A Good “Bad Boy”

Hanging out in Montana providing support for my healing sister, I am without my canine guy. Nicholai is happy at home, per reports from that front.

During this week without Mr. Pickle, I find myself reminiscing about his youth. As I made the long drive from Oregon to Montana, I missed his "Bad-Boy" attitude, the protective partner streak he has that gives me added confidence at remote gas stations and rest stops. He has mellowed with age and gotten a touch more easy-going about strangers (though not if they approach the car uninvitedJ). As a young punk, he tolerated no interlopers.

Even friends seemed like intruders to him, so we worked hard to acclimatize him to welcome guests. We invited friends to come to our house, knock on the door, feed treats to Nicholai once he stopped barking and lunging, meander through the house, exit the back door, and then start it all over again. We served h'ors d'oeuvres on a card table outside. It was great fun, and took the edge off his protective streak.

Not long after, a small group of petty thieves made their way through the neighborhood, breaking into cars and cleaning them out. At one in the morning, Nicholai set to deep-throated serious barking, rousing me from sleep. "What is it buddy?" "Woof!" was his only reply. As I peered out the second floor window, I could see that someone was opening the front gate. "Come on Nicholai, let's go!" My voice carried through the open window along with Nicholai's gruff woofs, and the gate began to close as quickly as it had opened. Nicholai and I raced outside (possibly not the best idea) to see some men jump into a car and speed away. I stood in the middle of the street with Nicholai for a minute or two, trying to make sense of what had happened. It wasn't until the next morning when a police cruiser pulled up at the neighbor's house, that I got the full story about what had taken place. The stealing spree ended with Nicholai's threatening bark and determined charge to the front yard.

After that, my enthusiasm for trying to train the protection out of him waned. In the ensuing years, he and I learned to work together; he learned to trust my lead about strangers (mostly), and I learned to take a strong lead when it was mine to take (as in a short leash on busy trails). Even today, as Nicholai ages and I have more concerns about his ability to take care of himself (say, for example when he takes off after a coyote), I appreciate his desire to be my personal body guard.