Your dog is one step from the wild. Sure, it may be hard for you to believe that your bouncing, pampered pooch—the one that eats dog bones like there’s no tomorrow and sleeps on a checkered cushion—is close kin to the fox and the wolf. The very essence of the wilderness runs in your dog’s veins. You may’ve forgotten it—he may’ve even forgotten it lying there watching his “Dogsitter” video–but it’s still there. All it takes is one squirrel, one scent of the woods, and the feel of pine needles under his furry feet to awaken his primal nature.
I know. My dog, Lady, is as much a house-dog as any. She likes treats, her bed with the built-in orthopedic cushion and chasing my greedy cats away from her food dish. She does like to bounce madly at the neighbor’s fat cat, Ryder—he never seems to mind or notice. And, she’s been known to chase (but not catch) the odd rabbit that wanders into my herb garden searching for a little lemon balm to nibble. But, she’s a city dog through and through. Looking at her now lying on her cushion and quietly gnawing a greenie, you’d never imagine that she could be anything else than a fluffy cockerspaniel waiting for her next walk. This is a dog that wears doggie-boots on cold days and has two matching winter jackets. I find this hard to reconcile with the wild-eyed menace that accompanied me on my camping trip last week.
For several years now, my sister and I have taken a summer vacation together. We usually go somewhere warm and well-inhabited, which Lady likes just fine. Lady is a social dog and there’s nothing she likes better than strolling down a beach and meeting other dogs and people. She even likes cats and children with sticky ice-cream fingers—which seems to be the main occupants of most summer beaches. But, this year, we all decided to go camping. Now, I have to say that even though I grew up in the country, camping is not something that I am used to doing. My camping experiences have been limited mainly to my excursions as a Girl Scout twenty-something years ago, and Lady has never seen a camp-site, unless the blanket tents that my niece Sarah sets up in my living room count.
So, here we were, two women, a small girl, and two small-to-medium sized dogs, out in the great outdoors. Okay, maybe not too, great outdoors—we did rent a cabin so we weren’t exactly “roughing it” in the traditional sense. But, the cabin did have an assortment of bugs, including very large spiders, and some really, pushy squirrels that didn’t want to give up their roost in the chimney. Even after we had swept the place out and presumably chased the squirrels away for good, Lady and Francie (my sister’s Lasu-Apsu) continued to sit on the stone hearth and stare up into the chimney. Francie periodically would emit a loud, shrill yip—the kind only the smallest of dogs seem to be able to produce. Lady, despite her size, has a big-dog bark. The squirrels that skittered up and down the defunct chimney and chittered from the roof didn’t seem impressed with either of the canine interlopers. Clearly, the squirrels were not used to tourists.
Lady and I didn’t fare any better on our first day. My sister, Sarah, and Francie opted to take a stroll down by the lake, but Lady and I decided that we would have an old-fashioned hiking adventure. Lady and I are avid hikers, but we’re used to hiking across the bluffs and valleys of our own property. It’s one thing to get a little side-tracked in your own Hundred Acre Woods where there are always recognizable trees, fences, and the odd shaped rock here and there, and another thing to wander aimlessly (off the trail) in a forest that you’ve never visited before. Trees can exude their own particular brand of menace in that half-hour right before dark. And, you certainly know you’ve made a mistake when your “guard dog” is huddled against your leg looking up at your with big, brown eyes that seem to say, “Hey! YOU know the way back, right?” I, of course, did not know the way back and the $10.00 compass that I had just bought because my old one was kind of ratty had a strange way of registering north—since its needle kept a constant northwest alignment no matter which direction you were facing. I was beginning to think the needle was actually painted on when we ran into Them.
Lady and I popped over a little rise in the woods and into a hollow and I guess that the lay of the land had hidden our noise (which was considerable) and our scent (which I have to say must’ve also been pretty considerable given the heat of the day) because right in front of us was a herd of deer. I do mean a herd. Lots and lots of deer—at least twenty—not that I had much of a chance to count. Not petting zoo deer. Big, threatening-looking deer with sharp antlers and tiny, vicious hooves. They looked pretty vicious to me. I think Lady agreed because instead of bouncing madly in their direction—her M.O. with cows, other dogs, and birds of any sort—stood completely still at a sort of high-alert, her little black nose pointed up in the air like she was scenting some new sort of dog-treat. The deer looked just about as surprised as Lady and me. But, a couple pawed and snorted at us. And, I can tell you that is not a sweet and endearing gesture. Then, quicker than a breath, they turned and ran. At that moment, Lady decided that deer must be good to chase and bounded after them with all the barking fury a thirty-pound dog can muster. I, for my part, ran after Lady yelling her name and whistling until me and my Timberlands tumbled over a fallen branch and sort of skid-slid down the other side of the hill. Seeing me lying nose down in a pile of wet leaves, Lady stopped. She gave me the same look she usually does when I exhibit any human lack-of-grace—a mixture of pity and increduality that seem to say, “And, you guys are in charge around here? Go figure!”
It was full dark at this point and I did not have a flashlight. If you’ve never been in the country at night then maybe you don’t have any idea just how dark, dark can be. The stars were clearly outlined, and, thank goodness, there was a near-full moon. But, the woods, the trail (whereever it was), and the rest of the landscape were a dark blur. The woods are noisy at night—as noisy as a crowded street. There were bugs (that were eating me alive), owls, other unidentified birds, yipping foxes, coyotes, and something that I hoped wasn’t a bear. I particularly didn’t like the “sound of something large moving this way” that I heard several times. I hoped it was a deer. I really, really hoped it was a deer.
Eventually, Lady and I found our way back to the cabin. Susan and Sarah were eating S’mores and Francie was trying to catch some sort of flying thing unsuccessfully. Lady and I staggered in dirty, damp, and ready for bed. The woods are a nice place to visit, but I think both Lady and I have decided that we don’t want to live there.
By the next day, Lady was ready for more adventure and kept pulling me toward the woods—but this time we didn’t leave the trail. Her adventures with deer had emboldened her to chase turkey—who really don’t like to be chased by small, hopping dogs, as well as ducks, squirrels, and rabbits. I’m not sure that the ducks actually realized Lady was trying to catch them since she was swimming after them and Lady is not a quick swimmer. Plus, I’m sure that they’re not used to being chased by dogs wearing bright pink life-preserver vests. If ducks could speak, I’m pretty sure that they would’ve just looked at each other and said, “Tourists!”
Summer is, of course, the perfect time for adventures for man and dog alike. There’s nothing like the great outdoors and a bright day to spark your adventurous side. But, it is always good to get back home and after four days, Lady and I were more than ready to pack our gear and ourselves back in the car for the long trip home. As we left the lake, Lady stretched her doggy seat-belt to full capacity so that she watch the cabin recede as we drove away. Ducks were flying over the lake and the squirrels were running amok in the trees (as always). I promised to buy another squirrel feeder when we got home so that Lady would have plenty of furry things to chase. And, there’s always next year—that’s more than enough time to recover before starting a new adventure.
