LATER

They say writing is cathartic. I have never been a writer. I don’t keep a journal, a diary, nor daily musings. I tend to remember things well so I’ve always figured why write it down.

Yes, there are other reasons to write: to get things out, to not hold them in, a release of energy for our ruminating thoughts and emotions so that they have somewhere to go - out. I get it. Maybe writing will help. Maybe writing about life out here as it happens will … who knows. Perhaps this may be the only post I ever write.

I just buried my dog Later. She was only 8 months old. She was a sweetie, and didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She loved people, kids, dogs, cats, and even the toads hopping across our dirt road. Later was a big girl, not as large as a great dane or otherwise, but a good size.

Today I was working along our road cutting what I hoped to be my last load of firewood for the season. My road is 4km of dirt, unmaintained for the most part except recently due to a wildfire burn along the first 2km of it, and it services only my neighbour Chris and me besides one other place further down the road that branches off at 3km. So, it’s a quiet road off the highway. But today and yesterday, hunters have been driving down our road to check it out for deer and moose.

I was just starting to fell a tree when a truck drove by and Later went to greet it. I put my chainsaw down to go out and get her as she was circling the truck to say hi. My truck was parked right there where they were passing. I was right there walking towards them. The man driving the truck did not slow down, he hit her, drove right over her, and drove on without breaking speed. It looked to be on purpose . I don’t know that it was, but what kind of a person would run a dog over and not stop, especially when their person is right there?

I saw her roll onto her back as if rolling in something lovely and smelly but then lie still. I ran to her, saw her eyes roll back into her head, felt her last breath, and shiver a few last times. Then her eyes went blank and all was still. Except for me. I was raging inside before the loss and sadness hit. I wanted to chase down that truck and give them a piece of my mind. I wanted to yell at them to never enter our road again. I wanted to ask what kind of person were they. But it is hunting season, and if they were so callous to kill a dog without even looking back (even though I’ll bet they did) and just keep driving, they would have been dangerous to approach and confront them on what they had just done.

I already miss her presence, her puppyish questioning look trying to understand what it is I want from her. Her long tongue hanging out of her mouth in a constant expectant smile, her ‘noisiest I’ve ever heard’ lapping up of water, her lying down and watching the kitten eat her dog food before she moved in to eat it herself.

I just lost our other dog, Sooner, to a cougar late last winter as she was defending the cabin from it. That had been hard enough to take. We got Later, looking for a similar mix of breeds that Sooner was because she was so wonderful, loyal, and protective. And she could keep up with me when I ran or climbed mountains. My mind goes to thinking that if I had more time putting into Later, and training her more consistently, this would not have happened but, she was only 8 months old.

It is a hard and busy life out here. The Chilcotin is a beautiful, wild but sometimes harsh land: the weather, conditions, lack of ammenities, how spaced out people and communities are, the amount of driving, predatory animals, distances. She got to live a wild and free life while she was with us, she had room to run, had back roads and mountains to explore with me, neighbour’s dogs to play with. But I don’t think I can get another dog yet. I can’t replace Later or Sooner again so soon. As I was carrying her to my truck, the weight of her warm, soft, lifeless body just crushed me. She was family.

It is easy to get caught up in the loss that happens in life. One thing after another sometimes. The loss of close friends, our family unit (the break-up, the loss of all that it meant to me), the loss of a brother, the near loss of our home in wildfires, the loss of knowing where I thought I was going, the loss of our dog. And now another. But while it’s harsh sometimes, life out here is very real. It keeps going on, it keeps needing to be lived and experienced. The seasons don’t wait for us, we either get on board and keep up with it, trying to get ahead of things when possible, or we fall behind and struggle. Or, we just don’t make it. But it’s all so worth it.

It’s Thanksgiving weekend. I’ve cried enough today, and I’ll probably cry some more, but I’m still grateful.

This land out here is vast and wild and beautiful, and sometimes I want to share it because experiencing it on my own is not always enough. And while we are so bound by the seasons and weather, and jobs that come along, and projects needing to be done, it is as free a life as I’ve always wanted to live.

Later