Steve and I attended the 5th annual Bark 'n' Splash Bash at the Folsom Aquatic Center over the weekend. We went for the first time last year, and had so much fun that we decided to check it out again on Saturday. Dogs of all shapes and sizes – from one very large and excited German shepherd to a stubby nothing-bothers-me Bassett – gathered at the activity pool (complete with sloping ledge and slide, where kids normally play) for three hours of frenetic barking, Frisbee fetching, and frolicking fun. It was a hoot. (As an aside, I should mention I was a little concerned about the potential health hazard of letting dogs swim in a community pool, until I learned the event is slated at the end of the swim season; afterward, the activity pool is drained, sanitized and inspected.)
As former owners of two golden retrievers, we’ve been contemplating for some time now which breed we’d like to try next. Being a duck hunter, Steve’s still set on another retriever, or possibly a yellow lab, but I’m less certain. If we owned 100 acres, say, in the middle of Montana, my personal tribe would consist of a golden retriever, yellow lab, border collie, blue heeler, Welsh corgi (ala Edward, in Anne Tyler’s ACCIDENTAL TOURIST), and possibly, a Newfoundland. But in the real world, we own a house situated on a lot in the middle of the suburbs, and one dog is all we can reasonably accommodate.
In contemplating which breed we’d like to try next, it was good fun to watch the dogs’ personalities emerge. One border collie was nearly beside himself, trying to herd a bunch of uncooperative retrievers and labs, who were far more interested in fetching tennis balls than adhering to a bossy dog’s commands. And one retriever in particular – a hefty fellow named Jake, pictured above – would have nothing to do with a ball at all, preferring to fetch the rock his owner repeatedly plunked to the bottom of the pool. First he’d eyeball it, then determine its exact location by feeling around with his front paws, then dip down to get it.
Enlightening too, was the knowledge we gleaned in terms of which breeds we’d never acquire, but I won’t share that here. (Suffice it to say, irresponsible owner, badly behaved dog.) The most contented dogs – and by extension, the best behaved – were those with owners who appeared to have spent time with them, and who were members of the family.
How to possibly decide?
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