How the bond happened
I’m sitting in a tiny tent in the Inyo National Forest waiting for the rain to stop. My 18 month old border collie “Tuxedo” is curled up next to me. When the rain started, I crawled in, gave a whistle, and he came running from his post lakeside. Abandoning his prayers to the stick fetching gods in order to join me. Four days ago I would have had to go get him. He would have been looking at me the way the abused children in Target look at their moms when they aren’t getting what they want.
I agreed to take Tux on my first backpacking trip with trepidation. Was it smart to take a dog miles out into the wilderness when our bond was in question? My hiking buddy was bringing her 7 year old BC who she wore like a glove. We started our 4 member team-in-training this past November. Tux’s trail manners were bad, in a good way. The overly friendly type of manners that the hiking dog lovers always make worse and the hiking dog haters really hate. Ok, I’ll say it, he not only preferred strangers, he would not listen to me when he was infesting them like flies on you know what. His M.O. was to swarm in as a mass of wiggles and then sweetly, in slow motion, reach upward and softly place his front feet on their bellies and stretch out yoga style then glide gracefully downward, wiping his feet on them until he lost contact at about knee level. This behavior was done reliably to the cue “Off! No! Off! No, come here, I’m so so so sorry.”
The drought this winter was my luck alone.
The one day it did rain in February, I was hiking with friends on Mt. Tamalpais. Now, I don’t know when the last time was that you saw 14 hiking nuns in pure white habits at the top of a mountain, but it was a first for me. My friend actually said “don’t you think Tux should be on leash?” Words that can now never be lived down.
I dove, like a ball player would for that game winning out, but the dog, like the ball so often does, slipped through my fingers. The red clay that is Mount Tam after it rains, the white habit, and the horror, all blurred into one micro-second nightmare, as the finger (paw) painting commenced, as usual from waist to knees. No where to run or hide, and I didn’t even have the option of using the lord’s name in vain. I snagged his collar as he considered another attempt at getting a response from her. I heard my self ask her “do you know he has wiped his feet on you?” I got a completely emotionless “yes” as an answer and nothing more. Sorry just didn’t seem necessary, surely I would be burning in hell for this one.
Was that the same dog who stood by my side as hikers passed these last three days? Even though Charlee Bears played their part, he only turned into a wiggling mess if they passionately cooed to him. Permission to “say hi” was granted in a few cases, as some of these hikers seemed to need a dog fix more than they needed another Cliff bar.
My initial concerns about bringing him were beyond pissing off other hikers and beyond the many obvious risks in regards for his health and safety. These concerns will address your initial curiosity of “and why exactly isn’t this dog on a leash?”
Ever tried tip-toeing through the rough terrain downhill with hiking poles and a young ill-trained Border Collie on a leash? Well, have you? Then judge me not, as I am not a seasoned hiker and one stitched-up lip in July (15 minutes into the hike) was enough for me. I needed him to be trained better for sure, but more so I wanted him to sense my concerns when we traversed difficult terrain. This is the the stuff that separates the dogs from the pups. I did teach him to stay behind me when on leash pretty well (meaning he needs help with it) and I did let him off leash when I needed to use my poles in super tricky parts. But this trip, when push came to shove, MY dog acted grown up. He waited each time I asked and walked one step at a time even when I didn’t ask, but reall needed him to. Many times I got the ” you OK momma?” look, even when he was given permission to run ahead on occasion. In four days this pup, of underdetermined character, became one hellva hiking partner, one hellva companion and one hellava dog. He is, finally, MY dog.
I never know how or when or even if a deep bond will happen with the four legged creatures I choose to spend my days with. But each dog I have owned has had their own story. This was Tux’s.
