Bear

With a name like Bear, you expect a large dog, a menacing dog, or both. He is neither. Although I never I asked Hayden Hall (the man I got him from) why he was named that, my wife says it's because he's a teddy bear. A baby more like it. 

He's more than a baby, though, and to use human analogies, he's MacGyver, Houdini, and Huckleberry Finn all rolled up into one sweet dog who is almost too much to handle. Seriously, this dog is smarter than we are, can escape any enclosure, and is full of good-hearted mischief. 

We took him because he needed a home and because a rescue dog we had desperately needed a friend. When our rescue dog, Gracie, suddenly and tragically died, Bear became lethargic, despondent, depressed. I knew I had to spend more time with him, but what to do? As a marathon swimmer, I have little time or energy for a needy dog. Besides swimming, two indoor tomcats keep my love tank pretty much emptied. My motto is, "No cat should go unloved." It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. I do it and I do it well.  

Bear

When school ended and I spent more time mowing and trimming grass and more time in the backyard gym, Bear became happier. But it was never enough. He always wanted more. More attention, more talking too, more petting. 

So I started taking him with Jeff (our aged weenie dog) and me to the recycle bins where we would dump our stuff and then walk the trail on the Yazoo River. Bear loved it. In short order I discovered that I could let him off the lease and he would stay close except when he saw another human being. Then he runs a B-line at top speed to the unsuspecting person, comes to a screeching halt in front of the startled individual, and sits in front of him or her looking up with pleading eyes. He always gets what he wants: attention. 

Bear quickly learned that my truck was made for riding and after single trip-- ONE TRIP-- anytime I climbed behind the wheel of my Nissan, he thought he was supposed to be in there with me. It then became impossible for me to go out the back gate, where I park my truck, without him busting through and insisting on going with me. So I started taking him with me whenever I could. But you can't always take a dog every time you go somewhere. And I learned that an hour or two even was not enough. He wants to hang out all day.

Then Bear started his Houdini phase. He learned to open the gate on the chain-link fence. After that he leaned to remove the padlock (unlocked but placed in to stop him from flipping the leaver up with his nose). After mastering the gate and the padlock, he learned to defeat the bungee cord we added to stop him from going out the back. And what did Bear do when you found him outside the gate? Make a B-line to my truck and sit down in front of the door. How can you say no?

I was planning on going to the pool last Friday and making a big swim when Bear busted out the back gate and sat at my truck door. He looked at me with those pleading eyes and I said out loud, "OK, you win." I opened the door for him to jump into the cab, then drove around to the front so I could go back inside and swap my swimming gear for running gear. 

We went to Carroll County, to the cabin and did a 9.02 miles run with a little walking. It was hot. Really hot. But we had some shade on Steen Hill Road and recent rains had left the ruts full of water. 

Bear will not drink muddy water. I remember my wife telling me a while back to check his water daily because he won't drink if his water bucket is dirty. Picky dog. He is the first one I ever knew who would not drink water on a hot, hot day even though he was almost run down because the water was not fresh. But that is Bear.

Not only will Bear not drink muddy water, but he doesn't like back-tracking. Although he had never been to Carroll County, the cabin, or Steen Hill, every time I did a turn around to add distance to the run, Bear balked, sat down, and gave me that Bear look. When I took side roads into the woods and came back onto Steen Hill and headed the wrong way, he did the same thing. He knew I was going the wrong way. When we finally made our way to the entrance to Hodge Ski Lodge, as we sometimes call it, he went ahead of me and turned on his own. He knew which way to go. This dog is smart.

What to do with Bear? The best I can. I know I can never pet him enough, talk to him enough, or hang out with him enough. But I will do my best to make him happy. It's a tough job, but . . . .