Bone of Contention

There’s nothing more thoughtless than a puppy.  Oh, you could give me a sheet of notebook paper and seven minutes and I could fill it with the names of the thoughtless humans I have known.  But puppies bring an innocence to their thoughtlessness…..it’s without malice.  In spite of his full mane, straight nose, and long shanks, I wouldn’t call Indy regal.  Our collie was regal and even though Shelties are a miniature version of The Colly, Indy is truly everything unruly.  Subject to sudden bursts of swerving break-away moves when he's on a leash and you are least expecting it.  Capable of unrelenting barking at anything that moves into his field of vision.  Eager to interpret your slightest movement as a call to run out the door into the back yard. 

But off-leash, he is a thing of beauty.   When he runs with the big dogs, he bounds with a glory that defies gravity.  When he herds another dog, he can change direction like a prism bends light.  He’s in thoughtless joy of open field chase at the sight of ball, dog, or leaf moving.  He shows no desire to ever stop. More energy and momentum than a 32-pound body can contain. Eight cylinders in a Corolla.   Yes, he’s an instinctive handful.  Now, you know pretty much everything about him.  And you already know everything about me. 

Val and I, Indy and our two Corgis, walk the American River nearly every day.  Val’s happy place is a spit of land just below some rapids where a prong of the river curves into a cove then bends to rejoin the south fork.  It is the perfect vantage point to see the sun ripples and hear the rush of the surging current.  Tall, aging trees form a shelter against the torrent of sunshine.  I take Indy and the 6-year old Corgi, Tad, by their leashes for a walk while Val meditates and Abbie, the 14-year old rests her paws. 

The boys and I follow the trails that cut through woods and eventually circle back to the river above the Happy Place.  I lengthen the leash to let the dogs wade into the shallows of the river.  They take bites of  the river and walk into the river as far as my hold will allow.  They see labs, border collies, golden retrievers swimming, and chafe against my caution. But I am fearful that the current is too strong for them.  If you’ve ever lost a dog, you never want that to happen again.

As we return, we pass very close to the river, where people picnic and the shore has been eroded; the embankment is a couple feet above the water.  If you have two rambunctious dogs on leash ahead of you, you know they never pull in the same direction.  I usually hold the leash handles in separate hands.  You know that I’m entranced by the wonder of being this close to nature, into the woods, along the river.  You know that dogs are scavengers, right? You know that picnickers are slobs. 

As my gaze skips across the rapids to gaze on one of the islands, I hear a crunch coming from the direction of Indy’s head.  I see the end of a chicken bone disappear into Indy’s long mouth.  Holding both leashes by my thumbs, I try to pry Indy’s mouth open…it takes all my strength.  Do you know the part in Disney’s Pinocchio where the whale swallows Geppetto?  That’s how big Indy’s mouth looks and the bone is stuck sideways between the ridges of the roof of his mouth.  I’m focused, with a sense of urgency bordering on panic that the damn bone will choke the little beast.  Indy’s focused with a sense of urgency bordering on delight to keep the damn bone.  Indy breaks out of my grasp, spins around me, binding my ankles together with the leash.  My feet are too close together.  You know how I said that the dogs never pull in the same direction.  For some reason Tad pulls in the same direction as Indy, toward the river, and I’m not quick enough to let go of his leash.    

I’m tilting on the edge of the embankment with nothing to grab on to, with no way to move my feet for balance.   You know how people say in a crisis, everything becomes slow-motion.  Did not happen. My flailing, or is it flapping arms do not come close to finding the center of gravity nor the acceleration required of flight.  I’m lurching, the only thing I can step on is-- air.  I am not aware of falling.  What I now know is that I am face down in two-feet of the river, no longer holding the leashes.

I am not worried about the dogs, I am not worried about drowning, I am not worried about my knee embedded in the rocks of the riverbed….my CELLPHONE….GOD HELP ME….MY KINGDOM FOR A DRY CELLPHONE…..I turn over in the shallow water and see both dogs looking at me.  I expected ever loyal Tad to stay….Indy I expected to run off into the brush to become attached to as many thorns, burrs, and ticks as possible. Maybe both dogs were stunned by my sudden athletic plunge into the river and flashed on how cool their dad is…..

I slow-rise from the river--pants, shirt, vest, totally, hulkingly wet.  My cellphone was saved by the inorganic material that form the vest’s pockets and the vinyl protector that covers it.  I gather up the leashes and myself and look around.  No one.  No one saw me.  No one is coming running to help the old man.  The boys, now strangely compliant, and I slowly walk to meet up with Val.  She sees us coming and stands to begin our walk back to the car.  She doesn’t notice that I am sopping wet.  Dark jeans, black Tee-shirt, polyester vest don’t show the water.  I tell her what happened.  She looks at me as if she doubts the story….like I narrated it to be more than it was…. like she’s waiting for the rest of the story.  Finally, she asks, “What happened to the bone?” 

There is no answer for some questions except silence.  I like to think this was just a made-up story, like there never was a bone.   My black-and-blue, swollen, achy knee reminds me though.  Then, I look at Indy and know when he looks back at me he hasn’t brought a memory of that moment back from the river with him. His wide eyes and open, smiling mouth tell me he knows who I am and that we can do something-- now.    What I said, “There is nothing more thoughtless than a puppy.”