A camping story about our spoiled rotten, short-legged Jack Russell Terrier. (Whom we dearly love.)
When Charlie gets to go anywhere in the car, it makes his day. So much so that he can hardly contain himself. He becomes a furry metronome of joy who has never once considered the concept of “calm.” We’ve tried different approaches on short and long trips to harness that excitement and keep him in the back seat. To no avail. We’ve gone to great lengths to try and make this happen.
Rick installed a bar across the clothes hooks so we could clip Charlie’s leash to it. The theory: he could dash window to window like a tiny tour guide and be fulfilled. The result: he was not fulfilled. Suddenly he didn’t care what was out the backseat windows. All he wanted was to be in the front seat, on my lap with his front legs on the dashboard looking out the front window.
We were determined to keep him in the back seat. We even found the perfect padded doggie bed online that would keep him safe, attach to the bar, and let him snuggle in and be content. I bought his favorite bones to chew on, his blanket, and put the bed in the center so I could reach back and pet him at anytime.
Mind you, we are eight inches away from each other. He wasn’t having any part of it. The whining commenced.
Everything we tried was wasted effort and money. So, whenever we go anywhere, guess where Charlie sits? I know. We let him win. I told you he’s spoiled rotten.
Anyway – on to our fall camping trip
Charlie knows something’s afoot when the camper appears outside our garage. He watches the endless trips back and forth getting it loaded. His tail wags so hard you’d think it would fall off. When we tell him we’re going camping, it almost puts him over the top.
We haven’t camped in the third week of September before. And I must say that we won’t be doing it again. It got cold at night. On the first morning we awoke to Charlie’s water frozen solid. That is also why late-September fall camping has been officially taken off the calendar. But on the plus side, the trees were spectacular—oranges, yellows, and reds flung across the Colorado mountains like someone spilled a very expensive paint set and then refused to clean it up.
We do dispersed camping. Some people call it boondocking. Fancy word for: no water, no facilities, bring your own everything, and please don’t leave a snack out unless you’d like to (possibly) host a midnight buffet for a bear. We like to find spots where we know neighbors exist in theory but not in our line of sight. Charlie likes this too. Freedom, with a side of “don’t get eaten.”
Charlie’s allowed to roam free as long as he stays at our site. Not because of the cars or the chance of bothering people, but because we don’t want a mountain lion to snatch him up. You have to be somewhat aware of such things when you’re camping in their territory.
As soon as we decide on the perfect site, we let Charlie out of the car, and the sniffing begins. So many new smells. He goes from tree to bush. Bush to rock, sniffing and marking everything in sight. He announces to the chipmunks, “Stay away; this is my territory. “And with that, the chattering starts. They tease, he chases, and the games begin.
He’s also a rooter – Meaning he likes to know what’s in a hole. It’s funny to watch. He’ll spot a hole, sniff it, back away, slowly go back, and sniff again. I don’t know what he’d do if something actually jumped out. Faint, I suspect.
At some point during the day, we hike. Which for us, is a walk up the dirt road to see what’s around the next bend. Then we praise ourselves for choosing the best site up there.
Charle loves hikes. We harness him so we can quickly hook him to the leash in the event we come across an elk or deer. We don’t want him to chase them away. We want to watch them. We let him run up ahead of us. He loves it. His tail is raised, wagging back and forth, head held high, and he leads Mom and Dad to unknown parts. If he gets too far ahead, we call out, “Stop.” And he does.
When we catch up, he’s off again. I think it’s his favorite part of the trip. Ours too. Getting to see God’s beauty up close like that never grows old. The aspen trees this time of year are breathtaking. They shimmer gold in the gentle breeze. That’s where the term “quaking aspen” comes from. When you find yourself in a patch of aspen trees and the sun shines down on them, you can see them sway and hear them whisper.
One time we were hiking and heard twigs breaking in the distance. Rick and I looked at each other, called Charlie over, hooked him up, walked quietly into the trees, crouched down, and waited to see what was coming. After a couple of minutes, a bull elk with eight antlers walked along the path right by us, stopping every little bit to eat the grass. I don’t know how Charlie stayed quiet, but he did. It was as if he knew whatever it was, it was a lot bigger than him, and he’d best just watch quietly from a distance. He did let out a growly rumble at one point. Once the elk was down the road, we continued our hike.
Seeing the animals in the wild is another favorite part of camping. I especially love it when we get to see moose. Just for your information, we’ve never seen a bear around our camping site in Colorado, (we did once in Yellow Stone.) But we know they are out there somewhere and we take the necessary precautions.
Our camping site had a creek just a few yards from the door to the camper. Over the years, someone placed four logs across so you could walk on them to get to the other side. The woods are damp, mold grows, and the logs are slippery; you have to be careful balancing across, so you don’t slip and fall. The water is cold.
Charlie wanted badly to get across those logs.
He’d get up the courage to jump up and then didn’t trust himself and jumped down. After watching him try three or four times, I decided to help. I walked across first and called him over. He jumped up, took a couple of steps, and jumped down. I walked back to him and walked across again to show him it was safe.
He mustered the courage to try again, walked halfway, and stopped. He looked down at the water, looked at me, and back behind him. He decided to keep going until he made it all the way over. After the praise he got, he pranced up the hill all proud to see what he could find next.
Farther on we found an old weathered teepee—mostly rags now, but the three posts still stood, tied at the top, holding their shape out of stubbornness. We spent a happy stretch guessing: burial site? Wind shelter for hikers? Hunters hide? We had no idea. It gave us something to argue about while we climbed to the ridge to look out at distant peaks stitched with yellow aspen. Just beautiful.
When we got back to the creek and logs, Charlie jumped right up and scampered across like it was nothing. He even waited for us as we balanced ourselves across. He’d conquered his fear.
Back at camp, the chipmunks were delighted. Their favorite entertainment had returned.
After three days, it was time to pack up and rejoin indoor plumbing. We all needed showers. Charlie is ten. He has brought a ridiculous amount of joy to both of us, especially Rick. Rick is Charlie’s favorite person, place, and occupation. Charlie follows him the way a shadow follows the sun.
We’ll have more Charlie adventures. Occasionally, I’ll share them with you. For now, camping is done for the year. We winterized the camper and put it away. Ugh. The seasonal equivalent of closing a good book.
Enjoy the beautiful fall, everyone.
Angela
P.S. Check out my debut cozy mystery at the link below:
And, sign up for A Snail’s Pace my bi-monthly newsletter
0 Comments