The Monster Returns

North Dakota’s northeast corner where I grew up is a pocket of old school Christian pietism, and I remember hearing that I should never pray for patience because patience only comes through suffering.

Noted.

I was a kid and wasn’t about to ask God for patience anyway, but even as I matured, this idea stuck with me. I surely prayed for some of the other spiritual gifts (joy, peace, etc.) but I steered clear of praying for patience. I worried God might answer such a prayer by making me a paraplegic or blinding me. “See, I answered your prayer. Now you have the means for acquiring patience,” I imagined God saying, grinning. I’ve worked out all this ridiculousness now, but at the time, this was what I considered rational thought.

So, my last post, the whole spiel about fearing comfort rather than discomfort? Kinda came back around and kicked me in the butt.

This past month I pursued a job that I’m excited about. The interview went well, and they were ready to bring me on board except for one sticking point: the job requires eight-day hitches out in the wilderness and I have a dog (and a cat). I live alone, which is why I can take a job like this but also, interestingly, why I can’t just take a job like this and, you know, let the partner deal with the pets and everything else. The good news is that the employer is willing to let me have the dog along, provided he’s not a distraction. Hmmm, this is something I can't readily guarantee. I have no idea, only a hunch that he’d be too exuberant and possibly even a complete shitshow. He’s young (2.5), and I freely admit that all his deficiencies are mine, me having grown weary of the work involved with training a dog. He's very smart and friendly, though, and could be both an asset and good companion out there in wilderness.

The only way to get him to that readiness is experience and training, so I loaded up my backpacking gear and Buddy (my dog) on Saturday morning and drove out to where the Continental Divide Trail runs west of San Ysidro.  We started hiking, and I worked with him on skills like walking behind me, not chasing animals, sit/stay, and such, and I felt optimistic about what I was seeing. Until I looked up, that is, and saw dark clouds moving in. I did not check the weather before leaving home, and faithful readers of this blog will remember why I refuse to do this. We kept going and I looked for a place to pitch the tent. It started raining. Hard. The lightning, which scares me even more than grizzly bears in the backcountry, prompted me to turn around and try to make a run back to the vehicle (because I can outrun lightning, right?), which was about eight miles away. Between the heaviness of the rain, the weight of my pack and the trail turning to mud, that wasn't happening either.

I struggled to pitch the tent, not for the night so much as thinking we could just shelter for a bit, wait for the rain to end, and then walk out. Soaked, dog and man crawled into the tent. Mud came with us. The rain lightened a little but continued as night descended. We both went out to add our water to the wilderness and brought fresh mud and more wetness back inside the tent with us. My sleeping bag is down-fill, which is a fill that doesn’t handle moisture well. It’s also not good to wash down products very often as they will lose their loft and insulating properties. I was thinking about such things as eau de “wet dog” seeped into everything along with a healthy coating of New Mexico mud. The discomfort level was high, my friends. I was not a happy camper.

This was Buddy’s first night in a tent. It was also the first time it dawned on me that it might rain during these 8-day hitches on the job.

Yep, never occurred to me. I guess I was thinking “it’s the desert” and I was also lost in my desire for the job and blinded by this employer’s willingness to let me have my dog with me. I didn’t think about what a huge hassle it might be. I imagine the same thing happens to people who decide they want kids: they don’t really think about their toddler throwing a tantrum in Walmart’s cereal aisle. We probably wouldn’t do anything at all if we just thought about the downside potential for everything.

Anyway, the next morning after not sleeping (actually, Buddy slept, the happy mutt), we hiked out and I drove home thinking there’s no way I can have my dog on the job in the backcountry. I imagined trying to carry the damp and dirty sleeping bag and tent in my backpack the next day, not going home but into another day of work, after which I’d crawl into a (likely) still damp and smelly sleeping bag. I don’t like being wet. I don’t like the smell of wet dogs.

At home, I slept, and then turned to the internet, specifically to Reddit:

"how to deal with a wet dog on long thru hikes?"

I found a thread where someone else asked this very same question. Some good suggestions out there but no magic, no real solutions. Then I read this response:

“I’m going to pay forward some advice someone gave me on this issue: suck it up. You have a dog and you’re in the backcountry. How amazing is that? You gonna let a little discomfort keep you home?”

Hahaha! I love it. Fear your comfort monster, Tayo.

Now, I’ll solve this wet dog problem by 1) bringing a chamois towel and 2) buying a synthetic fill sleeping bag that I can wash regularly (like between hitches if it rains). I might even consider a lightweight tarp so Buddy can be beside the tent instead of inside the tent. We’ll see, but thanks to this Reddit stranger, I won’t solve the problem by giving up on the job or staying home.

P.S. This post is about a transition afoot for me and the dog into this new lifestyle/work, but I can’t bring the cat along with me and he won’t be happy alone for such long stretches. I’ve never had to re-home a pet before and it makes me sad, but I also don’t think I should not take the job for the sake of my cat, who has very little to do with me on the day to day. If you know of a solution I’m not seeing for this issue, let me know, but I think the logically course is to find him a new home. I’d love to find a really good, cat-loving human for him. If you are that person or know of someone in a position to give Freddy a home, let me know, okay? Freddy drools when he purrs, is neither friend nor enemy with the dog, and is a mostly outdoor cat (though he arrived here from ABQ life with his sibling both fully indoor cats; Freddy stays inside the horse fencing around the property and so he escaped the fate of his sibling with the coyotes). He hunts and kills rabbits, rodents, lizards, snakes, and birds, though I wish he’d only kill the rodents. He likes to cuddle for a little bit but is skittish when other humans come around. He has the disposition of the typical orange tabby. He’s about three years old and is fixed and healthy, except for a sensitive stomach. He’s eating Costco food just fine though, wet and dry.