Not unexpectedly, but to my slight disappointment, Lola did not run to greet me as I entered and parked in the driveway. She managed to briefly tear herself away from Donna and the deflated rugby ball cum dog toy long enough to jump up against me once or twice as I rounded the corner of the house to take in my first view of Lake Holcombe after several years’ absence. It’s a place that doesn’t seem to change much with time.
Before I arrived here Lola must have been swimming because she was still soaking wet. It took all of 5 seconds for her to smear my clean T-shirt with wet paws. Welcome back!
Lee and I had been cat people. However, when Lee passed one year ago last July, I was alone and felt lonelier than I have ever felt. We were amidst the pandemic then, and my sense of loneliness at the time was only heightened by Covid isolation. Zoom was neither a satisfying substitute nor a cure for my sad condition. I needed a friend and a real, flesh and blood companion. Enter Lola the pup.
Lola is my first dog. I mention her from time to time in these posts, so by now you might know she has indeed been my good friend and constant companion. Therefore, it is a little ironic that on the eve of Lola’s first birthday –July 28—I chose to be away with Robyn on a brief junket to Las Vegas, followed by a short visit to the Los Angeles area where one of her sons resides and where Robyn’s brother also happened to be visiting at the same time as us. Meanwhile Lola stayed with Craig and Donna at their lake house located in northern Wisconsin and not far from Minnesota.
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My whirlwind 5-day trip West Coast trip with Robyn ended this past Sunday. I did not arrive home until nearly midnight. Over the next 24 hours I unpacked, took care of several chores, picked up my place in advance of Julia’s visit to clean it while I am away, threw some traveling stuff into a fresh bag, and departed near first light on Tuesday to make the 6-hour journey by car to Craig and Donnas’ place.
I knew Lola had been in good hands. Donna and Craig have had German Shepherds since we became friends over 40 years ago, except today, in their retirement, they are taking a canine break. Donna especially is good with dogs. She is no-nonsense where it concerns dogs, and in just a week she had Lola heeling better than she heels for me when I walk her. It occurs to me that I might be softer and more indulgent with Lola than is good for her, that is, best for me. I promise myself I will be tougher in the future, even when she sits patiently by, looking to me expectantly behind doleful brown eyes.
In fact, even after I arrive, throughout the day Lola seems confused or conflicted about whom she is supposed to follow around or hang with, understandably, I suppose, since from Lola’s perspective Donna and I are both reliable sources for getting served a square meal and fresh water. In fact, while I was away with Robyn, Donna was Lola’s only source. As for treats I am more generous issuing these than is Donna, who firmly believes that treats must be earned and consistently enforces this rule. Thus, I have returned to discover that Lola now shakes hands– but only for a price.
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Last evening, around 5:30 p.m., Jennifer and Carson arrived here from Minnesota with their dog, Howie, a 6-year-old shih tzu , and the neighbor’s dog, Eddie, a one-year-old Scottie. Jennifer is Craig and Donnas’ eldest daughter and I have known her since Donna carried her around on her back in a papoose. Carson is Jen’s younger son, who will be starting 9th grade in a few weeks.
Howard generally is aloof, befitting an older dog who finds himself surrounded by two pup knuckleheads, but I can see that occasionally even he gets drawn in by their non-stop high energy antics. Eddy is about one-half Lola’s size but demonstrates his Alpha traits by relentlessly chasing her about the spacious property. Lola seems to thoroughly enjoy this activity, especially the part where she ends the game temporarily by jumping into the lake to escape Eddie’s clutches.
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Each evening, every creature great and small comes along on the pontoon for happy hour. We spot Donna’s cousin’s son-in-law, Matt, a reservist who also has a place on the lake, flying his military-grade, Blackhawk helicopter around the lake for reasons that remain unclear to me. We all wave as he passes us overhead. By the time we return to shore, Donna and Janes’ third amiga, Judy, is waiting for us on the dock.
We enjoy a lovely sunset before adjourning for tacos. Craig grudgingly surrenders the pier fishless again and grumbles at the fickle lake under his breath as he departs for the house. As a belated birthday gift, I have brought Lola left over filet minion, courtesy of her Uncle Mont, my upstairs neighbor. Lola and her two new pals thus eat as well as the humans, at least for one night.
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It’s mid-morning. While Donna and Craig are in town taking care of real estate business, we commandeer their pontoon to fetch ice cream, young Carson at the helm. We briefly stop at “Party Island,” where folks using the lake who are not so fortunate as Donna and Craig to have a lake house gather. Our three dogs disembark the pontoon, then proceed to run wild through the brush, but this time Lola’s new friends follow her into the water.
Later, I discover that surreptitious mosquitos have been feasting on my ankles the whole time.
Soon enough it is lunchtime, today consisting of leftover taco ingredients. In the afternoon we play several rousing games of pickle ball. Four sixty-somethings on the adjacent court are already playing doubles when we arrive. Afterwards I am feeling a bit sweaty, so I go swimming in the lake along with most of the girls, Carson and Lola, as Lola’s two canine friends wait for her on a nearby wooden diving raft anchored about 25 yards offshore. Unlike Lola, however, they need to be transported back to shore by humans. Carson transports them on his paddle board.
Craig cannot manage to get his fishing boat started. Nonetheless, I enjoy watching him instruct his grandson on a few of the finer points of basic engine maintenance.
He elects neither to swim or pontoon with us today, instead opting to spend his time preparing and cooking delicious slabs of ribs. Meanwhile, everybody else resumes cruising on the pontoon. For this happy hour we gather crackers, cheese, olives, and wine. Except for constantly having to fend off the three insatiable canines aboard our vessel, the cruise could not be more enjoyable.
We explore portions of a river that runs adjacent to Lake Holcombe and discover a strange looking place, whose owner, for no apparent reason, has erected a long, covered bridge over a narrow point above the water. As another orange water sunset gets underway in earnest, some lively discussion ensues about why anyone would bother to construct such a bridge. We take a few silly group photographs.
Craig, who is still cooking the ribs as we return to shore, urges his grandson to continue fishing off the pier. And, in the best family tradition, Carson lets another big one escape unscathed.
Finally, tonight marks the second straight night that Lola the pup follows me to my bedroom to spend the night. Good dog. And good friends. Tonight, all feels right with the world.