Will Power

Will makes his first mountaintop.

As I write this I realize that my life is now different than it was six months ago.  I’m a changed man. . . . a better man.  I’m more than I used to be and inspired in both head and heart.  Friendship and love can do that to even the hardest most dubious man.  So can helping another become who he was meant to be. 

Two weeks ago I sent out the following email to a handful of close friends.

Today, what I had grown to think of impossible became reality when my best friend and I followed Atticus as we pushed and carried Will's hiking chariot to the top of Pine Mountain. It was a very difficult journey and much harder than we expected it to be, but throughout it all Will was comfortable, safe, and even happy. We chose Pine Mountain because of the dirt access road and the relatively short, but challenging (challenging when you are carrying up a dog in a carriage) trail to the summit.  The approach on the road is long and uphill and tired us out as we took turns pushing his little chariot. When we reached the trail itself, which we had scouted out yesterday, we were challenged by rocks, roots, mud (from this weekend's rainstorms), and slippery ledges and we tired quickly as we picked up either end of the rig and carried it over the rougher sections.

We stopped often to rest our shoulders, backs, and arms, and simply to catch our breath.  At one point my friend turned to me and said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to have a heart attack on me, are you?”

I assured her I was okay and we continued following the ever-patient Atticus up the mountain while carrying Will in his chariot.   

In the end we reached the mountaintop and I held Will in my arms as I have always held Atticus and that old, mostly blind and deaf dog sat there and sighed. I'm not sure what he saw, if anything, but he obviously knew it was something special because he leaned in to me, sighed, and licked my cheek - a first.

I am so proud of Will, who could have given up on life long ago. I'm proud of Atticus as well, for he's shared me with Will and didn't seem the least bit put out by Will's first mountaintop, even though it was Will in my arms and not him. And none of this would have been possible without my best friend. I first tried a backpack but Will's hips were too sore to sit in it. I gave thought to carrying him up in a sling but I didn't feel his old body could take the jostling, and I was ready to give up. But she came up with the idea of the hiking chariot and today we took turns pushing it up that mountain, and at times we carried it. In all of the mountains we’ve climbed, this was one of our most challenging.  It’s also now one of our most memorable.

Will is happily snoring at home right now and Atticus is just being Atticus. But we are worn out. But it’s a good tired that has us feeling fulfilled and happy.   

Six months ago Will was abandoned at a kill shelter by the only family he'd ever known for fifteen years. When we took him in he was broken, depressed, angry, and I didn't think he'd live very long. But not only has Will not given up on life, he's thriving and today he reached his mountaintop, and together the four of us made a memory that will last a lifetime.

There’s an old saying about taking in a shelter dog: “Who rescued who?”  But that question doesn’t apply to us.  Will, a fifteen year old partially lame (due to being put away in a crate so he wouldn’t be a bother), mostly blind, and completely deaf miniature schnauzer didn’t save us, for we didn’t need to be saved.  But he has taught us a thing or two about life and love.  He’s taught us, and everyone else who knows his story, that it’s never too late to love or to be loved; and it’s never too late to live. 

In the six months Will’s been with us he’s emerged from the shell of a dog he was to one who is aware, vibrant, and very much alive.  We’ve watched him grow and reclaim his life.  But nothing has changed him more than “climbing” Pine Mountain has.  Perhaps it’s just more of the magic of the White Mountains, but in the days that have followed he’s more self-assured and follows us from room to room.  He wants to be part of us and is so far removed from the little dog who hated to be touched, tried to bite me if I picked him up, and did his best to isolate himself in the very beginning. 

Now, as I sit here writing this, I realize how different everything is than it was in May.  Back then we took in an unwanted dog who had nothing left to live for with the idea of giving him a place to die with dignity.  I figured he’d last a month or two and that would be it and we would move on with our lives knowing we’d done a good deed. 

But as I look at him today I realize I don’t want him to go – ever.  And yet he is closing in on sixteen and the cruel truth is that the dogs we love only live a fraction of the time we do.  When I look at Will and see how alive he is I remind myself that he’s not getting younger, he just seems like he is.  And whether he lasts another year or two, or simply another month or two, it’s all too fleeting.  He’ll take a piece of me with him when he goes and there will always be a bit of Will in my heart.  (Just writing that has tears welling in my eyes for whenever we find a true friend, we never want to lose them.) 

At 2,400 feet, Pine Mountain is dwarfed by Mount Madison, the fifth highest peak in New England.  And yet on one day – a day I will always remember – it was for a little elderly once-broken and once-discarded dog, the top of the world.  We brought him there, and in turn he brought us along for the journey, a journey that will touch us forever.