100 posts! Stories of fun and many lessons learned. Some happy some frustrating but all illustrating the value of loving a dog.
Stories like this one that starts with a long, long drive through Wyoming. The drive home from vacation is often so much longer than the drive to a vacation location, though the same in distance and route.
Is it because you played too hard and are tired out from the swimming, hiking, canoeing, and all the exhausting time spent eating marshmallows around the fire at night?
Whatever the reason Wyoming seems a big state when you are hauling a tent trailer and your husbandy and your Meeka are already home waiting for you and the little princessface.
It seems too that when you are traveling tired is when your Grandpaman decides the perfect place to set up camp will be at the reservoir that is 27 miles down a twisty tiny two lane road instead of the one that is five minutes off the highway with the oh-so-beautiful camp sites within seeing distance.
And so you and your crazymomlady blast the Moody Blues, childhood memories blossoming, and settle in for the long haul with little complaining.
Grandpaman deserves that kind of respect.
Until it starts to rain. And you are setting up camp at the reservoir 27 miles down the twisty road only two camp spaces away from two big dogs crazier than your own Princess-Of-The-Shrill-Bark. Then the complaining starts, even if only in your head and, okay, a little out loud.
But the tent trailer gets set up and the crazy dogs keep to themselves, you rescue the turbo from digging up that red ant hill before she is in too much trouble and thinking you deserve a break from all the wonderful togetherness, you set out.
It’s sundown, and with the lake blushing into pink you realize it is a much prettier and less populated lake than the ever so close to the highway one that looked so attractive earlier. Less populated with humans, but overrun with cottontail bunnies. Who thankfully are smart enough to know when to stop hopping and blend into the sage brush scenery before Turbo turbo’s off after them.
Down the hill to the beach you tromp, following the wagging Cavalier ears and tail, both of you so glad to be free of the truck and the leash. Following little bird foot prints in the sand until you are alone with your little dog and her happy tail.
Onto the rocks you both climb, sinking into the silence with only the waves lightly lapping against the rocky shore. Laughing and laughing when she gambols down to the waterline only to turn and give you the, “Hey hurry up crazymomlady! There are sniffs to be sniffed here!” grin.
So you let her follow her spaniel nose, she too has earned a break, but then she stiffens. Another cottontail? No, just the silhouette of tall ears and glowing eyes. Eight alert ears, and eight yellow eyes on the heads of two does and two babies.
Not a peep of a bark or wine, nary a growl, barely an exhalation of breath. Just watching you and your 4legged best friend, as they go back to grazing and getting a last drink of the night in the now still and darkened lake. Then they move, nibbling their way up the beach away from the water.
And you move with them, willing your pup to be silent, affording you more time to watch these beautiful 4legged friends of another variety. She moves with you, quietly. Perhaps sensing to pace her movements from the quiet delibertness of yours.
Then you see it, the yearling buck with his antlers so new and still covered in fuzz. He is so lean and carved of smooth muscle, and he is wary of you. More so than the doe’s and babies were. He appears and then disappears into the brush, leading them with him to more safety, away from your prying intruders eyes.
So on that breath of beauty and peacefulness you give your pup a “lets go” and set off for camp. Except now it is dark and of course in your haste to be off you never grabbed your flashlight. The rocky beach you clambored over cant be a good way back in the dark, can it?
But the road must be right over that hill, and it will take you both straight to your camp and your bed.
Or so you think when you set off across the hill, winding your way through sage and barely changing rabit brush and still following that waving white tail of your friend.
But it is very dark and even she can’t see where she is going too well, plus she doesn’t know the dangers of the prickly pear cactus. How will she know to avoid it? The worry starts. Not for you but for her little fuzzy feet.
Then you realize you are no longer following her waving white tail, but she is following you so close as to touch your left ankle now and then, but not close enough to get stepped on and trip you both up.
How does she knows to trust your judgment of where to step and what to avoid? When did she become so wise to know to keep quiet and observe? She must be growing up!
What could spell trust better than following your 4legged friends’ lead into a wonderful walk and then leading her through to a safe warm dinner and bed? And because that trust should never be attacked by a prickly pear cactus you pick your friend up and carry her to that elusive road. Then you let her go and follow her tail straight back to camp and a hot dinner cooked by your not so little anymore little brother.
In the end what do you realize? That crazygrandpa man was right again! This walk of friendhip, trust and wild 4legged beauty was worth the extra miles and the rainy camp setup.
And what else do you know? No matter how little your happy pup is, no matter how close and wonderful your 2legged family is, trust in the form of 4 legs and a happy tail is invaluable too!
(Post 100 is a special for my Mom, who is also my friend, and my Grandparents. Without whom I would never had what turned out to be one of my favorite walks ever.)