Compasses and Collies

Chapter 3: Compasses and Collies

Carrie and the caticorn left The Bunny Tree in the thicket behind them and entered the grassy sheep-pasture. A hobby of her grandparents, they raised only a handful of the animals, carefully naming each new lamb that joined the flock every spring.

The sheep paid little attention to either Carrie or the caticorn as they passed. But Charlie, the young Border Collie charged with their care, well, he spotted them right away, and he barked joyfully in recognition of Carrie, before growling inquisitively in the direction of the caticorn.

“Charlie, No! Charlie, stay!” Carrie ordered.

The collie’s ears perked at Carrie’s command: He wanted to obey, but a caticorn was a once-in-a-lifetime smell!

Charlie’s mind spun in circles, and it showed in his body: He wiggled; he sat; he wiggled; he peered over at Carrie with an expression that could only be read as the deepest of apologies

and . . . lunged at the caticorn!

It was a domino effect.

“Mmmrrraaaaahhh!!” howled the caticorn.

“Yap! Yap! Woof!!” barked Charlie, in a kind of dog-imitation of the phrase, ‘duck-duck-goose!’

“Charlie! Stop! Caticorn! Oh no!!” shrieked Carrie.

Too late.

The caticorn shot into the air like a firework, and when it landed, it bolted as fast as lightning for the fence on the opposite end of the pasture. Carrie raced after the caticorn, which only served to turn the chase into the biggest game Charlie had ever had a chance to play!

Hot on the heels of the colourful cat, the collie swiftly darted past Carrie, barking madly, tongue lolling, and looking every bit the crazed lunatic, which deep down all dogs are (at least according to cats, as the caticorn later informed Carrie).

When the caticorn reached the fence, it leapt over it and ran straight up into a tree.

Charlie halted at the fence. Caticorn or no, he understood his duty to the sheep meant he couldn’t leave the pasture. Unable to abandon his dream of sniffing a real-live caticorn face to—! (nevermind), the dog whimpered and pawed at the ground. At last he gave up, laid down, put his head on his paws and awaited Carrie’s arrival and whatever punishment he felt must surely be coming his way.

There were good reasons behind the dog’s fears. Poor Charlie had been returned to the shelter not once, but twice, because of his high spirits, before he’d found a forever home with Carrie’s grandparents.

When Carrie finally caught up to the collie, though she knew better than to reward such naughty behaviour, Charlie looked so forlorn that she couldn’t help but give him a couple of quick pets on the head. Acceptance was a relatively new feeling for Charlie, and like many abandoned animals, he struggled to remember just how loved and wanted he was. Carrie didn’t want him to worry he would ever lose his home again.

Seeing him this way, dejected and sad, made her recall the day she’d first met him at the shelter with her grandparents last summer.

The sheep were getting to be a handful and her grandparents had decided a dog might be what they needed to watch over them. When Carrie’s grandparents got to the shelter, the shelter-worker unhelpfully tried to discourage them from choosing Charlie, by saying, “He just isn’t the kind of dog suited to be part of a family.”

Carrie had felt her blood boil a little at the suggestion Charlie was worthless as a pet. But her grandfather kept very calm, politely thanked the worker for the unsolicited advice, and firmly explained that they were looking for a working dog to mind their sheep—which made Charlie, a Border Collie, a perfect choice.

And her grandfather was right: Charlie was a good fit right from the start. As a working dog instead of an indoor dog, he was the best dog a family could ever hope for. All he needed was a loving home to accept him as he was, instead of trying to force him to be what someone else wanted him to be.

Her grandfather had explained it to Carrie this way:

“You can’t change who you’re born to be,” he said, “That’s true whether you’re a person or a dog, and Charlie can’t change the fact that he was born with a nosy disposition and enough energy to power the sun. Nor should he change! He’s meant to look after sheep. He’s good at looking after sheep. Sometimes, change needs to come from outside of us instead of from within.”

Carrie remembered her grandfather’s words now as she stroked Charlie’s soft ears, and she whispered him a reminder of that sentiment,

“Oh, Charlie. Don’t worry. Your home is here now. Forever.”

Charlie licked her hand softly in reply.

Then, figuring the caticorn wouldn’t notice, she slipped him a dog-treat from her pocket to cheer him up before sending him away.

Oh! But, of course, the caticorn did notice . . .

And when it saw Carrie sneak the collie a treat, no matter the innocent reason why she did so, it recoiled in disgust at her treachery.

As soon as Charlie returned to his flock, the caticorn descended the tree with its tiny, pink nose in the air and strutted off without so much as a glance at Carrie!

“Caticorn! Caticorn, wait! I’m sorry about Charlie! It’s just— well, he’s never smelled a caticorn before! He couldn’t help it! Please, please, pleeease let me continue with you on your caper??” Carrie begged.

The caticorn paused, sat, and flicked its tail rapidly from side to side a few times.

Finally, it coolly replied,

“Very well, you may continue to follow. After all, one can hardly be held responsible for someone else’s actions—even if they do associate with dogs.”

Carrie exhaled, relieved the caper could continue. Together, they turned from the sunny field, and journeyed into the cool, leaf-filtered light of the woods.

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Unfortunately, the cheerful mood from The Bunny Tree caper had dampened, and for a time, the pair walked in silence.

But though they did not speak to each other, the world around Carrie and the caticorn chorused with sounds: the clapping of poplar tree leaves in the breeze; the chirping of birds flying from maple to birch and back again; the sound of squirrels chiding her for interrupting their foraging; the piercing buzz of a cicada; and the soft trickling sounds of the creek, which had wound its way back to their route.

In the blink of an eye, Carrie had travelled a long way from her Dreaming-Tree, the farthest she had ever walked alone before, almost to the provincial park that bordered her family’s property. Thanks to her grandfather’s many lessons over the years, Carrie had a good idea of the geography of the area, but even experienced hikers can get turned around in the woods. A compass is an important tool to have with you, and it was fortunate she had hers with her now.

She couldn’t take credit for smart planning, however, as she routinely went to great lengths to never leave home without the useful gadget. At her heart, Carrie was a worrier: she needed to know what would happen next, and where she was going, at all times. Unbeknownst to anyone but Carrie, she even kept the compass under her pillow at night.

According to her compass, the caticorn had turned them east. East, she knew, would take them deeper into the wooded area and towards a rocky outcrop at the farm’s outermost edge. She wondered why they were heading there, but was too nervous to ask lest the caticorn change its mind about allowing her to come along.

Carrie rolled the worn, metal surface of the compass in her hand, and admired the way the light bounced off the brass. The compass had been a gift from her grandfather years ago, at the start of ‘The Divorce,’ back in the days she went to sleep unsure of how long she’d get to stay in her room before the only world she’d ever known fell apart.

Holding it again now, she remembered the words he’d spoken the day he gave it to her:

“A compass has two purposes, Carrie. Most commonly, it is used to help you find your way home if you become lost. But! The better use is to help you become lost in the first place! Always remember that the best journeys involve both, for it is only through exploration of the unknown that we discover our true meaning and purpose in this world.”

Though she’d had every intention of following his advice at the time, not once—in all the years she’d kept it in her pocket—had Carrie ever managed to summon the courage to use the compass for that second purpose her grandfather had intended her to. For as much as Carrie craved more excitement in her life, and longed to live out the magic in her books, her courage never seemed to make it past the end of the page, and she mainly used the compass to keep from feeling lost.

I suppose this type of journey is the way he’d always meant for me to use it.

I wish he could see me now!

The caticorn spotted Carrie anxiously checking her compass for what must have been the bazillinth time since they’d left her Dreaming-Tree.

“Oh! How shiny! May I have it?” the colourful creature purred.

Before Carrie could object, the caticorn made a quick flick of its paw, and swiped the compass from Carrie’s hands.

“Hey! Give that back!” she shouted as it sprung up the nearest tree with the compass chain draped around its neck like a collar.

“Mrrp! Why??”

Parking itself on a high branch, the caticorn widened both its eyes and its smile at Carrie: an expression that was becoming both all too familiar and vexing, she decided.

“Because I need to know where we’re going!” Carrie snapped. “It’s important to always know where you’re going.”

With a snicker, the cheeky cat removed the compass from its neck and dangled it on its chain using a single claw—just out of Carrie’s reach.

Carrie crossed her arms and frowned.

“It’s not nice to take something that doesn’t belong to you, you know! And it’s really not nice to tease people, either!”

“Mmmrrrr. Sorry, not sorry. Sometimes, it’s more important to stop and pay attention to where you are now, instead of fretting about where you’ll be later on.”

Carrie opened her mouth to complain, but closed it when she caught sight of the deep ravine a few metres in front of her: If the caticorn hadn’t interrupted her overzealous compass checking, she might have stepped right off the edge!

With her hand to her throat, Carrie gasped.

“Oh, my! I didn’t realize we’d reached the ravine.”

The caticorn nodded, hopped down from the maple tree, and tossed the compass back to Carrie, who stuffed it in her pocket and muttered a humble, “Thank you.”

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And remember, it's always "better to be happy than dignified." - Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brontë)