Hudson Valley Astrologer

“When you love a lot, it hurts a lot.”

Like many people, my weight has fluctuated. The range has been dramatic at times, anywhere from 10 lbs. over to maybe 50 lbs. over my ideal weight. I say “maybe” because I really don’t like to admit this.

But there was a time when I wasn’t even concerned about weight. I was more concerned about my percentage of body fat being under 10% and that I could get my heart rate pumping up to what would be an insanely high reading today. Back then I wore a strap around my chest, and it would send a feed to my watch that I could download to my computer. I wasn’t as obsessive as some but “training in the zone” definitely improved performance. I was a fairly accomplished triathlete, and could out race all but one or two locals in the area when I was at my peak.

When I wasn’t on a training run “for time” or for monitoring my heart rate, I leashed up my dog and headed out for a 3 or 5 mile run. I remember running with my dog in high school, and then again when I was just getting started as a triathlete. My high school dog’s name was Heineken. She was a Newfoundland. We called her “Hiney” for short and because she was a pain in the ass. She’d breakaway from the leash if she saw water and at one spot in front of an old IBM building there were these decorative shallow pools with fountains in the middle spraying skyward. Hiney would run up and hop in until security guards would come out to shew her away. She’d get out of the water and let the get close, but not too close, before she’d shake herself, fur flying everywhere, her jowls smiling, making that slap slap slap sound like a mischievous youngster prancing in a rain puddle. She knew she was “being bad” but somehow she also knew I thought it was hilarious. So she’d do it every time. I just keep running.

The dog I ran with when I was just getting started as a triathlete was a White Shepherd named Veracity. We ran the back roads of Woodstock, N.Y. once we were outside the village. She was a beast, ferocious and smart. Veracity was famous for letting herself in and out of the house. I spent an afternoon training her with CheeseIts to let herself in and out, out of frustration from getting up and down. But soon she starts barging in and leaving the door wide open. So, I grab the box of CheeseIts again, and taught her how to close the door behind her. But like a five-year-old she needed reminding.

“Veracity! Close the door!!”

She’d respond immediately by trotting back and over to the door, giving it a left hook with her paw, and watching it swing shut. We never got to work on not slamming the door, but hey, guests were still gobsmacked. Veracity, however, just wanted a CheeseIt. it was our little secret.

But perhaps my favorite running with my dog phase was with my last Labrador. She went everywhere with me. We did the daily routes in the neighborhood but she also climbed Devil’s Kitchen, and Willow Trail with me. She was an amazing dog. I really didn’t need to worry about her or watch her too closely, except for the time up on Overlook Mountain and we had a dozen kids with us on a hike. She raced ahead to patrol the grass and started barking like rabid mad dog — which was really not her style. There was a rattle snake coiled up in the high grass and ready to spring forward. My dog kept a safe distance, and barked as if the mountain was on fire. The commotion she stirred kept hikers outside the radius, and obviously threatened the snake so that it shook its rattle incessantly and made a hissy fit. If she hadn’t flushed out the rattle snake, which had to be 4 feet long, and 8 inches around, one of the kids might have raced through the grass and been bit, which would have been a devastating and horrifying situation. Truly! Best dog ever! And there are other stories just like that one.

One day, we were running up Fording Place road, and she just decided to stop running. At first I was frustrated and thought she was in a mood. But when it happened again, the next day and at the very same spot, I was more patient. I understood. She was tired and didn’t want to run anymore. She was ten and we’d been running together for a decade. She lived another 6 years and kept in pretty good shape up until the day she died.

I miss running but I really miss running with my ‘ol’ girl. Her name was Chance and she was a Black Labrador. We are now on our third Black Lab, and I’ve fallen in love all over again. I now know how chance felt that day when she “decided” to just stop running. As I get older, I think I know the feeling, but I’m too stubborn to just stop running. I keep trying to get back out there… which I do for a while until something else hurts, and I need to slow down or stop. At some point I’ll take my last run, but until then, I’ll take my “Chances.”

We put her down and the vet offered to have someone else carry her to the car after they bagged her. I said no way, not my ‘ol’ girl. She deserves the heroes walk, and I picked her up in my arms. I carried her to the car walking slowly and with great care, because the tears were pooling up in my eyes, making it difficult to see. My wife and two daughters were there, the dams holding back 16 years of memories in their own eyes had already burst, and their faces were flush with grief. I put her in the back of the wagon and we drove home. The plan was to bury her beneath her favorite tree in the southwest corner of the yard, a black walnut. So I dug the grave as far down as I could go before hitting rocks and roots made it impossible to go further —- about four feet. Good enough! The family came out to help because I’d been at it for a while. Everyone got to say one last goodbye as we each took turns and threw a ceremonial shovel of dirt on the grave. I poured a bag of bright white marble stone to mark her gravesite and we all stood back to admire the aster I’d planted around the border, making the white stone pop, like stars in the midnight sky, or the dog teeth in a Black Labs smile. Just then the sky opened up and a torrential down pour came out of nowhere, mirroring the release of the storm clouds that had been building up and gathering in my own heart, throughout the ordeal.

She was just a dog you might say, but Until you’ve experienced it for your self, there is a huge difference between having just a dog, and having THE BEST DOG EVER!

R.I.P. Chancelot

HVA

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