Happy Birthday Franklin

In honor of Franklin’s 9th birthday, and the start of summer,  I’ve decided to post another chapter from his “work in progress”, Everyone Loves Franklin. This is the story of his first swim at a beach on Cape Cod not long after he joined our family.

Franklin’s First Swim at the Beach

Now I know I’ve talked about my two years of education at service dog school and all the training it provided me to help humans in need. And how smart I claimed to be until Loki uncovered that I never learned to play with other dogs. In fact, I was isolated from other dogs growing up and taught to keep my focus on humans only.

And even more challenging, I never ever heard the command “Relax Franklin”. Just the opposite, as a working animal you are on duty 24/7. At the slightest noise, I need to jump up to check if my assignment is alright and not in need of assistance. Which means that sometimes I would get no shut eye at all.

Now that I have been assigned to Dan, my duties have been lighter. He needs me to be his hearing dog. Which means letting him know if there is someone at the front door, or if the phone is ringing, or if the smoke alarm is wailing. Basically, be his ears when he can’t hear.

You see if he takes out his hearing aids, he is completely deaf, which he does when he goes to bed at night or during the day to let his ears dry out. His hearing aids cause moisture to build up which can cause infections to occur. It’s a constant balancing act. Especially now that he lives on Cape Cod with all the humidity.

I say all this to let you know my responsibilities and the pressure on me has lightened up which gives me more time to relax. And to play. Again, the problem is I never learned to relax or how to play even with humans.

So, the real challenge began one spring morning when I was trying to relax in the backyard doing deep panting exercises that I saw on a TV show about Yoga. I concentrated on each breath in, then out. Everything seemed to be going well. Bird songs filled the air, when suddenly my garden nirvana was interrupted by noises in the kitchen of cooking utensils banging around.

Enough with the relaxation, I had to see what was up. I found my dads scurrying around the house gathering up bottles of water, beach towels, suntan lotion and naturally, food for all of us. I wondered what all the activity was about. I watched as they mixed lots of ingredients in a medium sized glass bowl. I observed as they lightly toasted a Portuguese roll, slathered a layer of mayonnaise on one side and spooned the mix in the bowl onto it. Don’t you like that word – slather. I have a large vocabulary. I know over one hundred words. Not sure where I learned the word slather but it’s much more descriptive than saying “put a layer.” Lastly, my dad stabbed the roll with a toothpick. Couldn’t tell what they were making but it smelled good. My nose is a very sensitive organ. I can scent food in the kitchen from anywhere in the house or from anywhere on the property for that matter.

“Do you think it’s warm enough?” I heard James ask.

“I think it’s alright for a brief swim. My other dogs swam in Lake Tahoe for God’s sake. In the winter. They loved it. Besides the bay is probably warmer than the ocean.”

“I sure hope he likes the water,” James worried.

They were talking about Buttermilk Bay, a mere block and a half away.

“That would be awful if he didn’t,” Dan exclaimed.

For those unfamiliar with Cape Cod, let me give you some information that only the locals know. Spring on the Cape can be blustery because the waters of the Atlantic haven’t warmed up yet. But by May, the wind paused. The skies cleared and the temperature rose. To celebrate my first swim my dads bought me a bag full of tennis balls just for this occasion and handed me one. I couldn’t believe it. It was my first very own ball. I will never put it down except to eat of course.

That’s when Dan ordered, “Let’s go.”

James pocketed a second one and carried it for me. They have a lot of experience with
tennis balls and know you must have a second one in case mine disappears somehow.

We had previously walked along the shoreline several times before, but they never encouraged me to go in the water by tossing a stick or a ball. When we arrived at the beach, Dan directed me to, “Drop the ball, Franklin!” This was a command I had never heard before. I stood blank eyed. He repeated his order. With no response he tried to pull the ball out of my mouth. I was not giving up my precious gift. No way. Frustrated, he took the second ball from James and lobbed it out into the bay. What was I supposed to do now? This was a conundrum. I was torn between fetching the ball in the water or keeping my present clenched in my mouth. I felt tricked. I was slightly reluctant to retrieve it. For good reason, if you have ever seen the movie “Jaws.” You may also know that it was filmed just across the bay on Martha’s Vineyard. But being a retriever, I had no choice but to retrieve the ball. It is in my DNA, no schooling necessary. I dug a hole in the sand with my paw and carefully placed my new present in it for safekeeping. Then took a couple of cautious steps into the shallows. No fins in sight. The cold and wet felt good on my pads. I admired the beautiful view of the bay should it be my last and then bravely set out. I swam fairly smoothly and at a brisk pace. I could hear my dads shouting, “Good boy, Franklin. You’re doing great.” Dan didn’t throw the ball out very far, which I appreciated. He must have thought it was all still new to me and not sure if I had the ball fetching down yet. Which is silly. Had he forgotten that I’m a retriever? It’s in my blood.

It did take me a few tries to grasp the ball out of the water before I got a good grip. At first, I kept missing it with my jaws. It was clear to me that with some practice I’d get better at it. I quickly turned around and headed to shore. Back on land, they applauded my accomplishment. “I guess he likes the water.” James announced.

But after a few shakes of my body to get rid of the excess water they discovered quickly I don’t give the ball up easily. Even on command. “Franklin, drop the ball,” Dan ordered. I didn’t drop it. Dad tried to twist the ball out of my mouth. But I clenched my jaw even tighter. Apparently, my predecessor Morgan would eventually drop the ball. We spent about ten minutes by the water’s edge with them trying to get it out of my mouth.

I could see that my dads were clearly exasperated. I could understand, as Goldens are known for having weak jaws so we don’t tear the birds that we were bred to recover way back in “Merry Ol’ Scotland,” with Lord Tweedmouth. My jowl is so firm I have a strong grip on everything. It’s nearly impossible to pull anything from my grasp. The more someone tried, the tighter I clenched.

Dan exclaimed, “This is not fun. He’s not a well-behaved service dog. He may have been at one time. But we definitely need to teach him to drop the ball.”

I heard what dad had said and stopped to stare at him, slightly offended, and grumbled in my native tongue, “I resemble that.”

Dad heard that he had hurt my feelings and said, “I’m sorry Franklin. But it’s true.”

“Let’s have lunch,” James suggested. Together they spread the beach towels. I sat as close as I could and watched as they emptied the knapsack of drinks and the small plastic containers with potato chips, the sandwiches and a bowl for my food consisting of cucumbers, apples and half a cup of my kibble. As my dads ate their sandwiches, I had no choice but to drop my ball in order to gobble down my lunch. When I finished, they took out another container of egg salad mixture just for me and placed it on a low-lying rock. The smell was exquisite, and the taste was better than anything I had ever eaten. I’m not kidding. Of course, I deserved this special treat having risked my life in shark infested waters to fetch a ball. I wished they had filmed this heroic act.

Now that I’m at the end of this chapter I want to share the recipe. Earlier, back home in the kitchen, I had watched intently as they made our sandwiches, which are so delicious that I wanted to disclose the ingredients with all my friends:

— 2 Portuguese rolls cross-sliced and slightly toasted. If this kind of roll is not available in your local market, any kind of roll will do. Even a hot dog roll.

— 4 large organic eggs – previously boiled the night before for 10 minutes.

We use Vegan Mayonnaise. Which is cholesterol-free. And the best part is “No Cruelty”, which means no cow was involved in the process of making this product. In our home, whenever we can, we’ve substituted a plant-based product for one that calls for animal protein. Mayonnaise is one. Some vegan cheeses are every bit as tasty as cow milk cheese, too. And we’ve made the switch there as well. Now back to the recipe:

— 2 stalks of organic celery sliced and cut into small bits

— 1 tablespoon of Capers. I recently read that you can wash them to get some of the salt off.

— ½ organic red onion sliced and diced.

— 2 spears of a dill pickle sliced and diced.

Mix all ingredients in a medium bowl.

Slather – here’s that word again, the rolls with some vegan mayonnaise. Using a spoon, cover one side of the roll with the mixture. We make it about an inch thick. My mouth waters just thinking about how good it tastes. If I’m drooling, as I’ve been known to do, can someone grab a napkin or hanky and wipe my jowl, please? Thank you.

Cover with lettuce and top with the other side of the roll.  We like to hold it together with a toothpick. Then wrap with Saran Wrap or aluminum foil so that it doesn’t fall apart while you travel. I know you’re going to have a delightful lunch someplace lovely, I hope. Bring your favorite drink. We like carbonated water from a place called Trader Joe’s.

I have to make a confession; it turns out I was not so brave going into the water today. I overheard them say at lunch that there have never been sharks in Buttermilk Bay for two reasons. First, because they can’t survive in freshwater and apparently our part of Buttermilk Bay is fed by a year-round stream named Red Brook. The second reason is that there are no seals for them to eat. Seals do not hunt for prey in Buttermilk Bay and do not haul out anywhere on its shore. So, no seals mean no sharks.

I guess I can finally relax now.