Berkeley Defined #T

While Berkeley was by all appearances an excellent Golden Retriever, he had some quirks, non-retriever-like quirks.  We had a wonderful outsized Golden prior to Berkeley's time in our home from whom we learned much about the behaviors of the breed.  I wrote about Dundee here.

My earlier post advised you that Berkeley was well-behaved and properly trained.  It was not until we got to the lake place that we discovered the missing element in his training.  The dog had not been broken to leash.  When we first attached the leash to his collar he set his feet and refused to budge.  Using the choke-chain, I literally dragged the dog down the lane two or three yards, his feet cutting furrows into the gravel.  The fault was soon corrected, however, and the dog became an excellent walking companion.

I mentioned earlier that gunfire or firecrackers made the animal frantic.  And lightning?  Forget about it.  The dog would climb into the nearest lap and beg for mercy.  This was particularly annoying when the nearest lap belonged to the nonagenarian occupant of our home.  Mother was not amused; in fact, she could be described as frantic.  You get the picture.  This problem was finally alleviated when we directed the beast to the shower stall which was quite small and confining.  He found comfort and safety there, and eventually he would head to the shower whenever a thunderstorm approached.

Retrievers love the water and keeping them out of it is a challenge.  Of course, that is any retriever other than Berkeley.  He hated the water, could not abide so much as wet feet.  It was a major chore to get him into the lake for a shampoo, and a greater task to keep him in there long enough to rinse the suds out of his fur.  This phobia was abated somewhat by the spawning season of the fish in the lake.  The nature of the sunfish impelled the creature to come near the shore, fan a nest into existence in the sand where the female would lay her eggs.  In turn, the male would fertilize the roe, then stay to guard the nest until the hatchlings arrived.  This little fish swimming guard on his nest was what attracted Berkeley to the water.  He would stand transfixed for the longest time, watching the show.  But eventually it was too much and he felt obligated to take a swipe.  This got his paw wet, and eventually he decided that if he were to wade into the water he might have a better chance of catching a fish.

That was successful to the extent that his big old foot standing in the middle of fish nest was annoying to the fish.  Frantic bumping and nipping at the offending intruder resulted.  Otherwise, Berkeley failed in his attempts to catch the fish, but like all fishermen, he would return another day to engage in his sport.

It should be understood that Berkeley was not the only canine inhabitant of our domicile, as Spot was already a resident when he arrived.  They accommodated one another early on though little love was lost between them.  We had just concluded that each had accepted the other when one afternoon, having let them into the fenced yard, I glanced through the kitchen window just in time to see  that Berkeley had Spot down and was clearly intent on finishing him off.  I hollered, "Berkeley is killing Spot," and ran for the door.  I got to the animals in time to save Spot's life, but not before Berkeley had torn the scalp loose from Spot's head.

Plastered the scalp down, and it reattached, so no lasting harm.  They lived peacefully together several years thereafter until Spot's demise at the age of fifteen.

Another New Home for Spot

Spot had been a member of the family about four years. Then everything changed. Except for his boy and his man. The man was widowed. Some time later, he remarried. He and the new bride along with the boy established a domicile together, which meant that Spot moved from his accustomed environs. This in itself might have been sufficiently traumatic, but the bride had a dog of her own. Thus it was to be determined who was "top dog."

I mentioned that Spot was a feisty 55-pound creature of indeterminate origin (read: found in a barrow pit). His new roomie was Dundee, a golden retriever who at 110 pounds was exactly twice his avoirdupois. Dundee was not obese; he was simply an out-sized retriever, taller and larger than the standard golden. How these animals came to an accomodation isn't exactly clear to me, as I never observed the ritual by which it was reached. But since I never observed any bloody fur clumps, I suspect it may have developed in this fashion.

Dundee: (sniff, sniff) What are you, and what are you doing at my place?

Spot: (sniff, sniff, sniff) I am your worst nightmare!

Dundee: Don't be bluffin' on me, boy. I could swallow you in two bites.

Spot: Oh, yeah. I'm small, but I'm mighty.

Dundee: (sniff) Sure.

Spot: (sniff) How about we just get along?

Dundee: All right, then. (Sniff, sniff, lifts leg)

Spot reciprocates, and thus begins a love affair that lasts so long as Dundee lives. And love affair it was. Spot doted on Dundee, cuddled with him, groomed him, and was a constant companion to him. They walked together; they played together. They hunted together, sometimes successfully. They did not swim together. Another story for another time.

Image: Spot with friends, 1983.

Spot

Do not be deceived by the apparent warm and friendly demeanor of the dogs in this picture. They did not like each other, and the retriever is an interloper in Spot's domain. But for the sake of the peace in the home, an accomodation, a temporary truce has been declared.

The truth is, Cinna, the visitor, rather liked everyone or every creature. But Spot liked very few people and even fewer animals. I believe that Spot was not a nice dog, in the estimation of many who knew him. But he was my dog.

And how did that come to be? My youngest son, Ken, was in fourth grade. Some charitable organization or other sponsored a "Bikeathon" and we allowed the child to participate. When we went to the school to pick him up after the event, we found that all the kids had returned. Except for Ken and one girl who was his classmate. So we waited. And waited. Then, just as we were about ready to launch a search effort, we saw two bicycles rounding the corner at the end of the block. The kids had returned. But they each were cuddling and holding close-- a puppy.

Seems that beside the road in the barrow pit were these puppies that someone had tossed out; and these tender-hearted, if misguided, youngsters undertook to "rescue" them. "Can I keep him? Hunh? Can I, Hunh?" Well, Softy relented, on the condition that the child would care for the beast, feed him, water him, pick up after him, etc., etc. And you know how that worked out, and thus I had a dog.

Spot bonded to me and to the boy; but very few other people were considered by him to be worthy of the effort it would require for him to treat them nicely. In fact, he was pretty much a one-boy, one-man dog.

Spot became a very protective animal, guarding his people and his property faithfully, and visciously, one might even say. I have admitted in a post quite some time ago that he would bite, so I cannot attempt to mask that fact now. He eventually turned into the beautiful 55-pound creature depicted above.

I loved old Spot. I have numerous tales about him. From time to time, I will share a bit about this beast.

(I found the picture as I was shuffling through some old snapshots, and rather than fire up the equipment to scan properly, I simply threw the photo down on the desktop and snapped a picture of the picture. Oh, you could tell by looking? The third dog in the picture will be accounted for at a later date.)