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As you read in the most recent post, in a two night span we went to the North Conway Animal Hospital on an overnight emergency visit and then spent an 18 degree night in the car.
Yesterday, Atticus wanted nothing to do with the house and he showed a great deal of fear throughout attempts to get him in here. Therefore we spent most of our time away from the house. When we returned mid afternoon, he was agitated but he calmed down a great deal. I felt we may have been through whatever problems have been plaguing him here. Since I hadn’t slept for the better part of 48 hours we went to bed around 4:00 p.m. yesterday and we slept well.
Actually, we slept well for about three hours. Just after 7:00 p.m. Atticus woke up in a panic again. He could barely breathe, was extremely agitated; and he wanted out of the house in the worst possible way.
I took him around the house room-by-room to show him there were no problems. I let him see me looking under beds, checking closets and opening drawers. We walked down into the cellar. None of it mattered. If he calmed down it was barely and only for a handful of seconds. It was clear we had to get out of the house again.
Luckily Atticus and I have made an elderly friend who lives down the road about a mile and she offered us the space of an unused bedroom in her condo for a few nights. That’s where we spent the night - without incident.
When we returned here this morning we were inside for less than 30 seconds before Atticus wanted out again. We went for a long walk and now we’re back. He’s currently sitting in the front seat of the car, the driver’s side door is open, and so is the front door of the house. I’m typing this from the front steps. It’s clear he doesn’t want to come up on the steps or into the house. He seems calm and happy lying down on his fleece blanket just feet away.
The strange thing about all of this is that the medical tests showed nothing wrong. And he shows no ill effects whenever we are away from the house, even if it is just five feet away from the front steps as he is now. For six months we've lived here and he hasn't had an issue until the last 72 hours.
Tomorrow morning the landlords are sending someone to look at the boiler. We shut the boiler down two days ago and the gas has been off for 24 hours.
In a bit we’ll leave here and drive to our friend’s place again. That’s where we’ll spend the next night or so.
A big thank you to all who have contacted me about Atticus. Please know that so long as we are out of the house he shows no ill-effects and you’d have no idea that something was amiss. Hopefully this mystery will be taken care of in the next few days and we can get back to a normal life where I write and he sleeps on the chair next to me in my writing room.
We slept in the car last night. It was 18 degrees out.
We don’t make a habit of sleeping in my Honda Fit; and I hope to never have to do again. But I did it for Atticus.
Two nights ago he woke me up just before 3:00 a.m. He had a panicked look on his face, the kind he gets on the rare occasions he wakes up in the middle of the night and really needs to go to the bathroom. I let him outside. He walked to the middle of the backyard and sat down. Ten minutes later we returned to the bedroom. He woke up a short time later in more of a panic, his body trembling, his eyes wild, his tongue out. He was nudging me with his nose. He wanted me to get up. I got dressed and brought him outside again. This time we took a walk and he was fine. Forty minutes later we settled into bed again. A minute later Atticus was nudging me, acting strangely, this time worse than before.
Luckily Dr. Christine O’Connell at the North Country Animal Hospital is on call 24 hours a day. We called and half an hour later Dr. O’Connell was checking Atticus out: temperature; blood work; ultrasound. Other than gaining a couple of pounds due to his numerous new friends in Jackson and their generosity with treats, he is in good health. We were mystified. I was told to keep my eye on him.
Upon returning to the house the symptoms started again. I opened up the windows, aired out the house and called the landlord. White Mountain Gas showed up in a bit. No gas leaks. We shut off the boiler thinking it may be carbon dioxide kicking back into the house. (However, the carbon monoxide detector was running and quiet.) With the windows open and boiler off, Atticus calmed down. All was well until late last night when the temperatures plummeted. Even though the boiler was off Atticus became nearly wild. His trembling turned into something near a seizure. I opened the windows and he and I took a long walk. As soon as we were outside the house he was fine. When we returned the same thing occurred. We tried sleeping in the master bedroom, the guest bedroom, the den and the living room. Each time Atti’s discomfort was clearly visible. He wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible.
I knew there was nothing my landlords could do at that late hour back in their Massachusetts’ home so I decided not to bother them. I gathered a couple of pillows and comforters and Atticus and I went out to the car. As the car iced over, he slept well. I can’t say the same.
What does all of this have to do with a hiking column?
Plenty.
Dogs are like children. If you have them they are your responsibility. If you love them you’ll do anything for them. Even if 'anything' means spending an 18 degree night in a Honda Fit just down the road from Mount Washington.
Just yesterday I read an on-line trip report about a woman who is attempting to get her dog to finish the 48 4,000-footers. (This is a different woman from my last column.) She had already finished the list but she wanted to make sure her dog became a member of the AMC’s 4,000-Footer Club and received the patch and scroll. Their last peak was to be North Tripyramid.
Now North Tripyramid is not the most challenging of peaks, but you still have to work to get to it. It sits quite humbly in the middle of the Sandwich Mountain Range with its siblings Middle and South Tripyramid and you can see where they got their name from the moment you lay eyes on them (which is something you can do from the Waterville Valley ski slopes).
There are numerous approaches, but there is one I’ve never been on. It climbs a slippery and steep slide up North Tripyramid. It’s one of the few trails I refuse to bring Atticus on. (The others are the Huntington Ravine Trail and the Flume Slide Trail.) I think he could probably hike each of these, but there’s always a chance there could be trouble. So why chance it? Why put my friend through that even though he’s climbed some 500 peaks in the last four years?
I know very little about this woman, her dog or the relationship between them. I’ve never met them. From her on-line reports it’s clear she loves her dog dearly. But see, that’s what confuses me. One slip on such a trail and the dog could be terribly hurt – or worse.
I know some other dogs have done the trail, but I don’t see the point in it. I know some hikers love the challenge of climbing the North Tripyramid Slide and I guess they figure the dog will love the challenge too. I guess.
People tell me, “You don’t know what you’re missing. You’ll love climbing the slide!”
Sorry, it’s not going to happen. I think I’ve climbed the Tripyramids at least seven times and I’ve tried numerous beautiful approaches. All were rewarding. More importantly, Atticus was safe on each of the approaches.
There are many great things about these mountains, including the joy and inspiration they bring. Atticus loves it here, but he also always has a say. We turn back when he wants to, even though that’s only happened a few times. We don’t hike when he doesn’t want to. Twice we showed up at trailheads on very cold days and he refused to get out of the car. We didn’t hike. Last fall we were climbing the Hale Brook Trail and when we came to the first stream crossing it was running harder than usual. Now Atticus can leap this deep gully easily enough but on this day the water bothered him. I offered to pick him up and carry him over. He wanted none of that. Instead he lay down as a sign that says, “Don’t pick me up.” And so I didn’t. We turned back. We returned the next day. Same thing happened. On the third day he leaped over it without a second thought.
It’s important to me that he has a choice.
This does not make me a better dog owner than the other person. But I do think I pay more attention to what Atticus likes and dislikes, his needs and safety requirements, than most dog owners do. Perhaps that is a product of the time we spend together, which is more than most people spend with their dogs.
As for the woman who wants to make sure her dog gets a 4,000-footer patch and scroll, they didn’t make it up North Tripyramid on a cloudy, slippery day on those treacherous slabs. The dog eventually said ‘enough is enough’ and that was it. Smart move. I was glad she listened to her dog after it sent her several signals. But I guess she wasn’t listening all that well because she reported they would return for another attempt this weekend – dangers of the slabs be damned!
While I’m sorry for her dog, I’m happy for this woman. I’m pleased she’ll never know what it’s like to sleep in a Honda Fit on a November night when it is 18 degrees out.
Here's the dedication as written by Nancy & Mike Lindberg:
Gus is a 13 1/2 year old schnauzer who has been our personal trainer since coming to share our lives as a puppy. He has helped raise our sons and keep us well trained through his constant vigilance. Due to age and health problems his hiking days are behind him, but his spirit could still soar to the top with Atticus. We'd like to dedicate Hancock to him. Our other dog is an age-indeterminate yellow lab named Harley. He was found by us just after returning from our trip to the Whites to conquer Mt Washington in 2004. We grabbed Gus and went for a stroll in our local woods only to come across a very dejected lab who promptly saw Gus and us and lay down with his head on his paws to await our approach. He looked in terrible shape (overweight, sores oozing on his feet) but realized we were his salvation and marched over a mountain (a small one!) to get in our car and come home with us. Gus was never a fan of dogs in general but seemed to sense a felllow in need and showed no animosity at this invasion. After a week in the pound and advertisement of a lost dog Harley came home to us. We only can conclude that he was abandoned and he has dedicated his being to letting us know how much he loves us on a daily basis. We would like to dedicate South Hancock to him. It is only fair that Gus gets the taller mountain.
Cannon Mountain has been dedicated to Neka. It's being given by Bryan and Suzanne Flagg, our friends at the Northcountry News.
There's 48 4,000-footers in the White Mountains. Each one of them has a story to tell. Tell your own story by dedicating a peak to the pet in your life.
Last Thursday night the MSPCA held their annual Hall of Fame Dinner at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library. This is the event Atticus and I were honored at last year. We did not attend, but we were fondly remembered. One of the organizers of the event sent along the above photo. The woman speaking is News Center Five's Heather Unruh. According to two people who were there, Heather was telling the audience about the book deal and when this photo came up people oohed and aahed. She reportedly turned around and said, "I just knew that picture was going to be up there."
As you may know, we were honored last year for our fundraising efforts for Angell Animal Medical Center. Please check out this year's fundraising event by clicking here.The photo was taken by Robert Torres.
Recently, a rather vociferous woman on a hiking website posted a notice that her dog was going to finish the 48 4,000-footers on Mount Carrigain. She blew the trumpets and unfurled the flags in her typically rambunctious but friendly manner, inviting all hiking dogs and their humans along. I sent her a note congratulating her dog on her upcoming day. She replied that we were welcome to join her group in their merrymaking.
"Thanks, but no thanks. It’s not our style," I wrote and again congratulated her dog.
She responded one last time saying, “I know, you guys are loners…”
Loners? I’d rather say we are particular about our mountain experiences. Atticus and I hiked our first mountain to see what it was like. After that we hiked for the magic of it.
A lot of people start out that way and they love it. But sooner or later, nearly every one of them forgets that they came up here to get away from society and they get locked into another society – the hiking society. I’m not saying this is a bad thing. I’m just saying it’s not our style.
Joseph Campbell, the mythologist I often read and quote, once said that he felt spiritual nearly everywhere he ever went – other than a cocktail party. Amen, Joseph. I feel the magic of the mountains most when I can walk through the forest or sit on mountaintops alone with Atticus. Or at the very least when others are respecting the solitude we seek. But get in a group hike and that experience is shattered.
And yet it never fails, wherever we go people say, “Let’s get together for a hike sometime.”
My answer used to be, “Okay.” Now it’s “No thanks.” If I want to spare someone’s feelings I soften it a bit, but the message is always the same: do not disturb.
People are always shocked by this. “Are you serious? You don’t want to go for a hike with me?”
And yes, I’m serious. William Blake had it right, “Great things are done when men and mountains meet; this is not done by jostling in the street.” Hiking with other people often equates to ‘jostling in the street’. There’s talk and typically lots of it. I learned this the hard way the winter we did 81 peaks. We started out with others but ended up on our own.
It’s not that other people are wrong to want company, but neither am I. Typically we are old enough to know what we want in life and we simply have to go out and get it. What I’ve wanted from the moment I stood on top of my first mountain was to have that same feeling time and again. Being with Atticus allows me to have it. He’s never been a barker, a chaser or a herder. He seems to get from the mountain what I do. If anything, he enhances the experience for me. Not being human he’s more comfortable where the wild things are than I am and in watching him I’ve become more comfortable, too. He blends noiselessly into the forest and I do the same. No longer do we hear society bleating away, worried about the economy, religion, politics or Jon and Kate. It’s just us and the mountain and we are welcomed home time and again.
I thought of that the other day while we walked up Mount Stanton. It was not a day for views; and even the trees are past their prime colors. The remaining leaves are a drab yellow or hang lifelessly from a mostly naked branch. And yet the forest was very much alive. The sweet smell of autumn – a mixture of apples, wet leaves and the musty scent of the cooling earth – was invigorating. A mysterious fog slipped through the trees and wrapped itself around us, snaking here, crawling there, twisting and turning and dancing slowly about. Whenever she grabbed at us we moved beyond her embrace and the mist vanished like a ghostly hand. The fog creates a silence like nothing else can and the mountain seemed to sleep beneath our feet.
And so it was as I’ve always liked it best, just the two of us making our way up Stanton then down into the col and up to Mount Pickering. We were kept company by the silent forest and by the ever lively fog. We sat on a ledge on Pickering where we sat this spring and watched the valley below come to life. But on this day there was nothing to be seen. But oh, there was so much to be felt.
I turned and looked at Atticus, who was sitting next to me. He looked out just as he had this spring and felt as at ease as he always does. We typically just let each other be at such times but I couldn’t help it. I had to speak.
“Thank you,” I said.
He turned and looked at me.
“Thank you for all of this,” I said.
And man and dog looked at each other for a moment more and then both faced out into the fog. After a minute or two he moved closer to me without either of us taking our eyes from the fog. He leaned into me, and I into him. We sat that way until time disappeared.
These hikes we are on now mean the world to me. In a few weeks it will all change. No longer will it be just Atti and me. We will be three. I’m thrilled by this. Judging by Atticus’ actions this past spring, he will be thrilled when the one we love is here again, too. And yet being Irish and sentimental I cannot help but say how much I will miss what we’ve shared alone over hundreds of mountains.
I would not be here had Atticus not led me here. I would not have climbed these mountains, moved to these mountains and made them our home without him. It’s funny how things can change when you let a friend into your life, even if that friend has four legs instead of two and never talks.
For the past four years I’ve wanted nothing more than to be here. Each and every step has been taken together with the vast majority of them being by ourselves and that has made a profound difference in our lives.
When we are three, we’ll be hiking at a feverish pace like we haven’t done in a year or so. We’ll try to hike all 48 of the 4,000-footers this winter and it will be fun to watch Atticus lead her as he always led me. Of course you are all invited to follow along, too – by way of your computers, of course, because you see, the three of us are, after all, ‘loners’.
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