^ An actual dirt road in Michigan. Throw in a few mud puddles and you've got an exact match.
I'm walking along a dirt road in the countryside. Tawny, hard-packed sand dotted with milk chocolate mud puddles, the ground under my feet looks like the familiar roads of my Michigan childhood, but the golden pastures behind me, outlined by ridges of soaring blue mountains, tell me I'm far from home. Judging by the beef cattle grazing nearby, I wonder if this might not be Wyoming or Montana.
Up ahead, I see that I'm coming upon a copse of trees, and I hear the rush of an unseen river nearby. As the trees close in on my path, it dawns on me. I haven't seen my dog, who is accompanying me on this journey, for quite some time. Has it been hours or even days since my dashing companion has run alongside me, traipsing through the underbrush, red tail flashing in the golden sun? All I know for sure is that some internal mechanism tells me I have ten more hours of hiking in the wilderness, and I'd really like to be sure that my dog is nearby.
So I call. I hear my voice booming out into the quiet woods, sharp cornered consonants and wide open vowels, as I call my dog's name again and again and again.
I keep walking, my eyes scouting for a splash of that signature red fur. The roadway bends from west to north, and now I'm walking along a high bank that runs parallel to the river maybe ten feet below. Through the lacy yellow-tinged leaves of the deciduous trees growing at the edge of the bank, I catch glimpses of the racing water, and see the wide drifts of flat grey stones that pile up along the water's edge.
And that's where I finally peep my dog, happily wagging at the sound of my voice as she dashes across the rocky shore and bounds up the steep bank to meet me on the sandy path. My heart overflows as we greet each other. I call my dog's name again and again and again, but this time with relief and delight. Apparently, my dog is equally pleased to see me; circling around me and wiggling excitedly from head to toe, I understand that our joy is mutual.
"We have ten more miles to go today," I explain, and with a stab of concern, I wonder when was the last time my dog had something to eat. In an instant, I slip my backpack off my shoulders and unzip it to slide out the package of pepperoni sticks that I carry for moments just like this one.
"Hey, look what I've got for you!" I pull one stick out of the package, snap off a piece, and offer it to my dog who sniffs once, twice, and then turns away, uninterested in the snack.
And that's when I wake up.
My dream beats in my head like a pulse, and immediately I understand. The dog in my dream is not the current redhead in my life, darling Gracie.
No, this dog is Ranger. Lying awake in bed, I can feel the shape of his name in my mouth, having called him again and again and again in my dream.
And to remove any shred of doubt, the architect of this dream knew that Gracie would gobble up any food offered to her, but during his life, Ranger wasn't interested in eating anything but his basic kibble. The instant my dream dog turned up its nose at the pepperoni stick, I knew who he had to be.
My sweet Buddy looks back at me from several corners in my house. It is a bit of a shrine. To try and explain why I must see that face,those piercing eyes to get through the day and night can’t be verbalized. I’m probably too old for another dog. It would never be the same anyway. His ashes and mine will be wrapped in each other in the by and by.
ReplyDeleteOh, I do t know how any of us cope with the loss of our dear dogs. They are so precious, their hearts so pure, their love so complete. I would argue that there is always room in our lives for another dog, but you know better than I whether there is room for another in your heart. I hope my story fills your heart with certainty that Buddy is traveling with you to the end as well.
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