Wildflowers

“Sasha, I love you, but if you poop in this rental, I’m trading you in.” The threat, empty as my passenger seat, fell on deaf, floppy ears. Keeping one eye on the traffic and one glued to the rearview mirror, I navigated the car to the next exit ramp with a rest stop. We were a quarter of the way into the five and a half hour drive to upstate New York and my four legged furry child was doing the potty shuffle.

The July heat was intensified by parking lot asphalt and semi truck exhaust. I thought briefly of my friends, celebrating the holiday weekend at the beach, as a wave of stale air slapped me in the face. A high pitched “yip” from the backseat brought me back to reality and I smiled. They could have the beach, I had my Sasha.

After properly taking care of business and sniffing an unusual amount of suspicious sidewalk stains, Sasha was loaded back into the car and we were on our way. As the miles passed, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease. A few days in the woods with my little lady was just the medicine I needed.

* * * *

Sasha came into my life a surprise, all lanky limbs and velvet fur. She was a birthday gift, stumbling out of a box with a bow hanging loosely from her neck. I was instantly smitten. She was a wreck, alternating between whimpering and nervously sniffing about. I sat cross legged on the kitchen floor and let her come to me. She inspected my pant leg cautiously and, deciding at last I was safe, crawled into my lap, licked my arm and buried her snout under my knee. We were both in love.

A seventy pound ball of love and a *heavy* touch of separation anxiety, Sasha is everyone’s best friend. A favorite dinner table tale is of the time Sasha jumped into the UPS truck and happily showered the good natured driver with sloppy kisses before jumping out and running proudly back to me. I scolded her as best I could while she pranced happily back inside, knowing full well she’d win me over with one of her puppy faces.

* * * *

The narrow dirt road leading to the cabin was lined with wildflowers and runaway greenery. It was perfect. Sasha bayed with excitement, her head sticking out over the top of the open window, ears flapping in the wind.

“Almost there, buggy.”

Her tail gave an excited wave at the sound of my voice, pure joy personified. Or canineified.

A sign, wooden and sun faded, stuck up among the overgrown grass, promising “Relaxation Ahead!” A smile found its way thru my thoughts and spread across my face. “This was a good idea,” I said to Sasha. She panted in response. When the cabin came into view, it was my turn to squeal. “Oh, I love it!” A beautiful wooden door with a pinecone brass knocker and a doormat offering a friendly “Hello!” greeted us. I gave Sasha’s head a little ruffle and led the way inside.

* * * *

It’s a running joke that Sasha should have been named “Nelly” because she’s so nervous. She suffers the same anxieties over thunderstorms and loud noises that afflict most dogs, but she’s also scared of: deer grazing quietly on the lawn, the curtains blowing in a gentle breeze, walking thru a door that is not fully open, losing sight of me for three seconds and on and on. I found out after naming her that “Sasha” means “defender of man.” At first observation, one may find her nomenclature ironic, given her nervous tendencies. But for all her nervous idiosyncrasies, her confidence shines on hikes. She’ll leap over fallen trees, dart between thorny bushes, splash right thru creeks, all with a look of sheer happiness on her face. She’ll do the obligatory glance back to make sure I’m keeping up, but she’s leading the way. When we’re wandering the woods, she’s every bit my defender.

* * * *

Sasha lay snoring gently, tucked behind my knees. The moment I moved to get up, she was alert, ready to go. I never caught her sleeping with her eyes fully closed. It was as tho she didn’t want to miss me leaving the room. “Whatdaya think, Sasha girl? Do you wanna….eat?” I drew out the last word, watching her head tilt from one side to the other, anticipating which word I would say. She jumped once, pushing her paws into my thighs, an unmistakable “YES!”

After a breakfast of eggs and bacon for both of us, and several coffees for me, I looked at Sasha with mock seriousness. “Sasha,” (vigorous tail wagging), “ I have an important question for you.” She knew this game, her eyes wide with excitement. “Do you wanna…go for a….hike?” Bouncing on her front legs, head bobbing about, she ran to the front door. Her excitement never got old.

When leashes were clipped and boots tied, I grabbed my backpack filled with waters and snacks, and we were off. Following the road we took in, I kept Sasha on leash until I saw the trailhead sign. I felt the stresses of life ease away, my best friend happily walking beside me. “Alright, Sasha girl, into the woods we go.”

We’d been hiking for three hours, neither of us showing signs of slowing. Sasha was having the time of her life, leading me up rocky slopes and down muddy river banks. Eventually, we found ourselves in a clearing with a sea of flowers stretching out past my line of sight. It was beautiful and I found myself laughing out loud. A truly perfect day. Sasha wasted no time. She bounded through the waist high grass, mouth wide open and grinning. The dusty yellow pollen stuck to her chocolate snout, an adorable snapshot of summer. I felt a surge of happiness wash over me, a combination of nature therapy and love for my four legged best friend. With Sasha’s tail acting as my guide, I quickened my pace to catch up. It was one of life’s rare moments when the significance of the moment is fully appreciated in real time. I knew I would remember that hike for years to come.

* * * *

It’s been over a decade since Sasha and I had our solo adventure. Her favorite word is still “hike,” and although there is less excited jumping about while trying to attach her harness, her toothy smile remains. Day long hiking trips have gradually turned into slow walks around the block, followed by a day recovery for Sasha’s aging hips. On her particularly bad days, I remind myself of that summer hike thru the wildflowers. Her days of frolicking in waist high flowers may be a memory, but she’ll forever be my best hiking buddy, my baby girl.