Attention:

If you have time to read only one posting, click the following link to read the entry for the last day of our journey.


http://ontheroad6.blogspot.com/2013/10/day-59-th-trip-so-far-805-pm-saturday.html






Day 43, thursday, September 26, In the tent at Camp Quatse, Port Hardy, Vancouver

> perhaps the toughest chore on this trip is getting Leben in, around and out of the NorthFace tent. imagine trying to get your own 119-pound dog who cannot walk on his or her rear legs into a dog house with a three-foot high opening. Heck, i have trouble getting myself in and out of that tent. But we manage, mainly by making every movement a treatable offense. (Getting Leben in involves five treats. Erde gets them, too, even though she does nothing to warrant them except get in line for them because she knows they're coming.). once in the tent, the dogs settle in and claim their spaces, and so i am left to carve out some space for myself without moving them from whatever space is left. (last night was an optimal night for me because the two of them were cuddled together in one corner of the tent, leaving me lots of room.). in cold weather, once the dogs are sound asleep, which happens immediately after they realize the treats have ended, i cover Leben with a blanket since he has a hard time with the cold, his cold-protection body oils having been diminished by his weekly swimming at home. Erde couldn't care less about the cold, but she tolerates any blanket i throw over her. last night, after i tossed the blankets over them, i took this shot.
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> i wake up several times during the night after hearing Leben struggling, to shift him to a new position or pull his legs into a more comfortable position since he cannot move them himself. this involves my climbing out of my toasty-warm sleeping bag into the much colder tent, but i always do it. To motivate me for this or other equally difficult chores in managing him, i always put myself in his shoes, i mean paws, and spring into action. i also am motivated by the poster picture for Father Flanigan's Boystown of the 12-year old boy carrying a younger boy on his back saying, "He ain't heavy, Father, he's my brother." "He ain't heavy, folks. He's my dog."
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