The last Friday in July was absolutely lovely. The breeze was gentle, the humidity was way down, and flowers perfumed the air. Families meandered toward films they’d chosen to view, chatting and laughing. (The Traverse City Film Festival is hugely popular: thousands of people flock here annually to view the vast selection of national and international video art.)
It was moving toward twilight: time to take Bryn to the beach for a swim. At this time of day we’d have it to ourselves. She’d paddle alongside me as I swam, and occasionally sip the water, minding where her paws were...(When learning to love the water she’d raked me more than once. My pained yelps had upset her; now she’s much more careful, swimming parallel.)
But visiting family members shook their heads at my announcement. “Not a great idea, Dee. We noticed on our walk that the waves are white-capped. There’re cold spots out there, and no one would notice you in trouble—with, say, leg cramps.
Take her biking today.”
Hmmm. The wind had blown pretty hard all day as it ushered in the cool front; I’d forgotten that. Bryn would follow me anywhere, even out to sea through high waves, but today these could be daunting for us.
I followed their advice.
There is a lovely place not far away that features a very long, winding, babbling brook. Huge trees grace a massive, manicured lawn that carpets gently hilly terrain. We’d probably be alone, as most folks were at dinner.
I clipped her to the Bike Tow Leash, a cleverly designed flexible pole that connects to my cycle’s back wheel sprocket to hold it- and her- in place. (I’ve never been yanked off the bike when dogs/rabbits/squirrels/cats suddenly cross our path. It’s a masterful design, worth every penny.We began the sojourn. Bryn padded happily along, knowing something fun would happen soon enough.
Ten minutes later we arrived at The Commons, a vast expanse of gorgeous, gently hilled parkland with paved, winding walks located just a mile west of my home. The former mental hospital’s classic Victorian buildings have been masterfully converted into condos, an indoor shopping area boasting some fine restaurants, and more recently- the Botanical Gardens are developing. I parked and locked the bike, unhitched and unleashed Bryn (leaving her harness on) and gave the order: “Stay close...”
She looked around, thrilled. Oh, Boss, let’s explore! That’s exactly what we did. She indulged in an ecstasy of sniffing; the venerable trees fascinated her, and that vast shaded/sunny lawn, expertly cut long, made both of us sigh with pleasure. I felt transported to the English countryside. But it was the little burbling stream weaving between the giant trees, sparkling in the sunlight, that triggered a New York City Ballet display from my beautiful two-and-a-half-year-old 53-pound white labradoodle.
Bryn lowered herself down a couple of feet and put a tentative paw into the shallows. The sandy, rocky bottom was walkable, so she hopped in, waded slowly upstream a bit, looked up at me, and then, suddenly- raced further up for perhaps thirty feet. Water flew! Then she leaped very high, from a standing position, straight out of the water onto the grass, and rocketed over the verdant lawn, zipping around trees gazelle-fast, before racing back toward me at full speed. Just when I thought I’d be run over she turned exactly enough to miss me, soared to the brook’s other side and instantly leaped back again, as light as air. She flew around the vast, empty Commons once more, hind paws touching her cheekbones, before bouncing over the stream at least a dozen more times in a traveling weave-stitch pattern, back and forth, back and forth. Micro-spray from wet legs in mid-leap created tiny diamonds as drops caught the dying sunlight.It was an amazing display of exuberance, confidence and perfect control.
Brynny-dog was having an ecstasy fit!
After all this spontaneous joy she stopped dead on the lawn, panting, looked down at the water, then up to me, eyes sparkling, relishing my delighted laughter. Suddenly, after that very brief pause to catch her breath, the entire process began all over again! What fun!
In fact, her solo dance was infectious! Joining her, I jumped the brook too, then dashed through the thick, lush grass and around ancient trees, copying. I flew over the water again and again in different places (albeit much slower and more carefully than she, as the stream, easily a foot below level ground, would go narrow or wide without warning.)
Heavens, it was the best, most challenging fun I’ve had since- well, swimming with Bryn two days ago. The sun was almost down when we both collapsed onto the long, cool grass. Bryn grinned; her tail thumped once. (She never overuses it.) After a brief rest she sighed and dried her long muzzle by dragging it through the greenery, hind end in the air, paws scrabbling to push that slim body along. Finally satisfied, she dropped and rolled, head-over-teakettle, down the small rise, so as to fluff her fur...I drew the line at that maneuver, quite happy just to watch, clap and cheer her on.
Finally Bryn shook herself vigorously, and then lay back in the thick grass next to me. (She panted; I pointed out cloud formations.)
As a child at our Elk Lake cottage my mother used to say: “Don’t just sit there and read all day: go out and make a memory.”
Today’s bounce-n-jump was another spontaneous one I’ll always cherish.
Finally, as Evening drew her dark cloak over this part of the world in a more determined manner, we walked back to the bike. I connected her and we peddle-padded slowly home to a treat, a nice brush out, and a good sleep.
Sure enough, Bryn relived our simple adventure in the night in her bed; I came half-awake in mine to smile at her muted barks and yips, and hug the memory close.