The drive, I’ll admit, is long. At least an hour up 95 to Hartford. Then another hour up 91 to Brattleboro. And then still another hour — if we’re lucky and don’t hit snow/ice/fog — along 30, which is a twisting-and-turning two-lane blacktop. But even if I’ve been zonked out in the back seat, I can always sense when we’ve made it to French Hollow Road. Down the hill. Sharp right at the white farmhouse. That’s my cue to sit up tall, extend my paws onto the front center console, and start sniffing those delicious Green Mountain smells.
Is this my happy place? Hard to say, since generally speaking, I’m pretty happy anywhere. Home in Connecticut? Can’t beat that dog park. Not to mention the almost-private stretch of beach on Soundview alongside the jetty — the one we call Kemba’s Kove. I love Montauk, too. Even when Beagle Man finally gets tired of chucking balls into the ocean for me to swim out and retrieve, and tells me it’s time to “read and relax,” there’s an endless supply of beach strollers out there I can entice into taking his place.
But Vermont? Vermont’s got everything. That crisp, cold air. And the snow — can’t get enough of that snow! It’s my Nova Scotia blood, I guess. Sometimes when I feel too warm in the house — like when Beagle Man or Mom stokes the fire in the Franklin stove —I just tap on the glass slider, they let me out, and I roll around in the snow on the deck till I’m cooled off. Oh,
and the hiking trails! The Long Trail up Bromley. Lowell Lake. Lye Brook Falls. Hapgood Pond. Equinox Pond. I’ve done each one like a zillion times. The animal scents out there in the woods are so powerful they can knock you out: Black bear. Rabbit. Bobcat. Fox. Moose, even. I can’t always spot them, but I can tell they’re close. And let’s not forget one of my favorite activities: cross-country skiing — that is, when Beagle Man takes me along with him. The funny thing is, he thinks he’s moving fast, but I run so far ahead of him I actually have to kill time waiting for him to catch up. So I just fling myself in the snow and thrash around. Kind of like making snow angels. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.
One last thing. In Vermont, we almost never use the leash. I’m allowed to “do my rounds” outside our house completely on my own — and I have lots of friends nearby. There’s Cody, the Golden who lives at the red house through the woods. He’s around my age, and hyperactive, like me. I’ll also go over and check on Watson, the Kerry Blue Terrier at the end of our spur. We always snarl at each other — not really sure how that started — but it’s all good. I spend most of my free time, though, at the Delaneys. If they happen to be outside, they’ll throw to me forever. And I get along fine with Lola, their little Terrier. We have different interests; after all, she’s a good bit older than I am. I guess when we hang out you’d call it “parallel play.”
So yeah, I suppose you could say I have lots of happy places. But Vermont, I think, is my happy-est.
Kemba, Great running into yesterday on your “rounds” with BM. I meant to ask when to expect your next sample of prose and what should pop up in my reader now but your musings on one of my favorite places…Vermont! I can relate, as I grew up just over the border from Vermont in upstate New York. I could see the Green Mts from our back porch. Must agree, the snow was that much softer and fluffier and the cold nice and dry, not the wet sticky stuff around here. I will trust your nose as to the range and quality of the smells.
I always knew you and Kemba had a lot in common!