Category Archives: Poodle

The Morning After

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I could hear them bickering when we reached the Fish Creek Pond. At least two bald eagles were having words. Aki ignored the noise to concentrate on all the good scents left along side the trail. Neither of us paid much attention to the incense-smell of the balsam poplar leaves opening to the morning sun.

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We eased up onto the dike that forms one edge of the pond and walked toward the creek. A mature bald eagle and an immature one perched close to each other on a bleached-out driftwood log. Another eagle stood waist deep in the creek, as it he decided it was great day for a bath.

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The wet eagle must have been pulled under by a steelhead trout. Using its wings for lift, it managed to escape the creek waters and skip over to the shallows where it could stand. Raising its wings again, the big bird waddled onto a gravel bar. The scene had the feel of Sunday morning coming down. The two dry eagles watched with passivity of the hung over while the other one looked like it had no idea how it ended up in mid-stream.

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Now the little dog and I move down to the creek mouth where two Canada geese alert the world of our presence. A flood tide has covered the wetlands and backed up the creek. As I focus my camera on the glacier, the geese explode off the water and fly a low flight path over Fritz Cove.

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Eagles Along the River

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Aki and I usually keep moving on our walks. The little dogs starts whining if I take took long examining something. But today on a trail that leads to where the Mendenhall River empties into Fritz Cove, she is quite content to lay relaxed in the sun.

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She normally spends the entire visit to this trail on alert. The eagles that often perch just above us in beachside spruce make her nervous. Since she is just light enough for them to carry her away, I share her concern. But today she rests at the feet of another human friend, an older man that she watches over when he joins us on our walks.

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There is good reason to be happy. We sit on sun-warmed rocks out of the wind. Over Fritz Cove a cloud of shorebirds flashes dark and light as they suddenly change directions. Ducks and scoters stream up and down the river, made nervous by the eagles that scream from their spruce perches. Nearby a murder of ravens cackles and clucks. Other eagles fly toward us from the exposed wetlands on the other side of the river. One, still covered in the brown feathers of an immature eagle,carries a fish in its talons. Just after it lands two mature birds land next to it. In seconds, the immature bird flies out and over the river without its fish.

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Not a Cheese Day

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I am not sure Aki wants to be here. I had a hard time convincing her to leave the house before her other human had breakfasted. Small slices of cheese have been known to slip into her mouth at breakfast. I coxed her into the car with assurances that it is a oatmeal, not a cheese for breakfast day. The way she dawdles on the Gastineau Meadow Trail suggests that she never bought the oatmeal argument.

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The bird songs of early spring pierce the air: Stellar’s jay screeching and the shrill whistle of the Varied Thrush. American robins hop ahead of us like cripples, hoping to entice us away from their nests.  But the little dog ignores them.

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I am wearing sunglasses for the first time in weeks. They allow me to watch the battle of the sun with clouds above Sheep Mountain. The sun will win a few battles today but won’t overcome the clouds’ dominance of the sky.

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Late Spring

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The forest should be greening up. Normally by early May green shoots of bracken, with tips curled like the head of a violin, would be forcing their way through last year’s dead growth. But today only the ever-present tree moss shows green.

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The tidal meadow, when the little dog and I reach it, looks as dead as November. But the presence of nattering Canada geese confirm the onset of Spring. Those not chuckling graze on new shoots of meadow grass. In less accessible meadows black bears are filling their winter-empty stomachs with shoots of similar grass.

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While Aki sniffs at a seemingly random spot on the trail, I lean down to inspect wolf scat that is chock full of tan colored fur. I’ve seen similar colored fur on our Sitka black tail deer. Winter’s winners and losers, little dog, now fueling this spring’s new growth.

Higher Percentage Play

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An adult bald eagle, white head feathers damp with rain, perches on a pond-side spruce tree. It appears to study two new additions to the pond—large net pens full of fingerling king salmon. A net covers the pens, placed there to protect the natal fish from eagles and the resident river otters.

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It’s low tide so the other resident eagles are out on the exposed tidelands scrabbling for scraps. That’s the higher percentage move for predators on this rain-soaked day. But if the eagle that Aki and I are watching manages to overcome the pens’ protective net, it would be in an avian fiddler’s green.

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We won’t see much else of interest during this visit to the Fish Creek delta. A couple of dog walkers driving a herd of large bred canines will have already flushed out the birds. As we walk toward the creek mouth, a yellow lab will break away from its owner and splash over the creek and wetlands to play with Aki. But these dog antics will have no effect on the newly arrived tree swallows, that will arc over and around the little dog and I as they hunt for mosquitoes.

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Weighing the Risks

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I am walking along the shore of Mendenhall Lake. It just stopped hailing. Now a gentle rain dimples the open sections of water between pans of rotting ice. Aki has disappeared into the woods. For the first time in awhile, I am worried about the little dog. Last week on a nearby trail, another dog walker watched his pup take a one-way trip into the woods. The wolf that killed his dog emerged carrying part of a freshly dead deer. Fish and game investigators reported that the wolf was only protecting its food and would not otherwise have harmed the dog.

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When the little poodle-mix fails to answer my whistle call, I start wishing that I had kept her on a lead. Turning my back on the glacier, I head into the woods and find her casually walking toward me.

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While spending most of my adult life in semi-wild areas of Alaska, I’ve had to weigh the ups and downs of living in place where bears and wolves might walk past your house in the dark. A recent trip to the Low Countries, where we cycled past swans and a great blue heron flew over the train taking up to the Brussels Airport, reminded me of how well wild animals are able to find their niche in human communities. I hope this is always the case, even it means increasing the risk of a walk in the local woods.

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Searching in the Rain

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Aki was warm and cozy, maybe even asleep while I gathered her leash and harness. She might have been dreaming of breakfast or the small chunk of goat cheese that we wrap around her morning pill.  I know she was slow to stir. Eventually she joined me at the front door. Together we walked through heavy rain to the car.

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We drive into the mountains to a meadow recently covered by snow. I have two goals. One is to find snow for Aki to enjoy. The second is to harvest things that rested all winter under that snow

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Medium weight rain flies on the wind into Aki’s face when she leaves the car. After evacuating her bowels, she gives me her, “Okay, let’s go home” look. She still follows me at a distance, freezing every time I turn around. If I don’t find snow for her soon, we might have to turn around. I decide to drop down a little hill in search of the white stuff. At the bottom, we find a strip covered with snow. Aki dashes up and rubs her face on it. Popping up she trots along, tail wagging. But when we leave the snow she starts again to drag her paws.

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When I turn around and head back to the car, the little dog perks up. I check the trailside muskeg for bog cranberries. They ripened last fall and spent the winter lying on top of wet moss. Months of freezing and thawing softened the berries and enhanced their sweetness.  They are at their most flavorful now, during the pre-summer famine. I imagine the local bears sucking them down after breaking out of hibernation. I imagine what it would be like, a hundred years ago, for an Alaskan to spice up his normal spring breakfast of dried salmon with a bowl of the red berries. Aki throws me an impatient look so I stop dawdling and head back the car.

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Back Home

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Aki begs to be picked up every time I lower her to the floor. We’ve been separated for the past three weeks. She spent most of that time hanging out with an English lab and her humans. I’ve just returned from a hike and bicycle excursion in northern Italy and the Low Countries.

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After reuniting with the little dog, I drive with her out to our favorite trail where there are few signs of spring. A few skunk cabbage leaves have climbed above the surface of the beaver’s pond and thankfully, many of the forest’s blueberry plants are setting blossoms.

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The beach is still exposed when we reach it, but the tide is on the flood. We walk out to the end of a spit that will soon be covered with water. Normally Aki, always cautious in eagle country, would sulk at the forest edge when an on the spit. But today she trots along beside me. An eagle flies just off shore, making nervous a large raft of scooters that swims between Shaman Island and us. It’s good to be home.

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Sheep Creek Heron

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Aki hesitates at the grass line, her yellow coat not quite blending with the color of last fall’s straw. Around her sharp-edged green shoots of new growth muscle through the dead growth.  The little dog wants to walk south down the beach toward where miners have anchored their thrown together gold dredges. The trail is rich in dog scent.

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I turn my back on the poodle-mix and walk out onto the gravel and sand lands now exposed by an ebb tide. The sun is yet to make over the shoulder of Sheep Mountain. Blue sky shows through holes in the cloud cover. It’s too early to know whether the day will be blue or gray.  After stopping to study the reflection of clouds in a tidal lake, I look for Aki and find her at my feet.

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A small raft of ducks fidget at the opposite end of the lake, circling around what looks like a thin and tall piece of driftwood. As the sky lightens I see that what I thought was driftwood is really a great blue heron. The little dog and I swing in a wide arc around the lake until I can make out the grey-blue of the birds chest feathers and the long, pointed beak so useful in plucking small fish from the shallows.  I think the heron might be my favorite bird for it’s movie star good looks and it’s graceful walk. This bird looks as peaceful as a sleeping child until it shoots downward with its killing beak to snatch a salmon smolt.

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Movements

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It’s a flat light day on the Fish Creek Delta. Aki’s other human and I are willing the little poodle-mix to drop into the crouch she assumes when making a bowel movement. That, we hope, will signal an end to her lower intestinal problems. When she finally does, I scoop up her product into a plastic bag and relax. She must be on the mend.

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Thinking that we may have witnessed the most exciting movement of the day, I follow the trotting dog along the edge of the Fish Creek Pond and then onto the wetlands. A mating brace of common mergansers swims along the opposite shore of the pond, passing a clutch of mallards asleep on the point of land that separates the pond from Fish creek.

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Nothing but windblown grass is moving on the wetlands, and that still the dead tan color of straw. But at the point we can spy on two American robins snatching and shaking blades of grass. Along the shore three sandpipers (greater yellowlegs?) march in the shallows. Down stream they go in a straight line, hunched over like the Marx Brothers. They turn and march back up stream. They turn back down stream and then burst into a flight that ends thirty meters away. Aki missed the whole show because she was being encouraged by her other human to pose for a selfie with the glacier.

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