The Photograph

Indy was just a year old when we drove up the long dirt road through the ranch to the guest cabin on the ridge. She slept through most of the eight hour drive from where we lived, the city dissolving into suburbs, then farmlands, and finally into rolling grasslands. Now, Indy looked out the car window, delirious with new smells, sights and sounds. The ranch stretched beyond the horizon, green valleys and crests dotted with people on horseback. The clouds hung lower than I’d ever seen, drawn close to the beauty of the land. Indy took a long, luxurious breath.

She caught the attention of the resident dog, who gave up his choice spot lounging in the sun to follow after us. As he trotted behind us, we passed a welcoming committee of goats at their fence, bewildering Indy. She looked back into the car as if to say, “Do you see that?” The horses, indifferent to our arrival, amused themselves in their paddock.

The cabin overlooked the sprawling hills of the shallow valley and Squarry Lake nestled within it. By the time my wife and I unpacked, the ranch dog was waiting outside. I thought the two of them would have a nice play and then he would trot off back home, but after they said hello, he just stood there, looking at me. It was clear he wasn’t here to play. He was Indy’s guide. She enjoyed being off-leash, but being a city dog meant that was infrequent. This place had already gotten into her blood, calling to her. She looked back at me as if for permission, and my smile was enough because they were off down the hill, side by side.

My wife and I were somewhat nervous letting her go off on her own, so we watched them, but the ranch dog’s quiet confidence had won our trust. This trust was soon tested as the pair passed the horse paddock. I’m not sure if Indy was drawn by the promise of a snack of tall, wild grass or by the smell of the horses, but whatever the reason, she ducked under the fence into the paddock. From my vantage point far above them, my heart skipped a beat as the horses registered her intrusion, a ripple of tension sending one large horse towards her. The ranch dog was through the fence in a flash, cutting Indy off and herding her back out. That same curiosity made Indy stop at the next fence to be visited by the goats and a large black pig, and the ranch dog waited for her patiently until she was ready to move on.

They turned down the valley towards the lake, and I watched them roam the land, amazed at the freedom this place brought Indy. It brought out a side of her I hadn’t seen, different from the one who pouted when she had to go out in the rain and curled up on the couch with us rather than lay on her own bed. It was inspiring, and I tried to find a new side of myself at the cabin, swinging an axe through wood for the fireplace.

By the time the dogs returned, the pile had grown substantially, and my satisfaction with it. They rested in front of the cabin, looking over their empire, as I finished chopping the wood and got the fire roaring inside. When I came back out, the ranch dog was gone. We had an early dinner, so the sun was still above the valley when Indy came to me. I let her outside and she stared at me with her brown soulful eyes, waiting. She wanted me to come with her. We went off down the path, her as the guide. We breathe some places in so deeply they become a part of us. This place was hers, and she was willing to share it. We walked through the unspoiled land together, the tall grass parting around us.

She had come a long way in her short life, which started in the rubble of an abandoned construction site in Mexico, but she had never been as free as she was that day. She wove a path down the valley, looking to me every now and then, not for any kind of reassurance, but as if she wanted to see my enjoyment. The land was all ours, except for a hawk lazily circling overhead.

We made our way to the lake, and on its shore we connected in a way that was impossible to do anywhere else before. There was no leash between us, no commands to follow, stay or come. We were simply there in that moment, together. Indy walked out onto the dock covered in grass as if the land was claiming it as its own. The sun had fallen behind the horizon, and the air changed, still sweet but crisp. She stared out over the lake and the lazy clouds overhead, and I took a photo of her to immortalize the moment just as she was doing with her nose in the air. When she was done, she came to where I sat and leaned against me. We stayed like that, looking out at the lake, until the chill was too much and we made our way back to the cabin, where she stretched out in front of the fire.

Today, the photograph of Indy at the lake hangs in the hall. Even though she is gone, looking at it makes me feel like I’m back there with her, and the air becomes sweet and crisp as I breathe in the memory of her.