A day in the woods, and lessons from Toby

On Sunday we went hiking, our first warm-weather hike of the season. We had our last blizzard in the mountains just three weeks ago, the gem in the crown of our coldest-June-on-record. But then suddenly the temperatures shot up into the 90s this weekend. So we headed out into the woods.

The condition of many trails is still snowy or in the midst of massive melting; thus all but the lowest trails are off-limits unless you want to re-enact Napoleon's retreat from Russia. The middle fork of the Snoqualmie River was as high as we'd ever seen it, with the sudden heat wave releasing all that snow, and it was a lovely day:


When we take the dogs out for their first warm-weather hike of the summer, we always notice a distinct drop in their stamina from the previous year. Enrico still takes the dogs out to the woods all winter long in the snow, and although they are generally slowing down with age, they do better in cooler weather. Then summer comes, and each year we see a marked drop in their heat tolerance.

It started a few years ago on a hot, steep, dry trail, when they both just pulled over into a shady spot along the trail and laid down. This might sound like a perfectly sensible response to feeling hot, but it was unprecedented. Up until that point, the dogs' response to being somewhere fun was always, ALWAYS, to keep moving. Because as fun as this is right now? There could be something even better right around the corner!

So in deference to their advancing years, we starting limiting ourselves to cool, shady trails with abundant water. One year Toby started diving under the shade of the car at the end of a hike to cool off, and Nelly needed a lift into the car. In his youth, Toby would run madly up and down the trail for the whole hike, covering at least three times the distance of the rest of us, with a grace and speed to rival the cheetahs on the animal channel. But at some point he was content just to dash ahead and wait for us. We'd round a bend and there he'd be, happily surveying the woods as our scout, catching his breath before the next sprint. Now, in his 11th year, he ambles along with me, so sedately that I sometimes forget to take him off leash.

This year we noticed Toby's increased interest in the various holes and burrows created by the woodland residents. Animals create lots of hidey-holes in the woods - in the ground, in old tree logs, in tree roots, between the boulders of rock fields. Toby never seemed to notice them much before, probably because he was blasting by them at high speed. But now that he's moving more slowly, he notices and investigates. I halfheartedly warn him that one of these days he might stick his nose somewhere he regrets, like into a hornet's nest. But he doesn't care.

We consider Toby to be a role model - for his relentless enthusiasm for life, his boundless love, his spirit of optimism and forgiveness. There's a lot to admire there. And now, as he enters a slower, more reflective phase of his life, he reminds us of yet another important lesson: To remember to pause along the trail of life, to stop and smell the hidey-holes.