Saturday night I had a dream.  In this dream Hubby said I could get another dog, he even coughed up the $25 adoption fee (hey, I said it was a dream, didn’t I?) In the dream I was super excited to be able to rescue another dog, but even in my dream my subconscious was arguing, you can’t handle another dog, you struggle with the two you have.

Almost every afternoon, Sampson takes a right out of the driveway and heads hopefully up the hill towards his beloved woods.  And almost every afternoon I say, “I’m sorry Buddy, the snow is too deep.” One day this past week I said, “We’ll try it this weekend.”

I’ve basically been avoiding the woods for two reasons.  The first being the snow.  Even though many peeps and dogs walk up there, the broken path is very narrow, basically only wide enough to put one foot in front of the other.  Typically not a bad thing, unless of course you are surrounded by two feet of snow on either side of you.  If you misstep you end up sinking in snow up to your knees. Add the beautiful, warm sun who knows its job and is working on melting the snow and well you can see, one misstep could mean disaster.

This misstep is about 8 inches deep. It looks like it was made by a dog.

The other reason I’ve been avoiding that area is the dumb ass dog owners who use the woods as their personal potty area and don’t clean it up.  

Let me be clear.  The dumb ass dog owners are using the woods as a personal potty area for their dogs.  They aren’t actually pooping in the woods themselves. Or maybe they are, and they’re a lot better than their dogs at covering it up.

If you remember yesterday’s post, I have a crap crack addict and taking her up there is like letting a teenager loose in a Colorado head shop with a limitless credit card.

You know what I mean.

Maybe it was the time change that addled my brain, or the euphoria of the dream but Sunday morning I found myself giving in and heading towards the woods.

Putting a positive spin on it I thought, it’s the perfect place to work Delilah on the leave it command.

As our feet hit the path, I released Sampson.  The two of them on leash, on a normal walk is bad enough, they act like they are sled dogs and are competing to be the lead dog.  Add the snow and take one dog out of the equation and it’s manageable.  At least that’s what I told myself.

We started out going through the field, which wasn’t too bad.  We really didn’t encounter a lot of dog poop and the path was pretty good, Delilah of course was pulling me like it was her job and I did my best to keep up. Not exactly easy with the melting snow and uneven footing.

We managed to snake our way through the woods and approached the other entrance to the park, where the last bit of path in that area is slightly uphill. 

Sampson ran ahead, because he often encounters people and other dogs in this area so his anticipation level is high.  Meanwhile Delilah continued to pull me like I was a car (a small one mind you, maybe one of those smart cars) in the Ironman competition.

Narrow path, pulling dog, what could go wrong?

My feet trudged the narrow path, stumbling along as I tried to keep pace with her.  The peacefulness of the woods was broken by the rasping sounds of my breathing as I gasped and struggled to bring air into my lungs.  Sweat trickled down my back.  I tried to pray to God, please just let me get out of the woods and I promise I’ll not walk in this snow again, but my mind was using all my energy directing my lungs to continue their necessary work.

Finally, we crested the hill and as I paused to catch my breath, I looked around.

As I expected the area was like a battlefield and the war was about to begin.   

This is just inside the entrance to the park.

The good thing about the snow is the poop piles are pretty easy to spot, meaning it’s much easier for me to see what Delilah sees and do my best to persuade her to leave it.

I was pretty pleased with our first attempt. As we’d approach a temptation, I’d shorten the leash and stand ready with a treat in hand.  I’d let her sniff but say “Leave it.”  When she did, I’d give her the treat.  And she did leave it.

Every. Single. Time.