I miss this lovely German shepherd dog and the adventures we shared. How she cared for the kittens, allowing the orphans to suckle her, or crawl all over her head without even moving. How patient she was with them, a far cry from the other dogs that followed her. I wish that Sharon were still breeding shepherds, but cancer has stilled her desire to have active litters now.
I wrote this awhile back- and I just wanted to revisit this day that was quite magical
***
It is 6:00 a.m when I reach the trail-head. Kenai jumps out of the truck, she is ready for action. Her tail is held high, ears are perked and since the oppressive heat of the day hasn’t hit yet, the air is still cool from the night. I lock the truck, grab my can of Mace, and off we go searching for better trails on which I can later take my horse Racer.
The trail is flat, Cascade Timber Company has arrived long ago and beaten out a long stretch of dirt, making a path to the big evergreen trees. The way is rocky and I see bird tracks scattered in the dirt. Up ahead, are a few jackrabbits, but my command to Kenai, one that she knows well “NO CHASE!” is obeyed and the rabbits scurry off into the underbrush.
Kenai turns to look at me with her soulful German Shepherd eyes, as if to say, “Please Mom? Just one chase?” I laugh, reach down and pet my obedient hound, and throw her a stick instead. She dearly loves to run, to chase.
Now the trail takes a somewhat steep ascent. I look up the trail and consider going home, my legs are turning jittery because I am out of shape. But I preservere. I get to the top of trail, puffing like a steam engine. The trail is shaded at the moment in the shadows of the tall pines, so I decide that I can walk further. Kenai’s tail is waving a short distance ahead, so making that my focal point, I trudge ahead.
I notice animal bones stripped of meat and bleached in the sun scattered about. There is a pale lump of something off to the side of the path. I whistle Kenai to my side, put her on the heel command and together we cautiously approach the object.
At first I have a hard time discerning what it is I am seeing. But as we come up on it, I can tell it is the remains of a porcupine that must of met with a creature mightier than it’s elaborate defense shield. The bones have pulled away from the skin in the weather. The quills are dried and turn to dust at my touch.†Poor thing,†I mutter to myself. Kenai and I continue on.
I finally reach the top, and yes, just like I feared, I am blowing like a steam engine. I stop to catch my breath and gaze out at the vista below. As far as my eyes can see, there are pine trees and spruces stretching their branches to the sky. Lupine, mustard grass, wildflowers pop their heads out everywhere. The path curves downward and vanishes into the shaded forest. The dirt becomes a soft carpet of moss, and spring grasses. I whistle to Kenai who has discovered something interesting under a rock, and off we go.
Jackrabbits scurry off the path and out of sight. Birds startled by our approach take wing. It is a peaceful time of reflection and thought. There is another curve in the trail and again, the trail leads up yet another hill. “Great”, I mutter to myself, “now my legs will really love me in the morning!” But it is such a nice morning and I don’t want to turn back now. I check my watch and see that we have been walking for an hour! Where has the time gone? Kenai is now staying by my side, I noticed she was on high alert, but I assumed that the passing scent of skunk we kept encountering brought her to attention.
Before we got to the top of the rise, I hear something that I cannot place. A sound, like a whistle, or a soft roar, or the gentle whoosh of the waves when they hit the sand. I stopto listen, to try and identify this noise. Kenai stops, her ears were up, the ruff on the back of her neck is up. She is on full alert. She had stopped panting, as if she is trying be quiet while I identified the sound. I stand and listen. The sound got louder, but not nearer. I haven’t a clue what it is, or even how to describe it, so very slowly, we continue up the hill.
At the last curve before we reachthe top, I spy him. A huge buck, he’s standing there majestic with his rack spread out. From his many points, I know he is an old gent, who had somehow managed to escape all the hunters and trappers. His coat is flecked with sweat. He had run quite a ways, and the sound I heard, was his breathing. His sides heave in and out, and his nostrils flared. Kenai growled, and I quietly told her to “QUIT!” The old gent lowers his head slowly until it was just inches from the ground. Then he shakes his mighty rack in defiance of our intrusion. I grab Kenai’s collar and slowly, we back away. Before he vanishes from sight, this old man of the forest lifts his head and relaxes his posture and out of the trees trotted a doe and a late fawn. I stop transfixed and watch this family move off at a quick pace, leaping over logs and vanishing instantly. All that was left was the sound I heard before, of the old gent blowing in the wind.
Quietly, I turned around and told Kenai, “Come on girl, it’s time to go home.” We head back to the truck to head home.
