Christmas Quills

For the first time in ages, we took a pet on Christmas vacation.  It seemed so much easier to bring Moose, a 10 pound Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, than Torch our 80 pound, 11 year old Lab.  For most of the last decade, Torch and the late Brittany, Joe were too big to lug along on these trips.

Cavaliers are to laps what Labs are to fetching.  So while Torch would have been big and energetic, Moose rides easily in the cramped car, sleeping happily on any of the five of us. (Though the driver is considered out of bounds.)  When he’s not sleeping on one of the boys, he nestles easily onto a winter jacket, or one of their pillows.

When we arrived at my wife’s parent’s townhouse, Moose did not overwhelm the room.  His paws did not scratch the beautiful new hardwood floors.  Granted he jumped on the couch, but unlike the much larger Torch, he seemed at home there and even my mother-in-law, who was worried about dogs on the furniture, was begrudgingly ok with it.

So while Torch did hard time at the kennel back in Roanoke, Moose visited all the relatives.  He traveled in the mini-van, stopping in New Jersey to visit my brother and sister-in-law.  They currently have no pets, but loved Moose and clearly felt comfortable having him there.  He went to the afore-mentioned townhouse, and when Mary’s sister had a party on December 23rd, Moose stole the show, playing with her young twins and clowning as puppies do.

On Christmas morning we made the 3 hour drive north to Salisbury Center, N.Y., in the southern Adirondacks, to the small farm where I grew up.  Mom, as always, had home fries frying in a cast iron pan, and a breakfast casserole in the oven.  We ate and exchanged gifts. My sister and her husband brought their Corgi, Duncan, and this year Duncan and Moose fit in nicely, romping in the wrapping paper strewn on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Truth be told, there’s ample room for a Labrador at this stop.  50 acres, an old farmhouse and a significant history of larger dogs – mostly Labs – makes Mom and Dad’s a dog heaven.  But with all the complications of holiday travel, it was the 10-pound Moose, who held forth this Christmas.
So when the boys and I dug the vintage snowshoes out of the barn and strapped them on for a 2 mile trek along the creek that flows through he back of the farm, it was Moose the lap dog who trotted along with us, instead of the more typical, burley Lab.  For good measure, Moose even wore a Virginia Tech sweater Jonathan had brought home from college. (I’m still not accustomed to dressing my dogs!)

No matter.  The snowshoes held us high up on the foot or more of snow, and Moose trotted along on top of the slight crust without breaking through.  I have to admit he was cute in his Hokie sweater.

We shuffled along next to the creek where I camped as a kid, and took pictures and home video.  Moose loved every minute, running and exploring but never out of sight.  When we walked single file, he usually trotted in the middle of the group.  Occasionally he would stop suddenly, pointing at some hidden bird or squirrel, reminding us he was after all, a Spaniel.

The day was perfect, about 30 degrees—The boys happy to be doing something new.  I was in a bit of a nostalgic mood, taking them through my old haunts, on decades-old snowshoes in snow that was actually deep enough to necessitate their use.  And yes, although he was wearing a sweater, it was great to have Moose, still only 8 months old romping around the way my larger dogs always did.

As we emerged from the woods to walk the quarter mile or so through the fields back to the house, Moose was whimpering.  He’d been a trooper, but we thought he was likely cold or tired.  He would have none of riding in my old fashioned wicker pack-basket, so Tyler carried him for a while before putting him down to run through the yard and into the house.

As I fumbled with the frozen rawhide bindings around my feet, my dad came to the door and said Mary needed me inside quickly – there was something wrong with Moose.

She looked shocked as she stood in the living room with him in her arms.  “What are these?” she asked, pointing to what looked like black pins sticking out of his neck.  She had removed several already, and two were in the hand not holding the dog.

“They are porcupine quills,” I said, perplexed.  I had seen them several times in my youth.  Once my Lab, named Chowder came home with a mouthful and the vet had to remove them surgically.

These were not so deeply embedded.  I removed the last one with my fingers, causing Moose to let out a small yelp.

As it turns out, there were about a dozen quills total.  Many went no deeper than the Virginia Tech sweater.  None was in beyond the point where we could remove it with our fingers.  In five minutes he was quill free.

I still have no idea where he encountered the porcupine.  My best guess is that the critter balled up under some low hanging branches and that Moose stumbled into him as we moved through the tangle between the edge of the woods and the field.

It’s been several days now, and he seems to have no lingering effects – at least not the kind we can see.  He does growl in his sleep a little more, and we believe he’s having porcupine nightmares.

We’re back home now, and returning to the routine of walking the dog around Cul de sac Corner.  He sleeps on the furniture and curls up in our laps as we read or watch television.  He’s at my feet as I write this.

There’s no doubt that Moose is a lap dog first.  I am getting used to the notion of a dog wearing clothes.  But he’s been on a couple of trail runs lately, and I’m determined to cultivate his outside self as well.

At least I know he can survive a porcupine.