Lady and the Tramp

The Royal Western was located in a hollow about a quarter of a mile up the wash. It was protected from the wind, but it offered no view. Over the years, those working it began camping down here in the flat among the ironwood trees where the view was wide open and beautiful. The last to live here were an old Indian and two teenage boys. Gordy and I knew them, and even stayed here with them a time or two. Their partnership ended violently, and now all that remains of their homestead is a faded wooden signpost with the words "3 Tramp Camp" painted on it. In the years since, Gordy and I – "2 Tramps" – have camped here many times.

On this trip Lady began sniffing the air and wagging her tail before we even got out of the truck. "You know where you are, don't you girl?" laughed Gordy. "This is where you came from." While Lady rolled in the dust, barked at the wind, and sniffed everything sniffable, we set up camp and got a fire going.

I had forgotten how beautiful the sunsets were. We watched transfixed as festoons of pink and blue clouds swirled and grappled for dominance. The pinks had the upper hand as the sun disappeared, but soon all the shades and hues faded into the darkness of night. Lady and her two tramps settled in by the fire. "She's gettin' awful crippled up," Gordy noted matter-of-factly. "She can't see worth a damn, and her hearing's gone to hell."

It was all true, but not wanting to acknowledge it, I added, "She can still recognize your voice over the CB." But it looked like it hurt Lady to walk, to get up, even to move. Sometimes I think it even hurt her to be petted. Still, she never complained.

"I read a poem once," he continued, "called A Dog's Plea, or something like that. The dog is asking his master to have the compassion to do the right thing when the time came. I guess I'll have to put her down one of these times."

I secretly doubted if he could ever do it himself, and I hoped to God he would not ask me.

"How long have I had her?" he wondered out loud.

"Let me get the logbook out of my duffel," I said. After several minutes of leafing and reading, I found the entry. "You got her on the trip of 1-29-87. We were camped right here."

"That's right! So that makes it...thirteen years. I thought I'd had her longer than that. Hell, girl, you're not so old!" Lady looked up for a moment, then put her head back down on her paws.

"You're one lucky pooch!" I added. "Old Herb was gonna do you in 'til we came along."

Herb was the Mucker/Superintendent of the mine back then. He and Lady were living in a small trailer up at the site. Art Web, the man who had bankrolled the operation, had lost interest, and Herb's job had been reduced to watchman until the equipment could be moved out. He hoped that would be soon, because he had another job lined up. He would not be able to take Lady with him on the bus.

We had met Herb several years before and had always enjoyed his company. He was a kind and soft-spoken man, and he told some of the best mining stories either Gordy or I had ever heard. According to the log entry, Gordy and I had just finished our breakfast dishes when Herb and a squirmy black puppy suddenly emerged from the wash behind us.

"Hello the camp!" he called out cheerfully. "Good to see you boys! I heard somebody drive in last night and hoped it was you." We shook hands all around, filled three coffee cups, then sat down to take in the morning sun.

"What you got there?" asked Gordy.

"That's Lady. She's the last pup from a litter a BLM Ranger had. I'm kinda sorry I took her, now. She's good company and a hell of a fine dog, but I got another job way up north, and I can't take her along. Christ, half the time I don't even have to feed her. She eats lizards, mice, kangaroo rats...hell, one time I even seen her take out after a bobcat! Never seen anything like her. I can't stand the thought of leavin' her out here for the coyotes, though. I figure I'll have to shoot her, maybe bury her in that little low cave where we kept the blasting caps. Say, you don't want a dog, do you?"

"Not really." said Gordy thoughtfully, "But I'll take her if you're gonna shoot her. Hell, maybe I can find someone who'll take her."

"I'd be mighty grateful. I don't know what else to do."

"Well, that's how it all began." I said as I snapped the log shut. "You didn't even look for someone else to take her, did you?"

Somber silence. He had just been contemplating shooting Lady on the exact spot from which he had spared her that fate thirteen years earlier. She gave a contented grunt as he scratched the top of her head. "You're a good girl," he said absent mindedly. "There's nothing wrong with getting old. I get pretty stiff myself sometimes. We'll be all right."

Next morning we took a walk up to the old diggings. When we got to the hollow, we were surprised to see that everything was gone. That is, Gordy and I were surprised. Lady snooped about happily as if nothing were amiss. Last year, everything but the heavy equipment had still been there. Now, Herb's tin-roofed ramada, the head frame, the collar, the ore car, the buckets, the tracks, the slab, the roof, the tailings—everything was gone.

"Holy Hell!" exclaimed Gordy. "You can't tell there was ever a mine here! I wonder if BLM did all of this. Somebody brought a big D8 cat up here and dozed everything. You can see the tracks over there."

"Maybe Art Web did it," I offered.

"Could be, but I did hear something about the BLM starting kind of a reclamation program. You know, helpin' things get back to their natural state. I'll have to give old Web a call when we get back."

"One way or the other, this is one for the logbook," I said.

That evening Gordy decided to take a walk back up to the old mine site. I built an early fire, and Lady and I watched another beautiful sunset. "I wonder why he went back up there," I said out loud. Then a sickening thought occurred to me. "I'll bet he went up there to look for that little cave Herb talked about. Oh God! He's going to shoot her after all! He must figure this is the time to do it...that talk about things going back to their natural state and all."

"I found it," said Gordy.

"Found what?" I asked, startled, then frightened.
"Lady's bowl. I left it up there this afternoon. Are you thirsty girl?"

Lady scrambled to her feet and went to the back of the truck while Gordy poured water into the bowl. When he placed it in front of her she licked his hands several times then took a long drink. "That's a good girl. Why didn't you say anything? You haven't had a drink all afternoon!"

Once again Lady and her two tramps settled in by the fire. I studied Gordy's face as he nodded in and out of sleep. If he had been thinking the same thoughts I had about the mine and Lady he betrayed no sign of it. I finished recording the day’s events, and was about to put away the logbook, when Lady looked up at me with an expression that seemed to ask, "Haven't you forgotten something?" We looked at each other for several moments, then I reopened it and started a new page:

Lessons from A Dog

1. Remember where you came from.
2. Never forget a friend.
3. Know when you have enough.
4. Growl only when you have to.
5. Complain when no one is around.
6. Eat everything in your bowl.
7. Keep your back to the wind.
8. Go to sleep with no regrets.
9. Dream sweet dreams.
10. Live everyday as if it were your last.

"O.K., girl, anything else?" She must have been dreaming. She was making little yelps and kicking. Somewhere a skinny black puppy chased a whiptail across a wash, ran off a bobcat, or leaped at the wind. In the soft amber-tint light of the fire ring, she looked as natural as an old ironwood tree, a downed Ocotillo, or the low hills in the dark distance.