Where There's a Will, There's a Way

I know, this is a hiking column and I’m sure I drive some other folks who write about hiking crazy by how I deviate from a simple, straight forward piece of writing about trail conditions and elevation gain.  I know…I should be writing about fall foliage and a hike that takes us through the bright orange, yellow, and red canopy of the season to a lofty viewpoint allowing us to drink in October’s tapestry as it spreads out below us.  After all, we are in the White Mountains, the most beautiful place in the world this time of year.  And yet this week’s column offers a different look at this season, and the autumn of one’s life.  And once again, I’m sure I will disappoint some of my peers who write about these trails we all tramp. 

Each morning, the first thing I do when I wake up is spend five minutes counting my blessings.  I start out each day with what I call an attitude for gratitude.  Over the past few years I’ve started off that list with a little black and white dog, the mountains we live in, our story that’s been published not just by this newspaper every two weeks but also by HarperCollins in book form, and more than any of that, I am thankful for this simpler more soulful existence we’ve found a way to live.  Not everyone finds their dreams in this lifetime.  And fewer still can live them on a daily basis.  That’s how fortunate I am. 

But what makes our life all the better is that from time to time we can take our passion and use it to make someone else’s life just a little better.  What could be better than doing what you love and have it impact someone else’s life? 

Through the years we’ve used our hiking as a way to raise money and awareness for the fight against cancer, for animals in need, and for literacy.  And yet nothing quite compares to those rare treks when Atticus and I take a friend to the top of a mountain and let them feel what we get to appreciate regularly. 

As anyone who knows us will tell you, Atticus and I are mostly a private pair.  Yes, we have our friends and we used to hike from time to time with others, but these days the trails and our experiences on them mean just too much for us to give them up to someone else.  The woods are where he and I bond.  It’s where our friendship is renewed time and again.  But every now and then if someone is special to us, we share this intimate corner of our lives with them. 

Over the next few days we hope to be doing just that.  We have this elderly friend…his name is Will.  He’s mostly blind to the point where he can see only shapes and shadows.  He is deaf and arthritic and when we met him in May he could barely walk and he was in such pain he didn’t liked to be touched.  Like Atticus he is a miniature schnauzer and through an inconceivable twist of fate, the family he lived with for the entire fifteen years of his life dropped him off in a kill shelter in New Jersey.  Fortunately for Will, the New Jersey Schnauzer Rescue Network swooped in and saved his life.  But they knew they had a difficult case on their hands and would have a hard time placing him in a home.  I surprised both Atticus and myself when I decided that we would take him in. 

Atticus has always been the only dog in my life.  He’s great with animals – even moose and bear – but he’s never had to share me with another four-legged creature.  Not full time anyway.  But knowing him as I do I believed he’d be fine with it.  And he’s been nothing but patient and understanding and kind from the very beginning. 

When Will first came to live with us I wondered why he was still alive.  That’s how unhealthy he was.  I wondered out loud in conversations with our vet Christine O’Connell how long I should keep him alive before relieving him of his misery.  For miserable he was.  And who wouldn’t be? Live with a family for the entirety of your life and when you are blind and deaf and in such pain all you want to do is bite someone when they try to touch you, abandoned in place where you are behind bars, unfamiliar with your surroundings, quite frightened, and left to die.  It had to be overwhelming for him.  Just the thought of such despair crushes me even today.

The only reason we took Will in was to give him a place to die in dignity.  He deserved that.  We all do.  But a funny thing happened that first month.  He didn’t die.  Nor did he die the second or third month.  And now it has been five months and Will is not only alive, he’s thriving.  He’s happy, self-assured, and he’s learned to trust again.   There are not many people who could go through what he has and come out half as well. 

Before I saw Will, I thought it would be great if we could get him up a mountain with us.  But he was in no condition to do that.  However, over time his hips have come back a bit.  He now lets me massage them, something that would have elicited a bite from him in the past.  And while he will never be able to walk up a mountain he may be ready to sit in a backpack.  Tomorrow morning, we’ll head to Eastern Mountain Sports to see if he feels comfortable sitting in one.  If all goes well, the following day my two best friends will lead Will and I up a mountain.

Over the last five months Will has developed quite a fan club.  His story resonates with many folks who gain strength from his resilience and understand that if it wasn’t too late for him to love, and be loved, and to live, then it’s not too late for them to have those gifts as well. 

Five months ago, a little blind dog was left to die alone in a shelter.  This weekend he could be sitting on top of a mountain, loved, and adored.  Some mountains take five months to climb, some journeys take a lifetime, and Will reminds us that it’s never too late to find your way home.