My dog Kerouac and he and I used to explore the Peterson Creek trails by our house a lot. I rode my bike and Kerouac trotted alongside me. I always rode slow so that hs didn't stress himself out trying to keep up with me. We did this for years and years. In spring, when he could stop and eat and lay in the remnants of snow from the winter. In summer, when he laid in the shade of the Ponderosa pines and sat in the creek to cool his belly. In the fall, when the trails were carpeted in leaves tired and worn from the summer. And in winter, we went by foot iwith its short days and snowy landscape.
When my boy got too old to make the long bike ride anymore, we took to the trails by foot. He still took the lead and guided me through the pine forest - and he never took me the same way twice. He would go different directions each time, as it suited him. He knew those trails like the back of his paws and we never got lost.
One day I decided to drive with him up to the yellow gate on Rose Hill Road to go for a walk among the hills. Once again with my greying boy. By this time, we were in the fight of our lives with cancer that had stricken him. His body was failing, but his heart was as strong as it was the first day I met him. I cared for him and looked after his needs as things changed and always made sure we wouldn't go too far.And I always I brought lots of water and a pocket full of treats.
This particluar day we walked along our old trails, visiting our old haunts. It was great to watch my old dog go back to the places he and I loved so much. His paws fell into a rhythm of a younger dog who was back in the place that he loved so much. I followed behind letting him makes the decisions of which trails we would take and what direction we would go. We made our way to the lookout over Peterson Creek gully where we would always stop and reflect on our adventure and have another drink. He stopped and looked over the valley and sniffed his usual places. I knew my boy was tired and it was time to head back to the car which was a flat 3km away.
But he had something else in mind. He started to descend the trail to the valley floor. Seeing this I went to call after him to stop, because we were going the opposite direction from the car, but then I thought "Let him go". Let him go the old way that he knew and loved. Let him lead me back to our home as he did hundreds, or maybe thousands of times before. Let him be the young dog who guided and protected me. Let him be the boy he was brought into this word to be.
When we got home and I fed him and put him to bed I had to ask my neighbor for a ride back to my car. But that was a small ask - compared to giving my old boy another adventure from his youth.
He will always be the young dog I knew, tired from an adventure and happy to be by my side. Laying on the lawn next to the bike that took us so many miles. That's all we needed - each other, with the wind as our soundtrack, the trees as our walls and the sun as our clock.
Kerouac has been gone for what seems like a lifetime now, but I know if he were here, I would be putting on shoes, he would be excitedly waiting by the side gate as I rolled my bike out of the garage and we would head back to our trails. The trails where we shut off the outside world. The place where only he and I existed - in balance with each other and with the forest. For there were many more trails to be explored, many more adventures to be had
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