Trekking into Retirement: Door County

David Horst, 10.28.2023

TREKKING INTO RETIREMENT: Door County

When my wife, Jean, and I retired in 2023, we vowed we would remain active outdoors. We promised to go on "mini adventures" on nearly a weekly basis. I will report on some of these in a series we’re calling “Trekking into Retirement.” Feel free to reprint or otherwise distribute these essays to others.

Never in my 65-plus years have I hit peak color on a leaf-peeping trip. That string ended Oct. 20 during a long weekend in Door County.

The drive up through Brown County hinted at what we would see. Hillsides beyond the farm fields were painted bright yellow, orange and crimson. Jean and I were on our way to our first post-retirement overnight getaway and the first one we've had in a long. long time. 

Another vehicle contained my wife's mother, brother and sister-in-law. Animals had always prevented such a vacation. A neighbor was taking care of the animals, except for the two dogs. Them we had on board.

They were in dog crates, preventing the inevitable accident should the 9-month-old unknown mixed breed named Elsie been free to climb into the driver's face. Ten-year-old Rosie, a yellow Lab, would have been fine. I have to admit we never completed the series of ever-longer trial car rides we had planned, but their car manners were perfect. 

The "Trekking Into Retirement" portion of this trip took place at the Mink River Estuary Trail, owned by the Nature Conservancy. TNC is a wonderful group. They exist to preserve special natural areas through landowner donations, grants and tax deductions. The public owes a debt of gratitude to TNC chapters for forestalling development of areas that are the legacy all of us should be able to see. 

With a trailhead located south of Ellison Bay on Mid River Road, the Mink River trail is 1.3 miles out and 1.3 miles back, with a side trail that adds about half a mile out and back. It is an old-fashioned hiking trail, not a 12-foot-wide strip of asphalt built for
bicyclists, though three off-roaders were among the few people we saw. A path the width of two human feet leads you through patches of pines, cedars or mixed hardwoods. Whether you are a fan or oaks, maples, birch or ironwood, you will find trees for you. The lingering, dry summer not only helped the color show, it sustained the ticks. Rosie has a Lab's nose and she frequently stuck it into clumps of brush. At one point, Jean removed 13 tiny ticks from Rosie's face, a reminder to tuck your pants legs into your socks and do tick checks afterwards.

No one said Trekking into Retirement was going to be without challenges. 

By the time our short getaway had endedded, wind and rain were ripping the colorful leaves from the tops of the trees. Beauty is a fleeting commodity, but we had experienced the peak. That'something that stays with you.

++ Photos show the morning sun casting color on the shoreline and dogs Elsie and Rosie.

With Russell’s passing, we’re missing the best kind of boring

The first thing you need to know about our dog Russell was that his previous family brought him back because he was "too boring."

Boring is a trait I’ve always wanted in a dog, so we signed the papers at the Waupaca Humane Association shelter and made Russell’s next home ours.

It’s true, he had no use for balls or stuffed toys that look like cats or dinosaurs. Fetch was a game for dogs who needed affirmation. Russell was secure with his own value. Though he was OK with visitors going on about how handsome he was. And they invariably did.

We had 10 years with this gentle, handsome, ok, boring dog. Our time together ended Jan. 11 on a day and time we chose. That is to say we called our vet and made the hardest decision a pet owner ever faces – euthanasia.

Being able to decide when to end a creature’s life makes it clear society views our pets as property. It is in truth a huge responsibility. It may seem more logical, more humane than not doing it, but it never feels like the unquestionably correct decision. Just like every other time we had to make this choice, I had to suppress an overwhelming urge to yell, “No, stop!”

Russell, a 14-year-old Lab-terrier mix, had nasal cancer. He was the second of our dogs to develop the disease that vets tell us is extremely rare. Our first clue was droplets of blood falling from his nose and huge sneezes that sometimes slammed his sweet face on the ground.

When he was diagnosed in September, we were told to expect he would have maybe four to six weeks. Without any chemo treatments, he made it past Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then New Year’s.

Russell’s sense of self-confidence meant he was never in a hurry to walk anywhere. We called it Russell speed. Yell until your face turned blue or hold out any manner of treat and it didn’t speed up Russell speed.

He was not in the least food-motivated. He did enjoy a good drink of water, but not the stuff from the tap. Something sweltering in a bird bath or an uncovered bucket was more to his liking. Better yet if muddy and stuffed with leaves.

The combination of his gentle presence and his handsome face made it impossible to stay angry with him.

In recent years, we have taken “pasture walks” with the Russell and our 8-year-old Lab, Rosie. This was a loop around the outside perimeter of the llama pasture that took about 15 minutes, depending on how many new smells we found. One afternoon, we looked and called and called and looked and couldn’t find the dogs. Finally, we spotted them at the top of the pasture. When we were too busy to go for a pasture walk, they decided to take each other.

Russell’s decline was marked by more bleeding, weakened rear legs and general confusion. He had four seizures, shaking violently for several minutes. The fear was obvious on his face – and ours. His awareness seemed to improve after the seizures. He walked with more purpose, rather than turning left again and again.

He stopped eating. We offered him chicken and rice, baby food, even Braunschweiger, but he refused them all. He grew thinner and weaker. His quality of life had diminished greatly and there was no chance it would ever return.

Finally, we agreed it was time.

Our vet, Jim Ziegler, takes in all manner handicapped dogs and sticks with them until life is no longer a favor. He is kindness embodied. He agreed it was time.

He came to our house to administer the injections. Russell was on his favorite bed in front of the fireplace. When it was over, he appeared to be sleeping where we had seen him 1,000 times. But the reality was that he is gone from our lives.

His ashes will join those of our other past pets. The memories of this delightfully boring dog will live on in mental images of him circling the pasture, watching for us from the sidelights of the front door or lying in his guard dog spot on a grassy hill. We will encourage those images by retracing his steps – at Russell speed.