The Lady with the Dog Biscuits

Drinking our morning coffee at our RV site’s picnic table one day, Bob and I watched as friendly people waved to us as they passed by walking their pets. Dogs in zippered, screened-in, two-wheeled baby strollers were happily pushed across the park by their masters. Other people rode by on bikes fitted with carriers affixed to the handlebars designed specifically to ensure comfort for a tiny, fluffy dog. Sometimes the dog wore bows in her hair, other times s/he was dressed up in baby clothes, a hat and sunglasses. I remember a gregarious dog owner showing me her dog’s red-painted toe nails, all twenty of them.

I was always introduced to the dog, learned his/her name, observed the tricks s/he could do and sometimes got a dog treat from the master so I could ask the dog to a trick for me.. We got to know a lot of people after meeting their dogs; I always remembered the pet’s name but rarely the human’s. It was after this particular weekend that I began buying dog treats so I could play with other people’s dogs when I went walking.

Many years later, The Lady with the Dog Biscuits apparently became the moniker assigned to me in our retirement community. I made my daily walks carrying dog treats in my pocket, always hoping to encounter my favourite dogs.. One year, as fall approached, Bob and I decided to spend the winter near our daughter on BC’s Sunshine Coast. The landlord, whose house we rented, warned us about its isolated location. “There are lots of vacation homes in that area on Secret Cove, but summer is over and they’re all empty now. There is nothing going on there now. Are you sure you’ll be happy with that?” Yes, we were. It was six kms from our daughter’s home and being near her was our priority.

When we arrived in October, the weather was beautiful, the fall colours exploded from the trees, birds darted in and out of the foliage, and different varieties of mushrooms seemed to pop up every morning to delight me. Just up the hill from our house, I discovered a secondary, paved highway that skirted the shoreline, surrounded on both sides by forest. This became my walking route.

The only occupied and easily visible home on the road was at the far end where It intersected with the main highway. Conveniently, it was exactly at my halfway point so when I reached it, I turned back to walk home. For weeks, I rarely saw a human being and was only occasionally interrupted by a car driving by on the highway. Isolated in nature for the first time in my life, my walk became the highlight of my day and I relished the solitude, but confess I was missing my dog friends.