A Living Magazine - Day 280 - Homecoming - McKenny to Dinwiddie

Getting out of the sleep spot was a challenge and I tripped over a dead tree just before reaching the road, tumbling ungracefully forward right through a large spider web. I struggled to get up again and brushed a mid sized crab spider off the front of my shirt. I had to reach behind me and make sure my pant patch hadn't ripped again. It was fine.

Normally this kind of misstep would make me angry. But in this case I just had to laugh at myself. I have only tripped or fallen a few times in these last two calendar years. Being somewhat of a clutz in the world of "normal" life, this lack of clumsiness has surprised me out here in badlands of America.

I got onto the road and acted as if nothing had happened. And in fact, no one would have been the wiser anyway, as no cars passed by for about a half mile. I wondered why the traffic was so light, then remembered that it was Easter Sunday in the heart of Baptist fundamentalist Virginia. Everyone was at church. I wondered if stores would be open or closed. 

The first four miles went by smoothly. I was about ten miles south of Dinwiddie (the town). I'd crossed into Dinwiddie (the county) the day before. I came up a hill and around a slight bend in the road to see two large unleashed dogs ahead of me at the end of a dirt road. They were just milling about and didn't see me until I was about fifty feet from them. Then the yellow dog caught sight of me and just stood there. I prepared myself for the worst.

As I got closer, I decided to take a different tack. I called out to them in a friendly way and acted like I was just a friend. The tails went up and the yellow dog - the alpha - waddled up to me for a good long petting. The chocolate colored dog was a bit more cautious, but threw that to the wind after a bit of scratching under the collar.

It became obvious that they were a package deal. The yellow dog herded the chocolate dog and kept pouncing on him to assert continued authority. I figured they would lose interest in me and stay around the place that I assumed was near their home. But they decided that they were going to join my Journey, following me loyally. Repeatedly, as cars would approach I had to yell at them to get out of the road. Suddenly, I'd become the alpha. They followed my orders very obediently, but enjoyed the attention I gave them, by continuously going into the road. This grew tiring, and they had no intention of leaving my side.

Over and over again, I demanded they they go home. I said their daddy or mommy wanted them home. I tried to say the word food too. Every time I attempted to say "Go home!" they would look up and all around them. It began to dawn on me, that they had no idea where "home" was. I didn't need this. Under other circumstances, had I not been in the middle of a remote region, I would have taken their tag information, or perhaps hooked up some of my nylon line to the collars and found some help.

I tried everything to lose them; ignoring them trying to walk faster when they would run up onto someone's property, etc. They were both very healthy dogs--well fed. I hypothesized that if I could ditch them at one of these farms, someone would investigate and call the owners. But all of my attempts to get them off my tail failed. The chocolate dog especially clung tightly to me, while his brother investigated every bush and driveway. I was now a good solid mile from where I found them and in front of the driveway of a large farm, when I took this video...   

But, where is home?

I had to stop and think. What was the correct thing to do in this situation? If they indeed belonged near where I first saw them, they might not have a clue as how to get home. My conscience wouldn't let me leave them at this point. The choice was to leash them myself and take them to Dinwiddie (a place that had appeared to be very small and primitive--an unlikely solution), or lead them back to where I found them and try to find their house.

All of this rekindled my anger about the leash laws here. It put the dogs in danger, seriously inconvenienced me, and was just creating another "lost dog" scenario that no one needed. I sighed, and felt my shoulders drop a bit. I had to lead them back.

At this point the chocolate dog was right beside me and waiting for instructions. The yellow dog had disappeared up over the edge of a tree lined field. I'd crossed the road when I made the video above, and stayed on that side to make the mile-long trek back to that dirt road. The chocolate dog remained close by me. And, I adopted the colors as their names. I called out to Yellow as Chocolate and I made our slow way back for about five minutes Yellow was not to be seen. 

I was worried that they were split up now. They would stand a much better chance by being together if they were indeed lost. So, with a bit of sweat now dripping down my forehead, I actually walked back about a hundred feet near the farm and called out for Yellow. No dog. Chocolate was having a grand old time playing with sticks and running through the ditch water. Shit!   

I had so far still to go and the time was bleeding away, along with my patience. I called Chocolate over and he and I looked at each other. I said, "Find your brother. Where's your brother? Where IS he? Find your brother!!"

As if he truly got the message he jumped over the ditch and up onto the bank above me, running this way and that, cocking his head. I stood there becoming more and more upset about the situation. Chocolate disappeared for about a minute. I was so tempted to cross back over the road and take off again toward Dinwiddie. But I stood there and waited.

Then, I heard rustling in the leaves above me and Yellow appeared, followed by Chocolate! Phew! I demanded forcefully that they follow me, and when they obeyed, I praised them. We made our meandering way slowly back to the dirt road. Yellow would occasionally go into the road, and I had to run interference when cars drove by. 

Then, I saw the welcoming sight of the end of that dirt road. A white two door car appeared there. The dogs ran over with tails wagging. I knew they recognized the car. I yelled out to the passenger and pointed to the dogs, "Are these yours?"

In typically bad-Samaritan form, the older couple simply ignored me. They turned and drove off to the north after the dogs got out of the way. What is it about the average American that, once in their vehicle, all ethical and altruistic motives disappear? Intuitively, I knew very well that these folks knew about these dogs. They saw that I was a stranger and needed their help, and they helped me not.

These probably-Christian people, who were likely to be going to Easter dinner with their family or out to a restaurant, couldn't spare the time or energy to help out a ragged stranger and a couple of nice dogs. I was livid with them. So, now highly-resolved to see SOMEONE do something to help, I led the dogs up the dirt road to the first house I saw; a white ranch with a half-vinyl covered porch. 

I told the dogs to go home and pointed to the house. They paid attention for a moment, but were unsure about the place. After trying over and over again, I'd nearly decided to keep walking, when a Hispanic gentleman appeared in the doorway. "They're not our dogs. They're strays."

I told him that I was trying to walk and they wouldn't leave me. He said they might belong to the house down the street. So, logically, this man recognized the dogs. I told him I'd walked a mile north and had to keep the dogs from being hit about five times. I NEEDED his help. He was trying to pass the buck, but I wouldn't have it. I told him to please hold the dogs there. They had collars with information that would let him find their owners. He turned and said something to his wife. She disappeared back into the house. I asked him to at least hold the dogs for a half hour while I put some distance between them and me. He reluctantly agreed, and kept the dogs distracted while I made my way back down the dirt road and onto Route 1, practically jogging.

Looking over my shoulder repeatedly as that formerly-impossible mile passed by, I saw no dogs behind me. Finally, sweating my ass off, I felt I could slow down and resume a normal pace. I'd done the right thing, and it had worked.

Although my urge to rant about how many different ways people are unable to run with the ball when it is passed to them, nor help when assistance is obviously needed (e.g. the irresponsible owners of the dogs, the couple in the white car, and the Hispanic couple who only reluctantly helped when I pressured them to), I will just say this: On the Easter Sunday of 2016 - when probably all of these folks who presumably believe that Jesus raised himself from the dead and offered the waters of eternal life to all of humanity if they would only learn to love each other as he loved them, even as his Father in heaven loved him--after he had given his own earthly life to show that nothing is more important than our love for each other - human beings of the third millennium after his supposed ascension, were still unsure just what love meant and how to show it. That's all. 

We are weaker than our most basic beliefs. And, frankly, if anyone can find anything of value in my Journeys, I hope it helps them to step up to the humanitarian plate; to take action instead of cowering or being lazy because of the inconvenience that action may foist upon them. Not doing so fills your life with nothingness, machinelike existence. Please, readers of this blog: THINK.

Some way farther up Route 1, a sprinkle began. I was desperate to get to some kind of sleep spot around Dinwiddie. I was out of food and drink. The sprinkle turned to light rain and I heard thunder in the distance. According to my now-questionable weather screenshot, there shouldn't have been rain on this day. It was due for the next day. But, the forecast was now outdated, and I had not the slightest idea when rain would come or go. I had to now rely on my instincts and sharpened senses... 

A bridge near Dinwiddie.

One turkey who will not be the mother of future of gobblers.

Practically stumbling into Dinwiddie, now completely soaked by a strengthening rain, I went straight to the first place I saw. I think it was an Exxon station. They had hot food. I bought a burger and potato wedges, and a beer to drown my frustrations, for once I reached the sleep spot.

I ate the food under the shelter of the station's roof, while gawkers drove in and out of the parking lot. Although I've grown used to being stared at and usually return those stares, I just ate and planned out how to set up the tent in the rain. Dinwiddie was an even smaller place than I'd assumed. So, I figured that maybe in only another mile or so, I'd be able to find some kind of place to camp...

Sure enough, about one and a half miles further north the opportunity presented itself and I took it gladly...

Mercifully the rain had stopped somewhere along my extra hike out of town and the tent could go up. The tarps and fly were all still wet from the nights before. But I was happy to not be poured on while I assembled it all. After some time, pacing around and drinking my beer, which always makes me feel better--a true relaxant, I climbed into the tent and wiped down the floor. The tub floor of this tent dries quickly even when the humidity seems likely to thwart it. 

When it looked half-decent, I pulled out the sleeping bag and climbed in. There was a lot on my mind: the rain, the dogs, the indifference of humanity...

I was also worried that people might be concerned about my online absence. Thankfully, I only had one more walk to reach Petersburg the next day. I'm not sure where in this thought process I slipped into unconsciousness, but far into the night I was woken by a hard downfall. I clicked on my light to check for leaks. There were none. That reassurance helped me get back to a deep sleep.