Whistler

(Sadly, there was a photograph associated with this blog entry.  When transferring it from one site that was shutting down to this site, the photo was lost.  I am unable to locate it among my possessions.)

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One of the first dogs I ever encountered on the mail route I’ve been delivering for over the last 15 years was named Whistler.  As I pulled up to place the mail in the curbside mailbox, this yellow lab came charging toward the mailbox at full speed.  Wonderful.  Brand new on the route, and I’ve already found a territorial dog.

He arrived at the mailbox in mere seconds, and then hit the brakes – coming to an almost instantaneous stop next to the mailbox.  It was then that I noticed two important details; Whistler was wearing a shock collar (for the Invisible Fence) so he had an ingrained concept of boundaries, and secondly (and most important to Whistler) was that he had a tennis ball in his mouth.

Whistler was not in “attack mode”.  He was in, “I’ve found a sucker to throw my ball” mode.  And he was right… in no time at all he had me trained to throw the ball for him whenever I showed up. 

This became a game for both of us; I’d show up at the mailbox and so would Whistler.  I’d throw the ball toward the back of the house (their yard sloped downhill from the street) and Whistler would run at full-tilt to retrieve the ball and make it back to the box before I was done getting the mail sorted and off to the next stop.  Whistler always got two throws of the ball because of his speed.  On heavy mail days he usually got three tosses of the ball.

This went on for a few years, and then one day one of Whistler’s humans was out in the yard, waiting by the mailbox.  When I got there, they told me that Whistler had cancer and wasn’t going to be around much longer.  They also asked if I’d do them a favor and pose for a photo with him.  They were compiling a photo album for their kids, tentatively called “A Day in the Life of Whistler”, where they were going to document his daily goings-on.  My routine stop there was apparently on Whistler’s “to-do” list, so it was only natural that it should be part of the documentary.

The photo that appears above is a copy that was given to me from that day’s “photo-shoot”.  It’s also a pleasant reminder of the dog who helped to make a game out of delivering the mail to that one address on my route.  Even though Whistler has been gone for years, I still pull up to that one mailbox expecting to see him standing there with his ball, waiting for the game to begin.

The Ambassador of Horizon Drive

Ben Glen with the City of Boise as a backdrop.

 In Idaho’s capital city lies a street named Horizon Drive, aptly named (one might suppose) because from the top part of the hill this street climbs one can look westward and see the state of Oregon on the horizon.  Or maybe not… what do I know?  I’m just the mailman on that street…

Horizon drive is not a gentle incline.  It is a steep hill, and can be a menace in the wintertime – many a winter people have parked their cars at the base of the hill and walked home, only to retrieve their vehicles the following day once the road had been plowed and sanded. I’ve also heard tales of the lure of a fast downhill descent on a bicycle claiming the life of one of the neighborhood kids many, many years ago.

Delivering mail on this particular street in the winter can be challenging, or if one isn’t cautious it can be just plain treacherous.  But then comes the spring, and from the top of Horizon Drive you can watch as Boise comes back to life, as the city turns from drab to green as the trees shoot forth new leaves.  The people are out tending their yards, and the neighborhood goes through its yearly rebirth.

Sadly, one of my favorite residents is forever missing.  Ben Glen, as his “parents” called him, has gone on to where all of our beloved pets ultimately go.  Ben gave the appearance of being an unremarkable dog, and yet he was one of the finest I have ever met.

He didn’t bark when I’d arrive with the mail, nor would he run up and act frantic – like nobody had paid any attention to him in years.  He didn’t have ulterior motives, such as being friendly with the hope of receiving a treat, nor would he try and play the “pathetic card” to where a person would feel sorry for him and pet him out of pity.

Ben would calmly walk up to me, and lean into me as he received his attention.  Some days it was hard for him to get up from his spot in the sun, and I’d have to make a slight detour over to where he lay.  The tail would wag, but that nasty old sun sometimes just saps the energy out of a yellow dog.  Getting up could sometimes be so exhausting!

I began referring to Ben as “The Ambassador of Horizon Drive” because of his demeanor.  Anytime I would be off of the route, the substitute carriers would tell me about this “wonderful yellow dog” on Horizon Drive.  Ben was able to tame even the most canine-skeptical carriers, and the bona fide dog lovers looked forward to carrying this part of the route just for the chance to say “hello” to Ben.

Then there’ the neighborhood itself.  Everybody knows everybody and (in case you were wondering) this is a good thing.  It seems that people also know which pet is at which house, who has the friendly dogs and which mutts are best left alone.  Ben was at the top of every resident dog lover’s list on Horizon Drive.

Waiting for some attention.
Photos courtesy of M. Glen

For an “unremarkable dog”, Ben had a lot of admirers.  He was my favorite on this street, and I still look to the spot where he would be waiting as I arrive with the mail.  Even though his physical presence has ceased, Ben was one of those dogs that I will remember long after my letter carrying days are through.  Pretty remarkable for an “unremarkable dog”, don’t you think?

Lady and Hendrix

The Postal Service doesn’t want letter carriers being friendly with people’s dogs.  It’s a safety issue.  There’s always a carrier somewhere who can tell the story of being bitten by a dog whose owners previously said that, “Oh, Fluffy would never bite anybody!” 

And yet here I am telling dog stories.  Why?  I don’t know… maybe I have a learning disability, or maybe it’s just a rebellious streak.  Or maybe I’ve just had a bunch of exceptionally good dogs on my routes over the past 30 years.  Trust me – there’s a lot of dogs I wouldn’t try to make friends with ever.  And then there are a few that you just can’t help but like.

One of these dogs was a little mixed breed (Collie and Shepherd?) called Hendrix.  She shared a house on North 16^th Street with an older, larger and grumpier dog named Lady.  These two dogs were not kept in a fenced yard but were usually out front, free to roam (if they so chose).  Generally they didn’t, but there were a couple of exceptions.

There were two old guys that would take a daily walk through the neighborhood, walking down North 16^th several blocks, turning right and walking to Harrison Boulevard and then returning home along Harrision.  As they would walk past the “dog’s house”, the two dogs would walk with them, and then return home when the old guys reached their own homes.

I was the other exception, and when I would start walking the area by their house, the dogs would come out and join me for a few blocks of mail delivery.  This was not something I ever encouraged… it was just their own routine.  Hendrix also had one other little habit that she picked up over the time I had that route; when she heard the mail truck coming down the street, she would run out and sit in the middle of the road forcing me to stop.  When I stopped (come on, you think I’m going to run the dog over?) she would walk around to the driver’s door (which I would open for her), jump inside and then ride to where I normally parked, walk the block with me and then go back home.

I had told my substitute carrier about this quirky behavior so the dog wouldn’t catch her off guard one day and get herself run over.  (She was looking forward to seeing the hitchhiking dog!)  Sure enough, Sue was driving down the road watching for Hendrix, and Hendrix didn’t disappoint!  She walked out, sat in the middle of the street and waited for Sue to stop the truck.  Then Hendrix walked around to the door, looked inside and saw it was someone other than me, growled and turned around and walked back home!  Sue recalled later that it was one of the few times in life where an animal actually hurt her feelings!