Brenda's First Hike

I’m pretty sure that Brenda had never seen a forest before my friend Tracy and I drove her up to Bear Mountain for a hike one Sunday in early spring. We packed Sadie and Porter and Brenda into the car and set out late in the morning. At this point Brenda had not peed outside yet—ever—and part of the reason for taking her on a hike was to see how long she’d really hold it before submitting to urinating outside. I could have kept her outside in Manhattan all day to conduct the same experiment but being in the wilderness seemed so much more palatable.

The parking lot and day-use area were busy with families and small children so Brenda wore her pretty flower muzzle to walk through the initial ascent. Once we were clear of potential prey, the muzzle came off and Brenda was exposed to trees, streams, moss, and woodland creatures. She was beside herself, jumping over logs and running under brushes in an awkward, just waking up sort of stumble.

Her leash didn’t come off, but invisible restraints were broken that day. I thought I’d have to carry her during the last stretch, but she kept up with the rest of us, and finally, at 2:30 in the afternoon, she squatted in a rambling brook and peed! I cheered, of course, and jumped up and down—gave her tasty treats. She looked at me with her full clown-face glory and strutted along the path, wearing an air of righteousness even though she had no clue what she had done to elicit such a response from me.

That was months ago. During that time, summer has baked the city and has zapped much of Brenda’s energy from her healing body. She has developed warts in between her toes and on her mouth and is refusing to walk outside at all.

For the past three days I’ve been swimming her for exercise and therapy. She’s exhausted, sore and has a very low appetite, but I’m hopeful her strength will come back as fall sweeps through. Then, maybe, I can show her the oranges and reds of Autumn in the Northeast.