I got a bunch of exercise doing this week’s interview: I got to go for a walk with a (verrry cute) mini-Labradoodle, Stella Duff. She’s a pale gold color, with short curly hair and pink and green ribbons on her collar.
Soon as we parked, Stella and her mom came down to greet us. Stella bounced right up for the Wag-and-Sniff. “Hi, Mr. Bonzo! I’ll call you Bonz, OK? This is my mom, Jean. C’mon, we’ll go up in the elevator.”
“Cool Dog Biscuits!” I said. So, up we went, the door opened and there we were, in Stella’s apartment.
“This is my Dad, Bill! We can sit here for a minute, for some background. then, we’ll go for a hike!”
“Your name is so pretty. How’d you get it?”
“Mom and Dad named me for their favorite diner, up in Syracuse, Stella’s Diner.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“I was born on a nice puppy farm in Vermont. My Mom and Dad adopted me when I was just 10 weeks old. I’m 7 now. My earliest memory is when I won Fastest Sit at puppy school. I’ve always been Focused.”
She stood up and her Dad put her leash on. “Come on, it’s time for a hike.”
We got back in the elevator and were on the sidewalk in two seconds. As we walked along the path, Stella continued her story. “Ever since I was a puppy, we’ve gone on hikes. I LOVE hikes, don’t you? So one time, on a hike, I saw this stick. It was a really nice one and it sorta called to me.”
“Called to you?”
“Yeah, I know! To this day, I don’t know why I felt I just had to pick it up. I mean, there were lots of others all over the place but there was something about that one. Dad thinks it’s ‘cuz of my Labrador Retriever ancestors.
“Anyway, whatever it was, from then on, on every single hike we go on, a stick calls to me. Every time! I woof you not! My sticks are usually 8 to 24 inches long, not too thin, not too fat. When we get back, I drop the stick on our driveway. Dad piles ’em up in the garage or,” she leaned toward me and spoke real soft, “he doesn’t know I know this but, sometimes, when he thinks I’m not looking, he kicks ’em into the brush.
“My favorite stick so far was actually a tree branch, eight feet long, Dad said. I pulled it out of a snowbank at the Manlius New York Rod & Gun Club after a big snow storm. It was tough dragging that thing home, I can tell you. I’m a small pooch, but no stick’s gonna get the best of me. Dad was amazed.”
“Wow!” I managed. “So you’re sort of a Stick Whisperer.”
“Yeah, Bonz, that’s me. A Stick Whisperer! I like that. And, lemme see, we were in New York for 5 years, and I usually get two walks a day, so that’d be … um … about 3,000 sticks in New York alone. I had a BFF up there, Daisy. We had a lotta fun but I never got her to see the Joys of Stick Collecting. We moved here two years ago and, boy, there are millions of great sticks all over the place. Jungle Trail is one of the best stick spots. I’ve found sticks all over the country, North Carolina, Vermont, Maine.”
We got to the big road, looked both ways, crossed over to the ocean side and headed for the beach.
“Whaddya do when you’re not finding sticks?” I inquired.
“Well, up in New York, we did a lot of winter sports. I ’specially enjoy cross-country skiing with Dad. He’d have my leash in one hand and his ski pole in the other. I ran ahead and pretended I was a brave sled dog running in the Iditarod. Down here I play on the beach. I don’t go in, I just chase the soapsuds around … and those little bitty sand crabs.”
She rushed onto the beach. “C’mon! They usually only come out at night, but let’s try’n find some.”
We sniffed around and saw the little holes, but no crabs.
“When we’re over here at night, they play with me. I pick ’em up and shake ’em, and bop ‘em and fling ’em all over.”
“Er, don’t they get mad at you?” I wondered.
“Oh, gosh, no. They love it! They get a little dizzy, but they walk funny anyway, so you can’t really tell.”
I gulped.
“I gotta lotta dog buddies around here, too: Digger, Tar, Buddy, Doogan, Rocket, Lady, Andy and Charlie, and a bunch more. The humans are OK too, even though they point and laugh when they see me with a stick. They don’t understand that it’s my Quest! Same with the pooches.”
We started back. Stella trotted ahead, pulling on her leash. Suddenly, she pulled her Dad over to a patch of grass. She had found a Stick. She picked it up. But I guess it wasn’t The Stick, ’cuz she petooied it right out. Pretty soon, though, she found The Right One and carried it back to her building. On the way, I spotted a stick. “Humm, can’t hurt,” I thought. I approached it in a non-threatening way, then stared at it and concentrated. Nothing happened. Either you got it or you don’t.
Back at her building, it was time to go. “Just remember what I always say,” she called. “You gotta make a plan and stick with it.” She was laughing as we drove off.
Heading home I was thinking how cute she was, and reminding myself to look up “Iditarod.”
Till next time,
The Bonz
