It's hard to believe we were returning to the scene of the crime, to the foot of Book Cliffs north of Grand Junction CO, where, four years ago, my little poodle ran away in panic from noisy target-practice shooters, and disappeared for fourteen days before he trotted up to an elk hunter's pickup truck. The full story is on the tab, Sad Story at Book Cliffs, at the top of the blog.
His extended life has been a good one. Would he remember this awful place? He seems to remember people and places from one year back, but not four. And besides, he's mostly deaf and blind now.
I stopped the rig about a quarter mile short of the camping turnaround that I remembered all too well, since I wallowed in angst and guilt there for a week, hoping for his return four years ago. At the end of the week I accepted defeat, went to the Grand Junction animal shelter, and adopted Coffee Girl.
We walked the rest of the way in order to inspect the road condition. As we approached Book Cliffs, the little poodle assumed the position and took a nice big poop. Gee, maybe he did remember.
The next morning we started hiking the trail that I remembered from four years ago. The little poodle was acting frisky for an old boy who's almost sixteen and a half years old, so I decided to take him for a ways, until he tired. The trail through the canyon and up Book Cliffs was still dark and cold when Grand Valley and the Colorado Monument, in the background, were bright and sunny.
Sad and desperate memories came back when we reached the overlook where I abandoned the search four years ago: would he stay on this trail in the first place? Why would he keep climbing unless the gun noise was dying down, and I didn't think it was? Surely he wouldn't choose a direct frontal assault on the vertical sections of the cliff? Coffee Girl posed there today, with the rig looking like a small white speck in front of her chest.
But the little poodle didn't tire today. In his youth he would always charge ahead, keeping the leash as tight as a violin string. But in old age he likes to follow behind my feet, since he can't see the trail that well.
I was tempted to let him pose on some of the scenic overlook spots, but a little voice in the back of my head whispered warnings against hubris. It's strange how emergencies usually come about only after a sequence of several misjudgments. It's the last mistake that finally causes the situation to tip into disaster.
Both dogs and I were pumping out the endorphins by now. (And the little voice was telling me that endorphins can be dangerous.) Should we keep going until we reached the top of Book Cliffs? We were getting into the vertical stuff now, about two-thirds of the way up. But would the little poodle have the stamina to return? I had never carried him in my new day-pack, and didn't know how well it would work.
No more chances. We've done enough for today. The Little Hero looks as happy as a pup. It's a good place to declare victory and return.
His extended life has been a good one. Would he remember this awful place? He seems to remember people and places from one year back, but not four. And besides, he's mostly deaf and blind now.
I stopped the rig about a quarter mile short of the camping turnaround that I remembered all too well, since I wallowed in angst and guilt there for a week, hoping for his return four years ago. At the end of the week I accepted defeat, went to the Grand Junction animal shelter, and adopted Coffee Girl.
We walked the rest of the way in order to inspect the road condition. As we approached Book Cliffs, the little poodle assumed the position and took a nice big poop. Gee, maybe he did remember.
The next morning we started hiking the trail that I remembered from four years ago. The little poodle was acting frisky for an old boy who's almost sixteen and a half years old, so I decided to take him for a ways, until he tired. The trail through the canyon and up Book Cliffs was still dark and cold when Grand Valley and the Colorado Monument, in the background, were bright and sunny.
Sad and desperate memories came back when we reached the overlook where I abandoned the search four years ago: would he stay on this trail in the first place? Why would he keep climbing unless the gun noise was dying down, and I didn't think it was? Surely he wouldn't choose a direct frontal assault on the vertical sections of the cliff? Coffee Girl posed there today, with the rig looking like a small white speck in front of her chest.
But the little poodle didn't tire today. In his youth he would always charge ahead, keeping the leash as tight as a violin string. But in old age he likes to follow behind my feet, since he can't see the trail that well.
I was tempted to let him pose on some of the scenic overlook spots, but a little voice in the back of my head whispered warnings against hubris. It's strange how emergencies usually come about only after a sequence of several misjudgments. It's the last mistake that finally causes the situation to tip into disaster.
Both dogs and I were pumping out the endorphins by now. (And the little voice was telling me that endorphins can be dangerous.) Should we keep going until we reached the top of Book Cliffs? We were getting into the vertical stuff now, about two-thirds of the way up. But would the little poodle have the stamina to return? I had never carried him in my new day-pack, and didn't know how well it would work.
No more chances. We've done enough for today. The Little Hero looks as happy as a pup. It's a good place to declare victory and return.
Comments
It looks as if you had a good climb, glad to see Poncho was able to lead the way again.
Glenn, Thanks. Say, you might want to consider downtown Grand Junction for a future bosking gig. I was just there this morning. I think it would meet your requirements.