On the N. Fork, it's a dog's life

At the New Year’s Eve party at Sondreson Hall, Larry Wilson asked me to write this week’s column.

The next day, after a night of dancing and celebration and an epic holiday season filled with family and friends and more blessings than I can count, I was skiing the riverbank with our dog Rio, an 80-pound yellow lab mix. I reflected on the year before and wondered on the year ahead while Rio, ever eager to go where I go, post-holed through chest-deep snow behind me. When I’d stop to marvel at the sunlit winterscape and ponder on whether new snow would make for an interesting newspaper column, Rio would interrupt my musings and insist on snowballs. It’s his favorite winter game. No sooner does snow fall than Rio begs me to throw him a snowball or two — or 102 in a perfect dog world.

The game is best when the snow gets deep. A snowball-smitten mutt with borderline obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to fun can pounce into the powder like a coyote after a meadow vole and disappear with a very satisfying belly-flop. He comes up covered with snow, chomping on his snowball, ears forward, ready for the next volley. If I don’t deliver, Rio prances at my feet, bumps my glove with his nose and whimpers a come-on.

“He can’t help it,” my husband says. “He’s a lab.”

Could be annoying. But mostly it’s pure, fresh abandonment to the good times. Dogs know how to do that. And North Fork dogs, some might say, have got the good times made.

There’s tongue-lolling long walks in the summer, swimming after sticks in the river, and riding on the raft with your nose to the wind. There’s naps in the shade of your favorite dogwood, cuddles and belly rubs, and waking up to chase the gophers from your yard. There’s catching the sniffs, barking at something or nothing and finding carcasses to roll in. There’s trying to get away with hauling some putrefied thing home to chew on while lapsing into a sleepy-eyed “I’m in touch with my inner carnivore” state.

And there’s looking at deer. The inner carnivore connection stops there, good dog.

There’s hunting trips and truck rides and parties and people and about 49 other dogs to run and romp and play with. There’s knowing when to play it safe — when to stay clear of the coyotes and bears and when to come in at night. And there’s dog tired at the end of every single day.

There’s being part of the family, part of the tribe; belonging.

Now, at home in our cozy cabin, I’m looking out at the fresh snow again, which came swirling in on a mid-winter squall. Rio and our 15-year-old husky-cross Sienna are dozing nearby in the warmth of the woodstove. We’ll go for a walk this afternoon, and I’ll pitch some more snowballs for my pal.

There’s good living to be had here on the North Fork, or wherever you belong. Be you dog or person.

And since technically this is Larry’s column, I can’t help but ask… what does your dog think?