Keeping the Peace - Vicki Rubini

Shiloh and I knew we were getting stronger the day we could stand in the river current and not lose our balance. We knew we were getting bigger when we didn’t have to scamper three steps to equal her one. I remember one day when we were traveling along by the river, Sasha and I raced ahead, seeing how fast we could go. Sasha barked a warning, but we kept going – we didn’t want to walk, we had important matters to take care of – what was that low pitched sound we heard, and where was it coming from? There was more than one voice, and these voices seemed to respond from different places as they echoed off the hills and rocks, louder in the morning, quieter in the hot afternoon or at night. I knew they weren’t wolves, for their howling from caves was familiar to me.

When we got so far ahead that we could barely smell Sasha, we circled back. She had no interest in running, although she held her head up with ears perked and alert – but then she would stop and lower her snout to the ground. It was hard for us to walk at her measured pace. Shiloh and I wanted to spring forward and smell every animal, plant, and rock in one day. We were curious how far and fast our legs could carry us; we wanted to explore all the drops in the river, then roll in the sandy banks. How could we please ourselves and Sasha at the same time? The question made me want to stop and give myself a good scratch, and I did when I had to wait for her to catch up so I wouldn’t feel so restless. Sometimes I scratched so hard my ear bled.

The more I ran, the hungrier I got, and Sasha’s milk no longer satisfied me. Both Shiloh and I turned to fish for our meals – we were proud of our talents, and since our growling tummies were a poor judge of how much we could really eat, we usually brought some back for Sasha. She was as uninterested in this as she was in everything but that mysterious thing out there that kept her focused and alert.

One morning, when we started stretching, Shiloh and I discovered our legs had grown longer than hers. That did not please me. I loved the idea of someone older and bigger than me protecting me. I didn’t want to have to worry about anything but enjoying my play. What peace did I have knowing that I was taller than her now? I was probably faster, too, since she never even tried to run. Her flank was starting to hollow. Was there any point in staying with this dog that always looked sad when I was trying so hard to forget everything? She did love me – but was that enough?