To Follow a Dog
The thing about resolutions is the interpretation of them. When I say follow the path of a good soul, what could that mean? Well resolution, here goes. My interpretation this New Year’s morning, for example, is to follow the path of my dogs. Off the trail I go. Just like in January, I’m having no trouble keeping up with my resolution. These elkhounds are big enough for me to fit into their shoes as I ramble along behind them. Then they head into the worst place on this mountain, the rhododendron hell.
Now, most of the rhododendron is manageable in the other places, but this is a thicket I’ve always skirted. Alright, down to my knees, I crawl through twenty feet or so. The day-pack has to go. Taking it off is like changing clothes in the driver’s seat of an MG. I actually get more tangled and my bush of a bun isn’t helping any either. I drag the pack along for a bit, then stop to put it on the front of me like a baby sling. After another 20 feet, I’m wishing I wasn’t carrying the extra baggage. I consider leaving it so I can figure out which way the dogs went because they are long gone. Thinking of a return trip in here, I opt out of that call. I leave a clump of hair instead and peel myself out after another 20 feet of struggling.
Today, I chugged water and put breakfast in the cargo pockets of my pants. I left the baggage. I never lost track of the dogs. even as they went under and through hawthorn and rhodo. To follow a dog, you have to ‘be’ a dog.