Luna the Shy Dog

It's Sunday. Like most Sundays, Finn and I headed out for a trail run this morning. As we drove to Cougar Mountain, a few snow flakes flew on the breeze, swirling in front of the windshield. A thin layer of corn snow garnished plants alongside the road. By the time we started running, the sky remained that slate gray color that promises snow, but nothing was falling. Yet.

When we got to this log bridge over a stream, I called Finn back to pose for a photo. Not only is it a lovely spot, but by taking photos here each season, I create a nice record of time's unalterable march and nature's reaction to the beat.

I follow Finn on our usual Sunday loop. He waits at every intersection, eager for me to point with a big arm gesture, saying "That way!" Off he goes, leaping and bounding down the designated trail. Finn proves that a dog's reward doesn't always have to be a treat. Finn's favorite reward, bar none, is the release to RUN!

Near the end of our loop, we encounter a woman and her dog, a pair we've seen here several Sunday mornings over the past months. The woman is friendly, the Bernese Mountain Dog is very shy. Today, I learn her name is Luna. The dog's name, I mean. As often happens, I never get around to asking the woman her name. I tend to focus on the dogs.


Finn always seems to understand that Luna would just as soon be left alone. He approaches her slowly and calmly (in contrast to more playful dogs), they sniff noses, and then he leaves her be. By the time I approach, Luna is usually sitting just off the trail, as if hoping to disappear into the ferns and avoid notice.

This morning I take time to talk with the woman. I kneel down in front of Luna, hoping she remembers me from previous meetings. I don't try to pet her; I just want to be on her level and let her catch my scent. I hold out my hand for a good once-over with her nose. "Too bad I don't have any treats on me, Luna," I murmur. Her owner reaches in her coat pocket and produces a treat for me to give Luna, but Luna declines it. "Well, that's what I get for telling her to never accept candy from strangers!" the woman laughs. She then shares that a neighbor worked very hard for months to gain Luna's trust. Now, when Luna sees him, she sits on his feet and leans against his legs, which makes him enormously happy.

That's my goal. To have Luna lean into me with affection. Given I only see her occasionally at Cougar, it could take a long time. But I'm willing to wait.

Finn and I head toward my car while the woman and Luna continue up the trail. I turn around and head back after them, asking if I can take Luna's photo for my blog. While doing that, the woman and I share stories of bear encounters at Cougar Mountain. She notes that Luna, being so sly and slow, isn't likely to ever chase one, but when Luna's brother is out with them, it's a different story. Sundays are Luna's day, when the woman agrees to go at whatever pace Luna desires, even though clearly more ground would be covered if the woman set the pace.

Luna's a very lucky girl, having such an understanding and considerate person to walk with her in the woods.

Once again heading toward the car, Finn and I encounter two women with two very excited and happy dogs - a Golden Retriever and a yellow lab. It's clear they're just starting their hike; the dogs are chasing each other, romping in ecstasy. They see Finn and approach, a lot of butt sniffing occurs, then the yellow lab - clearly a young dog - sees me and starts wiggling in greeting. I reach to touch her head with a hand still clutching my gloves, which I had removed earlier. The lab grabs my gloves and - wahoo! - a game of "keep-away with the lady's gloves" ensues. Finn is confused, unclear why I'm so interested in what the lab has in her mouth. I call to the two women, approaching up the hill. "Your dog has my gloves!" I laugh, hoping one of them can coax the lab to give them up. More confusion ensues, until finally the lab drops my gloves on the trail and I snatch them before she can steal them again.

Some mornings - and this is one of them - I think it would be so lovely to simply roll over and stay in bed. I'm stressed about an upcoming trip to Idaho, with snow falling and promising a challenging all day drive. But dogs don't make excuses in the morning; they're willing and ready to go play, every day, any time. The first two miles of my run with Finn takes real effort, although the dusting of corn snow on the plants and Finn's wild excitement helps distract me. Then, as always, my mood starts lifting; I laugh at Finn's antics, leaping off the trail after chipmunks or small birds. Meeting Luna and her human, then the glove-stealing lab with her dog and human companions, brings smiles to my face and joy to my heart.

When Finn and I finally arrive at the car, snow is falling in earnest. It's perfect.

With dogs in my life - and snowflakes falling gently from the sky - I simply can't be grumpy. Remind me: why did I want to stay in bed this morning?