Looking back we probably should have guessed something this cute wouldn’t have turned out to be a real mountain dog, notice the googly-eyed owner Lydia.
Frisco is our beloved pure-bred Greater Swiss Mountain Dog (Swissy). Given that Lydia had been an animal lover all her life and never had a real pet (ferrets don’t count!) to love, this dog was destined to be spoiled and pampered all his life, but something different happened. Cruel and unusual punishment befell his fate. Rather than earning his mountain dog card status in the Rocky Mountains following his ancestors in the Swiss Alps, he’s suffered one inglorious setback after another in a ruff life.
There was the time he was born and he had a dermoid on his eye which destined him for eye surgery as soon as he was old enough to get his manhood taken away (double whammy). Since then his bloodshot eyes have fit right in among the stoners of Denver.
There was the time when he was potty training as a puppy and one of those vicious Denver winter storms came in. His little puppy brain in his big mountain dog body just couldn’t man up, he stuck his nose through the dog door into the cold mile high air and peed right in the house.
There was the time Frisco learned to fear snowboarders. We were at beach party at A-Basin with beer, bbq, and plenty of people loving on him. The lifts closed and he followed us around on the beach as we threw a football around, he decided to follow another puppy for a few fateful seconds, and then out of the blue SMACK! A snowboarder came down dodged the first dog, t-boned Frisco, and severed his wrist on his previously and now definitely useless dewclaw. He fully recovered physically (although if Nate didn’t draw the line somewhere he’d probably be seeing a doggie psychologist) only to suffer more.
There was the Colorado Trail trip. The human perspective is glorious, the beauty of being in nature, shirking of all responsibility, and loads of sunshine outside of cubicles and hospitals (Lydia is a nurse). Frisco would probably be Wonder Dog, but his kryptonite is the sun. Burn areas, lack of shade, infrequent water sources, and ambitious owners just don’t mix well with Frisco’s chill lifestyle. It didn’t help we started off on the wrong leg (who knew there was an east and west leg of the Indian Creek trail without a real map?) so we were making up lost time to meet a friend bringing our resupply of food in Breckenridge. We pushed on to Swan Creek so we’d only have 13 or so miles the next day to get to Breck. When we finally reached the Creek, Frisco, a bit parched, proceeded to try to drink the entire creek thinking he might never see water again. We set up camp and he passed out drunk by consuming too much water. We enjoyed a nice dinner and then hopped back in the tent to check on him only to find he had peed all in the tent and was basically unresponsive. Nate carried him about a quarter mile (good thing he’s a runt of a Swissy at about 85 pounds) to some people with horses. Of course getting pee all over him in the process. When they put a light in his eyes to give him an examination he perked right up. Then headed for the Holiday Inn in Frisco, Colorado for a little R&R.
Since then Frisco has gone on many walks, hikes, and death marches. With all this background we present the Frisco Death March Scale for rating hikes.
0 – My owners took me in an air conditioned car to an air conditioned ice cream shop and gave me an ice cream cone.
1 – 4 Generally favorable.
5 – We went for a walk at Wash Park and it was so hot my bowels melted. Poop bags were useless, poor runners that stepped in that mess.
6 – 8 Generally unfavorable.
9 – I kept recycling my own drool to rehydrate until I passed out.
10 – I experienced the fires of Hell. If I was a cat I would have used up all of my nine lives.
11 – Tweet Britney and LiLo to support the cause, RT #SendFriscosAshesHomeToSwitzerland
Feel free to help us fill in the gaps or make updates as necessary in the comments.