Revisiting Sound of Music Hill

While the dogs and I spend time in Idaho, I take Meadow and Finn to the area I nicknamed Sound of Music Hill (for it's ability to make me think of the opening scene of that movie - a high, open hillside covered in green and seasonal wildflowers). Maia stays home, reluctantly. I hate leaving her behind, but her knee and hips could not have handled this particular walk.

Meadow sports her Do Not Hunt Me vest while in Idaho's forest.

Meadow's excitement at getting back into the forest is palpable. She almost vibrates with excitement at all the smells - stopping to sniff all animal dung along the way, including the fresher cow droppings from the cattle that have recently been released into the forest to graze for the summer. Her nose frequently lifts high to capture the delectable odors wafting by on the summer evening breeze.


Finn, on the other hand, ignores the smelly stuff and instead puts his energy into scanning the landscape for anything that moves.

The actual hillside that inspires the nickname.

We're too late to see many wildflowers, but the vista is always worth the trip.

Meadow girl.

Finn, being a ranch type dog, doesn't need a vest for safety (although he does have one).

Mariposa lilies.

Sago lilies are among the few wildflowers still in bloom.

Heading back along the old logging road, Meadow following her nose (as usual).

Two happy dogs looking forward to that drink of water in the car.

As enjoyable as this evening stroll with Meadow and Finn is, I can't help dwelling on my sadness that Maia isn't with us. I'm being dragged kicking into Maia's twilight years, unwilling to accept that she won't always be my forest companion, the dog who alerts me to everything worth noticing, anything (bear, moose, wolf) that needs my immediate attention.