HAPPY TRAILS

Luna: Pathfinder

      When I was growing up, though their were many dogs in our neighborhood, I never saw one of them walked on a leash.  Mostly they’d be let out in the morning, and called home at night.  

     There was Bongo, a laconic basset hound who waddled around the block twice a day by himself. There was Kasmir, our neighbor’s Afghan, the most exotic dog ever seen in our part of town, his long blonde coat the mirror image of his owner’s perfectly coiffed blonde hair.  He was sociable, and not very bright, and would leap in front of us to play, then immediately be distracted by something and run away.  

     The closest thing to a leash we ever saw belonged to a man named Joe Black, who lived half a block down, and who we were warned to stay away from. He sat on his front porch in what were either shorts or boxer underwear, his little dachshund tied to the railing. The rope went halfway up the block, and she would trot that far while Joe sat and muttered to himself.  After a while, he’d tug on the rope and rasp out, “Come on, sistah!”  Sistah would turn around and amble back.

     That was all I’d ever known of someone walking a dog.

     That’s just one reason why I continued to struggle with what should have been the simplest task – walking Luna on a leash. My attempts were marvels of inconsistency, as Luna would pull ahead, and I’d do the corrective jerk, then immediately apologize, because pulling on something around a creature’s neck horrified me.  

      “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry,” I’d say. “Did I hurt you?”

      She’d wag her tail, wait patiently until I started walking again, then rush forward, jerking my shoulder at its joint.  I’d correct her, apologize again, and we’d start over.     

     The discomfort and guilt I got from walking her on leash was similar to the reaction I had when I mowed our lawn, which was filled with crickets, leafhoppers, preying mantid and the occasional frog and snake that slithered up from the pond.  Hundreds of living things would rush out in the wake of my mowing, seeking refuge from what must be, to them, an apocalyptic storm.   

    “I’m sorry,”  I’d shout over the roar of the mower.  “Go over there.  Run away.”

   Once or twice I ran over frogs, which is as bad as you’re probably imagining. Like putting a frog in a blender without a top. This seemed especially wrong for someone like me, who patrols the road when mud turtles and salamanders are traveling, to make sure none get run over.        

     Leashes worried me as much as mowing, and too many times Luna and I came home from walks with my temper in a frazzle, and Luna looking confused as to what, exactly, she was supposed to do.  Her failure to learn was really all about my failure to teach, as is often the case with dogs.  I needed to find a better way. Though cats manage ambivalence with ease, it doesn’t suit dogs. They want clear directives, given consistently.  Without that they grow frightened and try for dominance. I was doing Luna no favors with my cycle of correction, apology, and irritation.

     I tried a variety of training methods.  If the dog pulls, stop walking.  When they sit, start walking again.  I’m sure it works with many dogs, but for Luna it was just a brief rest between pullings. I tried the method where you turn around and go in a different direction every time they pull, but apparently Luna liked going in small circles, and the neighbors were starting to stare at us.  I tried holding treats as we walked, which worked until she’d eaten the treat, at which time she’d forge ahead.

    The real problem wasn’t the methods.  It was me.  I just couldn’t mean it, and dogs know when you don’t mean it.  So how on this green earth could I learn to mean it? And even if I could, would it help? Beyond my neuroses, Luna was and is a high energy dog, and she needed to run faster than I could go. To solve that part of the problem, I began taking her off-leash beyond our land, into the wild.  

     That land, owned by our neighbor Bill, isn’t accessible by road, and no one goes there except during hunting season so we had it to ourselves. It was cow pasture in past generations, and has since grown into thick scrubland dotted with young trees, not the easiest to traverse.  But Luna could safely leap and run here, so we bushwacked on.

     One day, as I was disentangling myself from some buckthorn, Luna went into an alert stance, then took off after a bunny.  I knew she was safe, so I got myself detached without panic, then followed her.  After thrashing my way through more brush, I emerged onto an open trail.  

    Luna sat a few feet down from me, wagging her tail, looking like she’d led me here on purpose.  I gazed around. There was a broad trail cut ahead and behind us for some ways, and grassy meadows all around that lead to woods of tall, old growth pine trees. We were well off our property, but it wasn’t hunting season so we kept going.

   “Thanks, Luna,” I said, and I continued to walk the trail, Luna trotting at my side. 

    Meadows of tall grass and daisies, purple meadowsweet, goldenrod, grew all around the trail.  We followed it into the woods, thick with tall pines, finding even more treasures and pleasures.   A shallow stream flowed through the woods, and Luna splashed in it gleefully.  Further in, we found a six foot tall rock wall, which we later learned was built by farmers more than a hundred years ago. We took our time, and if Luna wanted to sniff to my left or right, or slightly behind or ahead that was fine because we were both safe, in our most natural element.  By the time we got home she was content, and I felt as if I’d discovered the promised land.

    And in a way, I had. I’d found a place where Luna can be Luna and I can be me.  In the woods, we could walk without stress, and we were both confident in my capacity to lead. She could run as fast as she wanted, using her legs as they were meant to be used, and I knew that if I called her, she’d come right back to me.  It was perfect.

    We went out again the next day, and the next and the next, both of us off leash, Luna behaving like a natural retriever, and me reliving my happiest times from childhood when I sought out mystery and adventures in the woods.  

    Our communication was wordless. I’d point where I was going, and she’d turn that way. If I changed direction, she’d follow, always aware of where I was and what I was doing.   

Luna:  Doofus

    Leashless, we were more deeply connected than we’d ever been. As if I was occupying my purely animal soul while I had the privilege of witnessing hers. And the connection extended from Luna to the land we walked on, as I began to understand it through her perception.  

    I wondered what it meant to be a dog who knows the world through scent.  Did smells create images in her mind, or just sensations of fear or pleasure? I’d know deer were close by when she pricked up her ears and stood at attention. If coyotes were around the night before she’d show raised hackles at her neck when she sniffed the air.  When the sun was good and warm, she’d stand with her head lifted while a ripple of pleasure ran across her sleek back, and I’d share her essential, unabridged joy. 

    I also learned that if she pawed at the ground I should go see what she’d found.  Often it was a bone or leftover bunny parts I didn’t want her to eat.  Once when she was pawing, sniffing, and looking a little baffled, I went over to her and saw she was staring at an unbroken egg.

    “Well, now,”  I said to her.  “That’s a new one.” 

    I picked it up, feeling the million tiny bumps on it, wondering how an egg got into the middle of an open field, with no house in sight.  Did someone drop it?  If so, why would anyone be carrying a single egg in the middle of a field? 

   Luna nuzzled me, waiting for me throw it so she could give chase.  She’d sniffed this prize from the matted grass.  Shouldn’t she get to play with it?

   “Sorry, Loons,” I muttered.  “Not this one.”

    Finally, it occurred to me that we have flocks of wild turkey all over the place. Turkeys, when they’re perturbed, will drop eggs at random. Strange that I hadn’t considered this first, as if humans were the only creatures who lived here.  We walked on, and I took the egg with me, a talisman of hope and trepidation.  Eggs are secret places, their bland surface holding the possibility of life, of food, of anything.

     Luna, I suppose, imagined its possibilities of either play or food, if dogs imagine.  Do dogs imagine, within or beyond their experience?  And could I actually imagine beyond my experience?  When I found the egg, it took me a while to remember things outside the human realm, like turkeys.

    But having gotten that far, I could go further yet, and imagine it as a magic thing, holding the spirit of the meadows and woods, a sleeping fairy I could wake by cracking the prize, seeds from a far away star that might wake human consciousness to a new level of love, or a new color, waiting to pour out into the world, or a new song, a lullaby for my restless nights.  

    As Luna and I stood on the trail, she sniffed and I contemplated, which may actually be exactly the same thing.  The long grass in the meadow was illuminated by a westering sun. The soft wind passing over it made a whispering of song.  Luna lifted her head and breathed it in. I also lifted my head, and if I heard a different song, that didn’t matter.  We knew who we were were, and where we were headed next.

     We were, both of us, hungry.  We were, both of us, going home.

     If you want to read more about my interactions with birds, visit SUNY Press to read about Eagle Mitch and Berkshire Bird Paradise.  And here's an unusual egg recipe to eat while you read.  

EGGS LUNA

Two eggs

This recipe calls for quail eggs.  If you can't find them, use really small eggs.  The smallest you can find.  But do search for quail eggs, because they're beautiful, and tiny.  I use them in lots of different ways, and this is just one of them.   

Slices of small loaves, preferably rye  (I use my homemade rye and blue cheese bread, a recipe I'll offer at a later date.)

Quail eggs or really small eggs

Slices of papaya

Slices of prosciutto

Alike in Dignity

How much of this you want to make depends entirely on who you're feeding.  I was just feeding myself, and my dogs, who sit one on either side of me at the breakfast table and wait for crusts, so I just made two.  Increase ingredients according to your needs, and feel free to use ham instead of prosciutto or melon instead of papaya because you know the rule:  PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD!

Keep the papaya in the fridge, nicely chilled.  

Toast your bread slice.  

Put butter in a sauté pan and let it get brown.  Add the prosciutto slice and let it get crisp. 

Add the quail or small egg, and cook to your desired doneness.  (You can flip it, for sunny side down, but it won't be as pretty or as runny as Luna is.)

Place a slice of papaya on the bread.  Put the prosciutto on top.  Gently place the egg on the prosciutto, whispering prayers or spells for what might emerge in your life.

Sit with your dogs and enjoy.  Share the crusts, because they like that.  

VARIATION ON A THEME:

Because no two dogs or eggs are alike, I also did this with a slice of smoked salmon, covering the egg with dill and finely chopped scallion.  Also YUM!