After driving 2 days and 1500 miles, I finally pulled my vehicle into Martinsdale right before midnight.
The four dogs toppled out of the tiny Toyota and immediately took up the task of rodent-removal, shoving and rooting their way through the dense lilacs acting as a windbreak around the entire house.
Just 12 hours earlier, we were in eastern South Dakota literally sitting on ice packs to keep ourselves cool - the car’s air conditioning was no match for the 110 degree heat index on the open plains.
Now - finally - we were home.
The cool, dry evening air transformed the dogs from panting, watery-eyed, shade-seeking blobs into animated predators. I collapsed onto the grass and looked up at the sky - you can’t see stars like this just anywhere...
The next morning a chilly wind blew straight through my little house, rattling window blinds and flipping magazine pages as if I had an invisible roommate. Goose-bumped, I pulled the covers up to my chin and inhaled the delicious breeze coming straight off the fields. The entire house smelled like fresh alfalfa - an aroma just as sweet as cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. The dogs and I couldn’t wait for the sun to begin our day.
I’ve been in Indiana for quite awhile now, helping my parents as they go through cancer treatments. When I am mixed up in traffic or sitting in a waiting room, I imagine myself at the Martinsdale Reservoir - my dogs swimming, a magnificent Montana sky changing shapes and colors like a kaleidoscope overhead.
The temperature that morning was perfect for a quick dip. I loaded the fabulous four up in my rig and drove them down to the beach. The same wind that pushed the scent of fresh cut hay through my windows was creating whitecaps on the reservoir.
I quickly calculated that my dogs had not been on an off-leash hike since my last trip home to Martinsdale 9 months ago. I decided our first adventure would be a short one - I didn’t want any of the dogs overdoing it.
Chloe, my corgi-springer mix, took off after the seagulls, racing up and down the lake’s lip with her head craned straight up, barking at the sky.
Borage and Lolo, both Alaskan Huskies, went searching for bones, bleached white by the summer sun, up in the grassy fields.
Jigs, my German Hunting Terrier, charged into the waves and attacked them with his teeth. Those pesky whitecaps drive him crazy. Then he picked up the perfect stick and dropped it at my feet.
I threw the stick for him just 6 times. I didn’t want to tire him in the aggressive waters.
He was in rare form his first day back in Montana, charging through the water to retrieve the stick and then riding the waves back into shore.
We stayed at the reservoir for just 20 minutes, but I knew that was enough for now - we have all month to enjoy Montana’s treats.
Unfortunately not long after Jigs’ perfect swim, my little terrier fell ill from bloat. To make a long and heartbreaking story shorter, Jigs ended up at the vet hospital in Harlowton where he has been for a week now.
Dr. Katherine Parks, DVM, and her wonderful staff have worked tirelessly to get Jigs through this tough battle. I am so grateful for all they are doing. He is in good hands.
Sometimes vacations don’t turn out the way you plan them.
But as I sit here in Harlow writing this column and waiting for news on my Jiggie, I try to remind myself the lessons I have learned from my spunky little terrier, and all of the animals who have touched my life - greet every starry night, cool breeze, clear lake, and sunny day with total joy.
( 8 Votes )
