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Baxter and
Ginger
Bailey’s
Saranac Sunblast
CGC, NA, NAJ, NAP, NJP, OJP
Saranac Sunshine & Spice
NA, NAJ, OA, OAJ, AX, AXJ
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At 9-1/2 years old, Baxter still thinks he’s a
kid. Baxter has none of the dignity and presence of his father, my
wonderful golden Bailey, who mentored Baxter until the kid was three.
Despite many injuries, Bax, when joyous, wriggles and bounces as he did as a
pup. He’s silly. He is extremely verbal even though his
barks and growly noises are often misconstrued. His chief passion is a
tennis ball and he carries one everywhere. When we encounter a stranger
on a trail, if permitted, Baxter goes right up to the person and spits the
ball at his feet. If the person doesn’t respond, Bax looks at the
ball, looks the person in the eye and barks loudly. The message is
clear, and most people actually do pick up and toss the ball.
Baxter
learned obedience exercises early. I training him off-lead, and he was
good, even at more advanced skills. But I soon discovered Baxter had
stage-fright. After entering him into several obedience matches and
seeing him walk reluctantly into the ring, forget the most basic moves, and
instead wander around lost and pathetic with a glazed look in his eyes, I
decided competition agility wasn’t for him. The female golden
with whom I had been doing agility died suddenly when Baxter was one.
It was a period when I lots of time, and after a few months of frequent
training sessions, Baxter was competent on all the obstacles. In those
days we thought little about handling. He was fast, eager, and
enthusiastic in his early competitions. Then after about two years, his
performances became erratic. He began wandering around obstacles and
coming out of the ring with his head hanging in failure. I had him
examined, palpated, and x-rayed. Nothing showed. When he was
5-1/2, he finally was diagnosed with a torn ACL (CCL in dogs.) He
underwent a TPLO, a major knee reconstruction operation with plates and
screws. Rehab was almost six months. No running, jumping,
bouncing or playing. It was miserable for all of us.
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But he came back. He’d never be the agility dog he initially had
the potential to be. But once again, he comes out of the ring bouncing
and happy. (We ignore the issue of those twelve awful sticks stuck in
his way.) He loves walks in the woods, happily chases his tennis balls,
and swims joyously. And he adores his little sister.
Ginger came to us when she was eight months old, snatched out of the rescue
system for me by Bill Berner. Our first encounter was at a PetSmart
adoption clinic where, wild-eyed and lunging frantically, she dragged Bill
through the store. No way could I cope with this little monster, I
thought. Then an older lady who didn’t know what a golden
retriever was, but who assured us the dog would get lots of exercise on the
wire in her yard decided Ginger was the dog for her. Minutes later,
Ginger was in my car heading for the Adirondacks. I
have not had a moment’s regret.
Those of you who know Ginger as the wild child blasting like a tornado into
class would be surprised at the well-behaved young lady she is at home.
She’s never destroyed anything beyond a few rolls of toilet paper when
I had the audacity to be out longer than she planned. She is my shadow,
and I don’t move a foot without her being right there. When we go
someplace for a run, she does not immediately race around, but instead,
sniffs everything. Initially she was afraid of the water, but once I
taught her to swim, she became the first to leap in. She’s very
much the fastidious lady, and comes out dripping to sit in my lap and carefully
lick her coat dry. That’s if she doesn’t roll in the mud
first.
As for training, she’s been the disgrace of countless obedience and
agility classes. When competing, she’s the girl with the curl in
the middle of her forehead: when she is good she is very, very good, but when
she’s bad she is horrid. Maybe you’ve seen her stop one
inch above the yellow contact, look at me pointing and commanding
“touch,” and then soar off, grinning mischievously.
It’s her sense of humor.
Though very different, both Baxter and Ginger are typical golden
retrievers. Both are convinced everyone loves them. I certainly
do.
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