The Cookie Chronicles

(On The Road Part Four)

Dawn came awfully early the day after Mr. B went tumbling down the ravine adjacent to our motel room. And I was kidding about rounding up crampons, carabiners and quickdraws for the rescue mission. My actual “gear” consisted of a worn out pair of tennis shoes. Not so much as a rope to tie off of our deck and hold on to.

Cookie herself took an immediate interest in the task, but was securely prohibited from participating by Mrs. G, who kindly reminded me that she’d spotted a rather large bird of prey parked in a tall tree just outside our patio.

I’d forgotten about that.

When I looked up in the morning haze the bird was up there all right, and staring right back at me. Might have been an eagle or vulture. Or possibly a condor, maybe even some sort of pterodactyl native to California. Who could tell at this godforsaken hour?

What was all too apparent was that I was entering its territory, and its piercing avian gaze was tracking my every step. I flashed back to a walk on Alki beach in West Seattle, during which I had observed an eagle carrying what had to be at least an eight-pound salmon over the waves to a nest perched high on the bluff. At the time I wondered how that salmon must have felt, suddenly plucked from the water and flying through the air. On this particular morning I thought I knew.

Given that Cookie weighs only slightly more than that fish (11 pounds of fury! as we like to say), it would not be out of the question for her to become breakfast for something as large as the bird currently stalking me.

It’s true that Cookie was safely behind the glass doors, but Mr. B was not. I stepped off the deck and peered down into the ravine where he’d fallen the night before. I thought I could just make out a red dot about halfway down the slope. What if the bird spotted him and thought Mr. B was some exceptionally large berry? Do pterodactyls eat berries? Would I draw attention to him by climbing down? Maybe better to wait awhile and think this through.

Naah! I was determined to get this over with. The dawn was misty and the slope slippery. There wasn’t much to hold on to, so I half slid and half crawled my way down towards the spot where I thought I’d seen the ball. With my full attention on not falling, the bird was out of sight and at least for the moment out of mind.

About halfway down, in a clump of some nameless seashore plants, I found Mr. B. None the worse for wear after spending the night out in the cold, I tucked him into my pocket and began climbing back up. As I reached the top, there again was the bird, sitting on its perch, staring at me.

It’s not all that easy to read the expression on a massive, flesh-eating bird in the foggy light of dawn. But if I were to venture a guess, I’d say he (she?) was rather amused by the whole episode. There might even have been a touch of admiration in the way the beak was cocked and the eyes riveted on me. The way true competitors at the top of their game genuinely respect and even congratulate an opponent who has bested them. There will always be another game, another chance to prevail.

So the bird flapped out into the morning, certain of finding something far tastier than a ragged rubber ball. Cookie and Mr. B were happily reunited and all was right with the world once again. After breakfast, when the day warmed up and the sun shone, we found a safe place on the motel lawn and played a little run and catch, far, far away from the ravine.

Although it might be said that Cookie and I were equally at fault for jeopardizing Mr. B’s well-being and future travel plans, neither she nor I are prone to pointing fingers (or paws) and casting blame. As for Mr. B, he takes life’s ups and downs in stride. In fact he is never happier than when he is bouncing up and down across a wide expanse of lawn, pursued by a little blonde dog who is yapping loudly and preparing to leap at the exact moment that she can snatch him in mid-flight and run around in a victory celebration. Mission accomplished!