Our local map presented many options in the Pacific Northwest's bountiful splendor. Limited to one day, and our dog's need to swim being paramount, we settled on Alder Lake, just outside Mount Rainier national park in Washington State.
As usual, Welly dominated proceedings. When we were only 20 miles from the lake he decided he couldn't hold on and simply insisted that we pull over into an experimental Pack forest run by the University of Washington. It was either that or let him to break through the back window.
That his options were so limited resulted from a previous trip when, needing to go, he decided to hop up front and take over steering. Wise to his dangerous techniques, we erected a barricade between the cockpit and passengers. Nevertheless, we didn't want a revolt so we let him out in the forest.
Danger was to confront us that day, but despite all the wind-fallen trees around us, not here. We stretched our legs, and peacefully relished the tranquil beauty. Gladly, we remembered the scoop; after all, while much of the flora in this beautifully nurtured forest is cultivated by bio-solids, they really didn't require his contributions.
About an hour later, and with equal commotion, we pulled into an empty parking lot at Alder Lake. Our generally well-trained dog simply can't restrain his swimming gene at the sight of water and proceeded to drag Cheryl through ankle-deep mud to the water's edge. Meanwhile, I actually took the time to read the park's rules. The part about keeping dogs on leash foreshadowed an impending danger, but it didn't sink in.
For thirty minutes, while Welly swam, fate had a chance to weigh its options for us. Would it be severe for not obeying the leash law? Surely it would smile kindly upon our dog, who was now showing off his synchronized swimming routine -- he does near-perfect circles while splashing the water with his paws and catching it in his mouth before nary a drop hits the surface.
We next walked the trail that parallels the cliffs and is dotted with signs warning against jumping into the water. Danger was lurking; fate was pondering the outcome. With nobody in sight, and intent on keeping my arm in its socket, I let Welly off the leash.
Each step brought us closer to danger, closer to fate's judgment. Unbeknownst to me, it was just around the corner. We were getting closer to Alder dam and a side trail that seemed to lead unobstructed to the lake was particularly inviting.
Invigorated by the mountain gusts and the beautiful palette of clouds and fog upon the sky, Cheryl and I embraced. Welly saw his chance and went scampering down the trail. Cheryl, her sixth sense as acute as ever, shrieked, "Welly come!" He hesitated, but continued. "Welly Come, now!" Would obedience outweigh his swimming gene?
Yes! Years of recall training finally trumped his desire to mimic the Acapulco cliff divers and he grudgingly retreated from the precipice before finally turning around to safety.
After leashing him up, I needed to investigate and descended carefully. Soon, an optical illusion became apparent - this was no gently sloping trial to the water's edge. No, after a narrow, grassy plateau, it became a launching pad to doom with a sudden drop to a mass of jagged rocks. Welly was a few steps, and one panicked shriek, from being impaled. The leash rule came flooding back to me.
Back at the picnic area we were approached by a smartly dressed gentleman who looked more suited for a board of directors meeting than a soggy, wind strewn park. Somehow this stranger looked familiar. "Hello there, I'm Bryan Johnson, KOMO 4 News," his booming voice projected. He was very professional and polite, explaining he was doing a story about how a potential "drought" could affect power generation at the dam. After a chat, he decided to interview us for his piece.
That evening we watched intently to see if we made the news. We did, at least Cheryl did - I was inexplicably cut out. Perhaps more importantly -- given his perilous brush with fate -- Welly made it.
As Cheryl made her witty sound bites, Welly decided to steal the show and wandered contentedly past the picnic table, sniffing his way in plain sight of thousands of TV viewers. That image managed to take the sting out of me ending up on the editing room floor. I reflected: maybe all dogs do go to heaven, but heaven can wait!
- From the Author: I have been involved with dogs as a companion for 38 years. I now have my third golden retriever. I'm submitting this not so much as a credentialed expert; but more as one who has first-hand experience traveling with dogs.
I'm being cautious not to be overly nostalgic, but I believe this will entertain and still tug at one's heartstrings. Importantly, I hope it also highlights the need to obey leash laws and to properly restrain dogs in one's car.
