I took my 9-month-old puppy for her first mountain bike ride, and for once in her life she was worn out.
However, I worried about her the rest of the day, even though every one else in the house was grateful for her unusual tranquility. There was no chewing on the kids’ toys, no wrestling the cat down from her feeding station, no pouncing on the 3-year-old.
According to veterinarians, it’s best to ease a dog into being a riding buddy. Just like us, they’ve got to build muscle, stamina, and callused feet. That said, I took Jojo to the woods for the last several months just to get her used to staying with me and being around bikes. I have to admit that chasing an 8-year-old while the 3-year-old whines and then refuses to ride is difficult when being distracted by a hyper puppy who wants to attack and lick the face of every passerby.
“JOJO! COME!”
“Mamaaaaaa!!! I don’t wanna ride this STUPID bike!”
“Mom! Mom! MOM! Did you SEE that jump I just made?
“Come on, Wyatt! Pleeeeeease don’t make me carry you, your bike, my bike and the prancing puppy’s leash!”
Somehow through all that she figured out she was supposed to stay with us.
I streamlined on the next several forays to the woods, leaving behind the bikes and one child. Unlike my last dog, who would wander away and be lost for days, Jojo comes every time I call her, no matter how fast the squirrel was getting away.
My next step was taking her running. She stayed with me, and of course outran me, scampering into the woods after every chipmunk. In fact, she ran circles around me as I panted along suffering.
A few months ago she was afraid to get into the truck with us. As soon as she associated the truck with going to the woods, it was on. Every time I packed the children up, she would jump in and refuse to get out.
It was time to take her on a real ride.
She bounded happily along as we took off, knowing immediately that she was to stay with the pack. She repeatedly ran ahead and circled back around as I wondered how much of that she’d be doing by the end of our ride. I was surprised, actually.
We avoided the fire roads so as to save her virgin paws as much as possible. She loped joyfully (although I realize it’s difficult to lope without joy) and especially perked up on the rolling parts where she was able to really run. Our energy levels were drastically different by the top of the climb. I checked her paws, and they looked great. It wouldn’t be a long ride, but even this 45 minutes was further than she had been. I fed her treats and made her rest until we were ready to descend.
I headed down the trail at a moderate speed, evaluating how fast she wanted to go without being pushed too hard. She passed me. I couldn’t have that, so I sped up a bit. She heard me coming and jumped to the side to let me go, taking my back wheel instead. I could hear her back there, looking for a move to get around again, so I kept my pace. There she came, leaping over a boulder and landing well in front of my wheel like Super Pup, sans cape. I couldn’t help but giggle. My heart swelled with pride as I watched her lithe little mutt body stretch out like a gazelle.
Riding with Jojo changed my line. Instead of hauling ass down the quickest route, I took her line, jumping roots and creeks. I wanted to ride like she could run. She made me laugh.
I sped up a bit in spots just to see if I could pass her, and then I’d slow down again to see how she would take the lead. It was exhilarating hearing her back there, watching her, and seeing how happy it made her. I stopped for her to rest and drink at every intersection, checking to see that her paws were still holding up. I couldn’t believe that she was still bounding away after birds and squirrels.
For the last mile I let it rip. I tore down through the wide trail, jumping the whoopdie whoops and riding the berms high. Suddenly I didn’t hear her. I stopped and called her, but she didn’t come. I whistled. She didn’t come. I headed back up the trail calling to her and finally saw her bound out of the woods. She was taking a straightline toward my whistle, rather than the trail. She looked fine. I pet her, gave her water and finished the last half-mile slowly so she could trot. Once back to the parking lot, she flopped beneath the truck and refused to move – even when friendly dogs asked her to come out to play.
That’s when I saw her paws. Oh, I felt terrible. They weren’t bad, but there was blood. The webs between two toes were slightly bleeding and one pad was torn. I pulled her out and put her in the truck where she calmly lied on the ride home. If I weren’t so worried I would have enjoyed the unusually peaceful drive.
Once home she greedily ate the bowl of food I poured and lapped down an entire bowl of water. Then she napped. Even the cat walking by wasn’t enough to get her up. I started to panic and called my pop to find out how much aspirin he would give his dog for her arthritis. I panicked that I’d run her too hard and that she would tear her ACLs or develop early arthritis. I brought her bed to her and then rolled her into it. Although she prefers the couch, she didn’t move. I put her water bowl between her feet and she drank half of it. The kids came home and she merely got up to wag her tail at them. She looked at me desperately when Wyatt tried to wrestle her, so I gave her massages.
I was terrified that by morning my children’s dog would be dead. But no. By morning she was back to attacking the cat and pouncing on the baby from across the room.
I can’t wait to take her again.