Early Morning Walkabout in a Pickup Truck

Early Morning Walkabout in a Pickup Truck

It isn’t cold this morning and the wind is calm, so my wayward dog, Rocky, did not choose to come in the trailer after two hours of running loose at this remote horse camp on an Indian reservation. My main dog, Smoky, is more concerned about his territory around the trailer, and about my welfare, and after a brief patrol of the perimeter, he returns to watch the sun come up from the comfort of the picnic table.

Smoky and I chose to adopt Rocky when she was about six months old, and I saw she was being abused and neglected by a family of six kids with drug using parents. Smoky saw her as his soul mate, and I saw a beautiful dog that responded to me when I sneaked food to her. I bargained with the children to give them a trip to Chuckee-Cheese, way down the mountain, for my ownership of Rocky, and I would give them visiting rights. The family and all the others, except my daughter and me, were evicted soon after, and we never saw them again.

Rocky’s early experience with an abusive owner has made her so wary of people, she wants to bite some of them and kill their dogs and she won’t come to me when I call her. When she is loose, everything has to be on her terms. That is why we started the morning runs. When no campers are in residence, I let her run loose in the early morning, and later I toot the horn to summon her, and drive up the mountain with her running through the brush nearby until she gets tired enough and decides to get in the truck for a ride back home.

Lately we’ve had morning temperatures down in the 20s with wind to make it seem colder, and after an hour of running loose, and Rocky has wanted to get back to her warm bed inside. I went out into the cold three mornings in a row all bundled up ready to waste gas while Rocky had a run but, no, there she was by the steps, ready to come in, instead.

Today is warmer. I let the dogs out before dawn and later uncovered the plants noting that the water wasn’t frozen, and that Rocky was nowhere to be seen. Still in my pajamas, I got in the truck, tooted the horn and headed up the hill. I had barely started wen I spied Rocky running toward me ready to ride instead of run. OK that worked with me. I like to ride the perimeter of the Rez once or twice a week, and also, I wondered where the herd of cattle disappeared to for the last two days. We found a bunch of them, the older ones with the longest horns, back in their pasture. Among them were two coyotes looking like cattle dogs, lapping water from the brook. The cattle look fatter so there must be a gate open to allow them to roam the Rez for forage. Their pasture is bare. We also saw a big flock of quail scurry across the dirt road, and a hawk perched on a dead tree, making plans for the day.

I also glimpsed the 'Phantom Bulldozer' beyond the white beflowered crosses in the Indian cemetery, as he disappeared behind distant bushes as if he didn’t want me to see him. He is still making big firebreaks that we will appreciate if and when the wildfires come our way.

Until then, all’s right with the world, Smoky and Rocky can keep watch for intruders from the top of the picnic table while I wash the truck before it rains next weekend.