpt in particular:

So now you’re Michael LeMaitre, toeing the starting line last July 4. You haven’t been up the mountain, and you’re a little nervous. Then you look up and you see the peak, so close you can almost reach and tap its summit. It’s just three measly miles, round-trip! Straight up and down again, with hundreds of new best friends! You’ve been through so much more than this. Take it slow, you think, and you’ll be fine.

Honestly—if you were Michael LeMaitre at the starting line, what would you do?

What would you do?

There’s not a wrong answer to that question. There are many worlds in which LeMaitre — or Kate Matrosova, or George Mallory and Andrew Irvine — comes back down that mountain, as did those folks in the Adirondacks not two weeks ago. There are all sorts of reasons to make all sorts of choices. Some are better than others, but what matters is only: what would you do?

Here’s what I know as a student of risk: most of what happens when the rubber hits the road was decided in the hours and days and weeks and months and years leading up to what will look like “the moment” in the after-action report. Here’s what I know: risk is what you get in the space between temptation and doubt.

What would you do, in that space?

For everything else, choose accordingly.

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And also four.

I wrote to a friend after hearing the news, “It was such a beautiful day.” And it was, you know. Vibrant skies. Fresh-fallen snow. And powerful, powerful winds at the higher elevation. Even on Lincoln Woods, ground-level and protected at the point where Lilo and I — originally bound for Black Pond because I missed Bondcliff and wanted, while I wait out this time of strictly smaller hikes, to see it however I could — turned back in favor of Osseo because Lilo kept telling me something is wrong, you could hear that freight-train roar. It would have been beautiful on top and very, very cold.

Whoever he was, he was one of us, in a spot that is sacred to many of us. I really hate it when people say “died doing what they loved.” I understand where that comes from, but I think it erases what should not be erased and also that most people would really rather have done what they loved and been home for dinner without the dying bit in between.

But I hope those skies and that spot were some comfort. I don’t really believe in an afterlife but wherever he is now, I hope that it’s warm.

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More of the Same

We’re still here and still hanging out, just watching the weeks go by. Seven and a half post-TPLO now. Titus goes in for his eight-week x-rays on Tuesday. Those will either spell the beginning of a return to normality around here or else the crushing disappointment of a prolonged recovery or (please, no) another surgery. I have no reason to expect they won’t be at least satisfactory, but I’m holding my breath anyway.

We have taken our “forty-five minutes of controlled, flattish, good-footing walking” show on the road a couple of times!

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Titus contemplates the outflow at Franklin Falls dam while I remind him that he’s not allowed to do that many stairs just yet.

The last two weekends have been marked by unfavorable weather: significantly negative temperatures, crazy high winds, and/or that greatest of miseries, winter rain. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Mt. Washington was literally the second-coldest place on earth. So despite my best intentions, all hiking has screeched to a halt for Lilo and myself. I flirted with joining in for part of a friend’s hike but I would have been turning back alone early, already a dodgy proposition in winter even when preplanned, and just wasn’t feeling prepared, organized, or fit enough to solo under the conditions. Paws on Peaks and I had discussed a small hike last Sunday before the whole world turned into a terrifying ice slick. So much for that!

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Lilo thinks cold wind is some bullshit.

We have been easing back into training, which feels good. Lilo is working on a back-foot target and on cleaning up her heel position. She’s a super thoughtful and enthusiastic worker. I’ve been lazy about finding things for her to do, these last few months, and I think we’re both enjoying rounding back into form. Her public-access skills have, uh, degraded significantly — she tagged along to Titus’s last PT appointment and kept trying to convince him to play with her in the waiting room until I was like, “OKAY WE ARE ALL PRACTICING OUR DOWN-STAYS NOW” — and I foresee many field trips in our future to local dog-friendly stores.

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Being good is exhausting.

As for the fuzzy dog, he thinks getting to go more places and do more things is a great quality of life improvement. He’s starting to get his training brain back — actually asked me for a session the other night, which was great! — and he is utterly delighted by the foot of snow that we have on the ground right now. That’s a mixed blessing, since he isn’t supposed to go bounding through the stuff, as he would dearly like to do! But apparently stuffing his face into it up to the eyeballs (and occasionally burrowing with the whole front half of his body, standing up, and burrowing again) is almost as good. Fingers and paws are crossed for him to start getting long-line privileges back soon enough for him to enjoy the rest!

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Snowy cattlefrog in his natural habitat.

So that’s our life right now. Not exactly the big-hike posts that I’d like to be writing, but the mountains will be there when we’re ready — and I am hoping to get out for a couple of small hikes this weekend — and in the meantime, it’s what we have.

 

 

The Gift of Positive Training

I’m honored to have been invited to play in the Positive Pet Training Blog Hop! This month’s theme is the Gift of Positive Training.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the gift of time.

Having lived on the reactivity rollercoaster with Lilo (and to a lesser degree, Casey), I thought I knew everything that I could ever need to know about accepting thhat progress will take as long as it takes. I said it out loud to many people when I started scanning Petfinder last winter in search of “too much dog:” I was totally confident in my ability to have patience with a training challenge, especially if it wasn’t *that* training challenge.

In a lot of ways, I was right. Training breakdowns and naughty-dog shenanigans that would have had me in tears five years ago are now greeted with calm sympathy and/or delighted laughter. Frustration — and I’ve come closer, early on, *I made a mistake,* with adopting this dog than any of my others — is always leavened with an appreciation for his many wonderful qualities and a certainty that things will get better, as they indeed have. And every time I watch Titus deploy his impeccable dog-dog skills, I remember all over again why I brought him home. Here’s to new challenges!

Including my positive-training gift to Titus and his to me.

Because it turns out that what’s foxed me this time around isn’t a training challenge. It’s *not* training. It’s just being present with a dog, attentive to his needs, appreciative of who he is now in the moment, without attachment to who he may eventually be.

I am not great at presence, you guys. I’m great at *doing* things. At project management. At seeing possibility and driving towards it, adjusting to meet whatever I encounter on the way. This is a skillset that has suited my previous (and other current!) dogs well. Lilo in particular is so self-contained and self-determined that she imposes presence on me. It’s nice.

Titus, on the other hand, is not the asshole that I had in mind when I started looking at cattle dogs. He’s sweet. Sensitive. Endlessly observant and aware. He needs me to be his calm, safe place in the world more than any other animal — including my dear hot, spooky little horse — ever has, because he just does not at this point in his life have the capacity to be that for himself. And he tells on me every time I’m distracted or rushed or otherwise less than sweet and sensitive, observant or aware, back.

It’s easy to look at this dog and see the amazing raw material that he is. He is *such* a cool critter, you guys. Smart and biddable and athletic and made of nothing but springs and happy (and occasionally teeth). But he knows it. And he doesn’t like it. He wouldn’t put it in these words because he is, y’know, a dog. But what I’ve figured out from these months of getting to know him and then, with his injury, getting to know him all over again is this: he simply wants to be *seen.*

Don’t we all?

So this is the gift that positive training has given me, that I’m now giving to him. Patience. Attention. Understanding. Listening to my dog and doing my best to meet his needs. Giving it time. Enjoying him and seeing him for who he is right now and letting all that possibility spiral out into the future. Not forgetting about it or about all those dreams! But having faith, just as I had face in those early reactive days with Lilo, that we’ll get there when we get there.

Also: that the dog in front of me know is perfect exactly as he is and that being there with him, basking in his soft fur when he flops down in that parking lot because he *needs* a belly rub before he can bear getting back into the car and in all those sunrises that I’ve seen because he just can’t bear to go back to sleep, is pretty perfect, too.

 

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