Pip Sleeping, 2015
It took six weeks and three trips to the vet after his savage attack but we just took the first hike since that happened and when I saw Pip racing up the snowy trail, I knew he has recovered—even to the point of mischievously disappearing when it was time to go home.
His healing from four serious deep bites came first and at one point, I thought he was done for. The healing of his spirit took longer. He seemed fearful for the first time, hesitant when approaching other dogs, bored and depressed, but last week at the dog park when he ran off to hump an unwilling visitor I knew his spirit had recovered also.
Meanwhile the dog that attacked him has not reappeared. It seems the owner is doing as I requested—or rather demanded: keeping her dog closed up.
This brings up a difficult question. In my mind, I’d rehearsed a speech telling her I’d shoot her dog if he showed up again even though I do not own a gun and know what violence we are suffering in a culture obsessed with weapons and war.
Now that Pip has recovered, I have to question my threat, even though I never spoke it and couldn’t act on it. I have to remember that for a few weeks during my early life here, I accepted a big heavy pistol (soon returned) from a friend who was fearful of the dangers I might encounter, hiking alone; I’ve never encountered any threats from human beings in two decades of hiking in all weathers, alone, and only the minor back injury I sustained sliding down an icy trail last winter: the spikes on one boot had come off. In fact one if the great pleasures of hiking alone is that I’m free to sing loudly—Christmas carols now, old Appalachian tunes the rest of the year—and to stop and gape at the views.
The friendliness of everyone I’ve ever encountered is another plus. It’s different in town; dog owners in my neighborhood walk with untrained dogs straining on leashes and growling. It’s a real threat since some older dog owners lack the strength to hold onto these straining leashes, or may be pulled over. I never meet them on the mountain trails.
Today, in addition to celebrating my health, my friends, my family, and, especially, my blossoming career with my next book, “Taken by the Shawnee,” to be published next June, I’m celebrating Pip’s recovery with a big bowl of hot homemade split pea soup. Thank you, all my dear friends who have asked about him. You helped to make him whole.
While some senses of the word “pip” are rather negative, Merriam-Webster has this for the third noun sense: “one extraordinary of its kind.” My dog was named “Snoopy” in 1941, way before Charles Monroe “Sparky” Schulz stole the name. Between us, we’ve known two canine pips.
SO very glad Pip has recovered. What a trauma for both of you. Glad you are walking a bit too!
Sarah
Glad that Pip has recovered. I hope the owner of the dog that attacked Pip continues to keep her dog penned in.
Can I have your split pea soup recipe? I’ve decided to start making good winter soups, myself.
Also good to hear about your peaceful rambles over the years.