Strider

I walked further down the lane, whistling loudly as the medium-sized, long-haired herding dog came running up quickly behind me. His ears stood up at attention, as his long, pink tongue hung from the side of his mouth, almost appearing as if the canine was grinning at me.

“Strider,” I called his name with a grin, as his ears tucked backwards against his head and he approached me with his lengthy tail wagging wildly. He joyfully let out a small howl as I patted the top of his head.

It is days like this I enjoy the most. After months of touring, being away from nature itself, I have become very content with a simple walk down the rocky, country lane. It is a nice change from rehearsals, traveling, and the utter chaos that often comes with touring.

The wiry collie followed closely at my heels, and came to an abrupt halt as I paused and stooped down to pick up a stick. He barked enthusiastically as I held it high above my head. I brought my arm back, and then heaved it forward, launching the stick some 15 meters out towards a nearby open field. “Get ‘em mate!” I yelled, as Strider obediently darted after the object.

I studied the trees that aligned the old, country road. It was early October, and the leaves had now turned marvelous shades of bright orange and red, which contrasted brilliantly the grey, overcast England sky. It was nippy out, to say the least. I paused to zip the old, leather jacket, which I had dressed myself in before leaving home.

Minutes later, I heard a slight rustle as Strider crept out of the tall, dry grass of the field proudly carrying the very stick I had thrown only moments ago.

“Good boy,” I rewarded him by scratching behind his fairly floppy ears. I grinned, retrieving the stick from his mouth and launching it, once again, as he scurried after it. I stuck my hands deep within my jacket pockets, singing a few lines of the song Thank You as I walked further down the lane.

I came to a halt at a fork in the road, trying to choose which path to take before the two of us decided to cross the field, walking downhill until we came to a barbwire fence that separated the field from the tree line of the neighboring woods. After launching the stick over the fence and into the wooded area, Strider managed to slink his way underneath the sharp wire barrier. Deciding that it would be impossible for a man of my stature to do the same, I opted for swinging one leg over the fence in an attempt to climb over it. I heard a slight rrrip as it caught the denim fabric of the crotch of my pants.

“Bloody barbwire!” I exclaimed as I slowly brought my other leg over the fence. I stopped, studying my faded blue jeans to find, sure enough, a sizable hole ripped in the crotch. I shrugged, continuing my journey into the woods. I listened closely as the chilly, autumn air whipped through the branches of the surrounding trees.

Strider, who was several meters ahead of me, lay down on the ground, waiting patiently as I caught up. He looked towards me with his friendly, blue eyes and his mouth agape.

“C’mon mate!” I called, as we neared a familiar babbling brook. Strider, out of breath and panting wildly, made his way down the bank and into the shallow water of the brook. Wading slightly through the cool, refreshing water, he leaned his small head down to its surface, lapping loudly as he quenched his thirst.

I squatted down near the brook, cupping my hand and taking a drink from the fresh water resource myself. I smiled, wiping my moistened lips on the arm of my jacket, and studying the crystal clear liquid which ran over the small, smooth stones that lined the bottom of the stream. Leaning forward slowly to get a better look, I lost my balance, which sent my body flailing toward the frigid water before me.

“Son of a-!” I managed to yell, before reaching the chilly waters with a large splash.

I lay there for a short moment, as the freezing water soaked through my clothing. I slowly eased myself up, parting my damp, curly hair, which draped in front of my face. While muttering some choice words, I looked up towards the bank, coming face to face with my faithful companion, who instantly stuck his warm, fuzzy snout in my face.

I pulled myself out of the water, tearing the old, soaked jacket away from my body and slinging it into a nearby tree. “I’ve never cared much for the thing anyways,” I assured the overly-excited dog at my side as we began to make our journey back up towards the lane.

The sun had now begun to set, as I took a quick look at the dark sky. I whistled loudly for my canine companion.

“Strider!” I called his name.

The dog didn’t come. I shrugged. He must have taken off after a rabbit. I studied the area around myself, searching for the dog, but to no avail. It was now almost completely pitch black, making it difficult to see much of anything. I started my way further down the road, walking alongside a short, brick wall which separated the country lane from my property.

“Strider!”

Approaching the edge of the wall, I heard a slight rustle. I grinned as the eager dog came running from behind the wall with an all too familiar stick wedged in his mouth. He dropped it at my feet. His eyes remained fixed on the object as the front of his body crouched down towards the ground in a herding position as I retrieved the stick.

“Get ‘em mate!” I exclaimed, throwing the stick, once again. I caught myself smiling as he scurried off after it.

Out of all the blokes I had met in my lifetime, I still find one of my best companions to be the old herding dog. I grow fonder and fonder of the canine as we both grow older. He is, indeed, a fine dog.