Relative Something

Our dog, Asher, runs with a hop that conjures thoughts of a bunny or a leaping whitetail deer. Someone suggested his bouncing down the trail reminded them of Tigger from “Winnie the Pooh.” That struck a chord with us because it precisely describes how his energy looks as he springs in the air. His nickname could easily become, “Tig” because of the way it rolls off our tongues when we see him prancing out of the woods to join us on the way to the barn in the morning.

However, even more than being like Tigger, Asher is 100 percent a digger. He LOVES to dig and he is very, very good at it. When he gets manic and explodes into hyperspeed zoomies, his antics are often punctuated with what looks like an uncontrollable need to dig between huge figure-8 lap rotations.

He pauses for just a second or two and unleashes several strokes against the earth that send turf flying, instantly creating a hole deeper than the trenches made by the resident moles.

Trying to stop him is worthless because the digging is over quicker than words of admonishment can be uttered and then he is off again with another race around some imaginary track.

Maybe his nickname will become, “Dig.”

Yesterday, I was working on a variety of projects that had me moving between the shop garage, the manure composting area, and back near the labyrinth. I came out with Asher and we wrestled in the front yard for a while with his favorite “Tug-N-Toss” Jolly Ball before I wandered off to accomplish whatever I could. He didn’t follow me.

I figured he would run through the woods for a bit and then either return to me or head up to the house to lay on the front steps as has become common of late.

He remained out of sight long enough that I figured Cyndie had let him back in the house but as I came around the barn one time we practically bumped into each other. I immediately noticed his hackles were raised but I didn’t know why. It was clear to me that something was up.

Stepping into the barn, it was easy to see what he was excited about.

He had dug after one of the many burrowing critters that frequent our barn. He dug so much, he turned up two rubber mats and completely dislodged one of the bricks supporting a wood cabinet.

There was no evidence that he achieved any reward for his effort. If there was a rodent in the immediate vicinity, I’m sure it got the message there is a new sheriff in town.

As fitting as it would seem to call Asher, “Dig,” I hesitate to use that moniker because it sounds too much like a command to do exactly that. He doesn’t need any extra encouragement from us in that regard, that’s for sure.

I like it a lot better when he looks like he’s having “fun, fun, fun-fun-fun!” leaping with that big bounce down the trail.

That’s what Ashers do best. Hoo-hoo-hoo!

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