Going out with the dogs means any number of things. It can just be a walk around the yard or even the path behind the house. It means going outside of ourselves as much as the house. Going out also means going in – into the woods, into the hills. Hugo knows the difference between climbing a mountain and seeing his reflection and an obligatory run along a gravel road on Sunday. He’ll go on either trip, but I can tell when he ignites. What is it that makes us know we’ve done enough in a day for it to count?
Hugo jumped into the cab of the truck while the other puppies barked and howled. It sounded like the cries of the damned might sound. The slight of being left behind was such a hell. But Hugo was quiet and sitting tight in the back seat. I looked back at him, and his eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen them. He was less than a year old, the timidest dog in the litter, and he’d never gone on a trip in which he was the one dog. He’d never been hunting, and it wasn’t hunting season yet. I’d never seen him so excited. His look out the window was more intense than when he watched birds in the yard. The other pups – his littermates – didn’t know any more than he did what it was we were doing, just that we were going out.
The wind had picked up by the time we reached the base of the mountains. It would be worse above tree line. We had travelled a long way just to turn around. “Let’s take him out to the rock,” I said, pointing to a ridge of rocks fronting the ocean. We could give him a chance to run through the woods where the wind wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t much of an adventure, but it was the best we could offer. When I opened the truck door, the wind slammed it shut. Hugo resisted the leash, and I fought him, the wind, and the door. There was no chance the day would be anything but a bust. Only, he didn’t know that.
Hugo leapt out of the vehicle just as a gust of wind pushed me against the truck. His body was ridged and faced toward the wind. It lighted him up, and he charged toward the woods. “Look at him,” I said. I was unable to hold him. His tiny body pulled with all he had, and his nose was high in the air. I gave in and ran with him through the woods. He delighted in everything he saw, bucking and running from one bush to another. When we broke out of the woods and met the bare rocks along the ocean, the force of the wind hit us again. Hugo faced it with his chest wide open and head high. The wind blew his ears and lips back, but he was un-phased.
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