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EarringJuly 31, 2007 Used to be that Rhodry came along on nearly all my trail rides, even in summer if I rode late enough in the day. For the last year or so, he's only been able to keep up on the longer ones -- an hour or more -- if Allie and I take it easy, mostly walk with a little trot. (Allie's a power-walker, so "taking it easy" doesn't exactly mean "taking it slow.") Wherever he's snoozing -- in the grain room, with its cool concrete floor, or on the grass, or up the hill at Chamois's house -- he notes when I bring Allie in to groom her. By the time I girth up the saddle, he's ready, and when I take the bridle off its hook he's scampering back and forth like an overgrown puppy. While Allie stands at the mounting block, he dashes circles around her, woo-wooing and woofing, often leaping into the air at her nose and tail. Horse people are invariably amazed by Allie's patience and tolerance; plenty of horses would be dancing in place -- or kicking the impudent dog halfway to Chilmark. When we get under way, Rhodry trots alongside. Allie invariably stops to pee before we've gone 50 feet. I toss Rhodry a little biscuit from my shoulder pouch. We continue down the dirt road and into the woods. On days that I ride in the ring, I warm up with a 15-minute trail ride. Rhodry usually comes along, snuffling at the undergrowth, jumping over the occasional downed branch. Sometimes, if it's too hot or he's tired or he gets distracted on the way, he'll drop out. Then he'll plunk himself down in the middle of the dirt road and wait for us to come back. On rides when I plan to go further and faster, I used to shut Rhodry in a stall so he wouldn't follow. A couple of years ago this would usually provoke emphatic protests, the conscientious malamutt's version of the surgeon general's warning: Horses are dangerous! How can I protect you if I'm stuck in this stall? He doesn't woo-woo or whine anymore; he does give me a look that says something like Are you sure you want to do this? and then he settles down to wait. Usually someone will spring him from his cell once Allie and I are out of sight and he'll be out there lying in the dirt road when we emerge from the woods. So late last Friday afternoon the heat had abated somewhat and a breeze was stirring the heavy air and I was determined to go for one of those further-and-faster rides. I didn't lock Rhodry up; I figured it was still hot and humid enough that he'd drop out on his own. Wrong. Once in the woods, I looked back: my game, determined twelve-and-a-half-year-old puppy was jumping a fallen log and trotting along after me. Goddammit it's past 5:30 already and now I'll have to go back and start again . . . ? "Go HOME, Rhodry!" I yelled. Rhodry paused. He looked at me for a moment, perplexed, then decided I didn't mean it and kept on coming. I took off at a very brisk leave-dog-in-the-dust trot. As Allie and I headed down the left fork, I looked back again -- and an overhanging branch whacked the side of my head. My right earring came loose and fell to the ground. Rhodry caught up just as I dismounted to look for it. Allie stood patiently while I crouched down and started searching and feeling through dirt, clumps of grass, long-fallen leaves mulched to a coarse powder, all sorts of twigs, roots, tendrils of god-knows-what . . . My left brain pointed out that I'd probably be able to focus better on the task if I didn't have one eye on my horse (keep in mind that one of my two eyes is pretty useless when it comes to seeing anything smaller than a barn door), and while we're at it, gloves might be a good idea. So I remounted and rode back to the barn, with Rhodry following. Allie was untacked and back in her paddock when I set out again, on foot this time, carrying work gloves and a dressage whip, which I thought might come in handy for poking in the undergrowth. Rhodry, of course, accompanied me, at a slight distance and reminding me (not too loudly) that I am a good helper! He knew I was REALLY ANNOYED. These earrings aren't particularly expensive -- when I had to replace a lost one two years ago, it cost $60 -- but I've grown attached to them: a bead of wampum set in a gold post. I love dangly earrings, but what sensible horsegirl wears dangly earrings around a barn? Losing my little wampum post was like losing part of my ear. Back at the fork, Rhodry lay down in the path. I paced to where Allie had halted. I looked up at the branch. I tried to guess how the earring might have fallen after it left my ear, rolled down my shirt and probably my horse, and hit the ground. If I were a physicist or a pool player, maybe I could have figured it out scientifically and zeroed in on the exact spot, but I'm not and I couldn't. I did narrow the search to an area of maybe 24 square feet -- which doesn't sound like much until you get down on your hands and knees and start crawling, sifting, and squinting through it. The short version is that after about 20 minutes I was ready to give up. I looked at Rhodry. "It's not your fault," I said. "I'm still glad you're my puppy." He looked at me. I am a good puppy! I squatted down and scratched his ears. My eye followed the white line of his left foreleg across the gray-brown dust into a clump of grass on the left side of the path. My eye noticed an anomaly and my brain did some quick thinking. My earring, lying post up within the clump of grass. Rhodry's furry white leg was like the stars on the side of the Big Dipper's bowl that point to the North Star. Should I keep looking for the tiny backing that holds the earring in place? When you find a needle in a haystack, it's pushing fate to keep looking for the bit of thread; better to thank fate for your good fortune and quit while you're still euphoric. We walked back to the barn.
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