Last month, I went on a hike with my dog. This was important for two reasons. First, it was my first time hiking alone, just me and my dog. Second, it was the longest hike Cinder had ever been on.
Things started out a little rough with some steep inclines, and we stopped to rest more than once, but we persevered and by the time we reached the end of the trail, I was feeling fantastic. In fact, I felt so good that we kept going, making our own path up the mountain.
Cinder bounded gracefully from rock to rock, while I... well... I fumbled along, one step at a time. She circled back to check on me more than once before we reached the summit, tilting her head as if to say, "hey slowpoke, what are you waiting for?"
When I took that last step and turned around to see the landscape stretched out before us, I felt, both literally and figuratively, on top of the world... until, all at once, I felt my confidence begin to crumble. I didn't know how to get back down; the route looked a whole lot steeper from way up there.
I felt myself begin to sweat and my heart rate begin to quicken, and I wandered aimlessly for a moment until I found a place to sit down. At this point, I was in the midst of a panic attack, realising I was all alone on the top of a mountain with nobody there to guide me. Except, I wasn't.
An insistent paw nudged my thigh and a soft, furry head pressed itself in to my hands, my companion's way of saying "we're OK, I've got you" somehow without any words. We sat there for what must have been ten or fifteen minutes, just breathing while I stroked her ears.
Cinder fits the technical definition of a service dog, being that she is task trained to mitigate my disabilities, but she is not temperamentally sound enough to work in public so she is only able to do her job and lend a helping paw when we are at home.
This was the first time she had done what she had been taught in a completely new, real world scenario, and she did it well, grounding me until my heart rate was stable and I could once again think clearly. She could have descended from the mountain at any time, just as nimbly as her ascent had been, but she chose to wait for me.
Once my anxiety had passed, we began pacing the top of the mountain. I was looking for the easiest way down, and she was looking out for me. I don't think she took her eyes off me again until we finally began the painstaking process of climbing back down to safety.
When we were hiking back to the car, I had a moment. The gravity of the situation struck me: I don't know if I would have had the courage to get back down on my own if my little furry shadow wasn't by my side to support me. I felt so much gratitude.
I look at this dog from time to time and ponder how lucky I am. It's been a bumpy ride, but we have built a solid bond that can get us through thick and thin. She is truly my best friend and my life saver.
