Summit

While traversing the mountainside, a flash of movement above me on the slope catches my eye. My head jerks to better focus on what becomes a man in a t-shirt coming down a trail. A leash angles down and periodic glimpses through the brush shows it's attached to what appears to be a yellow lab. The duo moves in slow motion and they drop out of sight behind a small ridge. Minutes later, I come to where our trails intersect with them now on "my" trail as I cut up onto "their" singletrack. He waves, I wave back, and he rotates to focus on his dog. A tidal wave of emotion rips through me, streaming tears from my eyes.

Frozen, I watch a very tender moment that stabs deeply into my inner being.  

 

The dog is obviously old. It staggers clumsily off the trail as if taking its final steps in life with joints becoming immobilized with age. The old hound drops its head to heartily snort some vegetation while the man eases up beside the dog to gently reach down and rest his hand on the dog's back, near the hips. The affectionate gesture screams, "It's ok ol' boy...we're not in any hurry....it's just us out here and I want you to enjoy yourself..." I notice the yellow color fading to white on the muzzle and stiff, misbehaving legs as the dog tries to steady himself to prepare for more walking along the trail. With his head kept low, no odors were going to escape his scrutiny.

I continue up the trail and assume the pair had come down from the houses built above rather than laboring up from the bottom of the mountain. After nearly a mile, we circled in opposite directions and meet on the trail and, surprisingly, I recognize both. About a year ago I packed out large plastic tubs from the canyon's creek and their house provided the closest trashcan. Not only did he offer to take the garbage, but he graciously invited me into his beautiful home. The view from his picture window was exquisite as his toddler romped in his playpen and the old dog watched over everything.

 

 

"This is Summit," he reminded me on the trail. "He's almost 12 years old...we share a relationship where I think I get more out of it than he does," the man offered while affectionately looking down.

 

Summit was pooped.  He plopped down to sit where his hips automatically rotated to the right with his thirsty tongue lolling out of his mouth.  I noticed his distended abdomen and the man, with a saddened voice, said there were tumors inside Summit that were being monitored. With much relief, the man was happy to report that so far the growths were not interfering with Summit going to the bathroom.  He also proudly boasted how, after the long winter, they have taken several shorter training hikes where today was their first complete loop. 

 

Summit kept panting as we spoke and I couldn't help but admire him.  Despite arthritis eating at his joints, muscles stiff from age and most likely cancer growing within, he was there to appease--Summit was out walking the man moreso than the man taking him for a walk.  Summit's tired eyes were half covered with droopy eyelids, but they had vigor when I looked into them.  His eyes beamed of a happy life. Yes, there were times someone close to him had a heavy heart, but he intuitively knew to rest his chin on their knee for a loving distraction.  I bet Summit provided the steady source of comfort and was the ever watchful guard keeping the house safe. No doubt he was also the perfect toy for the toddler. When his thick ears got yanked or his skin pinched, Summit surely responded by slapping a huge, wet tongue on the little boy's face. I'm sure he helped in the kitchen, too, by eagerly sweeping up crumbs and mopping up wet spills. It's also apparent to see how Summit was the perfect cuddle-buddy on cold winter nights while hanging out with the family in front of flickering flames dancing in the fireplace. His eyes, having the wisdom of years of watching, spoke how he knew he had a great life and he made sure he did not take it for granted.  

 

Much too quickly, it was time to leave while Summit's worn out body trembled as he struggled to stand. Soon, he managed to get his feet underneath him and they plodded up the trail.

 

Summit's final day is not too far away and it will be heartbreaking.  But, on the otherhand, Summit is so lucky to have such a dedicated friend (I don't like the word "owner"--how do you own an animal spirit? At most, we are caretakers, but not owners...) to have spent his life with! 

 

At some point later in the year I will stop at their house and learn of Summit's death. It will be dark and gloomy and I hope I can spark a brief reprieve from the pain by sharing what an incredibly powerful impact the pair had on me today.