A couple of months ago I fit him – and the Lair – with a longer cable. Since then you can practically follow his route through the yard by the things around which he’s wound it.
LB was so obviously designed to be a cold-weather dog that it’s important to check on him every now and then – he’ll get himself tied to a spot by his cable, then as soon as he feels the resistance he’ll just lay down and wait for rescue. If that happens to be in a sunny spot, it’s actually dangerous for him because that fantastical fur coat he inherited from some Newfie forebear does him no favors here. Even on the coldest day LB spends as little time in the sun as he can.
So it’s seven in the morning, I was working on my second cup and got to thinking it had been a while since I’d heard LB stirring in the yard. I looked out the window and saw his cable stretched tight along the cabin. I didn’t see LB.
That side of the yard is sort of a construction zone right now, and I suppose I need to move some stuff. The cable wrapped twice around the wheelbarrow, took a sharp left turn at a pile of flat rocks that once leveled the woodshed floor, hooked right at the septic line cleanout, and terminated at a patiently waiting wall’o’dog, his tail beating amiably. He knew I’d be along, hopefully before the cabin’s shadow moved too far.
Right off the front porch is a little juniper grove that’s actually one very old tree…
The picture does it no justice, it’s deeper than it is wide. I’ve gradually cleaned out all the dead wood and snags so LB can get in there for shade. And there, almost every day, we play LB’s favorite game “Go Around.” The shapes he can make out of his cable in there ought to be considered some sort of art form. Getting him untied from it all is an art in itself.
