Finding DOG in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do one thing every day that scares you.”  Sometimes I wake up in the morning and lie in bed planning such an activity, and other times it finds me.  Last Sunday was indeed the latter.

When we arrived at the Alvarado campground at the eastern side of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, we once again found ourselves to be the only ones inhabiting the area.  Not even the Camp Host had arrived for the season yet.   Hutch had been telling me about these mountains since we entered the state of Colorado weeks before.  He had very special memories of the area near Westcliffe and wanted to revisit a trail that he’d never been able to finish.  He described the Sangre de Cristo range as “spiritual” and full of “thin spots” --  places where you feel a heightened sense of spiritual awareness.  For some, these thin spots are in churches, and for others, on mountain summits.  “I can’t wait to take you there so you can experience that too,” he told me for a few weeks before we headed south from Boulder.

On Sunday morning, we ate a hearty breakfast, packed a lunch and our snowshoes, and headed toward the trailhead to finally conquer the trail that had caused Hutch to turn back 2 times before.   We were not more than 30 seconds from our campsite when a medium-sized, black dog came running out of nowhere, chasing us and barking ferociously.  My heart leaped into my chest.  “Give me that hiking pole, Hutch!”  I wanted a defense mechanism in case I ended up with a repeat performance of the German Shepard/Akita that attacked me in March  2009.  I have never been afraid of animals, especially dogs, as my parents have had 100+ pound Rottweilers for much of my adult life.  I love big dogs, the bigger the better.  When we visit new people, their animals come right up to me.  They often comment that their pet never lets strangers touch them, pick them up, etc.   I have always loved animals of every kind and seemed to have a way with them.  But, after an unfortunate confluence of events in 2009, let’s just say I have a heightened awareness of dogs that I don’t know that come barking, growling, and/or running toward me.   

Despite many harsh “You go home!” screams from me and multiple attempts to threaten it with the hiking pole in my hand, we ducked into the camp bathroom, thinking it would finally lose interest and go back to where it came from.  I didn’t wish it any harm, I just didn’t want it to follow us…or worse.   After a few minutes of hovering in the bathroom, we emerged to find the dog patiently waiting for us.  At this point, it stopped the ferocious barking, but still wanted to follow us, darting to the side of the road or into the woods every time I turned around and told it to “Go Home!”  

We reached the trailhead about 10 minutes later, and you guessed it, sketchy dog was right there with us.   We decided to wait for about 5 minutes as it chased rabbits and squirrels, hoping that it would lose interest in us.  It didn’t.  Ms. Sketchy ran ahead of us on the trail, then without a sound, came running out of the woods behind us (nearly brushing my leg as it ran by at lightning speed).  I let out at least 2 primal screams, my adrenaline pumping to the max, as I tried to breathlessly climb an 11,000 foot mountain.  “Damn it,” I said, “why won’t it just leave us alone!”  All the while, Hutch was trying to calm me down saying that the dog’s demeanor had changed and he thought it just wanted to play.  It would take off running up the trail, into the woods, then back down the trail.  It would stop about 30 feet ahead and look down the trail at us, as if to say, “Come on you slow pokes, what’s taking you so long?”  It finally became evident, this DOG was leading the way for us.  It finally got close enough for us to realize “it” was female, so Hutch named her Lila.  You can’t be scared of a dog named Lila, right?  Even when we stopped to have a snack, lunch, or put on/take off our snowshoes, she would stay near us, chase birds and squirrels for some light entertainment, but never came quite close enough to let us touch her.

When we finally reached the top of the trail, we sat down for a long break to enjoy an unbelievable view of the valley.  Lila ran around entertaining herself for bit, then decided that she wanted to apologize for scaring the hell out of us that morning.  Her apology came in the form of a full-body dog tackle and big wet kisses.  “I love you, friends,” she said, “thanks for taking me on a walk today!”   

As a final winter hoorah, Hutch wanted to make the most of the snow at the top of the mountain.  Since he lacked a snowboard, he decided that butt sledding down the hill in his rain pants would suffice.  Lila followed him up the hill and thought it to be ridiculous fun to chase him all the way down.   They repeated this little game at least 4 or 5 times before we decided to head back down the trail.   Just as she lead the way up, she lead the way down…and all the way back to camp with us.  Lila even invited herself to dinner and a campfire, and when Hutch wasn’t looking, I gave her some cheese or other dinner scraps.   If we had hiked 9 miles that day, she had to have hiked at least 25 -- she must have been starving.  

Needless to say, Lila had completely won us over.  I still think she needs to work on her opening line, but she’s got many other things going for her.   She left us that night as unexpectedly as she joined us that morning.  Lila had been our guardian trail angel for the day.  Who would have thought after all that talk of spiritual connections in the Sangre de Cristo mountains, mine would come in the form of a DOG?