Can We Take Layla?
Layla on deck in Sanderling—photo by William E. Evans, © 2023
When we go out, Layla gets morose if we leave her home. Sad dog. Sad eyes. You’re not taking me with you eyes?
Layla’s about as behaved a husky as she can be—overlooking a predilection for rabbits, cats and the assorted scurrying wild life. The rescue group’s report card had given her a grade of easy to handle, which on the husky scale is amazing—and the folks at Pet Habor nailed it. She howls at the door whenever someone she knows comes in, not a guard dog gene in her.
We took her with us to the Outer Banks over the holiday break.
Evenings at the beach, she regularly talked to the rabbits, begging to come join her on the deck for a frolic. A few nights ago, taking a last stroll before bed, she launched herself with a wholly different howl. The face in the flashlight beam was dog-like—but he was a coyote—and he wasn’t shy. Nor was Layla, lunging forward, throwing me off balance. She can surprise with her hair trigger reactions. Walking a husky requires full participation—it helps to see the rabbit before Layla does.
This guy could have been a feral dog, but Layla wasn’t behaving like she took him for one. Short, pointed ears, thick coat, he stood at attention defending his patch of Bermuda grass, and when I pulled her away, he followed us for a piece, darting through the hedges between the houses. Close to the beach in Sanderling the houses are separated by hedges. For all I know, he might have followed us back to the car park at the house we were renting. All I knew was Layla was prancing in that high stepping way she has when she knows something I’m too dumb to smell.
How did coyotes reach the Outer Banks in the first place? Swam the Sound the way the deer and the foxes did? Dunno.
Sanderling has sandy trails connecting the separate sections. On our walks, Layla loves sticking her nose deep into the mole holes, jams her nose right in when she smells them. So how did the moles get here? Maybe they caught rides with the Canadian geese. With such a supply of game, coyotes aren’t surprising. Anymore, they’ve occupied the niche wolves once held across the country.
For nights after, Layla kept an eye out, but we never saw him again. Saw plenty of island deer, so tame they’d just pause munching leaves to watch us walk by. We were in their world. December on the Outer Banks bears only passing resemblance to tourist season. The houses are the only thing in common, and at night, they’re just silent shadows in the moonlight.
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Huskies I’ve known aren’t altogether enraptured with humans—passing affection is more their style. They may be grateful for food and a nice belly rub, but they have things needing taking care of, so they’ll get back to you later, OK?
Certainly not like their distant cousins, yellow labs who’ll love all over you, eighty pounds of tail and tongue. They’d sleep on top of you like a cat if you let them. Not the yellow lab’s fault, just how they’ve been led to believe they should behave.
Admittedly most people dislike canines chewing on a gam for saying hello, but really, yellow labs? Huskies have more self worth, so they don’t go wagging tails at just anyone. But Layla is that one-in-a-million who wants to meet people wherever she goes. Leaving to go out, she always pleads, ‘can you take me, please’?
When restaurants reopened in the latter days of Covid, we’d bring her to outdoor restaurants, and were amazed at how polite she was, baring a few episodes, like the little yapper who just wouldn’t hush. The pizza place in Falls Church is one of her favorite. Not only does she like the admiring comments from other tables, she loved pizza crust.
“She’d had enough, Bill. She’ll get fat.”
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I now work at a firm where the chief financial officer keeps an entire drawer of dog treats and asks, “Where’s Layla? You never bring her to visit.”
I’d bring her to work more often, but Layla wants to range across the office and I don’t want to interrupt the work. She tried roughhousing with Annie, the miniature ‘doodle’ and I was afraid of the outcome—not for Layla but the doodle. Annie is the office emotional support dog, and if something happened to her no one would talk to me, let alone work with me. Does that make sense?
One day not long ago, Layla came home from the office, ate her dinner and promptly barfed all the goodies she’d been fed by folks showing her love. Huskies don’t need food as much as they need something to do. Most dogs need the same.
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We were on the Outer Banks since before Christmas. The week leading to New Year’s was cold and the weather forecast was days of rain were coming—no shock for the time of year. So we drove to Roadside Café for lunch inside their outdoor space, all behaving ourselves, then crossed the street to stroll a piece down the Duck boardwalk.
Layla is well accustomed to rain. She tolerates the wet to go for walks, but she’s always hoping for snow.
The boardwalk in Duck is actually a series of plank bridges sitting in the shallows of the Sound. No beach to speak of, just cedar and high grass where the Canadian geese like to gossip.
Sound-side boardwalk in Duck—photo by author - Dec ‘23
My very unscientific research leads me to conclude that, even with less than a thousand fulltime residents, the village of Duck has led the Outer Banks in bringing urban civility to the area, first with bike trails then sidewalks, crosswalks and now the boardwalk. They even landscaped a small outdoor concert venue where the Duck Jazz Fest goes off every October.
In the early days when we’d visit, Route 12 ran right to the sand, and the only thing maintaining the speed limit through the village were the police cars every couple blocks. Now there are sidewalks both sides, and separate bike lanes. And police to navigate the differences.
For the tourists heading to Corolla, the village is one long traffic jam. I have sympathy for anyone north of Richmond driving to Corolla—good luck and be sure to text us when you get there. But to be clear: nothing moves on Route 12 when the Jazz Fest goes off in October.
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Roadside Café surely predates the town’s incorporation by decades. The original cottage was built back when laws were mainly making sure folk didn’t build in the middle of road. These days the sidewalk on the Roadside side passes a foot or two clear of the outdoor deck where we had lunch. Duck officials are probably hoping to wait out Roadside’s ex-hippie owners, who in turn must get a kick out of sitting where they are. Hippies can be such pains to progress.
Layla likes sitting politely by the table waiting on people drop their french fries. That day she was telling us there were interesting smells under the porch deck needing investigation.
When it’s too cold for the Management to sit outside, she gets all sad-eyed for not coming with us. The least we could do is turn her loose to check out the coyotes while we’re dining. She thinks that would be a fair trade.
Sunset over Sanderling—photo by author - Dec ‘23