First Swimming Lesson

Modelling his new lifejacket.

Since Duncan has fallen into the pool two times so far this spring, it seemed like a good idea to give him swimming lessons. The water had finally made it up to a reasonable temperature, so this afternoon we put on his spiffy orange lifejacket (which he didn't actually seem to mind too much. Of course, freeze-dried chicken was involved.) and began Lesson #1: Finding the Steps.

Whaddya mean, you didn't want to shake?

Trying to coax him into the pool didn't work. He probably has unpleasant memories of that 5ºC plunge. (As do I!) He was quite happy on the top step, and he even swatted the water once or twice, but that was as far as he intended to go.

So his cruel mother lifted him in. He may look calm here, but those legs were kicking furiously! Hence the grimace of pain.

We steered him in the right direction while he dog-paddled diligently...

...straight to the steps...

...and climbed out. We did it a couple more times, then he barked frantically at me from the safety of the patio, and ran in the garden with his wet paws, while I floated around and tried to convince him that water is fun. 

He's not convinced, and Megan has the scratches to prove it!

Duncan's Other Sister

Duncan's big sister Erin was home for a week's visit last week. He hadn't seen her since Christmas, except on Skype, but after the first shock (i.e., early morning Stranger in the House alert!) he had a wonderful time being spoiled. He was puzzled by her toenails, though – they suddenly turned red just before she went to something called a "wedding". 

He offered to deal with the problem, but she seemed okay with it. Humans are odd.

Erin, he's been taking most of his naps on your bed every day since you left. You need to come home again soon!

Oops, He Did It Again

The Rescuer, still in her scrubs from looking after dogs all day,
emptying her shoe in the aftermath of looking after Duncan.

It's been all of 12 hours since I posted the fatal words, "He's more careful now" about Duncan and the pool. I should have known better.

Friday. End of the week. Happy hour. Beautiful evening. Sitting on the deck, enjoying a drink. Duncan, also enjoying a drink – from the pool. Me, saying "Don't fall in".

See where this is going?

He moved away. Safe. Then – he turned around and backed up.

Splash!

Megan was the one to jump in and rescue him this time. Luckily, the water is now 22ºC, considerably warmer than the 5º it was last time, but still chilly. Swimming lessons coming soon. Because, although I keep saying how smart he is, he seems to make an exception around water.

Sigh.

Living on the Edge

Duncan's little run-in with the pool has become legendary. (Our visits to the vet have a new routine – "Any vomiting or diarrhea? What food is he on? Has he fallen in the pool again?") He's more careful now, but he spends a lot of time prowling around it, running laps of it, and lately, finding ways to use the 6" boards that run around the edge.

It started when I glanced up one day and noticed him casually tightrope walking along one of the boards. No photos, I'm afraid; I didn't dare move to grab a camera! Instead I froze and stayed very, very quiet so I wouldn't startle him, while mentally bracing myself for another rescue plunge. But he just hopped off (onto a hosta) and carried on prowling. He's done it a few more times since, but never when there's a camera handy.

Next, I found him happily hanging out in the middle of the big clump of porcupine grass. Yes, the photo makes it look like he's climbing out of the pool, but he's not:

He just parked his furry little backside on the conveniently-placed board, and settled in.

The view from the across the pool!

But his crowning achievement came this week, when we noticed what looked like a clump of dirt from the garden on the edge of the pool.

Nope. Not dirt. Duncan has taken up Precision Pooping! I didn't catch him in the act, but I really, really hope he's not combining his newfound skill with his tightrope walking, or I suspect we'll be fishing him out again soon!

Shouldn't You Be Going?

Every morning at 7:05, we tell Duncan "crate time", and he trots into his crate, gets a treat or two, and is safely tucked away while I drive Daddy to the train. (He could come along if he didn't make such a fuss about "losing" Daddy!)

Except today. Promptly at 6:54, Duncan trotted into his crate and stared at me expectantly. Way too early, I told him, and he came out. Until 6:57, when he went back in. And again at 6:59, when he started sniffing around rather pointedly in the folds of his blankie, looking for the treats that surely must have appeared by now!

We're not sure why he was in such a hurry to get rid of us – hopefully it was just because it's a lazy, rainy morning, perfect for a nap in his crate!

Road Trip!

This past weekend, Duncan went on his first road trip - a three-day genealogy trip to Quebec. He handled the long car rides like a pro; here he is stretching his legs at the picnic area at one of the service centres on the way there. 

We stayed at a hotel in Cornwall, where he settled in pretty well, except for being a bit worried that there were other people in HIS hotel. But he was delighted to find that hotels come with bathtubs:

It rained, or at least drizzled, pretty much the whole time so he was a soggy pup, but he really seemed to enjoy prowling the cemeteries looking for cousins. 

And here's the highlight of the trip: GGGG Uncle Adam Paxton (kids, add one more G), the earliest immigrant in the family that I've found, who was born in Scotland in 1798, came to Canada, and did the whole log cabin thing. (Duncan had to be told that dancing on his stone was simply not done in the best circles, so he nibbled the grass instead.)