The Cookie Chronicles Chapter 18-The Walkabout

There is one thing that gets Cookie-otherwise, the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time)-repeatedly into big trouble.

We call it the Walkabout. The word has fallen into general usage but initially referred to a ritual journey by Aboriginal Australians. During these solo pilgrimages, the individual would head off into the Outback, often as a rite of passage into adulthood. The Walkabout was a break from the modern world and a spiritual practice as well, forging connections to traditional lands and practices.

Is it too much of a stretch to consider Cookie's walkabouts as somehow comparable? Let's consider the facts.

After she was weaned, Cookie spent the first year of her life semi-abandoned, removed from other dogs, and relegated to an isolated existence outside a home where her birth brother and others were kept. It was her constant, relentless barking that alerted us to her unhappy condition and changed all of our lives for the better.

Although she has been a much-loved member of our family for almost nine years, she has not forgotten (nor forgiven) her past. And from time to time, usually in the spring but sometimes unpredictably whenever the mood strikes, she sets off to revisit it.

Now in terms of physical distance, this is not a long journey. But psychologically, it is much more complex. What triggers any specific walkabout is not always clear, although it could be something fairly obvious-the sound of power tools or compression brakes, strangers walking by, or maybe just an annoying cat or squirrel.

Once the decision to take off has been made, she finds a spot to leave Mr. B where we are not likely to notice him. Mr. B does not accompany Cookie on walkabouts but remains here at home as a sort of sentinel. Often our first clue that she's vanished is when we stumble upon Mr. B out in the grass, with no dog in view.

Cookie is small enough, smart enough, and sneaky enough to escape our notice with relative ease. We may be out in the garden planting or mowing or pulling weeds, or simply engaged in conversation, and she'll just slip quietly out the back Jack and set herself free.

More often than not, she heads back to her old stomping ground. It's not a well-kept yard, and the uncut grass and untended grounds provide plenty of hiding places. Sometimes she just stands in front and barks for awhile, exorcising old demons, or calling to her long, lost brother, or just giving the owner a bit of a lecture. Who knows?

The reason these walkabouts are a problem is simply that they are potentially dangerous. I confess that we are helicopter parents and pretty much always fear the worst whenever the dog is not directly under our control. Cookie is all of 12 pounds, and a good-size raptor might find her to be a tempting snack. Almost any other unleashed dog is a potential danger. And whenever she does finally return, usually slinking back with her tail tucked well below the horizon and a look of deep guilt on her face, it often requires an energetic brushing to rid her of foxtails, goat head thorns, miscellaneous burrs and brambles, and various unidentified clumps of smoot and smudge that may well lead directly to the shower.

The question of motivation aside, it's clear that these walkabouts are deeply etched into Cookie's psyche, as they have continued unabated over many years, despite all of the pleading, yelling, lecturing, bribing, and bargaining on the part of her mother and me. In search of their ultimate meaning, we turn to the Oracle of Wiki.

"These periods of mobility are typically ceremonial," the Oracle notes. "They are unrelated to and unseen by those not familiar with Aboriginal beliefs. They often reflect and show disinterest in, or even alienation from, the state."

Are we The State? Is our beloved dog's wandering an expression of alienation? Is she suffering from some deep existential distress? Or are the walkabouts simply one of those inscrutable dog-mind activities we can only observe in utter confusion?

As is true of much of life these days, such musings bring to mind an old record. "The Wanderer" was a big hit 60 years ago for Dion DiMucci. I can imagine Cookie humming it to herself, with just a word change here and there:

"Well, I'm the type of dog who will never settle down;

Wherever there's a lamppost, you know that I'm around.

I sniff 'em and I squirt 'em 'cause to me they're all the same;

And any dog who comes along will surely know my name –

They call me the Wanderer

Yeah the Wanderer

I roam around, around, around, around, around, around..."