- May 18, 2001
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Back in the early summer, I took my dog hiking to one of my favorite spots in the mountains. Back then when I hiked with her I felt like it was my job to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't get into any trouble. Near the end of the hike she was behind me, and I looked at her over my shoulder. As I turned my head around to look forward again, I saw out of the corner of my eye my foot come down about six inches from a copperhead, which promptly struck at me and missed.
OK, I like to learn from my lessons, so I decided the next time I hiked with the dog I would keep her leashed and look out for myself, letting the dog survive on her natural instincts.
My Dad (and other oldtimers) always told me two bits of information: 1. a dog cannot smell a snake; if the dog doesn't see the snake move, it will never know that it is there, and 2. a dog, usually being in the lead, will agitate a snake so that it will bite the person immediately following the dog.
Neither of these bits of information were actually in my head when I needed them.
I took my dog hiking a few days ago on the same trail. This time, armed with my new doggy-hiking philosophy, I was watching out for myself and letting the dog do her own thing, albeit leashed. This time I spotted the copperhead from far enough away that it was no danger to me, but along trotted my dog. The whole thing was like a slow-motion scene from a movie; I saw her approaching the snake, and it happened so quickly that I could do nothing about it. She never knew there was a snake in her path, and literally stepped over and all around it. She didn't touch it with her paws, or else I think it would have struck her. Instead, the snake stayed motionless in the path, just daring me to make my move.
It all ended happily, I got the dog out of harm's way and we went back home. My dog was probably wondering why I suddenly was so shaken up.
To say the least, I am giving up hiking with my dog, at least until cold weather sets in. I simply can't watch out for her and myself at the same time. Its unfortunate, because she likes it so much. If a snake bites me, I know how to react. I wouldn't know what to do if one got her.
OK, I like to learn from my lessons, so I decided the next time I hiked with the dog I would keep her leashed and look out for myself, letting the dog survive on her natural instincts.
My Dad (and other oldtimers) always told me two bits of information: 1. a dog cannot smell a snake; if the dog doesn't see the snake move, it will never know that it is there, and 2. a dog, usually being in the lead, will agitate a snake so that it will bite the person immediately following the dog.
Neither of these bits of information were actually in my head when I needed them.
I took my dog hiking a few days ago on the same trail. This time, armed with my new doggy-hiking philosophy, I was watching out for myself and letting the dog do her own thing, albeit leashed. This time I spotted the copperhead from far enough away that it was no danger to me, but along trotted my dog. The whole thing was like a slow-motion scene from a movie; I saw her approaching the snake, and it happened so quickly that I could do nothing about it. She never knew there was a snake in her path, and literally stepped over and all around it. She didn't touch it with her paws, or else I think it would have struck her. Instead, the snake stayed motionless in the path, just daring me to make my move.
It all ended happily, I got the dog out of harm's way and we went back home. My dog was probably wondering why I suddenly was so shaken up.
To say the least, I am giving up hiking with my dog, at least until cold weather sets in. I simply can't watch out for her and myself at the same time. Its unfortunate, because she likes it so much. If a snake bites me, I know how to react. I wouldn't know what to do if one got her.
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