Camping Trip: Part 1: Second Fiddle To A Dog

The next morning I woke more rested than I’d been in months. The mattress had been heavenly, the quilts cozy, and the pillows fluffy. The brutal rain of the evening had soaked all of the great outdoors but we’d been dry and toasty all night. Through the big picture window the chilly sunrise was glorious.

There’s no getting around it. Waking up in a tidy little cabin with a merry fire in the gas fireplace is just plain better than crawling out of a sleeping bag in a tent. I even took a long hot shower… GLAMPING!

I insisted on percolating my own coffee instead of using the kitchen’s provided coffee maker. Still fretting over my singed beard, I decided to forgo the explosive BBQ and just use the kitchen stove. The coffee was delicious as usual.

Preparing breakfast became an issue of scale. I deliberately “over-pack” food. If I’m waylaid by weather or a vehicle breakdown extra food is the different between mere inconvenience and misery. Also, nobody does “hangry” like Mrs. Curmudgeon. It’s good to have snacks within reach.

Mrs. Curmudgeon saw me preparing breakfast and helped. She wound up chopping up most of what I’d packed. It felt like enough food to feed a dozen lumberjacks; which I was then obliged to cook. In the end, we had a delicious breakfast but I’d need a week of farm chores to burn off all that food.

We were in no hurry to leave the cabin. Then we dithered around the local vicinity for a few hours; including the dog taking me for a good long drag down a length of beach. The dog may be a puppy but it’s strong! I’ve worked with log skidders that have less torque.

We turned back toward the heart the National Forest. It was just as gorgeous as the day before. Without any particular plan, I began looking for a good place to stop and have a picnic. I spied a particularly pleasant forest meadow. We stopped and I started a fire on the cleared earth of a logging skid trail. The area was just plain wonderful.

The place was gorgeous and I was glad we’d stopped. I felt at peace. It was a grassy meadow that checked all the right boxes. Sweet smelling, pretty, level, easy walking, and plenty of room to park. There was a logging slash pile a few hundred yards away which would yield infinite firewood! I thought “this is a good place, I shall return to camp here”.

I decided I would return the following weekend to test my hot tent (and gain a little experience with it). As much as I was enjoying glamping it’s also good to spend some time truly immersed nature. I needed to have a chat with the creator. If the creator was anywhere, he’d be in that meadow. I imagined it in my mind. I’d listen for wolves howling in the distance and watch the skies for shooting stars. Some time alone would help me digest a weird and unsettling year that is disconcertingly part of a string of unsettled years.

With that in mind, we hung around the happy field. We had a fine picnic. The dog heartily endorsed the area by running orbits around us like a chipmunk on crack. She chased sticks and dug in the soft earth and at random intervals rolled in the dirt like a fluffy white mini-buffalo.

I started a fire and grilled up some more brats. I couldn’t talk Mrs. Curmudgeon into more coffee but I setup chairs for both of us. Neither one of us was in a hurry. It was very relaxing. It was nice to watch the meadow (and the dog provided comic relief by actively trying to trample every blade of grass within reach). We enjoyed the smells of autumn. It was easy road access yet surprisingly remote. I firmly settled on the flat grassy meadow as an ideal setting for winter camping.

After lunch, I grabbed my shotgun to amble a bit. I was theoretically looking for game birds but really I just wanted to stretch my legs in the easy walking grass. Rather than let the dog pull my arm out of its socket (again!), I left it behind. Mrs. Curmudgeon doesn’t hunt and happily remained in her chair with a good book. The dog whined like it was the end of the world as I walked away. Truly a piteous sound! I felt guilty.

There was no need to feel guilty. I later learned that the exact second I was out of sight the dog completely forgot about me. It insisted on getting in the car. The puppy strongly indicated to Mrs. Curmudgeon it was time to go; as if to say “the bearded one is dead, we all knew it would happen eventually, let’s go get ice cream.”

I returned an hour later (empty handed) to find the dog sleeping in the car like a happy toddler while Mrs. Curmudgeon idled the engine. When our kids were tiny we’d sometimes strap them in the car seat and drive aimlessly to lull the tykes to sleep. Apparently the dog needed the same treatment. The car’s idling convinced the dog it was in motion. It had been restless until it was sure that the car had driven off; abandoning me to the forest! Having accomplished that, it was blissfully asleep.

Mrs. Curmudgeon explained the dog’s behavior to me. “Man’s best friend”? So much for that! Our dog would gladly leave me for dead!

I joke, but it’s OK. Dogs choose their owner. Our last dog chose me. It was loyal, grumpy, noble, stupid, courageous, dedicated, steadfast, and brave. It bonded with me like welded steel. I loved the dog and it loved me. It would have slayed a dragon to protect me (or anyone else in my immediate circle). Our house was a fortress with that dog inside! It cared for the whole family of course, but it was always at my side. The two of us were inseparable. One sad day the dog passed on. The loss nearly killed me. I still mourn but also treasure the memories.

The new puppy was supposed to be mine and restart the cycle. Instead, it chose Mrs. Curmudgeon. Things work out not as planned but as they should. They’re two peas in a pod. The dog is perfect for her. It’s sweet, cuddly, fluffy, fun to be around, clueless, scared of the dark, kind, beautiful, and (now we know) will happily leave me for dead in the forest. This amused Mrs. Curmudgeon greatly. It makes me happy to see her and the dog so close.

For each person there are rare and appreciated “perfect” dogs. I had my dog. Someday maybe I’ll have another. In the meantime, it’s my wife’s turn. This is her perfect dog; one which likes ice cream and car rides and figures if I’m dumb enough to go alone in the forest I deserve what happens to me.

That sunny day I didn’t get a game bird, but the hook was set. I eagerly planned to return to the little meadow on the very next weekend! Of course life intervened and it took much longer. Depending on how you measure such things, it didn’t happen at all.

More on that in the next post…