The Steadfastness of Mom-Dog

Last weekend we were up in the foothills of the Sierras, visiting some of the little Gold Country towns connected by highway 49, named for the miners who arrived there a century and a half ago, hoping to strike it rich.

 

We stayed near Sonora, largest of the towns, visited cute little Jamestown, and spent some time in Columbia, which is a state park, preserved as an old mining town. It has a working blacksmithery, Victorian hotels, saloons, and shops, an apothecary and a candy store with special significance for Mrs. Ombud, who visited here as a kid and loves to taste again the candy she got as a little girl.

 

The weather can fluctuate in the foothills, and the higher elevations had seen snow the weekend before. When we got there it had turned sunny and hot however, with the mornings pleasantly cooler, so we made a point of getting out early and staying out of the sun in the middle of the day.

 

Our dogs hadn’t gotten much exercise in the days before we left, what with finishing work, packing to get outa town, and driving. They’d had nothing but short walks, so we were looking forward to a hike and being able to run them a bit.

 

Friends had told us about a hiking area at the southern end of Los Melones Reservoir, at Table Mountain mesa. But we were on unfamiliar ground and when we got to the end of the road, becoming gravel then dirt at an orange cattle gate, Mrs. Ombud didn’t feel right about opening the gate. So we turned around, which set Ernie off, whining as if to say, ‘I cannot believe you took me all the way out here to torment me with a snootful of these intoxicatingly glorious odors and you will not let me out of the mobile den!‘ 

 

It was frustrating to be out in the countryside and know there was all that great terrain for dog romps out there, and have it all fenced off so we can’t get to it. We knew there had to be great areas for walking the dogs, we just don’t know where they are.

 

So, after looking for another option we returned, and this time, at the gate itself, spotted the hiking trail sign off to one side, behind a large bush. The dogs were beside themselves, eager to get out; Ernie in particular whining incessantly like a trophy wife without her credit cards. As the miners said:  Eureka!

 

So we set off, along a footpath through tall grass turned to light brown chaff, past groves of live oak, over gently rolling hills and into shaded valleys, with intense sun and cheerful blue sky, the air dry in the summer heat.

 

Edie ran up ahead in sheer Black Laboradorean exuberance, bounding through the tall grass, led by her nose everywhere, while Ernie jogged along after, nose down and sniffing, his tail swinging like a pendulum, matching his stride. He follows her, trots back to check on us, then jogs off after her, our conscientious German Shepherd, happily keeping track of our whole pack.

 

As Edie romped up ahead, I noticed her pause a couple times and swipe at her face with her left forepaw. I called her to us and as she approached she did it again, as if trying to wipe something off her face mid-stride. I gripped her chin and we both saw the small stem of grass protruding from her eye. Mrs. Ombud has worried aloud about foxtail grass getting stuck in their noses (it’s barbed, and can require a vet visit to remove). As I held Edie’s chin, almost in instinctive reaction, Mom-dog plucked the stem out of her eye.

 

It was over that fast and we continued on down the trail as Edie romped off, carefree as ever, while both of us processing what had happened.

 

“That was pretty gross.” “Yes, it was!” “In some ways it’s worse after it happens and you think about it, rather than before it and during. “It was pretty gross,” Mrs. Ombud said, “and next time you can take it out.”

 

I thought about that a moment, then answered, “I don’t have to.”

 

“What?” she asked, her indignation rising. “Why not?” she demanded.

 

Because I know you will,” I answered calmly. “I know there’s no chance you would ever leave that in your little girl dog’s eye.”

 

“Oh!” she gasped in recognition and outrage. “Sometime you are so bad!” she exclaimed then laughed, as simultaneously both her ultimate love as a Mom-dog and the perfidy of males was acknowledged.

 

We had a good walk.

 

 *   *   *   *   *

 

I had a reasonably well-crafted post about our trip to the Gold Country and this incident but (per my last post) when I hit the Publish button it vanished. It took three tries and this is the best I could re-construct. It was odd; with numerous bits all I could think was ‘how did I describe this before?’ but it was gone.

 

Ah, well, the old computer re-learned:  save early, save often. C’est la vie.

 

 

p.s. No, no, of course not. I could never leave a stem of grass stuck in my little girl dog’s eye — but you already knew that, right?