Tuesday, February 24
Bridget and I are strolling down the road near our camp in the Chuckwalla Mountains Wilderness when a grey pick-up comes out of the canyon and slows to a stop.
(The photos in this post were taken during walks with Bridget in the area around our camp.)
The driver brings down his window. A small dog sits in the front seat next to him.
I approach his window.
“Was that you who drove by our camp yesterday in the red pick-up?” I ask.
“Yeah, that was me. I was with my buddy in his truck.”
The man gets out and lets his dog jump to the ground.
“I thought I recognized your dog. He’s a beautiful dog,” I remark as the white-with-spots dog scurries around, sniffing and marking territory. “I’ve been looking for a dog and that’s just the kind I’d like to find.”
He tells me the dog’s name is L.J. and he’s a Jack Russell terrier.
“And who is this?” he asks.
“Oh, that’s Bridget.”
He squats down to give her attention. Bridget wiggles and swings her tail back and forth. She’s always thrilled with male attention. Gee, fall all over him, Bridget.
L.J. trots up to check out Bridget, too.
L.J. reminds me of a young Spike, the same size, a nubbin for a tail, mostly white, and with symmetrical face markings. I watch with fascination as Bridget takes a keen interest in L.J.
Bridget is usually stand-offish when approached my another dog. She sniffs L.J’s nose. It’s obvious she likes him.
(Sorry, no photos! I didn’t have the camera with me. Maybe it’s just as well I didn’t.)
I feel a pang, wondering if she’s thinking of Spike.
Oh, if I could find a dog like L.J., our family would be complete!
I learn that the man’s name is Craig and he lives in Long Beach, California. He’s been camping for a week with friends at the far end of Corn Springs Road. One of his friends, who is from Indiana, owns a cabin at the end of the road at Aztec Well.
While we’re talking, Craig notices a bird of prey hovering way up by the mountainside.
He grabs his binoculars, but before he can focus on the bird, it dives straight down,like it’s shot from a gun, a few hundred feet to the ground. A palo verde shields our view of predator meeting prey.
“That might have been a peregrine,” Craig says.
We talk for several minutes and then Craig and L.J. take off for the 200-mile trip home.
Later Bridget and I walk a wash near our camp.
That’s when I take the photos for this post. The rocks look like they were cut by a drunk stone mason.
Last night was windy and it rained quite hard for a short time.
The wind turns to gentle breezes by mid-morning and the wash is dry.
We startle a jack rabbit. It hops up the rocks like they’re stairs. Tracks and scat in the sand of the wash indicate the presence of animals with split hooves. I don’t find evidence of coyotes nor do I hear them at night.
As Bridget leads me back to camp, I assess our situation.
We’re running out of fresh fruits and vegetables. We’re on our second propane tank.
We could leave in the morning, now that the wind is gone.
Wednesday, February 25
It’s a beautiful, sunny day. I don’t feel like getting out of my nightie. I linger over coffee, reading comments, and writing replies.
Bridget is in a similar, lazy mood.
She has eaten her chicken breakfast and retreated under the quilt beside me.
“I don’t feel like driving today. Another day here will suit us fine. Right, punkin?”
Bridget doesn’t stir. I suspect she knows my decisions before I do.
rvsue
THANKS FOR SHOPPING AMAZON FROM MY BLOG!
Here are links to a few of the items ordered by readers:
Hog Wild Pig Popper
Portable Tow Truck (orange)
Wigwam Merino Comfort Hiker Socks
Cuisinart Countertop Oven, Brushed Stainless
Sangean AM/FM Digital Rechargeable Portable Radio
Traverse Bay Fruit Co. Dried Blueberries, 4-Pound Box
