Blue Lakes and Meander Meadow, page 2

The puppy pack train on the 'trail.'

After we crossed Indian Creek via the heavy-duty foot bridge, we climbed a few switchbacks before turning west to enter this wonderful valley. The trail evidently hasn’t been brushed out for awhile, as we hiked via the braille method through grass and other foliage as tall as I am (just over 5’7”).

5’7” — that came as quite a shock to me about a month ago when I got measured at the Ballard Emergency room. I used to be 5’8 1/4” in college. What the hell happened?

You, uh, might be wondering why I was once again in my friendly neighborhood ER room. Well, I had a little misstep on (off) the back of my big-rig at work and gashed my right shin pretty badly. After I tumbled onto the ground, I immediately hopped up and looked around to see if anyone had seen my little pratfall. No one had, so I stuffed a paper towel down my sock and finished my workday. After punching out, I drove over to the ER room and got six stitches. Not a big deal, but it seemed like a good idea to get it cleaned out and closed up. Sucker’s still swollen now, but the cut healed up good.

Oh, yeah … back to the hike. You won’t believe the mental image I got as we were hacking our way though the overgrown meadows: models swishing down a runway at a fashion show. You know that exaggerated walk they have, plenty of hip rolling and feet placed precisely in front of one another? That’s how I felt. I hope I didn’t LOOK like that, but at least no one was around to giggle if I did.

Did I mention that this was the puppies second hike? Three weeks ago we inaugurated the ‘kids’ by going up High Box Creek to The Green Pool. I thought it would be a pretty good idea to have a shake-down hike prior to the big two-week adventure. Good thing I did, too, because I discovered the puppies predilections. Pieper snores. That’s cute; little gentle snuffling noises that are quite comforting. However, Cayuse farts. BIG time. And there’s no sound, no audible warning. There’s just the sudden infusion of toxic, deadly puppy gas. I pictured the tent we were lying in swelling and inflating until it burst free of the tent stakes and started to float down the canyon like a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

So, you’ve got your puppy pee, your puppy poop, and now your puppy poofs. (That’s canine noun declination right there. And it’s also how I tend to mentally meander once I’m up here with a new journal and a pen.)

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