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The Girl With The Autumn Fur (Pt 2)
13 years ago
"Hey, Bigdog!" A feminine voice issues from the phone, attempts an aloof tone, hiding shyness and a hint of mischief. I'm smiling as I picture her, sunlight on her autumn-red fur, soft ears framing her fine Ridgeback features, laughter somewhere in those keen brown eyes.
It's Saturday, and she doesn't have plans.
"I think Spirit Lake would look good on you!" She's never been there, and I'm nervous about the hike involved. But she would look good sitting amongst the mountain daisies, snowy peaks reflected in the lake behind her. And she did say that she wanted to get outdoors more.
"It's true!" she confirms, reclining on the seat of my car, faded shirt and sturdy shorts only emphasising her radiant coat. "My great grandpa was an explorer. He thought he found a new pass through the mountains - except he'd lost his compass, and when the weather cleared he realised he'd gone in a circle." We chuckle at this old family legend, then she shivers, perhaps with excitement. "I've always wanted to do more hiking."
Backpack over her shoulders, she skips ahead of me up the trail as it winds through gnarled pine trees between rocky crags. I needn't have worried about her fitness - soon it's me who's panting as we climb. I'm no athlete, but I'm not as fat as my thick ruff of misbehaved fur would indicate. She, on the other paw, is lithe and agile, and the view is not at all bad from down the track.
I lose sight of her at a rocky switchback, and when I round the corner I find her sitting on a boulder with her paws dangling in the crisp water of a stream. She looks as fresh as she did at the car, while I must sit beside her for a minute to catch my breath. I study the relaxed confidence of her expression, and I realise that the worries of daily life in a low paid job have fallen away. Do I look equally at home here? I feel like it. She's looking out over the blue distance below us, but turns a little to catch my gaze, and she doesn't even flinch when I lean in to kiss her red-furred cheek.
It's Saturday, and she doesn't have plans.
"I think Spirit Lake would look good on you!" She's never been there, and I'm nervous about the hike involved. But she would look good sitting amongst the mountain daisies, snowy peaks reflected in the lake behind her. And she did say that she wanted to get outdoors more.
"It's true!" she confirms, reclining on the seat of my car, faded shirt and sturdy shorts only emphasising her radiant coat. "My great grandpa was an explorer. He thought he found a new pass through the mountains - except he'd lost his compass, and when the weather cleared he realised he'd gone in a circle." We chuckle at this old family legend, then she shivers, perhaps with excitement. "I've always wanted to do more hiking."
Backpack over her shoulders, she skips ahead of me up the trail as it winds through gnarled pine trees between rocky crags. I needn't have worried about her fitness - soon it's me who's panting as we climb. I'm no athlete, but I'm not as fat as my thick ruff of misbehaved fur would indicate. She, on the other paw, is lithe and agile, and the view is not at all bad from down the track.
I lose sight of her at a rocky switchback, and when I round the corner I find her sitting on a boulder with her paws dangling in the crisp water of a stream. She looks as fresh as she did at the car, while I must sit beside her for a minute to catch my breath. I study the relaxed confidence of her expression, and I realise that the worries of daily life in a low paid job have fallen away. Do I look equally at home here? I feel like it. She's looking out over the blue distance below us, but turns a little to catch my gaze, and she doesn't even flinch when I lean in to kiss her red-furred cheek.
