I’m cruising down the ski trail behind by my dog Penny -- the rope between us is taut and her ears and my ski poles are flying in the breeze.  The Karhu’s sing as they skim along the snow --the Vizsla and the skier partners in an effortless Vermont skijouring run.  That’s the image I keep visualizing.

But then, a red squirrel crosses the path and with a lurch, we’re headed out through the pines at breakneck speed.  Or, Penny stops abruptly to investigate a fresh deer poop and we collide in a tangle of harness and ski poles.  That’s the scenario my spouse, kids, and anyone who knows Penny visualizes.

Yet, skijouring is a sport that has intrigued me for years.   I am a decent XC skier and have a strong energetic Vizsla who is always ready to run so it seems, on the surface, like a good mix.  A good mix for disaster.  Penny’s training is not exactly ready for prime-time.

Skijouring involves one or more dogs hitched to a cross-country skier by a rope.  The skier wears a belt harness and the whole rig can be purchased for about $200-275 US.  Skiers use either diagonal stride or in the cases of races, skate technique.  You very well may have to help out the dog on the uphills and slow down to avoid overrunning on the downhills.  Many of the commands for sled dog racing are used and you are advised to train on foot before snow falls.  Most any medium-sized to large dog can be used if they like to run.  They respond to voice commands (that’s a problem for us) and should be socialized with other dogs (another problem).  Here are some training techniques and commands.

We were watching a special on Vermont Public Television recently where a reporter tried it out and actually competed in a low-key race up north.  It looked like fun but the dog she “borrowed” was well-trained and patient.  When she fell, he waited quietly instead of, like my dog, coming over to lick you and get tangled up in ski gear.

So, I guess I need to practice my gees and haws with my red dog.  I know she’d love it - she loves running alongside the bicycle with a Springer attachment.  So for now, I will just visualize skijouring with Penny.  Now, if I could just get her to visualize pulling in a straight line, responding to verbal commands, we’d be all set.  Perhaps this winter.

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The Vizsla needs a run -- she’s been waiting patiently all day and the rain has let up to a fine mist.  I’ll grab my poles and take a hike (nordic walk) up in the woods.

We start out on the loops on our land, which we walk several times a day, and she’s off on her “check the new smells” romp.  I’m caught up in thinking about some publishing issues I’ve just struggled with -- missing fonts in older documents because they were done on older computers.  I’ve been trying to create some ebooks using pdf and it’s a hassle -- I’ve got 900 fonts but not a couple we used five years ago.  So, let it go and enjoy the early fall afternoon.

The leaves are turning but mostly yellow here.  We’ve got soft maples and they seem to get speckled with brown -- although some will get red later on.  Higher up, there’s lots of red showing on the mountains.  The ferns, chest-high in spots, got frosted and are bronze.  The asters and daises, often head high, are untouched but soaking wet.

I’ve got my new LL. Bean slicker on and with the poles and climbing, find it pretty warm.  Robins are flocking up in every clearing -- they’ll likely be heading south on the next cold front winds.

We head up on to abutting forest and Penny flushes a couple of partridge.  She doesn’t point them, just chases them.  No wonder she flunked out of hunting school years ago.

I’m reminded of a time years ago when I was working on one of my mountain bike books and trying to tape record the ride description as I rode along.  I was climbing up this rocky trail, gasping into the mike about it, when a whole covey of young partridges exploded out of the weeds near my front wheel.  I wish I had saved that tape -- it was a breathless  “the trail gets more technical .... S.O.B...” accompanied by the beating of a dozen wings.  It was funny to hear when I was transcribing later on -- and still makes me chuckle as I remember it.

Then my mind veers to the photos I used to try to take on these rides.  You don’t meet riders on most of the rides I was doing and rather than just taking another photo of the bike against a trail sign, I’d try to set up the camera and use the timer.  I’d set up the small tripod I carried, set the self-timer, and then run back, try to hop on the bike and ride toward the camera.  What a joke -- it was either out of focus, or I was half on the bike, whatever.  I don’t know that I ever got a usable shot.

The rain has picked up a bit and I’m glad for the slicker.  It’s loud on the leaves and all I can hear is Penny’s periodic shaking to dry out.  She’s loving it, ranging back and forth, nose to the ground.  There are still some stone walls to check on the way back -- where she remembers critters from former walks.

We’ve been out a little over an hour and it feels great -- the trail is soft due to the rain and the temperature is perfect.  My hiking shoes and jeans are soaked.  We’ll head back and dry out a bit -- and Penny will smell like ferns all evening. 

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Penny and I went for our first bike outing yesterday and like the bike adventures I outlined in March, it was exciting.  First of all, the disc brakes on my mountain bike, which I took apart this spring replacing rusty discs, need adjustment. (I miss my bike tech son, Rich)  So the initial downhill was a little faster than I'd like.  Got to learn how to bleed those brakes.

 My system is called the Springer and it works quite well.  The dog has room to run and a big spring tends to absorb most of the lurches and spurts -- but it does help if you're an experienced cyclist.  So we launched down the driveway and down our dirt road and cruised up the rather flat dirt road that runs along the brook.  Full of energy, she pulls like crazy and I hardly have to pedal.  After ten minutes, we slowed down and I found a shady place and let her drink out of the clear water flowing down the ditch.

I've watched my Vizsla run a lot -- too often away from me ignoring my calls but that's another story -- and dogs tend to run in spurts.  They cruise, sometime gallop, but then stop and sniff and explore.  I try to simulate that activity by not running her continually -- but varying speeds and stopping fairly frequently for a break.  I also stick to dirt roads or if on pavement, ride so that she can run on the shoulder.  One of my favorite places is our local airport, during periods with no activity, where I can ride the edges of runways or taxiways and she can run along on the grass.  (I'm a pilot so folks let me be)

Here's a picture of our camera shy Hungarian hound before we launched today.  The Springer is hooked up and ready -- and while she doesn't look interested, once I put the iPhone away, she was raring to go.

On our normal route, the initial downhill ends up being a climb at the end of the workout. Penny slows down and walks and I have to pedal and half-pull her up the road.  It's probably funny to hear me panting "come on, girl -- here Penny" as I try to coax her into a faster climb.  What I need is a hot dog on a stick to hold in front of her -- we'd make it back up in record time.  

For me, cycling with a dog is not really a good workout for me but it's a good way to get her some aerobic exercise.  Dogs seem to love it and it's really is a lot of fun to fly down a dirt road with your canine buddy stretched out in a flat run.  Carry water and a collapsible water dish and "bike like a dog."

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Asleep on our couch, my Vizsla Penny just gave out a little bark -- perhaps she’s reliving the encounter yesterday with the biggest moose I’ve ever seen.  She and I were about halfway through a soggy trail run on a route we often take when just ahead in the pines was this big black thing. He lifted his head, I saw the massive rack, and the dog took off toward him. He wheeled and started running off, then wheeled and she screeched to a stop.  Then they both were off again, charging up the hill, leaving me yelling and breathless, and scared witless for my dog. She looked pretty small behind the big guy.

About ten minutes later, Penny returned - legs caked with black mud - tongue hanging out, but unmarked.  We bushwhacked home a different way and another adventure was over.

Last week, it was a coydog.  Running down the trail, I spotted some movement in the tall ferns up ahead as did Penny and as she charged off, a big shepherd-sized coydog scrambled away with the red dog right behind.  I yelled as they raced off - hoping that the coydog would not turn on her and fight.  After a ten minute disappearance, Penny came back tuckered out.  Every so often she would stop and sniff the air as we wended our way home.

These two recent “adventures” got me thinking of some of the other encounters we’ve had out back.  Of course, the little ground birds drive her nuts, flitting from limb to limb, as she chases the through the underbrush. Likewise, the red squirrels often sit about 15 feet up and chatter at her as she goes ballistic, barking and trying to climb the pine tree.

We’ve had a couple of meetings with mama partridges who explode off through the brush, dragging a wing and staying just ahead of the racing red dog, letting their chicks (which I ofte see and hear) disperse to safer environs.

And then there are the porcupines.  Last year she met one up close and personal in a woodpile and came home with several quills in the nose.  Lesson learned?  Not!  Just last month, she treed a big fella in a spruce tree, barking and jumping as the guy ambled up the tree and perched on a limb.

Penny, an AKC Vizsla, was born and bred in Kansas by a guy who raises hunting dogs.  After a litter or two, she was sold to a couple in Boston who couldn’t handle her in urban confines and gave her to the rescue group.  That’s where we got her -- fourth place for her.  As I see her chasing anything that runs, I can understand how she flunked Bird Dogging 101.  But living and exercising with her is always interesting and you never know when the next Wild Kingdom adventure will start.

coydog by wikimedia commons   moose photo by gailfisher   porcupine photo by clarity

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A Vizsla is part of my exercise routine -- I run, ski, snowshoe, and cycle with her.  But I’ve never considered our early morning walks part of that routine -- until this morning when I thought, why not?  The outings, 20 to 30 minutes long, are at a hiking pace for me -- of course she’s either stalking or racing -- and are a good mental and physical fitness start to my day.

Every morning, rain or shine, dark or light, Penny and I go for a walk in the woods.  After a couple of cups of good coffee (Capitol Grounds House Blend) and some yogurt, I head downstairs to meet my ready-to-go canine companion.  She jumps and barks as I struggle to tie up boot laces and then she’s out the door on a search mission just in case there’s an early rising red squirrel.

These spring mornings in northern Vermont are special.  While the temperature just after daybreak was about 33 and the grass and dandelions were soaked (not a problem with my all-weather boots -- Zappos), the woods were full of calling birds.  Wood thrushes, robins, chickadees, and a white-throated sparrow were those I identified.  Need to get out the CD again to sort out the warblers.

Snow is crunchy under big boots
slow going for me – the dog flies.
Too cold for red squirrels,
but she finds many smells and mysteries.

A crack of a maple sounds like a gunshot
the dog’s tags sing as she cruises.
A far-off chain saw whines
I hope that’s next year’s wood he’s cutting.

Sun on my face in a rare clearing
warms my cheeks
a promise of what’s to come
Only weeks until grass starts showing.

Climbing up the ledges gets me puffing.
I pause, so does the dog. It’s quiet
For moments we listen – to nothing
It’s rare – but wonderful.

Far up, a jet out of Logan breaks the stillness.
They’re probably off to Europe,
packed cheek to jowl in a thin aluminum shell
To me, today, the woods are a better trip.

Suddenly, up ahead a Barred owl glides off,
low to the ground and silent.
The dog gives half-hearted chase --
she’s been there, done that.

The last half-mile is downhill, through the pines.
Time to let the mind soar and just enjoy
Oh, oh, the dog has found one of those “mysteries” and is eating it
“Jerk, idiot” ring out as I race toward her, too late
She chews and chews as she moves off toward home.