Jolene Has Lacey Bloomers

Jolene is changing faster than the fall colors. It isn’t just that she’s grown lacey bloomers on her backside. Sometimes she’s elegant, alert, and just sizzling smart. Then she’s full-on tug-monster and bitey-face queen. Almost mature, with peaceful lap-sitting moments that exude Zen-like wisdom, and the next moment she’s running past you with the toilet brush.

And it’s been over a month since I lost my hearing somewhere between the barn and the house. Now, my left ear roars static. The right ear has had a serious hearing loss since childhood. Still hoping for a miracle, but the more time passes, the more I resign myself. The worst part is how exhausting it is being constantly vigilant, checking the environment for the things I don’t hear. So, now I’m more like a horse, prey to my environment. More like a dog, always on guard.

Back in June, I’d planned a fall road trip. I wanted to visit friends with our Rollin’ Rancho. An RV makes it easy to visit people without shredding their homes. It’s bringing our own kennel, and I need one as much as the dogs. When I got sick, I thought I might have to cancel. Instead, it became a different sort of trip. Another plot twist.

The first stop was the Estes Park Dog Park to meet Fae. She’s four months older than Jolene and has legs up to the sky. Getting bombed with photos of baby Fae was a big part of my considering a puppy, and it was finally time for our girls to meet. My friend and I were certain they would play like beer-swilling frat boys. Jolene was nervous, perhaps awestruck by Fae’s skyscraper legs, but she relaxed pretty quickly as we started walking.

If you haven’t been to Estes Park, perhaps you’re not familiar with the idea that a ball field might have 30 or 40 elk, calves to huge bulls, napping on a warm afternoon. With an equal number of tourists. But it also means elk poop everywhere. One of our girls didn’t eat it. The other acted just like a tourist.

There was a big fenced area for the real dog park fanatics, a pack of labs, retrievers, and doodles who were half playing fetch and half playing touch football. If you happen to be a herding dog, the chaos is unthinkable. But we found a small dog area that was empty, let our girls off their leashes, and waited for the party to start. Nothing happened. Play was out of the question. My friend and I sat on a bench and talked. Fae quietly rested in the shade, eyes focused on the rowdies. And Jolene, who always wants to be level with other dogs, stared from our laps. They were serious girls. All eyes were on the marauding teams of dogs. We were impressed, if a little sad, to see them behave almost too well.

After making plans for the next day, the dogs and I made our way through the business part of town. Families crowded the sidewalks, stores were busy with souvenir buyers, and the traffic barely inched forward. Once we cleared downtown, the oncoming traffic was moving even slower coming from Rocky Mountain National Park. Bumper to bumper, as far as I could see. It’s a testament to Nature that even that many people didn’t ruin the view. We finally pulled into our favorite RV park for its last weekend of the year. There were only a few neighbors, and good dog walking along a stream that runs through the park. It was restful. Unplugged hearing aids, no hyper-attention to driving, just tea and dogs.

The next afternoon, we were off to the lake. Famously, the aspen trees were having their last dance of the season. Sunlight tickled the surface of the lake, surrounded by peaks rising in all directions. I live on the flat part of Colorado, this is the postcard part. But Mister hates the beach and prefers the truck. So, the girls walked to a deserted alcove. Fae was first in the water, and I was second. Jolene got her ankles wet after much coaxing. Again, that question of leg-length. Jolene still didn’t know what to think of Fae’s legs. My friend and I had a good catch-up while Fae and Jolene explored the rocks. Then we looked behind us to the north and saw dark clouds. And since we knew these things, we high-tailed it to shelter.

The park was almost empty Sunday morning. We all had eggs, and I thought about all that had happened this year as the season changed around us. So much change, it’s hard to imagine what will happen next.

We drove on to my favorite barn, just over the border in Wyoming. It’s where Jolene’s first big-dog friend, Bailey, lives, and also my favorite spot for clinics. The original plan was to have one more day there with the horses before winter, and I had a special plan for Mister. After my hearing loss, there was an extra reason to go. I needed to know whether I could continue working.

Bailey is the beautiful black lab who helped Jolene like big-dogs this summer, and they remembered each other immediately. We were off-leash in the indoor arena and again, we hoped for a free for all. Instead, they walked around sensibly, not one all-star wrestling move. Almost boring. The humans talked about it, and now that Jolene was so brave, maybe she could help Mister let go of his dislike of dogs taller than him. I brought him in on a leash, in case things went sideways. Bailey plopped into a grinning play bow. Mister, of course, ferociously lifted his lip and snarled. Like I said, fearful. Bailey ignored his growl and did another play bow, refusing to take no for an answer. That was when I let go of the leash. He launched at her, the answer she was begging for, and she joyously ran. Here’s where I’ll remind you it’s a riding arena. With deep sand. One dog had long legs and one did not. The growling quickly gave way to the best game of chase ever. Bailey ran looking over her shoulder, egging Mister on. Mister yapped loudly for hundreds of corgi miles. That leg-length inequality again.

Mister barked non-stop. If a corgi is breathing, they’re barking. They hit the sand, caught their breath, and launched into more chase. Jolene was coming out of her skin, hysterical to join them, but it would have been like jumping a moving freight train. (Sorry, no photos.)

And here’s the horse part. My Affirmative Training approach is simple. We just say yes. If we aren’t fighting, there is no fight. That’s what Bailey did. Peaceful persistence. She said yes. But if you see it their way, dogs have always been Affirmative Trainers with an infinite stockpile of yeses.

We worked with a few horses. No surprise, yes was enough. If there’s a horse between me and another person, I can’t hear a human word. The riding arena eats sound. In a group around a table, I hear voices but no words. I’m researching Bluetooth gadgets that can help me hear the rider. At least my voice carries as well as it ever did, and aren’t we all still learning patience?

One last stop in Lakewood to visit an old friend with a pup younger than Jolene. We’ve shared generations of horses and dogs. Cai, a sheltie boy, ran zoomies around Jolene, who thought he was a bit of a goofball. She had all the confidence of an adolescent girl at her first dance. We left the pups at the tie post and went to visit her horses, returning to an obvious truce. Cai had miles in him yet, and Jolene was almost ready to let it rip, but time was up. We had to get home for dinner.

Ironically, my hearing loss has been a wake-up call. We are all fine until the day we aren’t.

It’s never been more obvious that humans are blind, hairless mice, compared to the sensory awareness other animals have. As we age, even more so. Whining about our false superiority is futile, but it’s never too late to take a cue. Maybe dogs have it right. Sit with those you love. Bark out what needs to be said. Offer a play bow to adventure. Then chase what calls you. Knowing that every sad loss makes room for something shiny and new, go ahead. Howl at the moon. Then, say yes. Because moving forward outshines any alternative.

[Part 21. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]

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Women Aging Cantankerously