Boxer with a Death Wish

One of the most unnerving things that I've had to adjust to when driving in rural Ireland are the crazed farm dogs who apparently think it's great sport to try to herd cars. Usually, these are bored border collies and they tend to have an unsettling way of running straight at your front wheel. Every once in a while, I meet a Jack Russell terrier with delusions of grandeur, but they're the exception to the border collie rule.

I've been told by more than one person that the best thing to do is to stay the course, ignore the dog, and hope for the best. It's the dog's responsibility to keep itself alive and the dog apparently has certain expectations regarding the traveling trajectory of your car. You're more likely to hit the dog (or someone or something else) if you swerve than if you just stay the course.

There's a pair of these demonic dogs on a road I travel with some regularity. They're border collies and I call them the The Twins, even though they probably don't look anything alike. The look like twins when I'm driving and I can see them lining themselves up on the other side of this stone gateway. Their butts wiggle and they hunker down like Olympic sprinters waiting for the starter's gun.

Whenever my car passes the magical line, they both lunge out into the road. Even though I can see them in advance and I know what they're going to do, it still freaks me out every time.

Last Saturday, I was finishing up my last graveyard trips for RAOGK. I was up near Rathcormac in north County Cork and was headed home. The quickest way would have been to hop on the M8, drive down around Cork City like the early spacecrafts sling-shotting themselves around the moon, and then head up northwest to my little corner of the Middle of Nowhere. But I'm sure you can agree, the quickest way is rarely the most run way and I instead set out to bumble along little squiggles of tertiary roads and rutted farm tracks.

With the help of my trusty GPS, I was quite happily rolling up and down hills past acre after acre of farmland. Toby was in the backseat, hanging his head out the window. My car doesn't have electric windows in the back, so I always roll down the window behind the driver's side for him. That way, in a pinch, I can reach back and roll it up if necessary. Plus, it allows me to see him in my side mirror. With his hair flying and his contented yet focused expression, he looks like an early aviator in an open-cockpit airplane.

At one point in this journey, we were on a potholed, single-lane track with grass growing up the middle. I came around a corner and started up a hill, only to find a boxer standing nearly in the middle of the narrow lane. I edged over as far as I could, but was still directly on course to hit her if she didn't move. I gave the horn a little beep, but she stayed her ground.

I slowed down, hoping that she would move. When I was close enough to see every fold in her muzzle, I knew she wasn't going to move. I crept over even more into the edge of the road, so that brambles were scraping the side of my car, and bought myself enough space to pass her. I could see her house on a small rise to my left and a chubby yellow lab was lumbering down the driveway to join the fun.

The boxer ran along side my car, barking and leaping. The lab joined and took a position behind the car. Toby was going nuts in the backseat, lunging to the side window to check out the boxer, then swinging around to look at the lab. The boxer then ran along in front of my car, tossing the occasional bark over her shoulder.

I didn't like that move at all. I slowed down and beeped the horn, hoping perhaps someone would come out of the house and call off the dogs. No such luck and I knew I'd have to keep driving and trust the boxer to stay out of my way. I accelerated slowly and the boxer drifted off to the right side of my car. I used her change of lane to reclaim more of the center of the road and sped up a bit more, figuring my best bet at this point was to outrun them.

I saw the lab fall back soon after. I couldn't see the boxer in my right wing mirror or in my review, but I could still hear her barking. My foot pressed down on the accelerator and I watched my speed climb to 20 mph. The boxer breezed in front of the car again like I wasn't even moving. She almost looked like she was skateboarding in front of my car, effortlessly moving forward while looking back at me and barking.

I slowed down and she again drifted off to the right side of the car. I saw her drop back in my wing mirror and then take up on my rear bumper. At least I think she was on my rear bumper. Toby had leapt up onto the back window ledge of my little hatchback. His entire body, hackles up, filled my rear-view mirror.

I took the chance to accelerate again, pushing the car close to 25 mph. And again that crazy boxer came up along the left-hand side of my car and crossed over in front of me. I was hoping this would play out the way the previous front-of-car encounters had. I slowed a bit, allowed her to drop off on my right side and waited until I knew she was on my rear bumper. Then I gunned the car, pushing it up over 30 mph. I kept my eyes glued on the road in front of me, which was straight, offered a lot of open space, and was blessedly clear of other cars and dogs.

When Toby collapsed onto the back seat, I was pretty sure we'd lost our boxer friend. Sure enough, when I checked my mirror a final time, she was standing in the middle of the road. I didn't know boxers had that much stamina and speed, to be able to hang in there for that distance at that pace.

I thought bored border collies were scary and dangerous, but I'd take an encounter with The Twins over the boxer with a death wish any day.

Wheee!

After diversions due to voting on the Lisbon Treaty and Kodiak's birthday, I'm ready to get back to my vacation stories...

Both of my aunts had always dreamed of visiting London. Since they were so close, they figure a weekend trip to London would be a good way to accomplish a lifelong goal. My parents decided to stay in Ireland and I rented a cottage near Red Wine Strand in Ballyferriter on the Dingle Peninsula. Peter stayed home to work and look after Toby.

Our drive up to Dingle coincided with the one truly horrible weather day of their trip. When we woke up in the morning, the rain was coming down at a good, steady clip. It was the sort of rain that you just know could last all day and probably will. The entire family went to Muckross House in the morning, then to the Lake Hotel in Killarney for lunch. After lunch, my parents and I set off for Dingle while Peter took The Aunts back to the Middle of Nowhere since their flight didn't leave until the next day.

The drive to Dingle was marred by the weather, primarily, but also to my mother's reaction to it. As the old Volkswagen ad goes, on the road of life, there are Drivers and there are Passengers. My mother is most definitely a Driver, albeit a sometimes nervous one. She doesn't like highways, rain, or (in the States) left-hand turns. In Ireland, she had no choice but become a Passenger because she did not want to drive on 'the wrong side of the road,' especially not on narrow, twisty country roads.

I know she was doing her best as a Passenger, but my mother is the sort of person to have very big, emotional reactions to things and she's not shy about sharing them. When these things are happy things, like rainbows or puppies, my mother's joy is infectious and makes her a delight to be around. Unfortunately, the reverse of that statement is also true.

The drive up to Dingle was challenging but we were rewarded with sunny weather when we arrived at Ballyferriter. The next day, I minimised the driving as much as possible and my mother graciously agreed to spend the afternoon alone so I could take my dad on the most challenging, interesting, and hair-raising road in Munster, if not in all of Ireland: the Connor Pass.

My dad is an adventurous sort and he also enjoys car rides, so he was the perfect Passenger for this outing. Although most tourists seem to tackle the Connor Pass from the Dingletown side, I much prefer driving up through Tralee and then taking the pass from the more challenging side first. On the Dingle town side, you're treated to a beautiful, wide, multi-lane road with some curves. On the other side, you have a fantastically exciting road. It's narrow, only about 1 lane with little pull-ins to allow cars to pass. It's carved right into the side of the mountain. You've got blind turns, a wall of rock on one side, and a drop-off on the other side. It's everything you could ever want in Adventure Driving.

The other advantage of driving up the hard side is that when you have to back up to get to a spot to let another car inch past, you only have to roll backwards. (Pretty much, you just take your foot off the gas and brake and let gravity do its thing.) I wouldn't fancy having to reverse uphill in a manual transmission car.

We had a couple of exciting moments, like the local guy flying down the road without any regard to speed or whether there might be cars coming up the road. Or the tourist who froze in terror when confronted with having to inch past my car. In fairness, she was right up against the low wall that guards the drop-off edge, but then I was right up against a sheet of mountain rock.

When we got to the top of the pass, we parked in the car park and got out to admire the views. My dad bought me a celebratory ice cream cone and said that there should be a merit badge for driving the Connor Pass, that I had definitely earned one. After about ten minutes of freezing and admiring, we got back into the car and proceeded to Slea Head Drive.

If I were going to rate the scary roads in Ireland, this one would be near the top of my list, but it would also be the big winner for Most Fun and Favourite Scary Road. Not only does it have one narrow lane in places and blind turns and a precipitous drop down to the sea, it also has an actual stream that you have to ford. The stream is in the middle of a very sharp turn and I'm always amazed and amused by it.

The other nice thing about Slea Head Drive is that, aptly enough, it brings you to Slea Head, which is a brilliant little beach with rocky outcroppings and fantastic views. (The beach was used in the filming of Ryan's Daughter, which means precisely nothing to me but maybe you've seen it.) Usually when we go to Slea Head, there are loads of other cars and we park in the upper car part and then walk down a steep incline to the beach. You could drive down to the beach, but there's not a lot of room to turn around when you get to the bottom of the ramp. You could easily misjudge and end up mired in the sand (or worse, plunging into the water at high tide.)

When Dad and I arrived, the tide was out and the upper car park was empty. I decided to chance the incline and the gamble paid off since there was only one other car down there. The other people only stayed for about ten more minutes and then we had the whole place to ourselves. The weather was even good, so this was quite the unexpected treat.

When we arrived back at the cottage, everyone was happy. My dad was happy with the adventure, my mom was happy that she got to stay home and watch afternoon TV, and I was happy that they were both happy. I was a little concerned though, since I knew our plan for the next day would have us back on Slea Head Drive and I was unsure of how my mother would react to the road. If it was anything like the drive up to Dingle, it was going to be a really long day.

The next morning, we were greeted by brilliant sunshine and chirping birds. After breakfast, we piled into my car and set out for the various areas of interest on Slea Head Drive (like the beehives, Dunbeg Fort, and the famine cottages). On a minorly interesting part of Slea Head Drive, I heard my mother sharply inhale and could see in the rearview mirror that she was tense and anxious. Then inspiration struck.

I remembered how nervous I'd been for my driving test and how I'd learned that it was impossible to remain nervous when you're smiling. Something about the act of smiling is inherently relaxing. "Hey Mom, you know what, I bet you'd enjoy this ride a lot more if you played by the roller coaster rules. Instead of making that scared noise, how about trying to say 'WHEEEE!' instead?"

My mom gave it a try and agreed it worked. I think she might have even been able to steal a few quick peeks at the stunning scenery. Even though she seemed to be achieving a sort of peace with the scary road, I was still a little concerned about fording the stream. I needn't have been - she handled the stream like a seasoned trouper, marveling about how weird it was.

After we'd seen a few sights, a bathroom break was in order, but the restaurant near Dunbeg Fort was closed. (We asked when they usually opened and the answer from the woman at the Dunbeg Audiovisual centre was "when they open.") We could press on and hope to find one in the next village or backtrack. I knew there was a nice cafe with an outdoor seating area near Slea Head, so back we went.

If you'd told me after the drive up to Dingle that my mother would quite happily tolerate three trips across a stream on a narrow country road and would "wheee!" her way through blind corners, I don't think I would have believed you. But that's what makes people in general and families in particular so much fun - their capacity to adapt, change, and surprise.

Ed. note about the photographs: I took the first one with my mobile phone. Yes, that is my finger in the lower right-hand corner. I'm not the professional photographer in this family. My dad took the photo of Slea Head Beach.