A Partner in Pursuit

Today I’ll find my prize egg, not in my Easter basket or hidden at a potluck’s egg hunt. Nope. HE’LL be in the wilderness, in the fur-esh air, hidden amongst the wooded trails winding around the Palo Pinto Mountains that slow-bake in sunshine. The breeze’s crisp, scented with spring and critters. Ok. So it’s a little hot, a little dry, and that breeze’s like an angry rooster whipping around kicking up dirt. But, nothing’s gonna bring me down today. Absolutely nothing. Today’s special.

Momma and I’ve been down a while so today’s a treat. She’s been in a flare, and I’ve had a harder time getting around. Not for our lack of trying though. She’s powering through to take care of me—staying up all night monitoring everything on me, keeping track of my meds, how much I eat, everything. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. Her sparkling eyes aren’t as glittery or vibrant. A hood shrouds them that only the most trained, sensitive detective could discern.

She says the long night shifts are returning the favor for the years I’ve taken care of her. I always nestle against her assuring her nothing’s owed. Just being with her, keeping her safe and happy is all I want. She’s worried about me, so I’m trying to show her I’m still sled dog strong. I’ll make today the best Easter we’ve had in years, so sunshine fills her eyes and spring infiltrates her smile.

Yes, today’s special. I’m a hunter on a double mission. I’m still the faithful Knight protecting the Queen—making sure she takes it easy. My joints know hers are still swollen and tender. I see her hitch when sliding in and out of her seat. Her small, exhaled, gasping wince—she thinks no one notices—booms in my ears like thunder. My heart flutters every time a pain surge makes hers skip. But, she’ll be ok. I’m on duty. My Momma radar’s tuned better than the galaxy’s biggest satellite. She’s powering through so my Easter’s grand and I’ll get as many hikes while we can. So I’m on guard to ensure her body gives her today.

While I’m keeping track of Momma, I’ll also be tracking my nemesis, hunting the biggest game. Sasquatch. Catching him will be a well-earned prize. Today’s it. I feel it in my bones. I’ll catch that elusive, musk-riddled beast. He’ll quiver like a chihuahua, cry like a lonely Frenchie, cower like a Lab caught in the trash when I corner him. Oh yes, he’ll fear this King’s wrath once he realizes I may be tiny, but I’m the mightiest King ever. I can’t wait to go. Today’s gonna rock.

We’re going to a brand-new park. We’ve followed its progress all year for the Grand Opening. It opened last month, but our schedule didn’t work. We were on a ‘Squatch expedition up North. It was epic. We’d crisscrossed the state smelly-giant-hunting. So, we’re making a special Easter visit. New beginning, new season, new park. Momma thinks of special things like that. She says other established parks may be a little too crowded for a peaceful nature trek. She’s keeping things calm and restful for me. Funny, I was thinking the same for her. Great minds think alike. As much as I think of her comfort, she does for mine too. Crowds have made my head fuzzy and lost lately. Momma said it’s just an evil sorcerer using dark magic on a Kingly, intelligent brain like mine. Less trail traffic means we can take breaks and enjoy everything’s beauty.

Momma winks getting into the carriage, telling the Stooges in back that these trails are still being marked and developed so we’ll need to be careful. “The trail less traveled may be the perfect hideout,” she says with a colluding smile. I know its implication. The Stooges think it’s a simple, fun hike; it’s really a tactical ‘Squatch-catching mission. We’ll catch him red-pawed where he thinks no one walks yet. Oh, Momma. She always assists my super-secret hunting missions.

The Stooges passed out before we left the driveway, bums. Momma and I jam a “go fast” hunting mood playlist. The sunshine’s blazing, soaking the soggy world blissfully; last night’s storm’s unworthy of memory.

As always, the Ranger immediately opens the gate, presents a map, bows, and waves admittance when Momma presents our name. Being royalty’s nice. Gates open wherever we go. She eases our chariot into our reserved front space, saying she's grabbing my surprise.

Returning, her smile’s full of radiance and excitement. From behind her back comes a giant…vulture. Most Knight-turned-King poodles would scoff at a vulture stuffy, humans too, but not me. Nope. This particular sneer-getting bird was specially chosen. She gets me an animal on every new park visit, but not just any animal. She gets what’s most seen in the park so I’ll remember where it came from. She melts into giggles.

“Boogs, it’s bigger than you!”

Oh floof, she’s right! I love giant toys. I lean into it, flashing her my most soulful look to confirm I love it.

“Probably the worst thing to get you right now,” she chokes, an almost imperceptible sob. “An omen. But even the ugliest, most despised critters need love right? He’ll fit with the backseat vultures once the ice cream’s opened later.” She winks and heads to the sign for our pictures. I know why she’s holding back tears, but she’s nothing to worry about. I’ve no intention of taking my crown off any time soon.

Pictures are a little emotional, but surprisingly, the Stooges are on their best behavior, and we finish quickly. I feel Momma’s tension tighten. Her skin buzzes, a surging current when her heart races and she’s upset. I lean all my weight into her during our solo pictures, ensuring her breathing and fluttering heart fall into rhythm with mine. She hugs me tight as we load up and head for the trail.

Finally! Trail time! We study the map and decide the short creekside trail with the lakeview and sunset overlook’s best since it’s already afternoon. She uses GPS to survey the route. We’ll have a couple good scouting hours before the lake then a few ‘Squatch-tracking hours before the overlook. There, after a snack, we’ll enjoy daylight tenderly falling asleep before the final stretch back. Easy. We demolish our pre-trail ice cream, the Stooges being wired-up fools. Floofing mongrels. They don’t have the dignified reserve we professionals embody.

Momma hooks them to her hiking belt and straps on our supplies. Being a new park with unmarked trails, she keenly grabs the lantern, shivering.

“Probably a cynical view huh Boosie? Anticipating issues. But, better safe than sorry, I do have precious cargo after all.”

Bending, she kisses me with such devotion, the vulture and I both melt. She loads me—and the vulture, to cushion me—into my hiking backpack, strapping us in front. I miss tackling trails and sinking my paws into the earth, but being closer’s easier to detect her changes. Definitely makes life easier on legs that won’t quite do what I command.

My hair prickles with cautious excitement. I survey the woods with periscope precision. I scrutinize every shadow, eyes ninja-twitching at every falling leaf, my ears tuned to every subtle breeze whisper; my nose on red-alert for the smallest aroma. Nothing. Not a soul. But I know he’s here. I feel him. I’m coming for ya Sasquatch. The hunt’s on.

Despite a literal rocky start, the trail’s nice. Initially, it was insanely steep, rocky, and very…downhill. Glad Momma threw the vulture in; he’s cushioned the ride. It’s like we’re journeying to the Earth’s center. Poor Momma ate her cone on the trail, so we don’t lose daylight. She’s a superhero. Her head’s on a constant swivel, ensuring the Stooges are handling the rocky slope and I’m comfortable and secure while being vigilant for ‘Squatch clues and trail markers.

We’re leveling now; the rocks slowly dissolving into clay. Thankfully, the trail’s wide and clear. The sharp switchback we just rounded gave a clear view down the wooded valley. To the untrained eye, it’s simply a sleeping forest tucked under warming sunshine, but to me, it’s a beast’s playground. I analyze the shadows dancing between the trunks. My skin’s itching with a huntsman’s eagerness. My nose twitches like a sonar’s blip as a distinct musk permeates my nostrils. It’s HIM. I knew he’d be here. I shuffle in my pack, eyes canvassing the trees like a lighthouse beam. He’s watching; my muscles feel the intrusive stare. Our game’s begun, champions’ hide and seek. He’s a concealment expert, but I’m an unmatched pursuer.

Momma’s pulse quickens, breath holding a flicker of tension, jarring me from my recon-mission. She’s holding my pack firmly, telling the Puptarts she has them while urging Maggie onward. She’s navigating a low water crossing boasting slippery boulders. Holding the Puptarts’ harnesses—their legs too short to traverse here—she’s calculating steps with a General’s precision. Once across, the tension evaporates.

“That was an adventure,” she triumphantly pronounces. Maggie’s stamping her wet feet, huffy.

“Onward!” Momma beams.

We round a bend. Spilling before us, the lake glistens in the late afternoon light. Picture time! The water’s beauty reflects in her eyes, shimmering and brilliant.

We’re climbing the mountain again. At a trail split, Momma reviews the map; her face taut, brow furrowed. “The trail should be leveling, going back around the lake. We’re too far right,” she says. Everyone sits.

She studies the compass. “We’re going the wrong way.” Checking her phone, she sighs. “No service. Ideally, the trailhead’s not far. We’re not risking that water crossing after dark, so, onward. We’re hopefully on the shorter mountain trail. Let’s go; gotta get off the mountain before dark. I never saw markers…the temporaries must’ve blown away last night. Parks are usually diligent with new openings. Especially a month in.”

CRACK. The disruption reverberates across the valley to our left as an unmistakable musk pervades my nose. My hackles rise. Gotta be ‘Squatch. I shift, squinting into the trees. Was that a silhouette? The leaves quiver as the smell fades. CRACK. As I climb out of my pack, Momma gently caresses my head.

“No Boogs. I heard it, just a critter. Hopefully.”

I can’t explain why, but those branches sounded like a beacon. Again, I start climbing and bark towards the middle fork. An unspoken agreement passes between us.

“You’re never wrong, my faithful tracker. Maybe Sasquatch’s rescuing us.” She winks.

The ground’s getting steeper in the fast-setting sunlight. Momma’s getting tired. The electricity whirring through her accelerates my heart. I stretch up, kissing her cheek.

“Thanks Boo,” she whispers. “I needed that.”

She’s keeping a brave, calm face, but I feel her stress. It’s heavy, fog-like. If I keep her calm and find the trail out, we’ll be alright. I breathe a pleading sigh, hoping it reaches help.

She thinks we’re on the long trail around the mountain. A switchback overlapped it, but without nameplates on the trails, there’s no way to confirm. With our turnoff, at least we aren’t on the summit trail. She’s tracking our time at each mile marker to estimate the map landmarks she’s identified against nightfall. Her anxiety’s emanating like a mushroom cloud. Her body’s aching, hitch worsening. She catches my eye, inhaling deeply.

“I’m ok, just getting tired, Boo.”

To our right’s an eerie-looking cave. I will my eyes to be night vision, x-ray focused into its dark abyss. Searching. Hunting. But all I see in twilight is…a nest?

“Look guys, the vulture nest! The Rangers cancelled cave tours, because after two decades, the vultures have returned. Of course, choosing its entrance for nesting. That’s why you got your friend Boogs,” she says with wonder, gazing at the birds bedding down. “We must be getting close to the gulch bridge. If we make it there, surely we’ll see markers.” She flips on the lantern, smiling at everyone. “Just a little further. We got this.”

The sun’s set. Moonlight snakes sparingly through the trees. This part’s undeveloped and steep; we’re skidding down. It narrows along the cliff. I feel her body’s rigidity as we traverse single file. She’s worried about the Stooges. We hug the rockface tighter. Maggie’s no spring chicken; old girl welcomes 11 next week. Momma’s focused on her.

“Let’s pause guys,” she commands when the trail widens.

Checking her phone, she excitedly dials the Ranger’s station. Her face falls. It means no afterhours line. Concern etches her eyes. There’s another unmarked fork—one so rugged it’s not recognizable on the map.

“The bridge’s gotta be close. Then the picnic area a little further, then off the mountain. We’ll find it. Not Mother of the Year am I? This is dangerous. How could I’ve missed our trail?”

Setting me down, she opens the supply bag. “We’ve done your meds in some strange places, but this…” she trails.

As she’s repacking, another CRACK resounds. The girls stand guard; I’ve taught them well. Brosie, coward, ducks behind her. My eyes can’t roll high enough. Momma trains the lantern. Nothing.

“Critters,” she soothes.

Then I see a silhouette moving down the left fork. I lean out, super-sniffer engaged. It can’t be. Then…that familiar odor penetrates my nostrils, a welcome fragrance. Could my nemesis be guiding us? Responding to my call for help? I nudge her hand. We’re thinking alike. Her eyes confirm she saw it; she trusts my instincts. We’re confident he’s helping, not dangerous.

Her tension slightly dissipates. We’ve reached the bridge. The lake shimmers in the moonlight. It’s late. The picnic area’s still far; she’s exhausted carrying everything so long. I kiss her cheek, urging her on.

Feet sliding on the uneven ground, we’ve reached the mountain base. For fluffin’ sake! Another fork. We sigh together. Momma rotates the lantern and stiffens. No markers.

“Sorry guys. So much for a relaxing hike. I gotta get you back. Just a little further. We’ll rest at the picnic area if need be. Bear with me. Left feels correct.”

As she’s checking the map and compass, to our distant left I see a familiar shadow standing down the trail, barely visible, a guiding presence. I nudge her left arm to validate her.

We cross the dam as the moon peaks. Per the map, once we descend the dam, the picnic area’s close. From there, a parking area and main road. Her skin radiates hope. And fatigue. Stress. In the distance, something glitters. Another lantern? Reflection? We continue.

“What the?” she ponders. “Per the map, this should lead to the picnic trail. This is a drop-off. We’ve missed something.”

Behind us, rocks skid down the dam. Retracing our steps, we discover embedded stairs where the rocks slid. Descending, we find a wrap-around low water crossing. It’s slicker, rushing water flowing. Momma tightens everyone’s harnesses. Her heart’s a war cadence.

“Come here. I’m carrying you. It’s too slick and deep.”

She ninja-navigates moss-slick rocks under our weight. The lantern a metronome on her belt. Exhaling, praying, she sets the Stooges down. Her heart’s too fast; her energy waning as her sugar dips. We enter an apocalypse-eerie picnic area poised on a ravine. Just-vacated eerie. Not by anyone friendly. Her senses heighten. The path’s gone. No signs. A single cigarette smoldering on a rock.

“Go. I feel like the trail’s this way.”

My eyes sweep our surroundings. Empty. I lean into her, steadying her pulse. She’s right. We hit a metal walkway, and a vacant parking lot emerges. Her relief is palpable. Reoriented, she checks the compass against the map.

“The car’s a mile away,” she declares.

As we turn, I glimpse a giant silhouette behind the bathhouse. Comfort engulfs me. I nod my appreciation respectfully.

Sasquatch watches from behind the bathhouse. The little huntsman’s family’s safely off the mountain. He’s glad the little dog’s keen senses understood his clues. Thankful the mom trusted the huntsman implicitly and believed what others deemed legend. He’d followed this family across many trails. He’d always felt the little King knew they had a mutual game. Tonight confirmed he did. He wasn’t sure how he always knew where they’d be next; his soul felt tied to this little hunter and mom. It created fun adventures when his skin prickled, his heart drawn to a location. Whenever the feeling ensued, he knew he’d see them soon. He’d scared away the drunks at the ravine. Delinquents. He wasn’t risking the family’s safety.

Keeping to the shadows, he follows them to their car, guaranteeing their protection. He senses the mom’s fatigue. She’s limping more. He also detects fatigue hitting the little huntsman; his body pulses with stress. Stress for his mom and fellow floofs.

They arrive at the car. An invisible weight melting off the mom and huntsman. She’d ended up carrying everyone, giving their tired little legs rest. She was tough. The little hunter was brave and protective. Pride rose for such a rival, a pursuer.

Getting in, the huntsman spots him. Eyes wide but full of gratitude, he bows to Sasquatch. His stare conveys admiration and commitment to their secret alliance.

As Momma shuts my door, I see the silhouette step slightly into view. He waves. I bow. He’s earned a place in our kingdom after tonight. A gift I cannot repay him for. Our eyes lock. I will him to understand this. To know he’s forever a friend. A partner in pursuit. Until the next trail, Sasquatch…

Dedicated In Memory Of

The bravest King I ever knew. Who lived virtuously, courageously, and loved truly unconditionally. Whose servant’s heart destined him for medical service. My soulmate.

He was love in its purest form.

An unmatched Sasquatch hunter.

Love is being owned by a poodle,

Especially one named Ditto.

His story is the greatest ever told.

Based on my service dog, Sir Didymus Ditto Mehaffey whom Heaven reclaimed April 28, 2026 following a battle with CKD and a brainstem tumor.