Cabin Life – #10

Pico.  What a lucky mutt.  As far as anyone can tell, he is half border collie and half Australian shepherd.  Seems good to me, and he really doesn’t care what you call him.

A couple of weeks after I moved to Florida, I realized that living with my brother was the first place I had ever lived where I could have a dog.  So I went out and got a dog.  I checked the local shelters and there were no border collies, so, I went on to Petfinder.  There were border collies galore on the site.  Most people think they want a border collie until the dog starts outsmarting them and gets bored and starts destroying things. 

As I scrolled down the page looking for my new little buddy, Pico’s picture popped up.  He had a huge smile on his face and was lying contentedly on a piece of plywood.  I emailed the organization that was fostering him, and got a phone call later that day.  The woman on the phone really wanted to know about me, and she grilled me about owning a border collie.  She wanted to know about my job, my yard, my plans, if I had a girlfriend, and lots of other stuff. 

After convincing her that I knew what I was getting into, I was allowed to go see him in person.  The forty-five minute phone interview was just the first part.  My friend Brett and I drove the hour and a half to Port Orange, FL to meet the foster parents and Pico. 

He came charging out of their office on a leash that one of the women could barely hold onto.  He immediately started jumping on us and trying to chew on my shoes as we talked.  I tried to restrain him the best I could, but at about a year and a half old, he was already pretty powerful.  The women filled me in on his history:  They had taken him and two other dogs out of a shelter on the day they were due to be euthanized.  The other dogs’ names were Roscoe and Train.  Put all three names together and you get Roscoe P. Cotrain, the sheriff from The Dukes of Hazzard.  Yup, I was living in the south.

They had had Pico for a while because the people who were interested in adopting him had either been turned off by his exuberance or rejected by the organization.  I was something like the eighth or ninth person to come and see Pico.  This crazy mutt with the sob story had me from the start.  The women agreed to take him back at any point in the future, regardless of the circumstances, but I knew I was in for the long haul.

On the way back to Jacksonville, Pico started eating the seat belt in the back seat.  When we got home, him and Duff (my brother’s huge German Shepherd) took off running in our tiny yard.  Pico was explosively fast and literally had a crazy look in his eye when he was running at full bore.  You’d better watch out because when he runs like that he is not in control of his own body.  It’s hilarious and terrifying at the same time.

In addition to being really high energy, it soon became apparent that the foster moms had not taught Pico any manners, or really anything except his name.  He was not housebroken, begged for food, jumped on the furniture, and every other ridiculous behavior that you can imagine.  But, being a smart dog and completely obsessed with the treats I dispensed, he learned pretty quickly.

I also learned swiftly that Jacksonville was no place to have a dog that needed as much exercise and room to run as Pico did.  We had a few quiet city parks where I could take him off leash, and then there was the pay-to-go dog park that was nice, but I couldn’t afford it.  I took him hiking, played Frisbee and walked him regularly.  His behavior improved consistently, even with a few bad habits hanging on.

For a few years, I had tried to get my old job back up in New York, mainly because I felt bad about being so unfair to Pico.  After a few years, he was a hell of a lot better behaved, destroyed almost nothing, and was my constant companion and friend.  He deserved to run around without a leash and I became determined to provide that opportunity for him.

We had come up to New York for vacation a couple of times, and I noticed that he seemed to be right at home in the Adirondacks.  In Jacksonville, he ran all over the place, on and off trail.  In New York, he rarely ventured from the trail, and never took off after wildlife.  He was an Adirondack trail dog, no doubt about it.

When it finally came time to pack my stuff and head back north fromFlorida, the main criteria I used in finding an apartment was that they had lots of open country around the house.  I found a place outside Dannemora, NY that had a five acre field and no one cared where he ran or what he did.  (That place was nice and I would have stayed there, but there was a double murder in the house shortly before I moved in that the landlord didn’t tell me about and when I found out it kind of freaked me out). 

I’d like to say that I did all this for him, but maybe it’s something more.  Maybe he came into my life to get me back to the mountains.  Maybe we led each other here.  I don’t know, but I do know that we’re both happy to be having the cabin experience together.

Cabin Life – #27

A grackle got stuck in the porch yesterday. A few friends and I were playing horseshoes, and I went inside to grab a beer. In the twenty or so seconds that I was in front of the fridge, the bird flew in through the open door and was completely stymied by the wall of glass windows. Those windows are nice for me, but not so nice for an animal that has limited reasoning skills.

I watched the bird from inside for a minute or two, hoping that he would find his way back out the door. The black body and iridescent head of the grackle are beautiful in the sun, changing color as the bird looks around. I see them all over the campground, and the flashes of color off their seemingly black feathers usually brighten up the day. But this one was clearly in distress.

Its beak was open like it was panting for air, and it kept fluttering around in the middle of the porch, surrounded on three sides by the outdoors, but blocked by all that glass. He perched on one of the chairs for a rest, then dove headlong into the middle window down at floor level. He dove at this particular window several times, apparently convinced that this was the way out. It was not.

I grabbed a pair of work gloves, and watched the bird for another minute. He was not getting any closer to the open door, and seemed to be tiring. Plus he was hitting his head on the glass a lot. I eased out onto the porch and pushed the outside door open wider. The bird sat on the edge of my cooler, beak open, eyes wide with anxiety. The head shone a striking blue-green against the darker body. Even though I was sorry for the bird, I couldn’t help but be amazed at the colors coming off his scared little noggin.

I got within about a foot before he took off again. But this time, after diving into the middle window again, he took off, spun around and flew over my right shoulder and out the door. I watched as he glided across the yard and landed in a cedar about a hundred feet away. I glanced out at my friends to see if they had noticed the commotion, but the horseshoe pit was too far away for them hear or see the bird on the porch. I stood there and watched him in the tree, wondering if he would remember this experience. I know I will.

Cabin Life – #26

Memorial Day weekend is over.  It was beautiful weather, the campground was full, and I’m exhausted.  After working three fourteen hour days in a row, I’m glad the campers are gone, even though we didn’t really have any problems with the crowd.  Lots of guys talking about fishing, wondering where to get ice and firewood, and wondering how long they can extend their weekend.

I like working in the campgrounds, even though dealing with the public is often unnecessarily stressful.  Drive slow, be quiet and keep your dog on a leash.  It’s not that much to ask, but many people find it difficult to follow those simple rules.  But what I love about my job is the chance to be on the trail crew.  They pay me to hike, and I have to pinch myself every time.

After Hurricane Irene, I was in the High Peaks doing cleanup.  Hauling a forty pound backpack while carrying a chainsaw and wearing steel toed boots, Kevlar chaps and a hardhat apparently is my notion of an ideal work environment.  From Lake Colden to Johns Brook Lodge, those were two weeks I won’t ever forget because the work was exhausting and endlessly rewarding at the same time.

This spring, I was helping out on trail crew, and got to go into Tahawus near Newcomb, NY.  My hero, Teddy Roosevelt, was staying here when William McKinley was shot, and the house where he was lodging is still standing.  Looking at the remnants of a ghost town, and realizing what hard work it must have been to carve out a living is a lesson in humility.  Sure, I walked some of the same routes, but I drove there in a four wheel drive truck while listening to radio.  Plus, we have chainsaws.  That makes it a lot easier.

Cabin Life – #25

There was a loon swimming off the beach this morning, its haunting call reminding me of years past.  In college, I lived on one of the severalLoonLakeshere in theAdirondacks.  It was great until the loons showed up, all six pairs of them.  They wouldn’t shut up all night.

I know from experience that loons are smart animals.  As large as a goose, but barely able to walk, their black and white body with red eyes are an iconic part of theAdirondacks.  I used to monitor banded loons and their nests, and after a few weeks of kayaking around them, I was often treated to the loons swimming under my boat and tagging along on the weekly paddles.

It was always a shame when I found an egg that had been eaten by a snapping turtle, or an unhatched egg still in the nest late in the summer.  But life goes on, and few people are unfamiliar with their nightly calls.

I think my favorite part of working at the campground is the wonder campers express at being in nature.  The osprey nests are one of our biggest attractions, and kids’ eyes light up when they see these huge birds flying into the nest with a fish in their talons.  I anticipate that these kids will remember their experience here and it makes them want to be outside as much as possible.  Luckily no one will be able to make a video game that mimics the experience of actually being in nature.

Cabin Life – #24

I’m sitting on a picnic table on the shore of Lake Champlain. Valcour Island is in front of me, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. Tonight is the calm before the storm so to speak, as the campground opens tomorrow.

Paved roads, electricity and hot showers are now plentiful, as is the wildlife. There are three osprey nests within a half mile of my new cabin, and of course, the raccoons are around a lot. Pico has been marking the yard, and that’s keeping them away for now, but the cats still aren’t going outside.

Opening the campground is nice, getting the place cleaned up. Last year at this time, the entire site was under at least three feet of water. I know, because we needed kayaks and boats to get in here and check on the place. We didn’t open until the middle of July last year due to the epic flooding of the spring. And only a little over a month later, we were shut down for a week because of Hurricane Irene. In between those two events, it was a drought.

I finally found my bird book, and am really looking forward to learning the different birds. Less than forty miles away, the cabin birds are on their own for the summer. But the differences are stark. The only birds I’ve seen that I had out at the cabin are robins. But I’ve also seen the osprey, sea gulls, a bald eagle and some sparrows.

It’s good to be back to work, and the fact that I still get to be outside surrounded by wildlife (yes, I do mean campers as well as wild animals) is just superb.