Dogs of Little Horse: Hop and Belle

“Because of the dog's joyfulness, our own is increased. It is no small gift. It is not the least reason why we should honor as well as love the dog of our own life, and the dog down the street, and all the dogs not yet born. What would the world be like without music or rivers or the green and tender grass? What would this world be like without dogs?”
― Mary Oliver, Dog Songs

One of best parts of living most of the summer here on the land is the chance to take walks with my “canine nieces”, Hop and Belle. I love being an auntie, as it’s been more than 25 years since I’ve had a dog of my own. I’d like that to change someday, but it’s not likely to anytime soon, given my still-nomadic ways.

Hop, a 10 (or so)-year-old Pembroke Corgi, and Belle, a 3-year-old Border Collie mix are Linda’s dogs. Both are rescues who have found in Linda one of the best human companions on the planet. During summer months, they also have me, a sure provider of treats and mini massages on request. These two photos are their formal portraits, taken last summer by Georgianne Nienaber during her visit to Little Horse. They show something of each dog’s character: Belle, the focused hunter, and Hop, whose charming expression suggests she knows her breed is the favorite of the Queen of England.

Both dogs had difficult beginnings. Newborn Hop was reportedly payment in a Commerce City drug deal. The parents of the woman involved visited the Cripple Creek casino where Linda was working at the time and asked her to take the purebred pup. Linda was reluctant at first, as she already had two dogs then.  But she agreed after she was told, “Well, we can’t do much for our daughter now, but we can do something for this dog.” Years later, Belle arrived through the auspices of a local vet, Dr. Shannon, shortly after Linda’s elderly lab had died. A pregnant Belle had been found wandering in rural New Mexico and brought to Colorado through ARF, a local rescue group. Homes had been found for her puppies and now it was Belle’s turn for a new life. I believe it was something like love at first sight for Linda and this very sweet dog.

“A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing.” --Mary Oliver

Belle is what one vet’s assistant called “a soft dog”. She’s so gentle, leaning against my leg or taking a treat between her teeth. When she jumps up on me (a practice I discourage with all other dogs), she’s light as a feather, and looking into those soft eyes, what can I do but scratch behind her ears? When her hunter’s instinct kicks in, however, she’s off and running, quickly out of sight or just a blur on the horizon. Then she's impervious to human commands or bribes--or, okay, entreaties. She’s a champion digger. Linda and I joke that she gives the yoga pose “the downward dog” a whole new meaning. Every muscle group is engaged. In this photo she’s exploring a hole she had dug in Linda’s rock garden during an unsupervised moment earlier in the day. (Hop, meanwhile, keeps her eyes on the prize—the treats in Linda’s pocket.)

Despite the frustrations, Linda’s feelings about her youngest dog are very clear in this photo. A soft dog and soft-hearted human companion.

Belle leaves no ground squirrel or rabbit un-chased. She can tree a squirrel, staring motionless, in a manner worthy of a bodhisattva. Surprisingly, I’ve never seen her actually catch anything. Rather, Hop, usually focused on cadging pocket treats rather than chasing small animals, is actually the more skilled hunter. For example, last year it was she who dispatched the pack rat that had gotten into the greenhouse, decimating many plants. Recently, she caught a fluttering bird in the grass during a walk—one of those moments you fervently wish you could have prevented. Like others of her breed, she likes to work, always grabbing the leash in her mouth as a walk begins, ready to herd all in her field of vision. The only exception came three years ago, when Linda and I tried to get her to encourage of herd of 30+ wandering burros to leave the land. They had been around a week, and well, the piles of “burro gold” were mounting. Hop joined us in the field, but then just stood still, turning her head as if something utterly fascinating had appeared in the other direction. (The burros, as is typical of their breed, were the ones who decided when to leave.)

"They are a kind of poetry themselves when they are devoted not only to us but to the wet night, to the moon and the rabbit-smell in the grass and their own bodies leaping forward.” ― Mary Oliver

Though both Belle and Hop are leash-trained, they can run unleashed in many places in this rural area. They are most completely themselves when free to run and splash in any available pond.

In writing about her dog Percy, Mary Oliver offers still another on-the-mark insight. It’s one that reveals my own heart when I’m on a walk with Hop and Belle, watching them race ahead, alert to every scent and sound.

“Emerson, I am trying to live,

as you said we must, the examined life.

But there are days I wish

there was less in my head to examine,

not to speak of the busy heart. How

would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not

thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.”