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On a whim, after three weekends of saying "Do you want to go camping this weekend?", "Sure, that'd be fun.", then "Eh, let's just stay home.", last Friday I asked Dan if I could take this Friday off. I'd intended to use it as a day to pack and watch trash TV while Jimi worked his mandatory 8 hours, then load up the car and head to the river after he'd been picked up. As luck would have it, he was miraculously able to get the day off too, so when i finally got in the door at 6:30 Thursday night, he already had half our stuff ready to go. We loaded up everything we could remember to take and were out the door by 8:00, on the road by 8:02, after running back inside to make sure the back door had been locked. We made it to camp with enough light to set up the tent and get a fire started, then roasted wieners over the fire and were in bed only shortly before the wild storm roared in. I was so tired, even the thunder and lightening couldn't keep my eyes open, and the rhythmic fall of the raindrops was the most beautiful white noise that lulled me easily to sleep.
Finn and i got up early friday morning and walked around the corn, then I settled in to read in my wet chair while Puppy went exploring. 20 minutes later, i realized he hadn't been around for a while, and went calling after him. He came running from the other end of camp - our black and while dog was black from head to hump. he'd been rolling in something, and he smelled BAD. I washed him off as best i could with the water hose, but he was still a yellowish-brown color where he is normally white on his face and front legs. And he still smelled, and so did my hands, even after i'd washed those. So onto the tie-out he went. Back into the wet seat with the book I went. He napped, I read. Eventually, Jimi woke up and helped hold him so I could give him a proper bath, but he still smelled. I gave up on getting rid of the smell.
I knew almost from the moment Finn got into the boat on Saturday afternoon that bringing him along for this trip had been a bad idea. He started off with the whining almost immediately, and I felt horrible, because our only choice was to go downriver. He jumped for land at almost every sandbar for the first 2 miles, the every other one for the next 2. The water was low, and every time we had to stop to walk the boat to deeper water again, there goes Finn - off to explore the shore and the grass and the dirt and the trees. The last straw was the duck. He ran away from our group and was crashing through the brush when suddenly there was a flash of wings and feathers, and there was a duck, running across the top of the water. Finn followed suit, running until the water was too deep, then swimming with everything he had, hot on the duck's tail. The duck reached shore 2 beats before Finn, and flew up the steep rocky and root-covered embankment about 12 feet, over a felled tree, and disappeared into the deep forest beyond. Finn followed suit. I watched from the opposite shore as he leapt up the embankment, over the tree, and into the woods. "FINNNNNEGAAAAAANNNN!!! HERE FINN! COME 'ER BOY! COME ON GOOD BOY! FIIINNNNNEEEGGAAAAANNNNN!!! FINNEGAN! COME! COME HERE FINN!"
I yelled for probably 45 seconds before i realized my dog did not give a fuck that i was yelling for him. He was chasing that duck, and if he even heard me, he was so crazy with duck-chasing juices that surely he never would've recognized that i was his master, to be obeyed at all times. If he did somehow hear me, and if he did somehow recognize that i was his master, he just didn't give a fuck. He was enjoying this trip, finally. So I realize he's not listening to me, that he's not going to "COME!" I start across the river, still yelling, pissed off and cussing that damned dog every step of the way - occasionally losing my footing on a slippery rock and getting even more wet (did I mention it was overcast and 65?), even more pissed off, and afraid for a second that the water would be over my head and i'd have to swim across too. I made it to the other side without that indecency, but i was then faced with the embankment. It was steep. I was in foam shoes a half-size too small with a half-inch lift on the heel and holes up by the toes and on the sides to allow for circulation and the introduction of sharp rocks and pebbles to your walking experience. Now they could become part of my climbing experience, too! YAY! I started up, grabbing onto tree roots, and trying to make sure they were sturdy before trusting them to hold my fat ass. I made it to the top without serious injury, but i couldn't get over the mossy log blocking the path unless i was willing to climb under or over, each option presenting it's own set of issues for my particular brand of crazy (including fear of things that crawl and fear of having them crawl on me) that were influential enough to keep me rooted to that spot, at the top of a 10-foot tall, 85-degree embankment, standing there in foam shoes filled with rocks, now crying and still yelling, just wanting my dog to run into sight so i could stop seeing the look on Jimi's face when I told him that i'd lost his dog somewhere on the Blue River. I was almost out of hope when he finally ran into site, still too far for me to get a hold on him, but the fact that he'd come back this far told me we were all good. Then he ran away into the woods again. That just made me mad. I started going back down the hill, saying "fuck that dog" between my teary sobs and calls of "HEEERRRREEE FIINNNNN!!! COME 'ER FINNN!!!", trying not to break my ankle or trust the wrong root, listening for the jangle of Finn's tags. By the time I was back at the shore, so was Finn, and I used his harness guide him to the other side of the river, where Gary was waiting with the leash. I carabinered the leash to my seat and set it so he had enough room to lie down and sit and continued downriver.
i was paddling ahead of the group, and everything got very very still and quiet. It was the sort of moment I enjoy most on those trips. I heard something. I knew what it was, because I'd heard it before. With my first boat - the one with a hole on the bottom. My boat had sprung a leak. I stayed with the group a few more minutes, checking the pressure in the bottom compartment, and realized that we were not even half-way through the trip yet. My boat was losing air. I yelled back to Karen and let her know my situation, then I pointed my boat toward home and said a little prayer to whomever was listening that I'd make it back before the bottom went flat. Now, i've only been doing this boating thing for a short while, and before I started this trip, i'd only done it once before in this boat, a month before. Before that, i'd done the trip in a canoe with a partner, 2 months before. I'm not exactly experienced, but i paddled my little heart out. My arms burned and my back ached; I thought for the millionth time how glad i was that this trip had been a dry one, except for that one beer Karen gave me immediately following the duck hunt. Finn would sit for a while, then forget what he was supposed to be doing and stand up, or lean over the side - which wouldn't have been SUCH a big deal except that in an inflatable boat that losing air, extra drag is a nightmare. The boat starts to turn in a circle, and I'd find myself paddling twice as hard to get us facing the right way again.
We made it back to camp eventually, and Jimi fed me warm food and i drank a beer and cussed my boat and the dog. The boat is going back tomorrow. I'll keep the dog, but he's got to learn "COME". All is well.
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