When the Trail Bit Me.

As Ruedi labored on Memorial Day's meal, my sister, Diana, and my middle daughter, Robin, and I pounced on an opportunity to do a little trail blazing.

There was an itsy bitsy hesitation on my part...just a little one.  Last year, when a small rock at George's Cove, or a piece of wood, decided to roll with my body balancing precariously on top, I toppled cracking a rib. That was an ouch!
I became squarely "squirrelly" about  unstable trails. Nevertheless...

Conditions had to be met, so I said, authoritatively, to my tribe, Diana and Robin, it's imperative that I have a maintained hiking trail, and the tribe unanimously agreed. Tracy Marina Trail had been suggested by my knowledgeable neighbor as being "well kept".  Finding the trail, the tribe embarked on its hiking destination: to the wilderness and beyond!

As we began trekking through the forest, a thought occurred to me. I don't see evidence of recent travel unless one considered the Last of the Mohican's racing through from North Carolina on their way to visit cousins in Oklahoma. Not only thorns and thistles and major logs across its paths, there were a million little rocks eager to roam and roll upon contact of said hiker. As I hiked through dry creek beds, slabs of rock began moving erratically to the wind or to my heavy breathing.  I began to tremble.  There was nothing to tell me that below my feet laid solid ground. The trail took a cliff like upward turn. By now Diana and Robin were quite a distance ahead of me, as I tested every teeny, weeny step, horrified of those menacing pebbles moving under my feet.

Glancing at my watch,  I almost kissed it. It was time to turn around and head toward liquid refreshments and ribs. Before I could take a breath of relief, Diana and Robin raced by me. They marched to theirs thoughts of filling empty bellies  resulting from their obviously furious pace of hiking. Facing downward from whence I came, I heard the sounds of the avalanche screamed into my ear, its sinister words whispering, "impending doom". I soon realized I was the most likely candidate to be the avalanche itself.  Would these cotton pickin' pebbles stop moving?

Stinging sweat seeped into my eyes. I couldn't see, as makeup mingled with my sweat totally blinding me. Fear caught my throat choking me, as I visualized hurling down the side of this mountain at break neck speed. Okay, it was only a hill, a little one, but I was going down, and it wasn't going to be pretty. I knew it.

The tribe had abandoned me, and I was alone.  They left me.  These doggone, crazy pebbles and rocks were sarcastically laughing from their hiding place on the trail. I grabbed three leaf vines, branches and hugged the bigger rocks. Precariously, step by step the trail began to level out, and I could advance standing straight on solid ground.

There was the car.  Oh thank you, car; I forgave the pebbles and my tribe. Later, as I tasted delicious, tender spare ribs and sipped a glass of dry white wine, I realized, with renewed confidence, I am a true trail blazer.  :-)  Oh, yea, okay, maybe next time...!

My Name Says It All!

Who Am I?

I’m proud of my turf. I am friendly to people that visit my turf as long as they realize it’s my turf.

They are respectful to my turf because I demand them to be.

Any creature who thinks he can mark my turf, take over my turf or challenge my jurisdiction over my own turf, well, may he soon rest in peace.

I’m amicable, and I like to socialize. Don’t step on my toes, and I’ll let you keep yours.

No one attacks my family and lives.

I am an

American Bull Dog.

My name says it all.

I would perish in a heart beat to protect my family and my turf. Don’t mess with me.

　

A few years ago, Ruedi and Diana and I hiked the hill from our back yard through the Corp of Engineer's property to the lake. Upon our return we lost our way and landed not quite a mile at some neighbor's house. It is tricky terrain, and looking at the sun's, stars or moon's position would not have helped us at all. My having no sense of direction whatsoever, it's easy to misplace which way is straight up.

Today, I'm trying to teach our "Killer Dog" to wander down the hill for the lions, tigers and bears and leave the poor Chihuahua alone at the top where our road is. It's not Schatzie that hungers for the Chihuahua; it's this Chihuahua that thinks he can rough and tough it with Schatzie. He wants to take her on, so not a good idea.

In the last five years, I have picked up a fear of traveling downhill vertically. I hug the tree, vines, fighting the temptation of bumping down on my hind side. I felt ashamed, for our native Americans would have scampered down with bare feet. Luckily, I found a rope that someone had attached to a tree trunk a long time ago. Painstakingly, I furthered myself another 50 feet.  Schatzie looked down at me, as she stood of the edge of the vertical drop off , glanced back up to our asphalt driveway toward her little friend and barked, “Adios, Amiga.”
She left me with the lions, tigers and bears.