Walking Through Woods

Walking Through Woods

A brisk -28 as I walked my Golden Lab along the banks of the Athabasca.  The trek likely as beneficial to my dog, Kennedy, as it was for me.  Kennedy had the opportunity to chase ravens, a futile endeavour, fetch sticks and bury his infantile head in deep snow, just because he could.  Any version of dog heaven would include those activities.  Kennedy was relentless and never tired of getting any number of sticks I could throw.  Certainly, he never ever came close to snaring a Raven.

I do my best thinking in cold weather, on quiet walks, with my unruly dog.  Walking, a buffer to a tedious and tense day.  There is solace in the wind through the Spruce trees, and in  the language of the Ravens as they smugly cackle peering downward from high perches. While on the trails I focus my thoughts, soothe my pains, and ease my soul. I revel in the simplicity of the moment until Kennedy finds something other than a stick to pursue.

The dry snow makes a distinct crunching sound underfoot as we make our way around a five km loop.  Occasionally pausing, listening to the intense volume of the silence, punctuated by a distant snowmobiler on the frozen river.  This day the sky is an intense blue, the sun shines brightly, with little warmth, given its low angle in the February sky.

Kennedy is unmanageable when other hikers approach, especially if with other dogs.  His juvenile enthusiasm and super strength are difficult to control.  He rarely comes when called, only on a whim and if it pleases him. 

I often play a game to get him back on leash.  The stalking game.  It is instinctual, maybe for man and beast. I approach him slowly in a crouch, as if to attack.  He in turn crouches for a counter-attack, as I approach he launches and darts quickly right or left to avoid my grabbing his collar.  I usually tire first and hope he will follow.  I continue the walk and slow the pace.

Doug grooms the trails for the city of Wood Buffalo and practically lives out here with his dog, Grizzly.  He stops to talk to me as he parks his snowmobile, used to groom the trails. We spoke about the intelligence of Ravens.  He had seen a Raven abandon his nest  on top of a Spruce tree for no apparent reason only to build another only a few trees away.  About a month later the tree on which the original nest was built fell over in a severe wind storm.  That Raven could gauge the structural integrity of the tree.

I had actually seen a raven on a cold McMurray night cover the photo electric cell on a street light using his wings.  This action turned on the light prematurely and offered the Raven heat on a cold night.  

Ravens know.  

Now I do too, my walk is done.

I look about and shout…

“Kennedy, where are you?’