Homecoming

At left, Ieuan vom hohlen Huegel, AD, BH, IPO 1, 'a'

He's home!

Ella (V Elatha vom hohlen Huegel, SchH 2, Kkl 1 'a') has been my almost-exclusive hiking partner for the past year and a half, and during that time has become nearly as necessary to me as oxygen. But prior to that time my usual partner was Ieuan. So why was he not there by my side, as was Ella, during the walkabout last year and indeed every other trail mile I've been logging? Ieuan was with trainers, working on his titles. That is, until six weeks ago when I picked him up as Jess (my daughter) and I were on our way to the Monongahela wilderness area of West Virginia for a long weekend of backpacking.

Ieuan had just gone High in Trial and High Scoring Tracking Dog while earning his IPO 1 under Nikki Banfield, and it was time for him to come home. Perfect timing for him to take some well-deserved R&R, so for once Ella stayed home to make room in the car to pick up Ieuan as we drove south to the mountains.

The necessity of titling my dogs, in combination with the fact that being a breeder means there is always a steady stream of young dogs growing up and moving into adulthood, has dictated that for the past fifteen years or so I've raised my pups to a certain age, brought them to a base level of training, and shipped them off to Germany to achieve the titles that the German system requires for a breeding program. I was fortunate enough to work with friends and trainers in Germany who ensured that the dogs have come home just as happy as when they left, and it was a system I'd hoped to follow throughout my breeding career. Unfortunately, post-divorce financial realities have instilled hurdles that I haven't yet found a way to overcome, but one step towards reducing the cost of titling has been to work with trainers in this country (eliminating the shipping expenses). Tim & Carol Karchnak of Muddy River K-9 have been marvelous to work with and their methods ensure that the dogs work because they love it, not because they're forced to.

So, Ieuan achieved his titles, had a lovely vacation, and is home and has been logging many a mile as my hiking buddy alongside Ella. They make quite an impressive team, red coats flashing bright against the bronze and brown landscapes of late-fall woodlands. I relish the wildness that lights their eyes as develop pack hunting strategies, feeding off each others' instinctive reactions to musky deer scent of the autumn rut. I'm never more blissful than when spending days in their company, their unadulterated joy calling forth my own Paleolithic inheritance as our trail-hardened muscles carry us tirelessly, mile after mile. Indeed, it sometimes seems that the further we go, the stronger and fiercer I feel. I wonder if they feel that, too.

Where once I felt my responsibility as dog owner was to control and modify my dogs' natural behaviors, I now see myself as more of a supervisor, a witness, providing opportunities for them to discover their own capacities while maintaining some degree of boundaries for their own protection. There really is nothing I can teach them, other than to try to establish a mutually-understood language that allows us to function as a team. They are complete and more than sufficient unto themselves, yet they chose to partner with me, and that fact gives me more than enough to ponder on our rambles. The choosing to share a life with an Other, the struggle to understand and to be understood, to communicate and to share...isn't that what all relationships are about?

As the years have gone by, my idea of a "long walk" has evolved numerically and then geometrically (four miles became six became ten became thirty), dissolving boundaries both physical and mental. As these once solid-seeming barriers were surmounted, the very idea of limitations has nearly evaporated.

Though I've always been athletic and outdoorsy, without these canine companions I know I would never have ventured into the wilderness as extensively as I have, nor grappled with the barriers that hemmed me in. Granted, I'd warrant that most of those barriers were self-constructed. Nonetheless, the experiences I've shared with these dogs never fail to remind me of the limitless possibilities of a life lived unleashed.

And isn't that a Homecoming of the best sort?

Those of you who know me on Facebook knew of Zhen's (that's him in the photo) recent "walkabout". His experience differed dramatically from my and Ella's walkabout - Zehn's being unintended and not at all pleasant. But the two walkabouts shared at least one thing - the opportunity to learn.

Ella learned and grew during our journey because she's a dog, and dogs don't get lost in their own heads wondering whether they remembered to lock the house before they left...they pay attention to what's in front of their eyes (and nose, and paws) and they register and respond to real-time data, cause and effect, etc.

Nice system. Humans take note.

I learned because I deliberately took myself away from familiar settings and patterns in an effort to force myself to do what dogs do as a matter of course...to see, feel, hear, observe the wilderness into which I took myself, and to be present with what was happening in my head in response to events in real time.

Zehn had to learn by necessity and in a big hurry. His life literally depended upon it. He'd taken off in a panic from his new owners' friends' house, in a town he didn't know (having been raised as a country bumpkin), and proceeded to get himself thoroughly lost. Even a small town harbors multitudes of dangers for a dog on the loose, and a panicked dog who has no savvy about cars is particularly vulnerable. Zhen had only recently left my place to live with his new people, he didn't know the owners of the home where they'd been visiting, didn't know where his new owners had gone, didn't understand they were coming right back...he just wanted to be reunited with them. When he bolted through an open door his original intention was quickly subsumed by the immediacy of the situation, as he found himself beset by terror. Well-meaning friends and neighbors joined in hot pursuit, which only served to drive him further afield, and cemented his conviction that his best option was to put as much distance as possible between himself and this strange and frightening place.

We're all lost, at times and places, all the more so when fear gains the upper hand. Sometimes, like Zehn, we've dashed without thought headlong into or away from something. Sometimes we've just put one foot in front of the other and kept our head in the clouds, or a fog, or focused on the ground...anything but attentive to our needs, our goals, our surroundings, our fellow travelers. When we're lost we may crave help, yet react to offers of help as if those outstretched hands might slap or bruise us, as Zehn seemed to think when so many in the community tried to assist in bringing him home.

But Zehn didn't stay lost. In spite of spending anxious hours slogging through swamps and combing neighborhoods and alleyways and woodlands, several sleepless nights, repeated calls to police and shelters, it wasn't human efforts that brought Zehn home. It was his realization of his own capabilities. He was hungry and forlorn, he probably felt abandoned and unloved, but he never lost his desire to be reunited with the people he loved. His fear was finally conquered by his love, commitment, and devotion. Maybe he made a decision to do things differently, since running and hiding hadn't gotten him where he wanted to be. Or if dogs don't "decide" in the way we humans do, at least he chose to stop running and hiding. And when he stopped, his mind quieted. In that quietude he found alternatives. In spite of his fear, he discovered that he had the ability to take himself back...his legs were strong, his nose was keen, his mind sharp. He had only to calm himself, follow love, and take himself home.

It's a little ironic that I named this dog Zhen. I thought he'd spend his life with me and calling his name would remind me of how I should live my life. Each moment, each breath, should be a quieting of the mind and a return to love. Zhen lives with other friends now, but Zen is still the process by which I can find my own way. Being lost can occur in a moment of inattention, and being found can take as long as a lifetime or as little as the epiphany of realizing we're already where we need to be, if only we wake up.