Let Me Live and Let Me Learn
- December 2008
- Simple Living Fly Dogs
Life of My Own–Three Doors Down
[audio:https://stephdavis.co/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/06-life-of-my-own-1.mp3]
Since Fletch is 15, she is mostly retired now. She has arthritis in her spine, back legs, front shoulders and elbows. She’s not hearing quite as much. She’s not seeing quite as much either. Her nose seems to work perfectly, though, and she definitely has all her taste buds.
I remember when we ran together in the desert for hours. Fletch would run and run, darting everywhere, chasing lizards, chasing rabbits, giving a great big f%*@ you to the ravens, whom she always had some kind of vendetta against. I remember her legs flying across the slickrock, her entire face stretched in a glorious, ecstatic smile. Walking is slow and hard now. Those sturdy little back legs have gone floppy and prone to wipe outs, and my heart catches when she struggles to her feet. I wonder what I’ll do on the day she can’t make it up. In this, as in everything, Fletch has a spirit so strong it puts me to shame. I watch her closely in these quiet winter days, because she is showing me yet again the right way to live–never giving up, doing the best she can, with a smile on her face. Fletch is a happy little creature. She loves the moments of her life.
Winter has come to the desert, in a sudden quiet hush. The frenzied days of fall seem like another life. The visitors are all gone home or to warmer places, and once again I have time to think and feel, a return to solitude and quiet. The days are short and brilliant. White snow frosts the red cliffs, blue shadows fire the orange rock. Fletch and I sit in front of the woodstove in the long evenings, watching the flames wrap the wood. I listen to the crackling and to Fletcher’s deep sleep breathing. I am comforted by the sound of air flowing through her little body. All three of us, the fire, Fletch, me, creating heat, breathing air, living.
In the mornings, I lift Fletch into my truck and drive down Kane Creek Road, to the Tombstone. I plant my wind flag and set her down in the parking lot. Fletch can’t walk very much now. Exploring the yard and traveling up and down her ramp to her dog door and into the kitchen to keep a close tab on her food dish keeps her well exercised at home. But I think she needs outings. Small Fletch outings. When I set her on the dirt, she stands a little wobbly at first, like a fawn, and looks timid. This, from my little Navajo res dog, who used to know she owned the world, dominating dogs four times her size! I ignore her, like she likes, and start my own investigations, looking on the ground for heart shaped rocks, feeling the winds move, watching the flag dance. I know already the winds are too variable and swirling for a BASE jump. I’ve jumped in these conditions in the past, and I don’t do that anymore, because I’ve learned how fast you can hit the ground.
Now that I’m sniffing around, Fletch gets interested. She makes her way to the scrubby dried grasses and noses through the brush. Gradually her radius widens. We stroll around together, noticing things. The breeze flips and circles, plays with the flag and swirls around the canyon like water.
The flag drops flat. Suddenly the wind is out, switched off.
The Tombstone is all rich light, smooth and perfect. I think about stepping off the edge and feeling my body loose in the air. The wind sweeps my face from each direction, then spins around giddily, brushing me and flipping my hair. The flag leaps up, flicks from side to side, dancing. The air darts around, invisibly.
This is obviously the wrong time for jumping. But Fletch is winding down from her tour. I watch the flag flick around some more. Little lulls come, when it falls straight down and stays flat for a few seconds. I lift Fletch into the car and crack the window just a bit. I pick up my BASE rig and start up the snowy trail. Wind pushes into my face as I turn the first corner, into the canyon that leads to Back of Beyond and the top of the Tombstone. It’s still a half hour to the top. At some certain moment, the wind will rush away as fast as it rushed in. It will go away to the next place, leaving silent calm, an entirely different world. It’s good to walk to the top, even if the winds are wrong at the parking lot. It could still happen. I like to walk up the snow-covered slabs near the top, stamping my feet to make them stick. Behind me the LaSals are bright and pointed, the soft draped slopes like skirts of white velvet.
When I reach the top, I sit in my spot, where I always sit. The flag is still crazy-dancing down below. The wind is slicing up the wall and from side to side. I crawl to the edge of the Tombstone, and spit down the face. It flies up and left, while the air blows my hair back. I sit back. I look at the beautiful desert walls lining the canyons that fork out beyond me. I feel the wind. It’s good to be here, on top of this rounded rock tower, surrounded by snow and sandstone. It’s good to feel the wind, take the cold air in my lungs. It’s good to hear the birds shoot past, riding the air. I know why I’m here. It’s good to think about the feeling of falling through the air, talus rushing into my eyes. I imagine the jump, those clean seconds of time. The wind ripples my jacket and my eyes tear a little. I stand up, satisfied. It’s good to walk down.
Steph, thanks. This feels like one of those entries you write for yourself, just to remember and to capture and relish…so thanks for sharing and letting the rest of us glimpse a part of it.
Steph,
That was a nice story, thanks.I think exit points are like portals to pure consciousness. Happy Holidays to you and Fletch. See you in the sky 🙂
Mike, what a perfect way to put it. I love that.
xxS
Wow, Steph, amazing.
Just got home for the holidays yesterday and seeing our dog reminds me of how you talk about Fletchmama. He’ll be 14 next week and he moves slow and doesn’t hear or see as well, but his eyes still break your heart. The way he locks his gaze and you can just feel the love emanating from his little body….
this is a gorgeous entry Steph. i think watching our dogs pass us madly sniffing and galloping on the trails and then all too quickly in years is humbling and accute. if only those little dog bodies could bear more, but they really bear it all, all the gift of the present all at once, all the time, no wonder they get worn out. suns will set, we all know this, but mostly we are justlucky for the wind on our face for one more day.
Steph – this one brought tears to my eyes. We are blessed for every minute we get with our furry kids… that point has been driven home for me twice during Hana’s seven years, since we’ve had two serious health scares during that time. Both times, I was worried sick, sad, scared… but both times, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of how lucky I am for any time I get with her and thankfulness for the blessings she brings to me.
Lovely post, snuggles to Fletch and the rest of the family… hope the wind cooperates next time you’re out there!
Hi Steph–
I wanted to say thanks for your last blog entry. It was really nice to read. It can be such a balance to learn to go forward more carefully but still go forward. I guess that is what life is for:) Also thanks for your book, I read it a while ago and it really re-inspired me about climbing and being in the mountains in general. It helped reconnect me to those experiences and what they are really about for me in terms of noticing the world we live in and a different consciousness.
Also that discussion of dogs and playing with them in the wild was so true and cool. Of course a little sad, too, as the critters age like we all do. My dogs are two of my favorite buddies lately. I’ll include a little thing I wrote about them in a holiday note, just because your post made me think of them so nicely. Here it is:
“I love to think of my dogs playing in the snow. They are very happy doing that, even though one gets cold much faster than the other. They burrow and leap out of the snow and they chase things they’ll never find until the spring thaw. They eat and drink snow and they push each other into drifts. Then they come up yipping and cawing at the door. When let in, the old one pushes and burrows into a blanket and the young one curls under the stove.”
Thanks again. Happy Winter;)
–Dave
Dave, that is beautiful!
Steph
Just swooping by and caught your beautiful writing on a winter’s day. Once recovered from the bliss of the prose, I was ready to move on, but am now compelled to leave two suggestions. Please forgive if these have been addressed.
1) The miracle of aspirin! I have owned dogs all my life and have an old dog now, and by sheer stupidity or bad luck, only recently discovered how well dogs respond to buffered aspirin. It’s a game changer. Go to the drug store and get a bottle of Bufferin. For a dog Fletch’s size, a half capsule with a meal might be the right dose. Check with a vet. Every other day or after any longer walk. In my case the dog hunts and after a full cap (he’s 110 lbs) he seems so much more comfortable the next day. He doesn’t need it again till the next hunt. I can’t believe I let him go through so much day-after pain without it. Again, check with a vet (and try to ignore the upsell to their prescription drugs), but please consider.
2) Guess I’m too old but I can barely read the reader’s responses to your posts. The brown on black is just too hard to see on my monitor. Would love to read these. Can we get a little contrast there????
You are an amazing woman with a real dog soldier by your side.
I wish you the best in all things.
Dave
Thank you Dave! I am also a huge proponent of aspirin. Fletch takes rimadyl right now, and different vets have different opinions about if it’s okay to mix that with aspirin. So I’m never quite sure. And thanks for pointing out the grey/brown/black visibility issue! I will see if we can fix that, to make it easier on the eyes!
Merry christmas! xx Steph
Don’t think I’ve read something so calming and respectful for a long time, thanks for the intimacy.
Not to turn High Infatuation into “Dog chat central,” but…
If Fletch is on Rimadyl, then they’re probably doing regular liver enzyme checks… but if they’re not, then definitely do them regularly if you’re going to introduce aspirin. I almost lost Hana last year to liver disease; it may have been from some other source, we don’t know, but she wasn’t symptomatic until I gave her a dose or two of aspirin (appropriate dosage for her size) for her bad back. I’m another proponent of aspirin, but liver enzyme checks are important!
Yes, I do have her liver checked, because of the rimadyl. And that is why I’m staying away from the aspirin, just because I’m worried about the combination.
We love Dog Chat Central! Of course High Infatuation should also be dog chat central!
Merry holidays to you and Hana!!
xxS
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