Snow Dog Memories

The almost never-ending snow and a recent article in the NY Times on the intelligence of border collies took me back 50 years to the year we had one of the breed as our pet (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/18/science/18dog.html?_r=1&ref=science).

Dusty was a handsome, golden-haired dog. Just a puppy when we brought him home in June, he grew to be around 70 pounds by the end of the year. His owner told us he was a border collie, though my siblings and I believe because of his size and color he probably had some golden retriever in his genes, as well.

I can’t say he was the most intelligent of four-footed friends, but he was among the most playful and fun dogs I’ve ever come across. In this winter of incessant snow, it’s enjoyable to recall the winter of 1960-61, when 54.7 inches of snow fell in New York City, the 7th snowiest before this season.

By winter, Dusty had grown to almost his full weight, and I, as stated in a previous blog, I was skin and bones growing up. Average weight for an 11-year-old boy is 77 pounds. I was lucky if I weighed 50. It was comforting and reassuring to have Dusty around. No one would bother me when I walked him. Or rather, when he walked me. He’d go into typical border collie mode, circling back and forth on the leash as he corralled me to walk where he wanted to go, just as his ancestors would do when herding sheep.

He never tugged on the leash, except in extreme conditions, like when he saw a squirrel across the street.

Our row house in Brooklyn had a front porch eight steps above the ground. After one deep snowfall, it was my turn to walk Dusty in the morning. We went out onto the porch and as I carefully prepared to negotiate the steps covered in about a foot of snow, Dusty spotted a squirrel across Avenue W. He leaped at the chance to make a new friend. I landed spread-eagled, face down at the base of the steps. I didn’t hold onto the leash. It was a good hour before Dusty harkened to my call to come back inside.

A few days later it was my sister Lee’s turn to walk Dusty. Lee always claimed Dusty was her dog, that we got him as an elementary school graduation present for her to make up for the absence of our father who was on a round-the-world trip at the time. This particular morning Lee had to be at school by 9 am to take a mid-term exam. Dusty was not informed, however. So when he slipped his leash from her wrist to romp in the snow, Lee was beside herself. No amount of entreaty could coax Dusty back home. Finally, Lee called out she was leaving four Oreos on the steps of the porch and that she’d come back for him after her test.

As should be obvious by now, Dusty loved frolicking in the snow. One evening during another blizzard we decided that rather than subject one of us to trying to walk him in the driving snow, we’d just let him loose on the street. When he got tired, hungry or cold, he’d come back home, bark loudly and we’d let him in. We didn’t think he’d bother anyone, nor would he be in danger from any passing car, as no one in their right mind would be outside in the middle of a blizzard.

We didn’t count, however, on “Uncle” Bernie and “Aunt” Ruth Schwartz showing up for an appointment to sell us on attending Camp Dellwood in Honesdale, Pa., that summer. As it was their first year operating the camp, they were eager to scrounge up as many campers as possible. For the past five summers we had attended Camp Massad Aleph, but Lee had so ingratiated herself with Massad’s owners that only my brother and I were invited back. Our parents, however, considered us a package deal; we had to find a new summer stomping ground. The prospect of signing up three campers in one sitting was too much for Uncle Bernie and Aunt Ruth to resist, blizzard be damned.

About an hour after letting Dusty patrol in front of our house we heard his barking. Not his usual barking, more a bark that signified danger, the type of bark a border collie would emit when he saw a wolf or fox near the sheep. As we approached the front door we noticed two figures on the porch, a man and a woman, shivering. They were not only wet and cold, they were downright petrified this huge dog was going to tear them to pieces.

We laughed apologetically as we let them inside, told them Dusty wouldn’t hurt a fly. After they thawed out, they showed us slides of the camp, told us their camping philosophy and pitched us on Dellwood.

We attended Dellwood the summer of 1961. During that summer our parents gave Dusty away. My brother, sister and I never got over it. We never went back to Dellwood.