Mountain Puppies

Mt. Hood from the summit of Tom Dick and Harry Mountain

Tom Dick and Harry Mountain

We encountered the first puppy less than half a mile onto the Mirror Lake trail. His owner and I shared a glance as Karma and I drew alongside her. Simultaneously our gazes dropped to the puppies, and mutual amicable disinterest transformed.

“He’s so short!” she cooed at Karma, while I dropped to one knee by her puppy and marveled, “He’s so soft.” I scratched underneath his ear and he wiggled up against my shin, a small package of pure excitement wrapped up in silky black and white. “How old?”

“Roscoe’s three months,” she said. I squealed and gave his rolls of puppy skin an extra smush. “Yours?”

“Karma’s two years old. Guess he’s the old man here.”

Karma certainly didn’t act the old man, however. Having determined that the woman wasn’t going to feed him, he turned his attention to Roscoe, who immediately forsook my puppy massage. Thus we began the dance of entanglement known well to all dog owners, dropping and reclaiming leashes with an efficiency approaching grace.

We parted when Roscoe got particularly excited and started to run down the trail. Karma took advantage of the break to claim ownership of several logs and small shrubs. While he sniffed and peed and sniffed again, their figures grew small ahead of us.

The energy of the puppy, however, comes in bursts, and Karma, being a herding dog, can be very motivated when his pack gets separated. Soon enough we were on their heels again. For a time, I slowed our pace, knowing that Karma’s dedication to walking in a straight line would fade the moment we passed them.

The arrangement was working quite well until Roscoe realized that his new friend was back. His owner and I attempted to keep to our respective paces, me holding Karma back, she tugging Roscoe along as he kept his head craned to look at Karma. When Roscoe walked straight into a tree he hadn’t seen, however, we realized the dogs might need some proper playtime. His owner glanced up and down the switchbacked trail, and after ascertaining that there were no other hikers around to bother, unclipped Roscoe’s leash.

What followed was an uncoordinated and joyous mess of long puppy limbs and stubby corgi legs. Karma adopted his play face, a demonic baring of teeth that nonetheless remain unfailingly gentle, rearing up on his hind legs to make up for the height difference. Roscoe ran in circles with his tongue flying like a banner and flopped on his back in the dirt to show off his smooth pink puppy belly. A faint haze of dust rose around us.

One moment, Roscoe was doing somersaults on the trail; the next, he was out of energy and curled up contentedly on his owner’s shoes. Karma lost interest just as quickly, and our hike continued.

Karma takes a breather while I snap some photos

Although the voices of other hikers floated to us on the breeze, we ran into just one other couple on the Mirror Lake trail, a middle-aged couple who had stopped to catch their breath. The husband, red-faced and a little paunchy, was slumped against a tree when we reached them, but his eyes brightened when he saw Karma’s expectant face angled up at his.

“The queen’s dog!” he exclaimed, and heaved himself off the supporting tree to ruffle Karma’s fur. Despite his obvious disappointment that the proffered hand proved to be devoid of food, Karma accepted the affection before moving onward.

Mirror Lake was as beautiful as I expected, and as crowded. We pushed quickly past the piercing shouts of children and teenagers to our goal, the Tom Dick and Harry Mountain trail. Immediately, solitude embraced us. It was an entirely different world from the Mirror Lake trail that had led us here. I was captivated by the quaint forest path, the exorbitant wildflower displays in cream and hot pink and butter yellow, the arresting glimpses of Mt. Hood.

Wildflowers along the trail

 Just below the summit, we ran into another puppy. This one was five months old, a yellow lab who dwarfed Karma in stature and energy. They circled, sniffing, and the lab did a little playful prance.

“Don’t smother him!” his owner exclaimed as he gave the leash a tug, concerned by how his dog was looming over Karma. “I’m sorry, I know little dogs hate when he gets smothering.”

“Karma’s pretty used to it,” I reassured him. Indeed, while Karma didn’t have enough energy to play back, he was offering the lab his adoring corgi smile, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a faucet.

The owner’s family came around a bend and smiled as they saw the two dogs. They must have heard the conversation, for the son, a bright boy of seven or eight, eagerly offered, “Don’t worry, he’s very friendly! He won’t hurt anyone.” His father placed a fond hand on his shoulder. Then his face fell as the boy continued, as cheery as before, “Except when he bites me.”

“He’s getting better about it,” the mother hastily interjected. “Just got a little mouthy while teething. It’s never hard--he’s learning how to play.”

I laughed, appreciative of their concern over such an obviously good-natured puppy. I reached down to give him a good scratch behind the ears. “Karma’s a herding breed, so when he was little he kept trying to herd us. Lots of sharp puppy nips to the ankles. Took a while to break him of that, I’ll tell you.”

They smiled in relief. Their son, oblivious to the momentary distress he had caused, was already skipping down the trail, so we bid each other good hikes and went our separate ways.

By now, I could see the rocky edge of the summit. This was the realm of the fluffy cream wildflowers that had guided me the whole hike. No longer relegated to the side of the trail, they burst forth in fields of swaying blooms that took my breath away. And yet, if I thought these views were stunning, they proved to be nothing compared to the view from the top.

Mt. Hood, in all its glory. Even with its peak ringed by clouds, it was a humbling sight. I gaped. Then, slowly, like a frame slowly coming into focus, I noticed the snowy peak of Mt. Adams hiding in the distance. Timberline Lodge below me, where my husband and I had attempted to hike to Zigzag Canyon the month before and been thwarted by snow. There would’ve been no such impediments today: the lodge was clear, and the trees surrounding it were a deep, dark green, untouched by any white freckles of snow.

Mirror Lake was far below us now, a smooth solitary gem suspended in the texture of the forest. From this height, I could erase the summer crowds and imagine it as a tranquil refuge.

Mt. Hood and Mirror Lake

 Only then did I realize I was standing right next to yet another dog. This one was wearing a cargo vest, and sniffed Karma with the same friendly exhaustion he offered her. Her owners beamed up at me from the rock slab they were lying against.

“Such short legs!” the woman said.

“I’m impressed he made it up here,” the man added. “Maggie was really struggling!”

As if to prove his point, Maggie gave Karma one last sniff and then curled up in the shade, eyeing her owners’ trail mix wistfully.

“Karma’s getting to be a pretty experienced hiker,” I offered. “Although we did Kings Mountain last week and that just about killed both of us. Way too hot and humid. So I guess we’ve got a ways to go.”

“During the heat wave? Wow. We tried to come up here but it was just too hot. We turned around.”

“I probably should’ve...” I admitted, and we chuckled.

Looking around, there were quite a few of us on the summit. A man was curled up on a wide rock, seemingly napping. A group of young men were venturing out along a rocky ridge to the next summit. I briefly considered it, then cut the idea short. Aldrich Butte had been quite enough of that for me. My heart was still soaring from the amazing views, and I was content to sit and enjoy them.

After a moment’s contemplation, I found a large, angled slab of rock that would provide Karma with some shade, and slung my backpack down. With a deep sigh of contentment, I settled back against the rock. I had chosen the least populated space on the summit, which meant I was the only person there not facing Mt. Hood. Instead, forests rippled below me. As a child, I’d had a dark green carpet in my bedroom. I’d spend hours cross-legged on that carpet, looking down with eyes slightly unfocused, pretending I was a bird or a giant looking down on forests below. The summit of Tom Dick and Harry seemed like my childhood fantasy made real. I squinted at the horizon: yet another snow-covered peak stood watchful in the distance.

Karma looks out at Mt. Jefferson

“Hey, do you know which mountain that is?” I called out to the couple.

“We were trying to figure that out,” the man called back. “I think it’s Mt. Adams.”

“I was thinking maybe Mt. Bachelor,” added the woman. “It is south of us.”

“I think Mt. Bachelor’s too far away. But I’m not sure.”

A pregnant pause.

“Well, then I don’t feel so bad that I don’t know,” I finally said. We all laughed, none the wiser for our idle speculation. Later, I looked it up. Turns out we weren’t even close. It was Mt. Jefferson.

The rock at my back was warmed pleasantly from the sun, and a gentle breeze broke the summer heat. I found myself wishing I could just stay there. Curl up and take a nap like that other guy. Watch the sunset, and then the sunrise. Karma had climbed up onto the rock slab with me and lain down by my head. It’s rare that he lets us stop and truly savor a view. He always rushes off to the next smell, the next rustle in the leaves, the next scurrying animal. I catch my moments of fun because of him, my moments of peace despite him.

Now, however, he was still, and the fact he wasn’t panting in the shade told me it wasn’t just exhaustion. He was as content as I was, on this little perfect summit. A chipmunk darted among the rocks and eventually perched near us, barely an arm’s length away. It watched Karma fearlessly, and Karma, for his part, cocked his head and watched the chipmunk back. I tightened my grip on his leash, but there was no need. Two tiny noses twitched at each other; two pairs of ears stood straight. Neither made a move towards the other. The chipmunk disappeared, and reappeared at the edge of the summit, as if watching the view with us. Then it disappeared over the edge and Karma relaxed, his head tucking into the curve of my neck.

Almost an hour passed, and seemed like no time at all. Our summit group had rearranged; I heard snatches of Russian behind me, and the young men had come and gone. The couple with the dog had moved further away at one point, but now they got up to leave. They stopped by my rock on their way out.

“There’s a bench down there,” they told me. “You should check it out. The view’s magnificent.”

I glanced at my watch. I had to get back for dinner soon anyway. I slid my backpack on again and untangled myself from Karma. We picked our way over the broken rocks in the direction they’d pointed. Gently curved slabs of rock had been carefully arranged in what did amount to a crude and surprisingly comfortable bench.

They were right. The view was magnificent.

A mountain, a puppy, a rock cairn (built by others, destroyed by Karma)