Blänky's First Christmas

Having pets in your home comes with so many benefits: a nonjudgmental roommate, a constant cuddle buddy, a link to social connections everywhere you go. And if you have a silly, crazy puppy with a whole lot of personality, you also get a whole book of storytelling content. 

Think: Marley in Bernese Mountain Dog form. That was my soulmate dog Blänky.

Blänky was born June 7, 2002, my last day as a high school German teacher and just 4 days before I moved to Germany. She officially came home to live with us just five days after Sasha and I married in August. She was our wedding present to one another. While Blänky learned and grew in her new family, new home, and new community, so did I. The parallels in our lives have always felt significant to me.

I credit Blänky with helping me expand my social circle in Germany. Because of her, I met so many people, and a few became friends. A rolly polly, fluffy puppy with huge paws, Blänky drew a lot of attention. Everyone wanted to pet the Wollknäuel, the yarn ball. And being the extra friendly excitable puppy, she was happy to get a bunch of pets from strangers.

Blänky and I developed a routine of taking a long walk each morning after Sasha left for work. We walked up the hill on Bahnhofstrasse to the farm fields and wove through paths surrounding feeder crops of potatoes, turnips, and rapeseed. Gradually, we became more consistent with our schedule and started seeing many of the same villagers enjoying their own routines. One group of people had caught my eye a few times from a distance: two adult Bernese mountain dogs, a blonde golden retriever, four little dachshunds, and their owners. 

I did my best to create a few chance encounters so we could meet the full-grown versions of Blänky. We both needed friends so I felt this might be a good group to latch on to. Finally, on one serendipitous morning our paths crossed. Literally. The group greeted us and was as smitten with my puppy as I was their fully grown and well-behaved adults. The owner of the big Berners, Gretchen, encouraged me to let Blänky off leash so that she could romp around with everyone else. I was very nervous, but Gretchen insisted that it was good for Blänky to fully burn off some steam and that she was safe with the bigger dogs. 

Without much confidence, knowing that Blänky was a very hard-headed and independent puppy, I unhooked her. Blänky took off less like a lightning bolt and more like a teddy bear’s first time on roller skates. She was so awkward and clumsy, no one could control their laughter. The dachshunds stood back as the Berners and the golden barreled through the fields, kicking up dirt in their path. Every few minutes they paused to wrestle in the dirt, biting each other's cheeks. The second one would try to run off, Blänky would nip their ankles hoping they would roll around just a little longer. It was so much fun to watch. Humans and canines were enjoying themselves.

As we gradually made our way back towards the village, Gretchen asked if we wanted to meet up regularly. That crew met every morning at 9:15 a.m. at the top of the hill. I agreed, containing my excitement.

So began a new routine and a new friendship. Blänky and I met the group every morning, rain or shine. Because Germany doesn’t know any better, most often rain. The dogs loved it no matter what, and the good conversation helped make inclement weather a little more tolerable for the humans. My German was getting better and everyone tolerated my questions about nearly everything. Gretchen, in particular, liked the opportunity to tell me how nearly everything is done. That Besserwisser, or know-it-all, concept may have been invented by Gretchen. I was so happy to be included that I just let her ramble about everything from how to save 35% of your paycheck to which type of butter we should be eating. Her favorite topic, of course, was how to raise your dogs. She was basically Blänky’s unofficial godmother.

The morning of Christmas Eve, we met the group as usual, winding through the field paths. The weather was somewhat warm for late December and the once snow-covered ground was now mud. Per Gretchen’s recommendation, we extended our walk to enjoy the above-average temps. She suggested we re-enter the village from a different path that took us to a street we seldom walked. No one objected to the change of plans, especially the dogs. Especially Blänky, who had really wiggled her way into the hearts of everyone.

As we curved from the last field path, we could see the streets with the newly built homes. Nearly everyone had chosen white stucco. So sharp, so pristine. In the very last curve the dogs decided to release one last burst of energy before we wrapped for the day. It was as if they knew they wouldn’t be running in the playful pack for several days while we all enjoyed the holidays. Bruno, the largest Berner, took off way ahead, and Blänky took off after him as usual. Out of caution, because we were heading back towards an actual street, I called after Blänky, feeling uneasy about her running so fast in a direction she wasn’t used to.

Gretchen mildly scolded me and told me to let her go. Bruno knew exactly where to stop, and Blänky would surely stop right with him. But she didn’t. Nope. She was still just a six-month-old puppy with a mind and determination of her own.

I sighed in frustration that Gretchen was just so dang bossy and that I was such a nervous Nelly. Just as we got to the end of the field, I saw Bruno sitting just on the other side of a patch of brush, waiting as Gretchen promised. The only problem? Blänky wasn’t with him. I quickly scanned the area for my Wollknäuel and spotted her running down the street to an older man who was unloading groceries from his car. My first thought was Great, she’ll stay right with him as long as he gives her even a little attention. But because this is my life and Blänky is my dog, that didn’t happen. 

Instead, Blänky spotted the man’s front door ajar, presumably to make the transport of groceries into the house a little easier. Before I could catch up to Blänky and before the man even noticed what was happening, Blänky marched right into his home. Gaaa! My heart and brain were both instantly racing. I rushed past the man who still hadn’t realized what was happening and announced that I was entering his house to retrieve my dog. In German. In polite German. I think.

To my relief, Blänky was easy to find. All I needed to do was track her muddy pawprints on the beautiful white tile floor. My stomach flipped at what a mess I saw. The home was stunning, traditionally decorated for Christmas. The first load of groceries was already in the kitchen. Meanwhile, my goofy dog was running laps around the dining room table in a muddy game of tag. I was trying so carefully not to add my mud to the floor (as if it actually mattered at this point). I couldn’t get enough footing to actually lunge and grab Blänky's collar. 

Then out of nowhere, I heard a frantic woman’s voice behind me, “Hallo? Hallo?” I turned around. Blänky stopped running and started wagging with excitement. I had the choice of greeting the woman and explaining or using the one-second distraction to clip Blänky’s leash to her collar. I chose to end my chase, but not my embarrassment.

I really couldn’t find any other words except for “Es tut mir leid” (I’m sorry) over and over again. It wasn’t a language barrier. It happens to be the impact that mortification has on my tongue. The woman was stunned and said nothing else.

A leashed Blänky happily walked back out the door she had entered as I took mental note of my own contribution to the mud mess. Meeting us at the door was the man finally bringing his second load of groceries inside. What felt like an hour in his house had probably only been about two minutes. As I passed by him, I repeated my apology and then out of nowhere blurted, “Frohe Weihnachten!” (Merry Christmas!) 

I would have given anything to rewind that morning and tell Gretchen I didn’t want to take the new path or at least not let Blänky run free on a path that was new to her. She was a baby with a baby brain. Walking back to the group who had been waiting to hear what happened in the house, I rehearsed a bunch of things I was ready to say to Gretchen about knowing my dog and deciding what’s best for her. This time in not-so-polite German.

The moment I reached the group, ready to release my anger and blame Gretchen, she launched her own assessment of what happened. My head was spinning trying to keep up with the speed of her lecture while holding tight to what I had prepared to say. Something about Blänky needing practice on her recall. Something else about learning she can’t go inside anywhere without getting her paws wiped first. I needed to go home and bake the couple a cake. Run into town and get a card so that I could write a better apology. Offer to come clean. It was so much!

Thankfully, Gretchen was able to find some humor in the situation. She acknowledged that we gave them an exciting story to tell everyone at dinner that night. Despite all the mud, it was pretty funny that the husband had been seemingly oblivious to it all. I needed that chuckle. As we circled back to our starting point, my adrenaline had nearly disappeared. The mood felt lighthearted, and Blänky was walking like a perfectly trained dog on her leash. The humans hugged one another. As I walked away, I wished everyone a Frohe Weihnachten.

For more than a year, I completely avoided that alternative path back to the village. I didn't want to take any chances on seeing the couple again. Gretchen may have been right that I should have given them a card or baked a cake, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. 

As for the group, we stayed consistent for another six months until I started a new job and a new routine. We would occasionally cross paths with some of Blänky’s friends on the weekends throughout the years, and they maintained their mentor role no matter how old she got. And the humans remained in my heart as my first friends in Germany, all thanks to my friendly little Wollknäuel.