A boy and his dog

[Mark and I went into the mountains this week. It was an interesting trip, with good stories and photos. Mark was supposed to email the photos to me. He didn't. This is his punishment.]

I whipped 'em both.

It was a couple of years ago, now. The first time my friend Mark and I went out on one of our adventures. I had never been to Redrock Canyon, and was excited. We had talked about it for weeks. Going camping gear shopping and reading up on what poisonous snakes and plants would kill us. I felt like a kid again.

It was August. If you've ever been to Vegas in August, you understand that it's hot. If you haven't, go turn your stove on full, wait for it to heat up, and then stick your face on the burner*. That's about what it's like.

The people working at the store, and the visitor's center, and the gate to the national park all looked at us like we were idiots for trekking in the canyon in the summer heat. We were. But it was our first hiking adventure, and we were filled with enough testosterone to fuel a pro football team, so off we went.

Mark's grandparents used to be frontier people. They had a homestead in the canyon. It's weird to think people actually lived out there. It's so isolated. They built a little house next to a stream that is fed from a lake back in the canyons. The foundation is still there. Mark took me to see it. This is where the best of the adventure began.

A path into the deeper part of the canyon took us out to the homestead. On the path were some wild burros grazing. 4 smaller ones, I took to be females, and a behemouth of a beast that had to be the male. Mark informed me that they were used to people, and he continued along the path, walking between some of the animals that paid him little mind. I, always there sensible one, took a wide route around them.

Mark and Powder then walked off the path to the foundation of the old property. The big burro followed along slowly. He didn't seem overly concerned, but was just guarding the path towards his harem girls. Mark and his dog kept going without worrying. When they stood on the slab of cement that used to be his grandparents' home, he and the dog turned to face the burro that had followed them the entire way. Powder moved towards the burro and sniffed curiously, their noses less than a foot apart.

Suddenly, the burro dropped his head and charged. I think the dog jumped about 12 feet into the air. Mark's reaction almost had him jumping off the cliff behind the house into the river. They scrambled off the foundation of the old cabin, and stood, trapped between the revine and the burro that not only ruled over the pack, but of them now, as well.

Then the braying began. It was awful to hear. It was loud and angry and said "stay away from my women, or I'll knock you off the Earth." You could tell by the look in both Mark and Powder's eyes they believed it. They were trapped. They were helpless. It was the funniest thing I have ever witnessed in my life. Shame on me for not taking a video camera.


The Donkey that was picking on Mark left when his pack started off towards the hills. So, me and the donkey's victims headed into the canyon, along the river. We stopped at a small lake so Mark could cool off and his dog could go for a swim. Normally, Powder just drank. But it was exceptionally hot, and I pushed the pace a bit faster than they were used to, and she needed more than just water on the inside. She jumped in and splashed around. Mark soaked his clothes in the cool stream. I looked around at the area, enjoying the scenery.

Close to the mouth of the box canyon that was our ultimate goal, an emergency struck. "Wait...", I heard the call from behind. I turned, and Mark was wearing a mask of dispair.

"What? What's wrong?" I thought he might be having problems. Mark has issues with the heat. He had suffered from heat stroke on a march when he was in the Marines, and once you are exposed to that, you are always suceptible to future attacks.

Mark's look of dispair was now mingled with a silly looking grimace. "I have to sh**." He had brought toilet paper for just such an occassion, but squating among the cacti hadn't really been something he wanted to include in our short excursion. Powder and I sat down among some boulders to rest and drink while Mark ambled off into the bushes.

* * *

We never did make the box canyon that day. The rock bed into the canyon was too rough for the dog to walk on. And though he didn't say so, it was apparent that the heat was getting to Mark. So we headed back to the car.

He was in pain for days. His girlfriend told me. And the dog, only about a year and a half, normally returned home still charged from the walks, collapsed on the living room floor and went straight to sleep. I beat them both down. It was one of my proudest moments.

And still is.

*Please do not do this. If you are really stupid enough to do so, please keep your face on the burner until you are too dead to sue me. Thank you.