I took off work on Wednesday and drove to the back of the ranch on our side by side, my senior dog riding shotgun and an embarrassing amount of supplies for an overnighter. (Two books, one magazine, one notebook.) Dad’s new pup decided to follow. She’s really less of a puppy than a lolloping adolescent of a dog, all long limbs and affection. I didn’t invite her, but she had a yen for adventure and I figured she’d be good for alerting me to critters. My plan was to set my mattress up on the west side of a meadow by an old barn where I could view as much of the horizon as possible. The Perseid meteor shower was predicted to peak at around 4 a.m.
I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the outdoorsy type per say, but I do camp solo a few times a year, and particularly enjoy camping in the open. It’s not restful but it’s weirdly comforting to wake up periodically at the sound of a mysterious rustle in the brush, identify it as a wandering deer or squirrel, then look up at the friendly stars and blink myself back to sleep.
I get into my sleeping bag at around 10 p.m. after trying and failing to identify some constellations. The old dog curls up next to me. He resents the puppy and did not enjoy sharing his kibble. I look again for Aquarius. A meteor streaks over a line of tall trees to the north of me. I smile. I sleep.
10:30 p.m. – The sound of an ATV and both dogs losing their minds. I jump up, grab my bear spray and shove my feet into my unlaced boots. It’s my little brother, who’s come to check on me. Our respective circadian rhythms have always been off beat. Also, he’s got a flat tire. I send him back to the cabin on my side-by-side to get the pump and sit back down in a chair. The pup, who I’ve had to restrain to keep her from going with him, finally settles in with a long sigh. A few more meteors pass.
11:30 p.m. – My brother returns after finding a bicycle pump. He pumps up the tire, but can’t fix the flat. So instead he replaces the tire. This is long past my bedtime and I am feeling grumpy. We talk about the Pup and how it’s probably good that she followed me, because the Old Dog can’t hear much these days. My brother asks if I have a gun. No, I have the bear spray, I tell him. Which will work fine for most critters if I point it in the right direction. Having grown up on a ranch, I can say with experience that you face less danger from mountain lions and bears — which are naturally shy when not habituated to humans — than you do angry mama cows. He capitulates and finally leaves, but not before I have to again restrain the disloyal puppy from following him. She makes her amends by plopping her head next to mine on the air mattress, looking at me with adoration. The Old Dog turns his back to us in disgust.
12:15 a.m. – I wake up to the sound of the puppy enthusiastically slorping at her belly. I push her away. I look up and see a meteor pass.
1:36 a.m. – I wake up to the sound of stealthy rustling, but not from the woods. It’s from the old barn, which is full of mice. Who are apparently making their way towards the box of food I’d stupidly left out. Both dogs snore, apparently unconcerned, as I hobble over in sock feet to safeguard the food. I get back into my bag with wet socks and stare at the sky, waiting for a streak of light, until I fall asleep.
1:45 a.m. – The world’s most persistent mosquito is fixated on the back of my left ear, where I apparently forgot to apply repellent. I burrow myself into my sleeping bag with a groan.
2:30 a.m. – The Pup alerts us to an animal intruder. I stick my head out of the sleeping bag to identify if it’s a threat requiring the bear spray and immediately realize my mistake. I had prepared for cougars and bears and coyotes: I did not think about skunks. Her job done, the puppy comes and lays her head adoringly next to mine. My wool cap, my pillow, the top of the sleeping bag, my headlamp. It all smells like skunk.
“Go. Away.” I tell the puppy. She nestles closer.
3:30 a.m. – I blearily look for meteors, seeing two or three before falling asleep again
When I wake up again it’s dawn. I’m ready to get away from getting away from it all.