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Max Goes Camping
About 10:30, after playing King of the Mountain on a mound of dirt that crowned the hilltop, and growling at the mysterious blot of light pollution created by Clarion, 10 miles to the northwest, the dog settled beside one of the tents for the night. The boys inside scratched him though the nylon tent wall, and it was interesting to hear all of these new human voices as he curled himself up for sleep. Then the stars disappeared as a huge thunderstorm came racing down on the camp. Rain started falling in torrents, and the dog frantically scratched at the side of the tent until, with a zip, the side of the tent magically disappeared and he was admitted into the interior. There he was patted and comforted, as the thunder crashed overhead, rain drummed on the roof, and the tent leaned over in the gusting wind. The storm lasted all night, but the tent did its job well, and the dog was soon nestled between two sleeping Scouts, dreaming his own dreams of the day to come. By dawn, the heavy rain had passed, to be replaced by an eerie mist punctuated with occasional showers. The dog didn’t care as he scrambled around under the cooking tarp irritating the adults and delighting the Scouts, as he scavenged bacon and eggs for his breakfast. When the Scouts set off on a meandering five-mile hike through the woods and along the roads in the vicinity of Crates, Max came along. As they hiked through the mizzle, the Scouts saw hay fields, cow pastures, an ostrich farm and many other curious things, and Max did his share by galloping ahead to warn each of his doggy friends that something unusual was afoot. Down from every farm and house came an endless stream of purebreds and mutts to meet the Boy Scouts. None of these dogs snapped, barked, or showed the slightest bit of unease, because with them came Max, who showed them just how to behave to get a pat, a kind word, and maybe a pretzel.
When the dog returned to camp, one of the boys noticed he had a nasty scratch on his stomach that ended in an bubbly, evil looking wound. The dog WOULD tear at the wound with his teeth, and we were all worried about what had caused it, and how best to help. Strangely, the scratch was not bleeding. Also, the torn flesh seemed to be coming away in strips and the dog was chewing these. Then we all laughed. The wound was made of pink bubble gum, and was not really a wound at all, but, rather, just an odd sort of snack. Silly dog! As Saturday faded, the skies cleared and the stars came out for their nightly show --- a show that kids from light polluted Clarion rarely get to see in its full glory. Katie and her Dad showed up to cut us some wood and inquire about the whereabouts of their dog. There he was, resting by the fire after a dinner of Sloppy Joes and beans. He wearily listened as Katie scolded him a little and carried him off to the truck for the ride home.
Max
missed the campfire, and the cold night that followed, but showed up
the next morning to watch as we broke camp. He trotted down the hill
with us, and then fidgeted in dismay as the Scouts climbed into
their transport and headed back to Clarion. I lingered behind to
thank Bob for the use of his pasture, and to talk about our camping
out on top of the Hill of Doom next time, then I got into my car and
hurried to catch up with the other vehicles heading back to town. It
was a mile down the road that I came on Max, galloping at full tilt
right down the middle of the road, headed straight for Clarion! |
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When
the troop pulled into Megnin's farmyard this past Friday evening,
Katie and her dog, Max, were playing by the barn. The quiet rural
scene was quickly transformed, as a dozen noisy Boy Scouts poured
from vans and cars, grabbed their gear, and headed up the steep
trail to their weekend campsite in the high pasture at the top of
the hill. Katie and Max walked along and watched and played, as
eight tents were quickly erected in the fading light of what had
been a perfectly beautiful late summer day. Katie's Mom came and
collected her about an hour later, but Max, having been fed and made
much of by the Scouts, decided to join the troop on its last campout
of the year.
By
noon, the hike was over, and the damp morning had turned into a
clear, windy afternoon. After a P&J lunch, groups of Scouts produced
compasses and sent off on an orienteering course that took them to
Shannon's water wheel and the top of the Hill of Doom. Max joined
one of these groups and went junketing across the countryside,
sniffing out deer, rabbits, raccoons and the dreaded porcupine.