Article 3 - "SNIFFING OUT THE MOUNTAIN" July 2007 edition of First Church of The Streets

    After hours of driving, our dog MacGyver was as glad to reach the Smoky Mountains as we were. That's what it seemed to us as he pressed his nose into the window like it was a barrier to be broken. He watched the first trees of the park passing us by, sniffing the air near the open window. He had a system that never seemed to fail: whenever we got closer to our destination, even if we'd never been there before, he'd access the closest open window and sniff the air intently. It was as though by inhaling the air the destination would arrive all the sooner. Even if he was comatose on the floor dreaming about chasing rabbits, once he could sense the final place, there he was, taking in all the sounds and smells.

    Now, here we were in the greenery of Tennessee, ready to for the second destination on our planned itinerary. And of course, MacGyver was more than ready, looking at all the great places he could leave calling cards and all the life forms he could sniff out. Though it would be great to ad lib our destinations and just wing it, with a dog as a companion, that wasn't always possible. A lot of the tourist traps, even if we wanted to visit them, would take us but not our four-footed friend. Even the state parks back home weren't terribly amenable to dogs traipsing through its trails. So, to some extent, our trip was designed around what national park took our pooch.

    Not that it was a problem to our dog. He was ready to explore what he could, unaware that as man's best friend he was being sorely taken for granted by being shunned. The national parks were just good enough for him, thank you. Look at all the trees, look at all the people walking around, look at all the stuff to sniff and mark and hear and bark at. If I had been restricted because I wasn't allowed to go to eighty per cent of the things that other life forms were allowed to roam, I'd feel miffed. Not MacGyver. Nothing like making lemonade out of lemons, or in this case, making a bone out of a cage.

    Whether it was at the end of the leash sniffing some new friend's scent under a bush, smelling and hearing those strange biped animals who came at him in packs and herds just to pet his head, basking in the sun on a rock, or taking a swim in a freezing stream, this trip was for him. Who cares about stupid places that said "No Dogs Allowed"? Heck, he had the water and the sun right here, which was good enough for him. All the attention from strangers wasn't exactly something to sleep through either.

    That was what exploring was all about, anyway. Not everything was possible for us. We weren't going to be able to do everything, either. We couldn't afford all the resorts in the world. We couldn't spend months and months on the road, because bills and the lawn awaited us at home. I wasn't a college student on gap year who didn't have a schedule (not that in my region of the United States I even knew people who took "gap years"), nor was I a retired person who had renounced all employment. And neither was my husband.

    The schedules of what was "real life" could only put on hold for so long. I could only do so much in the time allotted. Even though there were no signs saying, "No Humans Allowed" in the places I wanted to go, I was on a kind of leash on my own as well, though mine wasn't as visible as the dog's. I could feel annoyed by the whole thing, be upset by the fact that I couldn't play my life away. Or I could be like him, and just hang out in the stream and enjoy the sun. After all, that was what was what we came for, to enjoy the moment and really experience it. Worrying was for that so-called real life that waited at home.

    On second thought, maybe I could take the lesson with me. Maybe this whole worrying thing was useless anyway, though it seemed the world of schedules seemed to encourage it to keep everyone and everything in line. Maybe there was a way to get all those important things that kept life going done without all the anxiety and angst that seemed to be necessary as motivation. In the meantime, there was sun. There were trees. Large rocks I didn't usually see and streams to cool me down. This was the moment, and MacGyver seemed to know it. So, I sat down and enjoyed it with him.