Macy Mae Goes Hiking

“We’re going to North Carolina for Thanksgiving,” my brother said quietly, “figured it would be nice to get away for a while.” He ran his hand absentmindedly over the Pitbull sprawled out across his lap; belly to the ceiling and head thrown back against my brother’s chest.

“What are you doing with Tito?” I asked, my eyes still fixed on my canine nephew. Tito didn’t budge at the sound of his name. His eyes were rolled back in perfect bliss and his big flabby lips hung loose, drooping to the side and rolling outwards.

“Taking him with us,” my brother said, thus alleviating me from my usual dog-sitting duties. He paused, quiet for a moment, then added, “you guys can come with us if you want.”

He and his girlfriend were going to be staying with her parents for a full week. With four people and one huge Pitbull, the house would be crowded enough without adding me and my fiance to the mix. But I could hardly imagine not going. Getting through the holiday was going to be hard enough as it was, but I felt it would be nearly impossible to manage without having my brother with me.

I glanced down at the dog sprawled over my own lap. She was laying next to me rather than fully on top of me, but like Tito, she was laying on her back in a completely relaxed position. Her head was resting across my knee, and when I glanced down at her she caught my gaze with her big brown eyes, the color of melted chocolate, filled to the brim with sweetness.

“Can Macy come?” I asked quietly.

My brother’s girlfriend answered before my brother could even formulate a reply. “Yes, bring her,” she said quickly. “My parents will just have to deal with it.”

I flashed her a grateful smile. Six adults and two full-sized dogs packed into a tiny house was going to be quite the experience, but we all needed this vacation after everything that had happened over the last few months. And leaving Macy behind simply wasn’t an option. She was an essential part of our family, now more than ever, and I was determined to make sure she was included in everything I did.

Macy was never supposed to be my dog. I made that incredibly clear on the day my family started looking at puppies on the breeder’s website.

“I don’t want a Goldendoodle,” I said. I knew the difficulties of the breed; prideful stubbornness and intelligence kicked up to an extreme. Besides, I viewed all poodle mixes as a bit too prissy and high-end for my taste. I wanted a rough and tumble kind of dog with unwavering loyalty and a talent for tricks of all varieties. “I’m not taking the dog with me when I move out,” I added.

My mother agreed with me. “She will be a family dog,” she said assertively. The last “family” dogs had been a golden retriever sibling pair that orbited around me like electrons around a nucleus. I had one dog at each hip everywhere I went, and I was solely responsible for training, walks, and all things dog. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world, but my parents were clearly eager to have a dog that was bonded to them, especially since my older brother was in the process of moving out (again) and I was eager to follow suit. I was twenty and in college as a full-time, double-major student. I didn’t have the time or energy for a new puppy, and they needed a replacement for the children who were leaving the nest.

But Macy did not become a family dog. She became my dad’s dog.

From the start, she fell head over paws in puppy love with him. She followed him everywhere as his constant shadow. She fell asleep on his lap in the recliner as they sat together to watch t.v. She accompanied him on trips to the park three times a day, where he would throw baseballs across an open field and she would gallop after them, free as a sparrow. He took her to the beach, bought her a lifejacket, took her paddle boarding, kayaking, and canoeing with him. She balanced carefully, peering down at the fish in the water as he paddled her around across lakes and down canals. They sat outside together for hours, soaking up the sunshine on the wooden deck that he had built, enjoying each other’s company in a quiet, peaceful manner that only comes in the companionship that transcends species boundaries.

The two of them were the world’s perfect match, and there was nothing in the world that could separate them. When I did move out, I must admit I had grown attached to Macy, for who couldn’t fall in love with her big brown eyes and mischievous nature, but I did not think twice about leaving her behind. I knew she was happiest with him, and there was no one else she’d rather be with. And I trusted her to keep him happy in my absence, to fill in the gap I left behind in his heart when I, his precious baby girl, finally moved into an apartment with my fiancee.

Besides, I was excited to find my own canine best friend. My fiancee and I spent hours searching through shelters and discussing breeds. We were eager to turn our house into a home and to start a family by taking in a furry child. We had a few perfect contenders picked out and a date to see them. Then I got the call that would change my life forever.

Mental illness is a very serious disease that seldom receives the attention or understanding that so many other diseases have. It is not like cancer, an error in DNA replication that pervades across the body, but like cancer it devours the mind, one thought at a time, and completely rewrites the brain. It isn’t like coronary heart failure, and yet it can seize its victim as fast as a heart attack; blocking happiness like clots in arteries block blood flow. Mental illness requires treatment, like other diseases, but there can be many strange and unpredictable complications in such treatments, including extreme worsening of the condition itself. And like other diseases, mental illness can strike suddenly and without mercy in people who were otherwise in perfect health. People like my dad.

There are no words to describe how I felt at my father’s passing. His death left an irreparable hole in my heart, a chasm that seemed to slice right through my identity and all I knew about the world. I felt alone, isolated, and abandoned. I was constantly haunted by my father’s killer, the internal misery that made it feel as if it was physically impossible to smile. I felt as if the ground beneath my feet had shattered, and try as I might, I couldn’t find my footing anymore. In a world where everything had once been certain and steady and true, nothing made sense anymore and nothing was real. I no longer knew what to do with my life, or how I could ever move forward.

But I knew one thing for sure. I was not alone. Macy had loved my Dad with all her heart too, and she surely felt just as lost and alone as I did. I made the decision instantaneously. Macy was coming home with me.

I won’t say it was an easy transition. As I said before, Goldendoodles are stubborn dogs quite stuck in their ways. For all of Macy’s life, I had been more like a sister than an owner. She did not answer to my commands. She did not beckon to my call. She was my father’s dog, and I was just my father’s daughter. Like a spoiled younger child, Macy wanted things her way and refused to see me as the boss. When we went on walks, she pulled against me to go in the directions she desired. If I tried to lead her off a different way, she threw her weight to the ground and used her body as an anchor, refusing to budge. When I threw the ball for her in the park, she refused to bring it back to me, often returning it to the nearest male instead, even if he was a total stranger. I tried to open the lines of communication by giving her recorded buttons for words, but those just seemed to further the opportunities for disagreements. If she pressed “play”, “attention”, “walk”, or “fetch”, she expected me to drop what I was doing and cater to her needs immediately, as my father always had for her. I tried to explain to her that I had work to do, but the concept of working the day away is incomprehensible to a dog. My refusal to cater to her demands would simply result in more persistent button pressing.

Thankfully, my fiance had a bit better luck. Having the wonderful benefit of being a male, Macy treated him with more respect and cooperated more easily with him. I often muttered things about canine sexism, but overall I was grateful for his help. Still, I was desperate to bridge the gap between us and connect with Macy, as the two of us needed each other to help mitigate the loss in both our hearts. A vacation was just what we needed.

Rather than flying with two dogs, we opted to drive. It was a 12 hour trip from South Florida to North Carolina. Tito had done the trip once before, but Macy had never been in the car for more than two hours. It was going to be an experience for sure. Rather than cramping four people and two dogs into one car, we decided to take two. We drove together the whole way, coordinating every rest stop so we could walk the dogs together and distribute packed snacks and meals. At the first stop, Macy was eager to get out and explore her new environment, and quite confused when she was forced to get back into the car after only a short potty and water break, but as the day went on, she became more accustomed to life on the road. We picked out rest stops with big open fields so we could let the dogs play. The farther North we went and the more the temperature dropped, the higher the dog’s energy levels spiked. At two years old, Tito had always walked with a pep in his step, but at six years old, Macy’s innocent excitement had started to fade. Suddenly it was back, either from the weather, the company, or the sense of adventure bubbling up inside her. Whatever it was, it was contagious. Soon I could hardly contain my excitement about going on a vacation. It was the first vacation I’d taken in a full year, and the first time all six of us (dogs included) of us had ever gone anywhere together.

It was 10 pm when we finally reached our destination. The air was bitterly cold, especially to me in the thin leggings that I never bothered to change out of, and my brother still wearing shorts from the start of the drive. We shook and trembled from the cold as we rushed back and forth from the house to the car to unload all of our things. The dogs, on the other hand, were in heaven. They bolted around the property at full speed, barreling into each other. It took all of us shouting and calling to get them to settle down in the warm house while we scarfed down chicken noodle soup and readied ourselves for bed. We were all pretty exhausted from the journey, so even our vast excitement couldn’t keep us up much later. We all passed out as soon as we got to our room in the basement. Even the dogs were snoring in no time (after a brief disagreement between Macy and me about who got the bed).

Early the next morning we set out on our very first hike, a trip up the neighbor’s driveway. To a group of Floridians where everything was flat and the only hills were dumpster heaps, even this small excursion was exciting. For us, the adventure required long pants, hiking shoes, undershirts, regular shirts, a sweater, gloves, and a warm hat- a stark contrast to walking anywhere back home. The dogs required far less. Tito, more exposed to the cold thanks to his short fur, wore a gray coat that covered his chest and back. Macy, on the other hand, was long since overdue for a haircut, and her long curly blonde coat was more than enough against the crisp November air. As there was no one nearby, we let the dogs run along off-leash, though we brought both leashes along for good measure. Tito was the braver of the two and he lopped off into the woods, tongue hanging out, tracking deer tracks. Macy stayed closer to the path, only veering off occasionally to investigate in the woods, but as the hike went on she became bolder and bolder, often following her cousin through the trees on their mini-adventures. Tito, of course, came back as soon as my brother called his name (unless there was a really good scent, as dogs will be dogs). Macy, on the other hand, could have cared less if I called her name, and I often had to ask my brother or fiancee to call her back, as their voices were deeper and more authoritative. Still, she even ignored them from time to time, and on more than one occasion we had to stomp along after her and reattach her leash to keep her from following deer tracks into oblivion.

Exploring the property was exciting in itself, but not why we came on vacation. We were after real hikes through the woods, with rocks to climb and waterfalls to chase. After discussing several possibilities, we picked out the most dog-friendly spots and began the adventure. For these short trips, we did cram all of us together in the car with the dogs. Tito, a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, was more than happy to be reduced to the trunk of the car so I could have his seat. Macy, on the other hand, was not so pleased. In fact, she loathed driving in the trunk on mountain roads so much that she would utterly refuse to get in the car whenever it was time to go. We tried calling her and coaxing her and luring her with treats, but when Macy Mae makes up her mind, nothing in the world can make her change it. In the end, my brother had to lift her up and place her in the trunk each time it was time to go. Tito always seemed to get a kick out of it. He watched with his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging, and he was always on high alert to swipe up a few of Macy’s unwanted treats whenever he received the opportunity.

My favorite hike was a short trail towards a waterfall. We passed several other families and canine hikers on our route down. We kept the dogs leashed for the most part, not sure how they would react to being free with so many people around. Tito was prone to scaring passersby with his big boxy head and huge bulging muscles. Of course, he was always more scared of strangers than they were of him, not that they would ever know that from the sound of his seemingly ferocious barks. Macy, on the other hand, was prone to tagging along with any stranger willing to pet her. I was pretty sure she’d happily go home with them too if I didn’t keep an eye on her. Very few people were ever scared of her fluffy blonde coat and steady wagging tail.

The hike was mostly a straight dirt path, but there were several areas when we had to climb over tree roots or across rocks. The dogs had one speed on the leash, and whoever was lucky (or unlucky) enough to be holding the leash at the time got a free speed boost forward whether they wanted it or not. For me, this meant tripping over every tree root and slippery rock possible as Macy tugged me along at a hiking speed I was not built for. There was no doubt I was the slowest of the group. For I was the only one who spent every day sitting at my desk or on the couch working solely on my computer, and my lack of athleticism showed on more than one occasion. Aside from that, there were my weak ankles to account for, forever impaired by an old injury from the one time I attempted to ride a skateboard (a story for another time, perhaps). Walking Macy on the leash helped me keep up with the others, but it also made me stumble more often and lose my footing, and I could practically feel my ankle swelling up with every step, so I was mighty glad when we passed the bulk of the crowd and could safely unclip the dogs and let them roam. Of course, my happiness was nothing compared to that of the dogs.

I had never seen those two dogs more pleased with themselves. They bounded off together, shoulder to shoulder, and explored every rock and root and tree. Despite spending their entire life in the wonderfully flat South Florida, Macy and Tito were natural-born hikers. They leaped across rocks and ran up the hills with practiced ease, no doubt tapping into the skills of their wild ancestors. Tito looped through the trees following the scents of deer and bear and rabbits and who knows what else. Macy tracked the scents of other hikers and was often scolded for bounding up or down the trail to greet distant hikers and request attention. Luckily no one seemed to mind much. She had a natural presence about her that seemed to compel everyone to smile as if the mere sight of her was enough to warm up their hearts. It must have been a trait she picked up from my dad. He always seemed to have that effect on people too.

“Careful, it’s getting a little icy,” my brother warned as our hike continued. I tentatively touched my boot to a patch of ice and pressed down. The ice was dense and slippery embedded in the mud. It covered the trail in sparse clumps, creating an additional hazard to look out for. And yet, it was fascinating. The only ice I experienced on a daily basis came from my freezer, so to see ice outside was like something out of a science fiction novel. It shocked Macy too. Her paws skidded as she ran across a clump, and she looked back with a bewildered expression as if wondering what foul thing had touched her paws. I chuckled at her surprise. The discovery didn’t seem to perplex her long. There were too many things to do. In no time she was off again, disappearing behind the next bend.

“Watch Macy,” I called ahead of me. As the hike went on, I fell further and further behind. My chest heaved with the added strain of elevation above sea level. My throat was dry from the lack of humidity in the air. I trudged forward, taking each step tentatively as my weak ankles wobbled and my knees cracked. No one else seemed to struggle quite as much as I did, especially not the dogs. They both stayed within close proximity to my brother, at the lead of our party. I tried to bite back my jealousy that Macy would choose him over me, but honestly, I couldn’t blame her. He had the same figure as our dad, the same warm smile, and even a similar voice. I was forever grateful that I had him to remember our father by, and I was sure Macy felt the same.

As we neared the end of the hike, the rush of the waterfall grew louder. I could feel it pounding in my ears, steady and constant, so unlike waves crashing against a beach shore. The air was cooler here, and moister. I felt like I could breathe again as I neared the water.

There were several stones sticking out of the steam just before the base of the water. My brother and his girlfriend carefully maneuvered across the stones so I could take their picture. Both dogs bolted along after them without any sense of grace, nearly knocking them off the rocks in the process. With some cooing and shouting and the promise of treats, I managed to get a picture of them with both dogs hovering nearby, as they had been all hike. Afterward, we switched positions so my brother could get a picture of my fiance and me. The dogs spent the whole time bouncing back and forth between the two couples, loving the thrill of hopping across river rocks. Then, Macy stepped on an icy rock. Her leg slid out from underneath her and she scrambled in a mad panic to spare herself from the water, but it was too late. The lower half of her body went under before she could haul herself up to the next rock. My brother and I laughed as she shook out her soaked leg, clearly perplexed. It must have been freezing, far colder than any water she’d been in before. She was a little more careful with each step after that episode. I should have learned from her example, but merely a few seconds later I found myself slipping too. If I hadn’t had my fiancee to clutch on to, I might have taken a dunk in the water as well. And I doubted I would have handled the cold as well as Macy. There would have been a lot more screeching and squealing involved.

Once we had satiated ourselves with our fill of pictures and almost-disasters, we headed back. I was even slower on the trail going back up the hill as I had been on the one coming down. My legs were not built to walk on an incline. I found myself clutching at trees and pulling myself up with my arms whenever possible to keep moving forward. My companions, both human and canine, were often far ahead of me. I stumbled along, doing my best to push myself to the unwavering pace of my family and to catch up with them before I was lost in the woods. I sucked in a couple of shaky breaths of the thin mountain air, tightened my laces, and pressed on.

When I neared the next corner, I saw Macy waiting for me, her eyes trained on me and only me, her ears perked. Everyone else was stopped a few paces ahead.

“She realized you were gone and wanted to wait,” my fiancee said with a smile. I smiled back.

“You do love me,” I said with a laugh at Macy. She wagged her tail, then turned and bolted back up to the front of the pack with Tito, glancing back frequently to make sure we all followed.

Towards the end of our trip, we all went on one last adventure. It was an evening hike to a place called Beauty Spot, and boy did it live up to the name. It was a high point in the mountains with a fantastic overlook, and right at the center of the overlook, we could all watch the setting sun. We busied ourselves taking pictures and exploring while the sun sank in the sky, then we gathered around the campfire for warm chili, hot chocolate, and roasted marshmallows. The majority of the crowd was my brother’s girlfriend’s family; aunts and uncles and cousins and friends. And yet, for a moment it felt like mine. I was reminded of all the summers my brother, our parents, and I had traveled up to North Carolina for family vacations. We had spent days hiking through the woods, climbing mountains, and chasing waterfalls. And we had spent nights gathering up fireflies then settling around the campfire and roasting s’mores. My father was world-class at making marshmallows over the campfire. He had passed on his technique to my brother and me, and we sat together slowly spinning our marshmallows over the embers until they reached golden brown perfection.

Sitting there, with my brother and his new family, I felt more at peace than I had in a long time. I smiled down at the dogs, Tito resting by my brother’s chair and Macy sitting by mine, and I raised my eyes up towards the setting sun just before it disappeared completely.

“Dad would have liked this,” I said quietly, so only he could hear.

“Yeah,” he responded, staring off at the horizon too. “Yeah, he would have.”

With a soft smile, I rested my hand on Macy’s head and we watched the sun sink out of sight together. The sun may have set on one chapter of our lives, but when the new dawn rose again, we’d face it together.