The Long Trek Home
Posted 08-21-2012 at 08:06 AM by LookinForMayberry
Yesterday morning was overcast and cooler than the previous week (of 90s and 80s), so I decided to walk some paperwork down the hill to Edward Jones, rather than drive. Big Finn Hill is roughly 500' where our home is located, and their office is at sea level. Taking the "scenic" route through the neighborhoods (instead of Juanita Drive's direct route) is just short of three miles. Bigun needed his walk, so he joined me.
Walking down has its steep places, where I wouldn't walk if it was damp, or there were fallen leaves, but the road was dry. Sadly, many of the grasses and vegetation were also dry; it has been awhile since we've had rain. Still, we enjoyed our journey, stopping to talk with a very nice 81 year old grief counselor that responded warmly to my compliments on his front yard. He gave us a tour of the back -- beautiful with its "Japanese garden" type settings, completed by Buddha sculptures, and well placed benches.
By the time we got to the office, we knew we'd had a walk. After turning over my packet and briefly chatting with the Analyst and his Assistant, I decided Bigun deserved a romp in Rhododendron Park, thinking it had access to the Sammamish Slough beyond. I figured I could sit on a bench and watch the birds while Big' rummaged around in the tall grasses. He LOVES tall grasses.
No such luck, and the sun came out, burning off the clouds. It started warming up. We wandered the park, and Big' visited with several different groups of kids, while the day grew hotter. I went from fountain to fountain -- not having brought water. I filled one of Big' bags and gave him a drink (but he prefers puddles -- of which there were none).
Not finding access to water, we left the park to go to the boat launch, dry and dusty except for the muddy, bird do laden bank where the ducks and geese collect. (Where Big' would love to cavort had I let him!). No benches. Just a couple of ill-shaped rocks and the dirt. The only shade was under the bridge with no views. I turned to go home, disappointed.
Not, Big'. He's truly "in the moment."
"No ducks, Mom? Okay, never mind those ducks, look at that tall grass!" And he dives into it, so all I see is the flexi-line leading into grasses, and an occasional sighting of black fur flashing above or between the clumps. A few times I can tell he's stopped because the motion is in one spot, and the clumps "wiggle." I know he is rolling about on his back and sides -- reveling in the feel of it. Bigun gets his full measure from every one of life's moments.
Eventually he leaps out to the road before me and looks at me with eyes dancing from the sheer joy and a grin that pulls back to reveal the whole length of those bone-crushing jaws. Laugh panting and happy as only a dog can be.
And then, we head home. It's a long, long walk home. Before we get to the place where the climb starts my feet hurt. I know that Bigun is starting to feel the heat because his laugh pant is replaced with a slower, more shallow panting. There's no more water nearby, so we just keep walking.
The sun beats down. I try to keep us in shady sections of roadway, but the sun has moved higher and they are fewer -- and smaller. Bigun's distance in front of me drops narrower and narrower until he is walking beside me without being under command. He occasionally looks up at me, as if to ask "Are we almost there?" He can tell from my face that we still have a long walk home.
At one point we see a gathering of kids at the blackberries. This region has blackberries growing wild everywhere, and late summer they are dark, fat and sweet. (On hot days it often smells like baking pies.) I've tried giving one to Big in the past -- he loves berries, but he didn't eat it. I start to say something to the kid that offers him one, but see him eat it with relish, and lick the kids hand. There is a brief dog-kid love fest and then we continue on.
No one is out in their yards and the sun is beating down. Bigun is trailing behind and I turn to see he is limping. I examine his paws and find a small blackberry thorn in one pad. Luckily I can remove it with just my fingernails. He thanks me and trots ahead briefly -- until he realizes he is still hot and tired and drops back.
And on we walk, and walk, and walk.
Finally home, I open the gate to the back yard and un-clip him. Unlike his normal bounding into the yard to inform any ne'er-do-well squirrels that it is HIS yard and they'd better stay out!, he walks over to the back stairs, climbs up, and I hear him go through the dog door as I round to the front door.
When I come inside, I hear him at the water bowl. Climbing the stairs to our level, I hear the water bowl hitting the wall, and realize he needs more. As I refill his bowl with fresh water I gaze out to the sun-filled back yard and am exceedingly glad to be home.
Walking down has its steep places, where I wouldn't walk if it was damp, or there were fallen leaves, but the road was dry. Sadly, many of the grasses and vegetation were also dry; it has been awhile since we've had rain. Still, we enjoyed our journey, stopping to talk with a very nice 81 year old grief counselor that responded warmly to my compliments on his front yard. He gave us a tour of the back -- beautiful with its "Japanese garden" type settings, completed by Buddha sculptures, and well placed benches.
By the time we got to the office, we knew we'd had a walk. After turning over my packet and briefly chatting with the Analyst and his Assistant, I decided Bigun deserved a romp in Rhododendron Park, thinking it had access to the Sammamish Slough beyond. I figured I could sit on a bench and watch the birds while Big' rummaged around in the tall grasses. He LOVES tall grasses.
No such luck, and the sun came out, burning off the clouds. It started warming up. We wandered the park, and Big' visited with several different groups of kids, while the day grew hotter. I went from fountain to fountain -- not having brought water. I filled one of Big' bags and gave him a drink (but he prefers puddles -- of which there were none).
Not finding access to water, we left the park to go to the boat launch, dry and dusty except for the muddy, bird do laden bank where the ducks and geese collect. (Where Big' would love to cavort had I let him!). No benches. Just a couple of ill-shaped rocks and the dirt. The only shade was under the bridge with no views. I turned to go home, disappointed.
Not, Big'. He's truly "in the moment."
"No ducks, Mom? Okay, never mind those ducks, look at that tall grass!" And he dives into it, so all I see is the flexi-line leading into grasses, and an occasional sighting of black fur flashing above or between the clumps. A few times I can tell he's stopped because the motion is in one spot, and the clumps "wiggle." I know he is rolling about on his back and sides -- reveling in the feel of it. Bigun gets his full measure from every one of life's moments.
Eventually he leaps out to the road before me and looks at me with eyes dancing from the sheer joy and a grin that pulls back to reveal the whole length of those bone-crushing jaws. Laugh panting and happy as only a dog can be.
And then, we head home. It's a long, long walk home. Before we get to the place where the climb starts my feet hurt. I know that Bigun is starting to feel the heat because his laugh pant is replaced with a slower, more shallow panting. There's no more water nearby, so we just keep walking.
The sun beats down. I try to keep us in shady sections of roadway, but the sun has moved higher and they are fewer -- and smaller. Bigun's distance in front of me drops narrower and narrower until he is walking beside me without being under command. He occasionally looks up at me, as if to ask "Are we almost there?" He can tell from my face that we still have a long walk home.
At one point we see a gathering of kids at the blackberries. This region has blackberries growing wild everywhere, and late summer they are dark, fat and sweet. (On hot days it often smells like baking pies.) I've tried giving one to Big in the past -- he loves berries, but he didn't eat it. I start to say something to the kid that offers him one, but see him eat it with relish, and lick the kids hand. There is a brief dog-kid love fest and then we continue on.
No one is out in their yards and the sun is beating down. Bigun is trailing behind and I turn to see he is limping. I examine his paws and find a small blackberry thorn in one pad. Luckily I can remove it with just my fingernails. He thanks me and trots ahead briefly -- until he realizes he is still hot and tired and drops back.
And on we walk, and walk, and walk.
Finally home, I open the gate to the back yard and un-clip him. Unlike his normal bounding into the yard to inform any ne'er-do-well squirrels that it is HIS yard and they'd better stay out!, he walks over to the back stairs, climbs up, and I hear him go through the dog door as I round to the front door.
When I come inside, I hear him at the water bowl. Climbing the stairs to our level, I hear the water bowl hitting the wall, and realize he needs more. As I refill his bowl with fresh water I gaze out to the sun-filled back yard and am exceedingly glad to be home.
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