Atticus Is Simply . . . Atticus

Atticus has not been well lately. It’s not been anything earth-shattering and I don’t think anyone else would even notice it. Heck, on Tuesday of last week we hiked Pierce and Eisenhower, two scenic four-thousand footers. Then on the weekend we climbed South and Middle Moat. The original plan was to continue over to North Moat as well and then double back along the trail to our car. But a most unusual thing happened. After we left Middle and were headed for North we were sitting in the woods in the growing warmth and sharing a drink. I fed Atticus a snack and as has always been our custom I asked him, “You want to keep going?”

The question is merely a formality because he always gets up and leads the way, but I ask it because it seems like the right thing to do. As Atticus has always seen it, we go up until there is no more up. 

This time, however, he hesitated – which is unusual in itself, gave me a searching look, got to his feet, and then turned back down the trail the way we’d come. I was surprised by his choice, but pleased nevertheless. You see, from the very beginning I was determined he would not be my dog, I wouldn’t be his owner or his master, and he definitely wouldn’t be my fur baby – my least favorite term of all. In my mind all of those terms take away from who he is and they diminish him (and in my eyes any dog).
 

I rarely even refer to him as a miniature schnauzer for I’m turned off by the limitations of breed differentiations. It’s just too much classification for my liking and had I thought of him as one we probably wouldn’t have attempted many of the things we have. Besides, as Paige Foster, his breeder, said ten years ago (as well as nearly every other schnauzer expert – real and supposed –has said upon meeting him through the subsequent years), “He doesn’t act like any schnauzer I know.”

There are a few similarities between Atticus and Maxwell Garrison Gillis, his predecessor, also a miniature schnauzer, but he shares even more atypical characteristics with other breeds I’ve lived with as well, most specifically Seamus, a black lab, and Ollie, a Westie.

So if Atticus is not any of those things what is he?

From the first time I held him as an eight week old I was determined that Atticus would simply be Atticus. I wanted him to grow up to be his own dog and I wanted him to be able to make up his own mind as to what he would be and what he would do with his life.

(All of this works with my thought on people as well. I’ve yet to meet an ordinary or typical person. I prefer to think in terms of individuality. Perhaps it’s my love of Emerson who wrote, “Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist.” Or maybe it’s just respect for life and the ability of all of us to shine in our own way.)

While Atticus’s decision to turn back surprised me, I respected it. It is an admittedly rare occurrence but he has chosen to turn back on hikes before, just never this far into one, and never while on a ridge walk where the views are plentiful and there’s so much to be seen. I chalked it up to what had been a hot week even though it was sunny but comfortable with a cooling breeze when he made his decision. Since we started winter hiking years ago he, like me, is less of a fan of warm weather hikes. Once the temperature reaches 80 we both begin to melt. Heck, he doesn’t even enjoy going for a walk around the village when it gets to be 80 degrees.

There had been other signs something was off as well. Lately, at the end of a couple of our early evening walks he sat on the couch panting a bit more than he has in the past. He’s also been spending more time walking next to me on the trail instead of just in front of me. I made the mistake of listening to too many other people and their experiences when they said, “He is ten, after all,” as if age is a disease.

But I really became concerned when we were on Middle Moat and that’s as far as he wanted to go. That just wasn’t Atticus. At least not the Atticus of old. That night I emailed Christine O’Connell, our vet at North Country Animal Hospital, and told her what had transpired.

Christine ran some tests, one of which was for Lyme disease. The Lyme test was negative but he did test positive for another tick-borne disease called anaplasmosis. It’s symptoms are not unlike Lyme and it would certainly explain what’s been happening with him lately.

Christine started him on a course of medicine as well as a probiotic. He’ll be on both for a month and we’re hoping he will feel better. If not, then we’ll head to the specialists at Angell Animal Medical Center. But so far the blood work results look normal in every other way and we are taking that as a good sign.

I am an unabashed sentimentalist who wears my heart on my sleeve and I’m not foolish enough to think that Atticus will live forever. Those of us who love animals know all too well the pain that comes from their shorter life spans. Confronted with everything that has taken place as of late, however, I can’t but help fear the very thought of that day. But something tells me that it is something we won't have to be concerned with for quite some time. It's way beyond the horizon and we have years to go and mountains to climb.

Meanwhile, I hold Atticus more than I typically would. We sit outside by the Ellis River as it runs by our yard, we watch the chipmunks scurrying around the stone wall near our patio, and feed the geese down the road. Right now he’s just plain tired. As one of the vet tech’s said the other day, “What he’s going through is quite similar to one of us having mono.”

Even now as I write this I think about those words and what it would be like if I had mono. I wouldn’t even want to get out of bed. But here is Atticus, supposedly a senior dog (more limiting classification), suffering from something akin to mono and yet he hiked two four thousand-footers on Tuesday and two more strenuous peaks just a few days later. Such is his love of the mountains.

He is on my writing desk sleeping next to my laptop at this moment and as I look at him I smile and feel his place in my heart and know that Atticus has turned out just as he was supposed to. 

Atticus has turned out to simply be Atticus.

Atticus being Atticus on Mount Garfield, our first 4,000-footer.