Much Snow

***Bernie and Poochie, May 1995, Gardnerville, Nevada***

I spent some time both last night and today outside shoveling and blowing snow. I've yet to figure out why everyone is so high on blowing snow . . . I simply run out of breath, quickly! Ha. I miss Bernie when I'm out in the snow, she loved it and we would play after we shoveled.

One thing I like about this blog is that I rarely know what I'm going to write about when I open it up. Something always comes to mind, tonight Bernie's tendency to gnaw holes in fences that she's behind. Thinking of that reminds me of the first day I had to leave her at home alone, back in Tahoe on the meadow. Elizabeth and I had to go to work, and Poochie always stayed outside when we were gone. She'd go in her doghouse some, wander around some, never barked. Then all of a sudden, I had Bernie. The yard was fenced in, but it was some sort of barbed wire fence, without the barbs--meaning that a curious dog could escape easily. Poochie was content, she never saw a need to leave the yard. But what about Bernie? Given that she'd run off the day before--the very first day of our friendship--I wasn't comfortable leaving her to roam the yard. So I put her in the chicken coop! Yep, there was a chicken coop in the middle of the yard, much more secure than the yard itself. It was plenty big, even had some shelter if desired. A perfect plan, right?

Well, it was pouring rain that day, a rarity in Tahoe. So out Poochie and Bernie went, and I got Bernie in the chicken coop! I could go to work in peace, so I thought for a split second. Then the barking started. Mad, wild barking. Bernie didn't like the chicken coop. This is before I understood what she was saying when she talked, but I'm sure now that she was trying to tell me, "The black dog is a dog, Dad. Black dog not a chicken. The dog don't belong in a chicken coop." It was pouring rain, she was standing in it looking out barking like a wild dog. I didn't know that much about dogs then, all of our dogs had been easy. Just put them out and they hang out till you tell them to do otherwise. Bernie was telling us otherwise right off the bat. Barking, barking, barking. Elizabeth and I looked out the door at her, going crazy running back and forth, barking. I was genuinelly distraught and said to Elizabeth something to the effect of, "What was I thinking? I don't want that dog!" I was dead serious.

Obviously, I soon had a change of heart.

So anyway, lots of fences in Tahoe are cedar plank, where you can't see out of them or under them. So Bernie would chew a hole at the bottom of them, just big enough so she could lay down, rest her head on the ground between her paws, and peer out at the world at large. She would stick her nose through the hole, her eyes shifting about, waiting for me to re-appear at home. So now there is  a fence at 3469 Norma Ave. in South Lake Tahoe, California and another at a house in Gardnerville, Nevada that has little peek holes dug out years ago by my little black dog, Bernie. And now you know why I chose to put in a (aluminum) rod iron fence that you can see through at our house in St. Paul.