Hiking with Lulu

I want to do whatever it is that presses the essence from the hour.

Mary Oliver

Lulu and I went on our first hike of the year together last week after a long and quiet winter. Yes, she is the beautiful standard poodle you see in the photo. Though it was a short hike, I always insist that she carry her pack, which slows her down and keeps her from running off after squirrels. She is the reason I have a fractured shoulder blade, for in one such squirrel chasing event last fall she ran in front of me, wrapping the leash around my feet and thrusting me to the ground with the force of a young healthy dog on a chase. As I lay on the ground she stretched out next to me, pressing her face against mine and trembling, not sure what to make of this change from my usual upright position.

That was about seven months ago. After several visits to the orthopedic surgeon throughout the fall and winter the CT scans and X-rays revealed that the bone was not healing, apparently not unusual for a fractured scapula because of the different muscle attachments that tug in opposite directions. Surgery for such an injury is a complicated procedure and requires a prolonged recovery period, so I opted for the next best thing and one that offered substantially fewer complications: taking it easy.

“Taking it easy” as it turns out is not so easy. I live alone so must cook for myself and take care of the various household chores that must be accomplished whether or not one has a broken shoulder. I had to dress myself, which meant reaching my arms up over my head, but walking was the most difficult thing of all, as it produced a jostling movement that made the pain worse. Consequently Lulu and I spent a fair amount of time on the couch in front of the wood stove this past winter. She did not seem to mind at all. I just wanted to get better, so I could get back onto the trails this spring.

By late winter the pain had subsided enough so that I was able to start physical therapy, which helped a great deal, even though the bone has never knitted. In April I left for a month long trip to Arizona, where I went for gentle walks almost every day. (See last week’s post, Strolling with the Desert Fathers). When I returned the snow and ice was gone, and I began daily walks with Lulu near my home, relieved that the discomfort was all but absent, and it was once again safe to walk everyday.

It seemed like it was time to take Lulu with me on a real hike, so last week I assembled our light weight day packs and headed for Thirteen Mile Creek on the western edge of the Kettle River Mountains. I had chosen this route because it would require some elevation gain, and I wanted to see how I would do on a more demanding trail.

We climbed 2200 feet in about three miles to a meadow with a view to the west where the gentler hills of the Okanogan Highlands rose before us. My pace was slower than usual, and I had to stop several times to rest. This was more than just a little discouraging, for I have always taken pride in my robust fitness level, and have worked to maintain it through the winter time, so to find myself slowed down substantially by the climb was hard to take in.

What was even more difficult was that Lulu too seemed to have slowed down, walking along a few feet in front of me but without much enthusiasm. She had, of course, taken it easy with me for much of the winter. The difference was that she did not seem to mind at all. She simply plodded along ahead and stopped and rested when I did, seemingly lacking interest in the squirrels of the world for a change. When we stopped for lunch in the meadow I removed her pack, and she quickly found a patch of shade not far from where I sat and watched me intently, as if to say, “Are we there yet?”

When we arrived back at the trailhead, I sat down in the drivers’ seat and felt the pain from an angry shoulder as I leaned back, which added to my funk. When we got home Lulu made her way quickly to the couch and watched me plaintively, as if to inquire, “Shouldn’t we be taking it easy?” I sat down next to her, and she rested her head on my lap. All was well in her world. She did not seem to mind one bit that our hike had been a little challenging. At that moment, neither did I.