Cody

I take Ben and Maggie backpacking now. In years past I would take Bud and Boogie and Cody with me on wilderness trips. I have written about these three before (see xxxx.html and xxxx.html).

Bud passed away in 2002. He was a little dog with a strong spirit, and such a good friend. It was hard to see him get slowly taken from the cancer, but it was inspiring to see him continue on as best he could with his good disposition, up to the very end. Out of respect to him, and all the places we went together, and how much he loved the mountains, I take some of his ashes with me when I go backpacking. I leave them in high spots, overlooking glaciel valleys, at the kind of place he would love to stand and watch from. Bud's ashes are spread from Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming, down throughout Colorado to the San Juan Mountains. My feeling is that his spirit follows me to all those places, and someday I may learn more about that.

Cody is a medicine hat border collie, all white except for a black head and ears. He is the kind of dog that is hard not to love, even when he chewed up my wife's Stetson Hat soon after we got him. (He left the crown, just chewed off the rim all around). Bud was grumpy for the first couple of weeks after we got Cody, not thrilled at all that another dog was in his house. He warmed to Cody though, and I remember driving home from a backpacking trip with exhausted Bud and Cody lying on the seat next to me, and Bud resting his head on Cody's neck.

One of Cody's favorite games was stalk Dad. He would run out 50 yards or so, turn and face me and lie down. I would look straight at him, crouch down a little, and start walking towards him. Cody would lift himself to a predator posture and slink forward, slowly, step by step, with his intense border collie gaze fixated on me. We would continue this standoff, approaching each other, for 10 seconds or so, at which point I would breakaway and run from him. Cody would sprint towards me and jump up and touch my back, or grab my arm. He would then run back out and turn and lie down, wanting to do it again.

Cody liked the mountains but he hated thunder. He was ok in the mornings while it was bright and sunny, and he would often be the leader, in front of the other two dogs during our alpine wanderings from our camps set just below timberline. When thunderboomers appeared in the distance he was anxious to get back into the trees, to the shelter of our tent. Once a thunderstorm appeared with little warning, rising from a ridgeline above us like a dragon. We had to run down to the trees, being careful to stay on the side of the ridge we were descending. I was trying to stay out of the way of lightning strikes as much as possible. When were were 1/4 mile from the tent, Cody raced ahead, and disappeared. When me and Bud and Boogie made to the tent 10 or so minutes later we found Cody inside, where he felt safe.

I got to take Cody with me a couple of times after my wife bought her new house. One of the last times was to the Wind River mountains, way in to the Cirque of the Towers, a five day trip. Our base camp at the Cirque was up high, where we had a good view of the Warrior Peaks across the valley. Early in the mornings we would climb Skunk Hill and watch the sun rise and color the the mountains of the continental divide, arced around into a half circle with Lonesome Lake in the middle. The lake was full of Cuthroat that were easy to catch, and me and the dogs had fine dinners while up there. It was one of the better trips I have had, and I am sure those three dogs loved the adventure every bit as much as I did. I had rented a small red car on that trip for the drive to Wyoming. A day or so after we got back and I returned Cody to Janet's house, I was told Cody ran out and jumped into one of the landscape worker's cars - a small red one.

I see Cody only about once a year now, when my daughters bring him at Christmas. He comes up and looks into my face with his wide loving eyes. We take him for a walk on the greenbelt, where he used to go every morning with me and Bud and later Boogie. The old dog remembers everything - the lying over tree, the frog pond. He acts as if he walked down here yesterday, instead of a year ago. When we get home he lies on the carpet, contented. My impression is that he his feeling like he is home, where he belongs, in this house, with me. That's just my take on it though, and it is common knowledge I am an old fool.

My daughters saw it also, however, and without any prompting from me said they were going to ask their Mother to leave Cody when she moves to Oklahoma in January (2005). That set me to thinking about it, and after doing that for a couple of weeks, I sent Janet an email explaining that I think Cody is a Colorado dog, and that he would be really happy here, especially if he doesnt adjust well to Oklahoma bugs and tornados and missing mountains. I told her that Maggie adores him, and I bet after a few weeks of morning walks, he would be fit enough to go with us to the mountains again.

Thank goodness I have Ben and Maggie, who are such tremendous mountain dogs and love me like Cody and Bud and Boogie did. I don't know if I will ever see Cody again, but like the other good things in my life, he remains strong in my memory. It all is another reminder of what I have have to experience too much the last few years: from deep love comes deep loss.