The One Left Behind

I checked the car. Ground cloth, tent, road atlas, dog food, peanut butter, tortillas, water. Mick, my Border collie, and Shakespeare, my German shepherd/Malamute waited, ears perked, ready to jump into my red Vibe. I had everything except Mimi, my elderly white and black Border collie.

Four years ago when I went to Alaska, I took all three dogs, and spent a month traveling. At night, I tied the dogs near the tent, far enough apart that they couldn't get entangled. In the daytime, the four of us explored paths through deep woods, walked around lakes, and up mountainsides. I leashed the dogs if other people or dogs were near, but we had most places to ourselves. Mimi stayed close, velcroed to my jeans.

Mimi joined our family 14 years ago, a birthday present for my daughter, Mary. At the time, we had another Border collie, Duncan, the subject of the recently published memoir. Duncan wanted no help in handling his flock of sheep. A couple of times, Mary and I let Mimi try her paw at herding, and she had speed and talent, but she preferred crawling onto a person's lap and resting her nose against their ear. In the snuggling department, Mimi had no peer.

I inherited Mimi when Mary left home. Besides Duncan, I had a flock guardian, Gracie, a Great Pyrenees. Mimi had no unique role back then. But in the last several years, she has won a distinction for herself; she became the dog who stuck closest to me on outings. I walk my dogs on public land, and Shakespeare sometimes found disgusting stuff to roll in, and refused to come when called. Mick stayed with me on Idaho walks, but in Alaska he discovered squirrels, and with Border collie intensity, blocked out my cries for him to return. On a couple of occasions, I thought a bear had gotten him because he went missing for so long. Finally I spied him, rigid as a post, gaze locked on a squirrel in a tree, too absorbed to see me sitting on a nearby log, weeping.


Last spring, I found Mimi in a mud puddle, eyes rolled back in her head, limbs rigid. I carried her into the house. Her spinning eyes gave her a demonic look, but she remained sweet and trusting as I checked her over. I Googled her symptoms, and the information said she'd had a stroke. Expensive tests were available, but the recommended treatment was wait and see. If she got better in four days, she could survive.


I asked her to live so we could have summer walks together. Spring rains had made our walking spot beautiful. For two days I carried her in and out of the house, but on the third day, she managed a porch stair. Each day she improved. On our walks, she sometimes got confused about where she was, and one time, raced off in the wrong direction, intent on finding us. Despite her age, we couldn't catch up to her because she had a head start. She'd stop and listen to my whistle, then dash off again. She managed to find the car, and that's where the other two other dogs and I caught up to her.

In fall, I intended to dig a grave in the back field in case she didn't survive winter, but the ground froze before I got around to it. Fortunately, Mimi made it through.

This spring when I walked the dogs in the field behind my house, Mimi had to be on a leash because she became easily confused and couldn't see me and the other dogs. Still, at feeding time, she could dance on her hind legs when the food dish appeared.

On a walk in early June, for the first time Mimi became too tired to continue. I tried carrying her, but that lasted only a minute. She liked the attempt, though, because it resembled snuggling.

Riding in the car has become too uncomfortable for her, so during my trip Mimi will stay at my friend Debbie’s ranch. Debbie, the kindest of people, has many dogs, cats, cows, sheep and horses, and is no stranger to aging, declining animals. Still, I know it's a huge favor to ask.

With car loaded, the two dogs and I are ready to go. Picturesque roads and small town bookstores await us. For me it would be unalloyed excitement, except that one worthy adventurer, whose favorite thing in life is to bury her nose in a human neck, has to stay behind.