Finding escapism during a dog walk

This morning, Maisie, our half-Chihuahua, snowywhite owner of our road, and I dove headlong out of our house into the deep blue, the endless blue skies of New Mexico. We were surrounded by piñons, spruce, crows, robins and the sounds of our breathing as we started uphill.

For the first time in a long time, the morning felt full of possibilities.

And, out of that blue sky, memories of being 17 came flooding back. I was trying to recall a time when I didn’t have the anxiety in my chest, the worries of pandemics, the economy and the inherent apprehension of being a parent and grandparent.

And the summer of my 17th year popped into my mind.

That summer, 1967, my thoughts were only of sports, girls and this distant worry of getting drafted. It was a wondrous summer of possibilities. In James Joyce’s words, I was “unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life.”

Any anxiety in my chest was caused solely by my shyness about asking Janey Alrick, my then-heartthrob, out for the first time.

That summer I spent in the woods and in the river bottoms of the Minnesota River.

My grandfather, who was my fishing and hunting buddy, had died the previous summer. All solace came from being as deep in the forest as I possibly could get.

But I was never alone.

We had German shepherds, Shawnee, and her pup, Rikka.

With my mom’s deep understanding, we were dogs and boy unleashed. Our goal was to be wild, with no rules save the consequences of the forest and home for dinner and chores.

Mornings would begin with two snouts peering over the bed before most teenagers were ready to awaken. Feed them, have breakfast, then plunge down the bluffs of grass and sand, across the bogs that lined the river to the banks. And then tramp. “Tramp,” to me, is a misunderstood and maligned word. It’s not like walking in a straight line with a destination in mind.

Instead, it is meandering, go forward, then back to watch a hawk in the oak. There is no time dimension, no “I have to be somewhere at this time.” Just a keeping an eye on the sun and sky. It is the most blissful of outdoor occupations.

Three of us. Shawnee, 7 years old, on patrol. Rikka, a year old, a goofy puppy, just happy-go-lucky to be with her mom and me on an adventure. Following the deer tracks and watching out for the snapping turtles. If I brought a rod, I’d fish for catfish, using snails as bait, lounging on the shoreline while the dogs slept in the shade.

Hours would pass as we’d explore a tree that had been holed out or how the mushrooms grew on living trees. I had been told when I was younger, they were fairy steps into the high branches.

Endless time. Endless possibilities.

Nothing but the fall of night to be concerned with.

It is vital to our health right now not to throw out memories like these as just youthful folderol. Instead, let’s take a few moments to remember, to circle back in our memories to unfettered times, to days full of possibility. I suggest this as a tactic to reignite our souls and find a bit of light through the darkness surrounding us. Because even now, possibilities abound.

And I take my cue from our dogs past and present. Maisie, after our exploration, our morning

tramp, is curled up asleep by a window as the sun pours in.

She’s been fed. She has shelter. She is loved, and we have adventures every day. It is a simple but profound life. To her, every morning is new. She is wide-eyed with excitement when she jumps on our bed, willing us to get up and get going.

I know we can’t escape to different times. None of us gets to choose the time we live in.

But every day, if we watch, and listen, and get outside, and be with our dogs, we can find moments of magic. A little escapism

is not a bad thing.

So be 17 for a few moments today. Unleash your imagination, tramp up hills with dogs running ahead. For a few moments, forget about time. Forget about the pandemic. For a few moments, see the world through your dog’s experience. We’ll be the better for it. We will get through this.