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Our Jake is such a boy dog.

I don’t mean to offend any men by saying that, honestly I don’t. I just always think of little girls as wanting to be neat and clean and little boys as preferring to be messy and dirty. That would, I repeat, make Jake such a boy dog.

Our RoadDog does not like to be groomed. He doesn’t want his nails trimmed. He just manages to tolerate his nightly combing and that’s only because he’s half asleep by the time I force it on him. I won’t even tell you about trying to brush his teeth other than to say that, apparently, Jake does not care that tartar buildup could cause health problems down the road. He likes the taste of the toothpaste and would be happy to eat it if we’d let him, but there’s just no way we’re getting that brush moving around in his mouth.

So, what do we do when it comes time for a bath? Even boy dogs need to get clean once in awhile.

From the time Jake was a puppy, bathing him was a huge struggle. We tried putting him in the laundry tub and he fought his way out amid much sloshing and splashing. We tried the big air tub upstairs, minus the bubbles of course, but that didn’t go much smoother and, if I remember correctly, I ended up with bruised ribs from leaning over the side.

Eventually we decided Jake was more of a shower type than a bath type. To be fair, that’s largely because there’s a door on the shower cubicle so he can’t get away, at least not when Steve is leaning on the other side of the door.

Now whenever our boy needs a bath — which he did just last week — Steve takes him outside as a distraction and scoops him up when they come back inside. Meanwhile, I put on an old swimsuit and prepare the torture chamber (oops, I mean bathroom) by putting a rubber mat on the shower floor, removing all bottles which could fall on our heads during the battle and getting towels out and ready so they’ll be handy to throw over a soggy Jake when he decides to shake water all over the bathroom.

Then Jake and I head into the shower. Thank goodness for handheld shower nozzles. Without that, I don’t know how we’d ever get our RoadDog clean.

It’s quite a struggle in there. Jake tries to escape, both the cubicle and the shower nozzle, while I try to speak encouraging words and Steve stands outside, holding the door shut, mostly laughing at us. I’m pretty sure there have been times when he’s seen Jake’s four little paws and little black nose pushing up against the shower door like one of those cats popular in rear car windows a few years ago.

The amazing thing is that when it’s all over and we’ve toweled him off (we also use a hair dryer in the winter), Jake is the happiest dog in the world. He runs around the house with a big smile, rolling around on the rugs. We can just tell he feels good.

He might not like to get clean, but I think, just maybe, our RoadDog likes to be clean … at least for a little while.

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So the weather hasn’t been warm enough to do a lot of riding these past couple of weeks, so that’s left me dreaming of places to go this summer and remembering places we went last year.

One of those interesting stops was at North Cape on the northwestern tip of Prince Edward Island. Steve and I and Jake headed there one August day from Summerside and soon found ourselves driving into some rain, but didn’t let that ruin our experience. We didn’t really know what to expect, but as we approached it was almost like something out of sci-fi movie with the huge wind turbines reaching up in the sky.

North Cape is home to the Atlantic Wind Test Site and I confess I didn’t stop to count the wind turbines, but there are a whole lot of them of different sizes spread out over a huge tip of land. It was kind of surreal after driving P.E.I.’s rural roads to find ourselves staring up at the huge monstrosities, but it really gave us a sense of the power that can be harnessed from the wind. And there was wind there!

There’s a very nice interpretive centre, but with Jake with us we didn’t spend much time there since we had to take turns going inside. There were lots of people around and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was even a dog wandering around, which apparently belonged to someone who lived down the road.

Jake, of course, wasn’t so interested in the wind turbines. He wasn’t even very interested in the other dog, but he enjoyed strolling the trails along the rocky cliffs where the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Northumberland Strait meet. There were birds and probably whales, although we didn’t see any. That seems to be the story of that whole vacation, but I remain hopeful. If all else fails, I may have to take a whale watching tour one of these days.

But the P.E.I. coast with all that red dirt was pretty enough without the whales.

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There’s some old saying about how familiarity breeds contempt, but I don’t buy it.

When it comes to riding, there’s no doubt that Steve and I have some favourite haunts, particularly here along the South Shore. We have some favourite roads to ride, some because of their twists and turns, some because of their beautiful scenery and some, I guess, just because (since I’m a grown-up, I think I can use that excuse and get away with it).

We also have some favourite destinations, many of which I’ve written about before. Some are great places to explore, others are great places for Jake to run around and some are just places for all of us to relax.

Getting back into another riding season, it’s so great to get back to those places to see how they’ve changed with the seasons or, in some cases, to see that they seem exactly the way we left them. There’s something rejuvenating about going back to a place you’ve been many times before, but don’t see every day. It somehow seems to revive the spirit after a long winter.

It also always reminds us of just how smart the four-legged member of our family really is. From the rocks at Blue Rocks to a favourite park in Milton to the waterfront in Mahone Bay, he hops off the bike (well, with a little help) and immediately seems to remember exactly where he is. He knows his favourite routes around the area. He even remembers where he can find the smelly seaweed to roll in if we don’t rein him in quickly enough (obviously in Blue Rocks, not Milton).

Our RoadDog runs about and then turns around with that big sort of smile of his. He’s happy to be riding again and happy to see familiar places.

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What is it about the colour pink that throws some men for a loop?

I’ve never really understood the male aversion to pink. I don’t feel threatened by navy blue or charcoal grey. I’m actually wearing dark grey right now and I don’t feel any less girly or any more masculine because of it.

Let me explain. We’ve been dealing with some pretty heavy stress in our household the past few weeks. Along with the addiction to our new coffee maker and the thrill of my new bike which I’ve been writing about the last couple of weeks, we’ve been terribly worried about Jake.

Everything is fine, we know that now, so no one else needs to worry.

But a few weeks ago, I found a lump on Jake’s left front leg. At first I thought it was an insect bite, although I couldn’t see any puncture mark on his skin. I found it on a Thursday night while I was combing him. (I have to make our boy dog endure daily grooming or all that hair just gets completely out of control.) By the end of the weekend, the lump hadn’t gotten any smaller. In fact, I was pretty sure it had grown a little bigger so I made an appointment with Jake’s vet and took him in to be checked. I was fairly certain I was going to end up feeling like an overprotective pet owner, but figured I could endure that for the peace of mind.

I didn’t get peace of mind, at least not then. Jake’s vet, whom Steve and I have the greatest respect for and trust completely, looked at the lump and, frankly, looked concerned. He suggested we could put ointment on it for a few days, but said it would most likely have to be removed sooner or later with a 70 per cent chance that it was nothing to worry about. You have to understand that I’m a born worrier. I come by it honestly because my dad is the same. Consequently, when the vet said a 70 per cent chance that the lump was okay, all I could think about was the flip side and 30 per cent sounded pretty high to me. I scheduled Jake for surgery as quickly as possible.

Our boy had the lump removed on March 24. By then it had grown even larger and our angst had grown with it. We were so relieved when the vet called last week to say that the tests showed it was a benign something-or-other falling it that 70 per cent group.

Jake still has five stitches in his leg that are coming out on Wednesday. He’s been so good about the whole thing — really groggy after the surgery, then looking at us as if to ask “what the heck happened to me?” he next day. He didn’t bother his leg and the whole thing only slowed him down for a few days. By this weekend, he was riding around with us on the bikes just as happy as all the other riders out enjoying the terrific weather.

Steve and I survived the stress and are still high on the relief of knowing that our RoadDog is just fine.

The only thing to take a hit in the whole thing was Steve’s dignity. Jake came out of recovery sporting a pink bandage with purple hearts on it. The vet warned us the bandage was pink. I don’t really remember the explanation since it made absolutely no difference to me, but poor Steve stared at that bandage like Jake had a barracuda or a python on his leg. We had to leave it there for four days, carefully wrapping it with saran to keep it dry every time Jake went outdoors, which meant Steve got to see it up close several times a day.

It was the only funny thing in the whole stressful situation. Thanks for making me laugh Steve and sorry, but as you can see I did take a photo of Jake wearing that bandage.

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