Buck

A good story, and I hope this is one, can be told more than once, should be told more than once. The best stories are told regularly, and even though even the smallest child has it memorized, there is still delight in hearing it.  Anyway, I hope so.

This is a true story. It happened in Canada, 2 hours drive north of the "Soo", deep in the pine woods northeast of Lake Superior. Tom and I were staying in a group of small cabins on the shore of the Lake on the edge of the Wood. It was deep wood, not logged in decades, and there was a series of beaver dams with marshes behind each one.

Buck, shown above, lived outside the main lodge, hanging around or disappearing for a day or so into the woods.  He had stumbled out of those woods, beaten, torn and mangy, half dead, and was healed by the handyman, Tim, who gained his trust through patience and the deep understanding that some beings have for others who have been mistreated. 

Somehow Buck came to like me, and liked to follow me on my trips hiking through the pines. So I took him once when I decided to make a day of it. Tom was feeling tired and not up for an hours long hike, but I told him where I was going, the edge of the beaver marshes, and then back again.

Another thing I should say is that the ground there is mostly iron ore; compasses (and I had a good one) can be thrown off by the iron and mislead you.

I had a wonderful two hours walking around the edge of the marshes, taking pictures, writing in my journal, having lunch and so forth.  Playing with Buck, who would disappear and then come back to find me and let me pet him. After sometime, when I was just starting to feel tired, I started to head back.  I'd seen all the pitcher plants and horse grass and wild orchids that I wanted to see. I just wanted to be home. Buck followed.

Bored with the marshes, I decided to head back through the woods. They are very thick and deep and seemed romantic. One can't see the sky through the branches and the air is still and dark.  It was wonderful.  I ate wild berries and carefully drank my water. I followed my trusty compass unaware of the iron beneath me that was betraying my every step.

Soon I was lost. I knew I was lost, but I trudged on still counting on the compass and the fact that I just couldn't be that far away from the Lake and the Queen's Hwy. Sometimes I would come to a clearing where the breeze blew the bugs away and the bracken was waist high.  Sometimes I could see Buck, sometimes I couldn't, but he always came when I called.

Finally, after having tripped over a hidden root, torn my jeans, and stepped in a water hole, I came to a spot where it wasn't such a great adventure. I sat on a tree stump and looked at my scratched hands and my wet feet and despaired. I was lost. I had gotten myself lost. I knew I had been wandering in circles and was exhausted. Almost all my water was gone. I was a pathetic lump and felt right sorry for myself.

Worst yet, I thought, I had gotten Buck lost with me.

Hmm. There was a thought. There was the thin shining trail of a thought. The stupid human was lost. How about the dog? Buck the dog, who had grown up in these woods. Maybe Buck was not lost.

"Hey, Buck" I called. "Hey, Buck." He was there in a flash. "Hey, Buck" I said, "wanna go home?" "Rowf" he said. "Yes!" I said, much louder. "Home, Buck, home!"  He barked with enthusiasm again and jumped with his front paws off the ground. "Take me home," I said, and he did.

Of course he took me straight home, which meant I had to climb over dead trees, through thorny brush and boggy little patches, but he took me home to the clearing where the cabins and the main lodge was. So relieved was I to be there. I got him some icy well water right away, and some for myself, and we shared a piece of leftover steak.

Buck is my hero, and someone I call up in my mind whenever I feel lost and hopeless. I used to tell this story to my children. Never overlook hidden resources. Your hero might be a holler away. For those people who are reading this story for the second time, my apologies. If you are reading it for the first time, I hope you enjoyed it.

The last time I saw Buck, he was riding in the back of a pick-up truck. Jill and Ron, who owned the cabins had to sell. They bought a house in a small town and took Buck with them, and Tim too.

Thanks for reading.