Dog vs. Critter

We had returned to our camper at the end of another lovely day. No one wanted to walk the dog so I volunteered. Leaped at the opportunity is more appropriate. The kids "buddied" up for the bedtime routine and I took Bodie, our Irish Terrier, out of the kennel. Yes, my Dad has a kennel in his barn. He used to have a hunting dog in days gone by.

Bodie was thrilled to see me. We started off across the upper field. It was about 7:30 pm. The time of the long shadows and golden light. He ran in circles around me. He chased butterflies. The kids were brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed. I was gloriously alone. Well, except for the dog. And he doesn't whine, groan, roll his eyes or talk back. We were immensely pleased with each others company.

I took a right at the top of the front field and headed down into the back field. This one is long, gently slopping and bordered on one side by the forest.

My long legs were eating up the terrain. It felt so good to stretch and breath.

It took me a moment to realize that my buddy was no longer with me. I turned around and looked up the slope and there he was. Trailing a moving object. I could just make out the critter's back as it moved through the 10 inch high field grass. And Bodie was tracking it. Down low. The critter was moving fast and then it disappeared into the tree line.

Now, in the past, my dog has stopped at the tree line. When we startled a deer several weeks ago he took off like greased lightening after it but stopped at the tree line. And when I say tree line I mean impenetrable brambles, vines and undergrowth.

Bodie barked at the place where the critter had disappeared as I high-tailed it toward him shouting "Leave IT!" and "Come" in my most serious voice. Alas, he did not heed my commands. He headed into the forest.

He had a hard time of it. I could hear the bracken ripping and his barking. He was making slow progress. I also knew that we were in deep shit.

I marked the spot where he had entered the forest in my mind. A big clump of goldenrod next to a leaning birch. And then I ran for the camper. In my sun dress and sandals.

Sun dress and sandals do not make good bushwhacking clothes. When I reached the camper I found the 8 and 11 year olds getting ready for bed. I sent them post haste back to the field to listen for Bodie. An emergency. No questions. Go NOW!

They took off while I changed into my jeans, long sleeved shirt, wool socks and sneakers. It was as I was tying on my sneakers that I heard the scream. My blood ran cold. No, not a scream of pain from one of my children. From my dog. My buddy.

Now, I don't like to run. But I can walk awfully fast when I have a need to. I made it back to the point of entry in less then 5 minutes. Yes, they are big fields. My two children were shaken. The 8 year old was sure that there was a wolf in the woods. I knew better.

We called for him for a few moments. Finally we saw the brambles shaking as he made his way slowly toward us. And then the shaking stopped. He was stuck. And hurt.

Time for Super Momma to spring into action. I don't always love being 6 feet tall. Finding pants that reach my shoes is a bitch. But when it comes time to break brush long legs sure do come in handy. I had to lift my legs higher then I have since child birth to get them over and onto the bracken. On leg up and then stomp down on the growth from hell. Another leg up and try not to trip. Shit, a hidden stone wall. I stumbled but did not fall.

The dog was less then 15 feet from the edge but it might as well have been 15 miles.

I finally reached him. He was well and truly stuck. He had vines around his neck. He couldn't fit his body through the narrow opening. And every time he tried to back up the QUILLS on his face touched the vines. He was a mess.

I gently untangled him from his prison. It took a few minutes as he was shaking, panting and generally freaked out. When I got him clear I gently lifted him into my arms and turned around ready for the evac. Only to find that my 8 year old son had bushwhacked his way in by following my broken trail. Log jam.

"Son, turn around and get back to the field...now. And fast." He moved. There is a certain tone of voice that we find as mothers that when our children hear it makes them listen and act.

When I finally reached the edge of the field I put Bodie down to see if he could walk. He could, which was a relief because I was doubting my ability to carry him all the way back to the farmhouse.

TO BE CONTINUED