DOGGY INDECISION

Turbo is a beautiful dog.  Best guess is that he's a German Shepherd/Husky mix.  The shape of his head and the length of his legs and ears show the shepherd part while the two tone greys and that big smile he has prove there's husky in there too, somewhere.  He's big and he's friendly and he's also pretty darned smart when he wants to be.  We are pretty sure he could have been a detector dog for law enforcement - the amount of time he spends examining a scent is something I've never seen in a dog before.  And there is no fooling him:  if we go see the grandkids without him, he knows as soon as we get out of the vehicle.  That's another thing about Turbo - he loves his kids.

Along with the other things his Husky ancestors handed down to him, he has quite the winter coat.  He spent the summer looking for a shady spot when I was out working in the garden or mowing grass;  summer heat is not his idea of a good time, but now that there is snow on the ground he can't get enough of the outdoors.  He's gleefully leaps and bounds through fresh snow like it's icing on his personal birthday cake. 

This past week has been beyond cold here on the prairies.  You can make all the jokes about 40 below that you want - the truth is the air DOES hurt your face at that temperature.  Your fingers also hurt - until they go numb.  And sticking your tongue to something metal is the dumbest thing you'll ever do.  The snow squeaks when you walk on it - the colder it is the higher the pitch of the squeak.  These are just some of the things a person knows about winter when you live out here.  Also, the smart people stay inside until it warms back up to 15 below.  Unfortunately the people with cattle to feed and bed down, no matter how smart they are, have to go outside anyway: thank goodness we don't have cattle any longer.

But we do have a dog.  One with Eskimo heritage.  And he just wants to go out side.

My days are spent acting as Turbo's doorman.  The Husky in him wants outside so he stands at the garden door whimpering to be let out.  I let him out.  He isn't out there two minutes and he remembers that he's lonely without at least one human to keep him company.  He comes to the deck door and scratches to be let in.  I let him in.  Five minutes later his insticts tell him he's an outside dog.  I let him out.  Three minutes later he's worried I might be making something to eat without his supervision.  I let him back in.  Ten minutes later he spots an imaginary coyote to chase.  I let him out.  Seven minutes after that he comes back trying to look the part of the mighty hunter and wants back in.  Four minutes later he wants back out because it's just too hot in the house.  Another three minutes and he wants back in because he misses his human. 

What he really wants is to go for a walk; something that he is capable of doing on his own.  We own 640 acres and he can explore them all any time he wants.  Trouble is, dogs are social animals and he wants to be a part of a pack.  I am his pack, and he just wants company.  I have explained to him that my ancestors are not Huskies, I do not sport a think fur coat, and I'm waiting for the temperature to go up. 

Just a minute, I have to go let him out again.