No one likes to hear those words.
“I told you so. When they say Very Spicy they mean it.”
It’s a double hit. First your mouth is on fire and then your face is burning red because you didn’t heed the advice.
You should be ashamed.
“Shame on you for not listening to me” really means I know you already feel bad so let me make it worse.
Shame is no fun.
They told us not to let our new dog off her leash for at least six months, or ever.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
After three days, I let Lassie drag her leash while taking her morning constitutional.
“She was great!” I told Peter before leaving for classes.
It was great until it wasn’t. Later that morning Lassie took off from Peter, dragging her leash behind her.
My ego isn’t big nor stupid enough to think that I was what she went in search of.
Her thoughts:
That’s a big wall of trees touching the sky. Am I still in Ohio? I’ve never run like this. Whee!
I’m running down, down, down and up, up up!
Damn I’m tired.
This cave smells like tough guys, time to move on.
I’m a fucking gazelle!
Wait. Where am I?
I believe she got carried away with excitement and forgot what she was doing, I know the feeling.
She went down, across, along, over, up, through, across, crisscross, under, around, down, up, and across.
The six inches of snow was a blessing. (Her tracks were evident as was the dragging leash, however it took me longer to find her because I am NOT a tracker and spent way too long following her in the wrong direction.)
The two melted patches I passed, where she had curled up to take a rest, were a slap in the face. The only patches I left were from belly crawling under a downed pine and sliding on my ass down a ravine so as not to break my ankle.
My thoughts:
Really? You are walking straight up this mountain? What’s wrong with following a logging road?
There are a lot of prints outside this cave in addition to you and your leash. Am I scared?
What time is it? Don’t look.
Maybe Damon’s dogs could track her.
Maybe we aren’t supposed to have a dog.
How long do I keep searching?
What will we say to the foster parents? What about to the president of the association, who interviewed me nicely but firmly for 35 minutes about the probability of Australian Shepards darting off, before giving us clearance to adopt? Oh the shame.
When I found her under a shack placed on cinder blocks, the relief felt like a Very Spicy Vindaloo flowing through my body. Unfortunately it didn’t reach my fingers. Obviously my hands are not used to clawing and grabbing onto saplings and rocks on my knees for much of the 9 miles and 3 ½ hours it took me to find her.
Who am I to complain, Lassie’s journey was seven times that in dog years.
“I told ya so!” many smart dog owners might say, but instead of shame, I feel compassion and empathy for dolts like us.
This is how we learn; through experience, trust, panic, patience, mistakes, drive, fortitude, commitment, and hope. We go with our gut, which is sometimes wrong.
Peter’s journey included driving into Sykes Hollow.
Alexandra Langstaff 