LATER

They say writing is cathartic. I have never been a writer. I don’t keep a journal, a diary, nor daily musings. I remember things only too well so I’ve always figured why write it down.

Yeah, there are other reasons to write: get it out, don’t hold it in, a release of energy for your ruminating thoughts and emotions so they have somewhere to go - out. I get it. Maybe this will help. Maybe writing about life out here as it happens will - who knows. This might be the only post I ever write.

I just buried my dog Later. She was only 8 months old. She was a sweetie, didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Loved people, kids, dogs, cats, the toads hopping across the dirt. She was a big girl, not like a great dane or anything, but a good size.

I was working out along our road cutting what I was hoping to be my last load of firewood for the season. My road in is 4km of dirt, unmaintained for the most part except in recent years due to a wildfire burning the first 2km of it, and it services only my neighbour Chris, and I. There is another family who branches off at the 3km fork to go further down the road but they are not in all the time. So it’s a quiet road off the highway. But today, and I noticed yesterday, there are hunters driving down the road to check out the ‘back’ road. I was just starting to cut down a tree when a truck drove by and my dog went to greet it. She shouldn’t have, and was a total pain in the butt, running around it trying to say hi. I put my chainsaw down to go out and get her. My truck was right there where it was happening. They were just passing it. I was right there. This truck did not even slow down, hit her and drove on without breaking speed. They ran right over her as if on purpose. I don’t know if it was, but what kind of a human being would run a dog over and not stop, especially when the owner is right there.

I saw her roll onto her back as if rolling in something lovely and smelly but then lie still. I ran to her, felt her last breath, saw her eyes roll back into her head and shiver a few last times. Then her eyes went blank and all was still. Except for me. I was raging inside even before the loss and sadness hit. I wanted to chase down that truck and give them a piece of my mind. I wanted to tell them to never enter our road again. I wanted to ask what kind of person they were. But, it is hunting season, and if they were so callous to kill a dog without even looking back (though I’ll bet they did) and just kept driving, they would have been dangerous to approach and call them on what they just did.

I already miss her presence, her puppyish questioning look trying to understand what it is I want from her. Her long tongue hanging out of her mouth in a constant expectant smile. Her ‘noisiest I’ve ever heard’ lapping up of water. Her lying down and watching the kitten eat her dog food before she moves in to eat it herself.

But here’s the thing: I just lost our other dog, Sooner, to a cougar late last winter as she was defending the cabin from it. That had been hard to take. We got Later, looking for a similar mix of breeds that Sooner was because she was so great, so loyal, and so protective. And, could keep up with me when I ran or climbed mountains. My mind goes to thinking that if I had more time putting into Later, and training her more consistently, this would not have happened. This is probably true, but I’m doing my best. It is a hard and busy life out here. The Chilcotin is a beautiful, wild but hard land: the weather, conditions, lack of ammenities, how spaced out people and communities are, the amount of driving, sometimes predatory animals, distances. I’ve had other things nearly break me in the past, but this won’t. She got to live a wild and free life while she was with us, had room to run, back roads and mountains to explore with me, neighbour’s dogs to play with. But I don’t think I can do another dog yet. I don’t think I can replace her or Sooner again so soon. I have too much going on. I don’t have the time they deserve to develop really great habits, my kids do come first. But as I was carrying her to my truck, the weight of her warm, soft, lifeless body just crushed me. She was family.

It is easy to get caught up in the loss that happens in life. One thing after another sometimes. The loss of close friends, our family unit - the break-up, the loss of all that it meant to me. The loss of a brother, the near loss of our home in wildfires, the loss of knowing where I thought I was going, the loss of our dog. And now another. But while it’s harsh sometimes, life out here is very real. It keeps going on, it keeps needing to be lived and experienced. The seasons won’t wait for us, you either get on board and keep up with it, trying to get ahead of things when possible, or you fall behind and struggle. Or, just don’t make it. But it’s all so worth it.

It’s Thanksgiving weekend. I’ve cried enough today, I’ll probably cry some more, but I’m still grateful.

I don’t know if I’ll write a lot, or consistently, but this land out here is vast and wild and beautiful and sometimes I want to share it. And while we are so bound by the seasons and weather and jobs that come along, and projects needing to be done, it is as free a life as I’ve always wanted to live.

Later