I feel like I always mention how I’m not a fan of change, but I’ve given myself a lifestyle centered on change. I was reminded of that once again the night before last as I slept in a much-loved place: Waylon’s kennel at Pack Forest.
After staying with a good two-legged friend in northern Seattle for a week and a half**, it was time to venture south to visit last fall’s stomping grounds at Pack Forest to see my favorite four-legged friends at Conservation Canines. Like most of the CK-9 Alberta 2013 crew, I was hoping the second year of the study would line up for this winter. Sadly, unless there’s a last minute phone call – which is always possible for this program – our hopes of returning to Alberta are almost gone.
While most of last year’s crew members are spread out around the western U.S., two have been here volunteering at the kennel and training with the dogs. Heath, the program coordinator, is also here, but the kennel just feels so empty. There are supposed to be certain faces here, but it’s almost as though this is how it’s always been around here. As much as Pack Forest will always be Pack Forest, the dogs and people of this program will never be the same as they were last fall.
When I arrived 2 nights ago, I really wanted to just go up to the kennel to see my puppies. However, society recommends socializing with humans before running off to give some canines long overdue lovin’. There was no doubt about it, though: I was going to be sleeping in a kennel like I did so many times during training a year ago.
I think it was around the late break time (11pm) when I finally made it up to the kennel. Chester and Pepsi saw me first, but Waylon got the first official visit. As I opened the door to his kennel, the recognition burst toward me at full force. First he squirmed his way through my legs, asking for body rubs the whole way. Once I was down on his level, he put all his weight into a walking lean against my body, going back and forth saying, “You’re back! You came back!” Of course by this time, the happy “dopey ears” were out. I was doing my best to just give him a good rub down all over.
Once we’d finished the preliminary hello, he did a 180 to pick up his Huckama ball so we could play our ball tug game. You see, there’s not really a way for me to grab this ball, but Waylon thinks it’s a blast for him to have the ball in his mouth and let me try to grab the little portion that I can reach. I pull whatever I can grab, and he playfully growls and bats at my arm as we tug; needless to say he wins more often than not. Still, as soon as he’s won, he’s practically pushing the ball into my hand for me to grab it for another go. For a big yellow lab who’s always been teased as the “grumpy old man,” it’s adorable.
I think it was around 1am when all of the human visiting stopped and I finally made my way up to the kennel for the night. Waylon is one of the lucky dogs who now has some carpet in his kennel, but I still put some pads down for my sleeping cushion. And Waylon promptly claimed them for his own and decided we should play on the pads! I managed to get him off the pads for just long enough to half-lay out my sleeping bag and climb in, and by this time Waylon was in the “take in every possible part of Steph’s scent” mode in which he burrows his head against my chest and keeps nuzzling closer and closer, which happens to be partway inside the sleeping bag. Again, adorable.
By this time it was almost 1:30, and Waylon thought it was time to play again. When I started ignoring the ball in the face and rolled onto my side, he claimed the area in the crook of my bent knees as his bed. Then he rested his head on my legs and – I kid you not – gave a contented sigh. This is about when my heart melted.
The next thing I know, it’s 3am, AKA time to play! By the time we settled down again, Waylon had claimed more of the sleeping pad for himself, thereby scooting me to the edge. Well, let’s be honest, I consider his comfort is more important than my own, so even though I started to shiver because I was practically on cold ground, I did not insist on repositioning. And this time he had his head resting right on my stomach and was rapidly drifting off to dreamland. How could I disturb him?
As I was contentedly lying there, left side shivering and yet refusing to reposition, I realized just how much this dog’s happiness means to me. Waylon’s hips won’t allow him to do any more studies, so he’s retired and needs a home. In my happy mind, ideas began churning. What if I work on a fishing vessel for winter, then “settle” in a place where Waylon could live with me for the next few years?! Sounds great, right? The answer is yes and no.
If I were to change my life like that, all of a sudden I’d have all those expenses I’ve been avoiding. I’d need motorized wheels, a place to stay that allows dogs, and a typical in-town job to pay the bills. Waylon and I would get to be together forever, but I’d be giving up all the freedom my current lifestyle grants. I most likely wouldn’t enjoy my job, and I wouldn’t be free to travel nearly as easily.
So really, for completely selfish reasons, adopting Waylon makes no sense. As much as a little voice is telling me, “You should keep Waylon!” I know it wouldn’t be fair to him or me. He deserves more than life with someone who’s just getting by. He needs a retirement full of belly rubs, wrestling, and playing tug.
So really, I love him too much to seriously think about keeping him. When I leave Pack in a couple days, I’m considering that I could very well be saying goodbye “forever.” I know there are other dogs at Pack and everywhere, but Waylon’s such a big misunderstood goof that he’s won my attention. I mean, I broke trail for him for a winter! If that doesn’t make us friends, I don’t know what will.
I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to say. My thoughts aren’t flowing into eloquently typed words for this topic. Maybe here’s one point:
- Because I’ve created a lifestyle of change, I have to let some people or things go, which will never be particularly easy. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to keep moving on in search of the next episode of life. Or perhaps it isn’t. Any wisdom on that one?
2/3 of Team Purple, Alberta 2013
With such restless thoughts running through my head, it’s a wonder I fell asleep again that night. (Keep in mind I was also shivering.) 🙂 Around 7:00am Waylon let me roll over and climbed on top of me to essentially gave me a ‘bear hug’ for the last half hour of sleep. By 7:30am it was once again play time, and Waylon overwhelmed me with his adorable nuzzling again. I may not have the chance to have him forever, but I have him for now.
**More to come on my visit to Seattle soon