My Pack.
Zippy's up. She's seated in the vicinity of her bowl patiently waiting the first of three home-cooked meals for the day. Züri hasn't left her poof. Now, if I were to kick a ball Züri would leap into play mode—she's always been more interested in play than food.
Züri, a bouncing 35-pound salt-and-pepper Schnauzer with amazing big brown eyes when you can see them (they are almost always covered in bangs), came with a reputation for needing plenty of activity. That turned out to be an absolute fact. As a human Züri would be found on a soccer field, period. If a soccer game was in play trying to walk her past the field was an arm work out. Zippy, a 22-pound “Jackie Russell,” with penetrating brown eyes, is more food-driven but just as energetic. Their bond is a happy one. Züri approved of Zippy joining our pack when they first met. Little Zippy chased Züri for the better part of an hour in the house and out in the yard. Zippy, who was originally called "Cilly" (Swiss-German for "white cloud," and pronounced "silly"), is a very serious dog. Especially when it comes to mealtime and when hunting rodents. She's a serious dog who demands being taken seriously, even when playing tug-of-war with her menacing growl as her white tail whips back and forth ferociously.
Hundekotbeuteln.
This day is more exciting than most because we're going on a hike. For a proper hike I bring a small backpack containing water, treats for both human and canines, and Hundekotbeuteln (German for dog poop bags).
Hoist the girls into the back of the F350. When they were younger the girls were both able to jump up into the back seat. That's an impressive high jump four times the height of the svelte muscular Jackie. Züri is half-a-dog taller than Zip. She manages the jump easily. The back seat is their comfort zone. A cover serves to protect the upholstery from hair, dirt, dung and other bodily secretions, including the dreaded anal gland. Züri still manages the leap occasionally, but doesn't mind the assist into the comfort zone. The backseat has seen thousands of miles across North America on trips from Acadia to Cape Canaveral, from Death Valley to Homer in Alaska, and back again across magnificent Western Canada on home to New Hampshire.
Züri quickly curls up and sleeps during these journeys. Zippy likes to stand with her front paws on the armrest, observing the world through the window. Until I learned to use the child lock for the power windows, Zip often rolled down her window.
Our destination today is Gunstock. Unlike more crowded trails, Gunstock offers a quiet and satisfying 2 ½ hour hike. After locking the truck and starting "hike mode" on my watch, we begin the ascent.
The first stretch is steep—700 feet of elevation gain over half a mile. The girls enjoy the adventure, sniffing around while we take a water break near the cell tower. Retractable leashes attached to harnesses ensure control without harming their tracheas. The path then winds through granite outcrops, forested switchbacks, and bubbling creeks. Züri has always been a water connoisseur and insists on sampling creek water repeatedly, as if it changes flavor with each step upstream. She used to do the same along the Rhein when we lived in Schaffhausen.
The summit, after an hour's effort, rewards me with views of Lake Winnipesaukee and distant mountains while the picnic tables offer the scents of fallen remnants of human food scraps. It's no nine-thousand-foot Faulhorn Peak in Switzerland, but its proximity to Wolfeboro at thiddy-five minutes makes up for the breath-taking magnificence of the former. The grrls could care less about the view. A snack and a selfie later, we descend the face that sees skiers in winter.
One hike on Gunstock remains unforgettable for a less palatable reason. We had the ascent to ourselves, so we decided to let the girls off-leash. Züri stayed close, while Zippy vanished. Hearing a faint whimper near some boulders, I found her trapped—her muzzle filled with porcupine quills. I carried her down the mountain and held her while Karen drove us to the vet, where Zip was sedated to safely remove the quills. Despite the ordeal, Zippy's Jackie Russell instincts weren't dampened, and another porcupine encounter was inevitable. Dammit!
In contrast, Züri's interests leaned toward play rather than hunting. Schnauzers, bred as farm dogs, share some traits with Dobermans but sport a signature beard. As a puppy, Züri's muzzle resembled a pipe cleaner, earning her affectionate nicknames like “Fuzz Fuzz” and “The Schnaut-Zuh.” A trio of Swiss ladies spotted Züri as we we're walking at the base of an Alp. We heard a dramatic, “Oooohh a Schnaut-Zuh!” While enjoying the praise for Züri our attention was diverted away from Zippy scarfing up a lost bar of chocolate. Fortunately, there were no bad outcomes. Zip has scarfed up various disgusting morsels on trails and city streets. I have to be vigilant; she is very fast. I like to say, when I'm talking directly to Zip in the third person, “now that's a very fass dog!” She does everything fast. Plays fast. Eats fast. Runs fast. But she has the slowest kiss with her tongue inching beyond her thin black lips in slow motion. Züri, on the other hand, is very quick to get your whole face wet if you let her.
Over the years, Züri and Zippy hiked trails across the Swiss Alps, along the Rhein Valley, around the buttes of Monument Valley, West Glacier trail outside Juneau, along the Kancamagus, around Wolfeboro at Sewall Woods, the Rail Trail, Abenaki and White Face. Both were born in Switzerland, where my wife Karen and I lived for seven years as expats. It was there that we adopted our grrls and began our adventures, which would later extend across continents.
Temporary Reprieve
This past October, we had to say goodbye to 14-year-old Züri, and a month later, to 13-year-old Zippy. Those of you who have loved dogs and consider them family understand the immense void their absence leaves behind. For me, diving into web development provides some solace—a temporary reprieve from their loss.
Their companionship was truly priceless. Through every trail and every kilometer, every mile, they enriched my life. Züri, once called “Gorgeous” by a passing hiker in Alaska, and Zippy, “Now that's a very fass dog”— I can still hug them in my mind and recall their weight and their warmth and their groans saying, "C'mon, dad, not another hug".
