Yes. I have become one of those fleece wrapped, wiry-haired, middle-aged women who shoots snapshot after snapshot of...wait for it...her dog. Because she's so puuurrrtty. Took her bouldering this weekend. Although nimble on her feet, Mia's skittish about the crashing surf, especially when there might be sure-death-plummeting off sea stacks involved. But we do crazy things for the ones we love. So she bucked up. And followed me straight up and over. It probably helped that I had beef liver treats in my pocket. Works on the Ranger every time.
And then she got stuck. Looked towards land, solid ground. Dreaming of rescue. Thirsty. Exhausted. Wishing she were home, curled up on a warm rug licking her Happy Place. The tide was coming in. Our base camp was now under water, so we needed to shimmy down the back side which was a sheer wall of volcanic rock. Sharp as a razor's edge. Easy for my two feet. A different kind of negotiation for four paws and a shifting center of gravity.
She wouldn't follow. Just looked at me with a furrow of sinking abandonment. Such bitter astonishment. How did I get here, she thought. Now what, she asked.
So I did for her what so many others have done for me. I scrambled to the bottom, took a swig of beer, ate some jerky then found another route back up. With less terrifying cups for footholds. Not so vertical. Not so vertigo. Come on, girl, come on. Yes you can.
And of course, she could.