Friday, August 14 and Saturday, August 15
The crew and I cruise the loops of North Fork and Wood River Campgrounds and find them crammed with campers. I didn’t come to the mountains to look at graphics on the side of a motorhome . . .
Instead, we take a gravel road off of Route 75 to Murdock Campground ($14 regular/$7 with senior discount pass). I love gravel roads and dirt roads because they keep a lot of campers away!
I choose the site at end of the campground where no one is camped.
Across the road Murdock Creek burbles along. I can hear the river through our open windows. (Although I find out it’s too cold by morning, going down into the 40s.)
Bridget, Reggie, and I take walks on the wide gravel road.
Several paths go from the road to the creek. We go down each one we come to.
Reggie catches on fast.
He finds a new path — “Oh, here’s another one!” and away he goes, leading Bridget and me to the river.
Our first afternoon at Murdock Campground, when not at the river, we relax outside at our campsite. I read my Paperwhite and study the Idaho Benchmark atlas.
Gee, all these beautiful mountains. I want to camp in them. It means no internet and no blog though.
After supper I putter inside the Best Little Trailer.
I open up a box of lens cleaner and proceed to wipe down my electronics.
I pick up the Verizon jet-pack. It’s amazing how dirty it is . . . not only fingerprints. What the heck is that? Food? Anyway . . . .
As I wipe the jet-pack I accidentally press the” on” button. The little screen lights up. What? 3G and 3 bars! Yippee! What a surprise!
Bridget has a close call.
“C’mere, Bridgie. Come get in your suit.” I put it on her and clip on a leash.
“Let’s walk the campground. I think I saw a dumpster when we came in.”
Off we go, Bridget on a leash, Reggie on his 20-foot tether, and me carrying a bag of trash. I dump the bag in the bear-proof dumpster and we continue on our way through the campground.
We meet a nice couple from Canada.
They’re camping in a 1975 Boler, cute as can be. Of course, we chat about how wonderful fiberglass trailers are!
The crew and I continue walking past campsites, most of them occupied. I shorten up Reggie’s tether. I hold the loops of vinyl-coated wire in my hand to keep him close to me, the same distance Bridget is on her leash.
As we pass a campsite I see three twenty-somethings — two men and a woman — sitting outside in camp chairs, talking. Three big dogs wander around their campsite.
Reggie sees them and hurries ahead, obviously not wanting anything to do with them.
“Good idea, Reg. C’mon, Bridge.” However, there’s no hurrying Bridget. She’s doing the best she can, which is a slow walk.
I should’ve picked her up!
What happens next takes only a few seconds. The three big, black dogs sprint out of their campsite, heading straight for Bridget.
Hmm . . . . Are they excited and want to meet her or . . . . ?
“NOOOOOOOOOO!” I scream, as the lead dog growls and goes for Bridget. Bridget squeals, scrambles to get away, dust flies, she falls backward, kicking . . . She’s on her back with two of the dogs over her!
At the same time, I lift the loops of covered wire I’m holding and . . . .
WHAP!
I whip that wire onto the head of the dog going for Bridget’s belly. That really good smack startles him and he stops attacking. I keep flailing at all three of them with the tether . . . “GET AWAY! GET AWAY!”. . . until they back off.
The owners come out of their campsite, calling their dogs.
Other campers emerge from their campsites to see why someone screamed. I bend down to examine Bridget.
“Are you okay, honey?”
I check for blood and am relieved to find none. Bridget wants to get away from the area and starts to walk toward our campsite. Reggie and I go with her, but not before I turn to the young people and say,
“Leash your dogs.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We were playing ball with them and we didn’t see you coming . . . blah, blah, blah.”
Does no one take responsibility anymore? They weren’t paying any attention to their dogs. Three loose dogs makes a PACK. Having three BIG dogs off-leash in a campground is irresponsible. One of them is an attack breed, for crying out loud!
It’s a good thing I’m too shook up to express my thoughts out loud.
Someone picks up Bridget’s black suit with leash attached and hands it to me. It came off during the attack.
I watch Bridget closely as the three of us return to our campsite. Oh, darn! She’s limping! Now she has a sprain. . . .
I pick her up and carry her to the lounger. I sit with her on my lap and feel her leg muscles. I manipulate her leg and paw. She doesn’t indicate any discomfort. I check her pads.
“Oh, I see what the trouble is!”
Apparently, as Bridget scrambled to get away from the pack, she jammed some kind of sticky, tar-like material between her toes. I remove it and she’s fine. Thank God that’s all it is.
I hold her against my chest, her head tucked under my chin.
I stroke her face. She snuggles in closer to my neck.
“You didn’t need to have that happen to you, did you, sweetie.” I pet her, talking softly. A flash of what might have happened comes to mind and I choke out a sob.
Reggie sits by the lounger, watching.
He looks up at me, his head tilted. I reach down and give him a pat.
“We’re okay, Reggie. We won’t be walking the campground any more.”
Sunday, August 16
We break camp and find a private boondock along Big Wood River!
rvsue
NOTE: Bridget continues to be fine. No sign of nervousness around other dogs or people since the incident. Me and Bridge, we’re a lot alike. We have our moment of hysteria and move on.
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