There is always some excitement when Chester and I go for a walk and I let him off his leash.

Because he’d maul or kill cats and chase cattle, and not listen to anyone telling him to stop or come here, he is always chained up in the yard. And he can’t be let off the leash when cats or cattle or horses are in sight.

But I love to see him run free, nose into everything, jumping straight up and pouncing and chasing and having a gay old time. That’s what a dog’s life should be. So we get down the road, and off comes the leash, and away he goes at full speed.

The first day he ran straight for a big slough and waded to his heart’s content, chasing the ducks. Then he discovered something hiding in the stubblefield, and kept after it until he caught it. We (Barney, Zander, and I) had already walked on by the time he came running behind us with what appeared to be porcupine quills sticking out of his mouth, and I thought oh great, the first time I let him off the leash and he goes after a porcupine -- great! But he gulped it back, whatever it was — Zander thought he saw a small bird — and was fine, and came to me so I could put the leash on again before we came into the farmyard.

This is my big concern — that he won’t come to me so I can get the leash on. He doesn’t come when I call him — he is too intent on whatever’s got his attention — but he does run back to me from time to time to give me a happy-dog hug and get a few affectionate pats. Then off he goes again.

I’ve been worried he’d catch on that the chain gets put back around his neck when we get near the yard; I live in fear of the day when I can’t come back when I am ready, because he won’t let me restrain him.

The second leash-free walk, we went north of the yard, covering the outer perimeter of a quarter-section of pastureland. Chester scared the bejesus out of a gopher, I saw lots of deer tracks, and almost stepped on a Canada Goose in the field. We came across the bodies of a cow and two dead calves, one of which I had been feeding up till a week ago. I thought he’d dash right over and check them out, but he raised his head and smelled the air almost cautiously and kept his distance. Once again he came to me in time to be put on the leash. Usually when he is restrained, he is pulling hard on the leash the whole time, rarin’ to go. For the first time, we’d walked (well, he’d run) far enough that he was tuckered, and the leash literally hung limply between us as we returned to the yard.

On Thursday evening we headed off down a road that runs between two stubblefields. Half a mile from the corner, Chester found a beaver the neighbour had shot and left in the watery ditch. Chester dragged it out and began to rip its wet hair away from its skin. I watched this for a while and then turned back and struck out across one of the stubblefields. Chester left his treasure behind and trotted along. I made the mistake of starting to run with him, which I now know you can’t do because he thinks that means he can jump on you and grab your hands in his jaws. I made him release my hand, and on we went.

Once again we came upon a Canada Goose that hadn’t heard us coming.
I’m told they will nest in a dry field as well as at the edge of water, so that might explain why this one was there and didn’t leave his spot until he had no choice. Chester gave chase, and the large bird flew low to the ground until it had drawn one of the intruders a long way from its nest. I kept an eye open for the nest, but never saw anything.

This is Chester running flat-out after the goose.

The mosquitoes when I walked along the gravel road were terrible swarms, but they were even worse in the field. It wasn’t long before waving my arms around my head wasn’t good enough, and I ran back to the road where they were not quite as bad. It was then that I discovered the leash and collar-chain were not in my jacket pocket, and with a groan realized I’d have to retrace my steps through the field and try to find it.

This I did, twice, all the way back to where the dead beaver was, and with no luck. Well, it’s hard to know exactly where you walked in a stubble field. It’s a big place, and it all looks moreorless the same.

Chester abandoned me to go work on the beaver, and I left him and walked back to the yard, hoping I could find a rope and get into my van and back to Chester before he came loping into the yard. By now I was tired and cold and pissed off at myself. But before I got to the corner, there was Chester on his way home, and I stopped the van and got out and he came to me when I called, so I was able to tie the rope around his neck and hold onto it through the driver’s window as I drove us both slowly back to the yard.

Yesterday Loverboy and I took the ATV out to the field to see if two pairs of eyes would have more success than one pair, but it was so cold and miserable out there (if it snows again I won’t be surprised) that we gave it up after only a few minutes and I went to town to buy a new chain and leash.

We have taken over feeding the dog, because you can see his ribs, and feel them, through his hair. We think his care is just one more chore that Pa can’t keep up with and hence gets overlooked sometimes. So Barney, who no longer feeds the cats now that it’s spring and the mice are out and around, has been assigned to dog detail. And I went and bought an 18-kg bag of dry dogfood yesterday. We’ll get that boy fattened up like he should be.

On the trip with the ATV yesterday, we drove past the beaver, which had been dragged farther along the ditch and whose ass end had been chewed out. That explains the scent I was unable to get off my hands and clothing after Chester rubbed up against me for patting — beaver castor from its scent glands, which must have been quite a delicacy for dog boy. I bet he rolled in it, the beast.