Woman and Dog
Ella’s still a puppy in that picture; you can tell. Look at that face! And those ears. A good breeze and she’d lift right off.
Meredith is so proud of her, beaming big and happy, her arm around her girl. The diploma says Super Dooper Dog Training…something, can’t make it out. And the diplomate is Ella Emerson. Meredith’s doggie daughter. I bet it’s Ella’s graduation from puppy class. They’re so happy. Freeze them in that moment; keep them there forever. Don’t move.
Every time I look at this picture I cry. I know it’s in poor taste to pay too much attention to Yet Another Dead White Woman. There are a lot of dead people in this world. Lot of dead people, most of them not young white women. A whole lotta hurt in this goddamn world.
But it’s the dog. A woman and her dog.
A woman and her dog.
I’m a woman and I have a dog and I used to have two dogs and my girls are everything to me, oxygen and love and sweetness, and I’ve gone hiking with my girls in the woods and I know how Meredith felt, I know what happened, how it was out there with Ella happy and free and hi! what’s your dog’s name? and one time when I was a little younger than Meredith was when she died I was chased by a crazy man in the woods but I got away, I got away, but Meredith didn’t. And Ella barking, I can see her now, barking, Mom! What’s wrong! Mom! Mom! Mom!
I can’t help it. This picture destroys me.
Listen: it happened when I was 20 years old. I used to go hiking by myself in the state park near my house. It never occurred to me that this wasn’t safe. It was only a 6 mile hiking trail that looped around a reservoir; it wasn’t like being out in the middle of nowhere. I would park my car near the trailhead and set off, arms swinging, breathing deep, making up stories in my head about the Civil War soldiers whose bones and blood and bullets were sunk into the ground beneath me. I never once worried about being safe.
Until it happened. Until the day I needed to use the bathroom and couldn’t wait. There was no one else on the trail, but I moved several yards off the path into some bushes before I squatted down. When I stood up I saw him. I don’t know if he’d been there all along or if he’d been following me at a distance, but now he was standing a hundred feet away, staring at me. And I knew I was in trouble because he ducked down behind a tree. Like he thought maybe in that split second I hadn’t seen him. Like he thought maybe he was still hidden.
I turned back to the trail, deliberate-like, not running, trying not to be scared. Nothing very bad is happening here. I’m just going to continue on my hike. I will continue on my hike and I will drive home and I will make dinner. When I reached the trail I turned around. He was following me.
I started to run lightly, just lightly, just kind of speeding up here a little, not panicking yet, okay? I’ve just decided to jog the trail today, that’s all that’s happening. I will run today instead of hike. But I could hear him behind me. I turned around and he was running and his face was contorted and he was chasing me now, yes, he was chasing me
I ran. I put my head down and ran like I never knew I could run. I was the wind. I was an Indian brave, I was in a western from my childhood, just run, swift and silent, you’re the wind, you can do this, you must do this you will do this you will get away you can do this just run run run run run
I whipped my head around and he was behind me, thudding, pounding
run run run run run run run
I don’t know how long it took me to reach the reservoir. I don’t know how long I ran. I don’t know at what point I finally lost him. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of miles, and running at full speed it could only have been a matter of minutes. How long did it take? Half my life, at least. That’s how long.
When I reached the reservoir I collapsed on the wooden bridge. There were other people in the distance, chatting, looking at the birds, the kids bouncing up and down on the planks. I watched the woods, waiting for him to come out.
He didn’t.
Now here’s the funny thing, the reason I know that people become insane when they’re in shock: I didn’t tell anybody what happened. It was like I still had to be silent and secret to get away. I walked to my car like nothing had happened. I drove home and went inside my apartment and lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Only then did it occur to me that perhaps I should report the incident to the police. And I hesitated because I thought — I actually thought, in my crazy shock-addled brain — that somehow I had brought it on myself by squatting to urinate in the woods. Better not tell the police that. Totally insane.
No, nothing ever came of it. No, he was never caught, and no, I never heard anything more about it.
And I never went hiking alone again.
Oh, women can’t do that my sluggish brain finally processed after some 20 years on the planet. Oh. I see. I thought I was a normal person. But I’m a woman.
It was only later, when I got a dog, that I felt safe again. My Katie and I went everywhere together. We toured the national parks and deserts and wild places west of the Mississippi, hiking everywhere we could. Almost ran out of gas on Pine Ridge, me gripping the wheel on the gravel road, and Katie watching me watch the gas gauge, a zillion miles from the nearest station. I have a picture of Katie in the Badlands, facing into the giant prairie wind ruffling her fur, eyes narrowed against the blowing dust. At the Bonneville Salt Flats I worried about her feet — is salt okay for dogs’ feet? — but she liked it. Salt is cool to the touch. Still, when we got back to the car I bathed her paws with the water from our jug. She watched me wash and dry her feet, the way she watched me do everything. Patient, curious. My daughter.
She used to tell me when she wanted a drink during a hike. I’d sit down on a rock and open my little bottle of water, and if she wanted a sip she’d nudge me and sort of lick her lips. If she didn’t, she didn’t.
On the beach at Carmel Katie herded the waves. She’d never seen the ocean before and the whitecaps excited her to a frenzy. Did she think they were sheep? Did moving white things stimulate some genetic switch in her brain? Must herd moving white things. I would sit in the sand, my heels dug in, savoring a hot coffee, while Katie wore herself out, running up and down the beach, barking at the surf. Bark. Bark. Bark. She’s gonna get it under control, people would say, giggling, friendly. Strangers videotaped her. She was a star.
That was the apex of my life, though of course I didn’t realize it at the time. I bet nobody ever does. My dog, my love, on the beach of the Pacific Ocean, my feet in warm sand, long glinting rays of sunlight in late afternoon.
In the deep pine forests of the north ridge of the Grand Canyon, night fell and we were alone, but I wasn’t afraid. Even Vegas at night on the Strip — it was just another hike for me and Kate. Some Lakota boys I met dubbed us Woman And Dog. Woman And Dog, safe and strong and happy.
Then Molly came along and we were three, three girls out for a hike. In the woods of North Carolina. In the woods of Maryland and Virginia. In the woods. See, when you have dogs, the world is a good place. And other people with dogs, they’re good too. Dog people are good people. You smile at each other, big expansive smiles, arms open to the world. You let your dogs play together.
Is that a boy or a girl? What’s his name? Dandy? Hey, he and Ella like each other!
23 Responses to “Woman and Dog”
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grasshopper says:
Ah, you write beautifully – so simple, clear, direct, sparse and straight from the heart. Your story has me right there with you, shivering when the freakazoid is stalking you, heart racing as you’re making your escape. Of course it may partly be the simpatico effect of being women of a certain age and having experienced similar things . . . or it may simply be that you’re a dang fine writer!
And also fantastic that you got to experience being out in the wilderness ‘alone’ (sans male company) and be unafraid. I’ve never experienced that, myself – not a dog person, so my solo expeditions have always had me sleeping with one eye open, never quite relaxed.
Can I still be a good person if I prefer cats?
January 12th, 2008 at 1:41 am EST -
Ann Bartow says:
Phew. I’m going to go hug my dog, and then take her for a long walk. And then there will be treats.
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kristi says:
Fantastic post, Violet. Every time I see a story like this I die a little inside.
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annared says:
Phew – indeed. I had a similar experience with two men but I only had to run 100 metres to my car not 2 miles! I was hyperventilating and shaking so much I couldn’t even switch the engine on…shudder.
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Gayle says:
This is such a heartbreaking story. It makes me think of all those rape “prevention” manuals that tell us to get a dog because men won’t attack us with our dogs in tow.
But mostly it just makes me sad. Her life snuffed out, and for what?
PS: I added the scare quotes to prevention because self defense doesn’t prevent rape. Real rape prevention classes/manuals would have to target potential rapists, not women.
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bone says:
A fitting tribute for a sad situation. It touches the heart of like minded people and strengthens resolve to push back against insanity and violence. What a difficult journey to try and get to a world of reason and kindness from one of selfish brutality. I don’t think it will happen in our lifetime, but we can’t stop trying, like you can’t stop running or fighting, or loving, otherwise there is no hope.
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B. Dagger Lee says:
I know.
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Val says:
Thanks… Like I really needed to shed more tears today!?!
But truly a great post, Violet. -
Tsunami says:
Amazing post. Thank you.
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kiuku says:
a couple things reminded me of an experience i had in college. This man came out of no where when I was walking home, literally out from behind some bush. I thought he was following me, but you know you never want to think that. At some point I knew he was following me, but I pretended not to notice. I was walking home, and for some reason I just walked home. Obviously I should have walked somewhere else. But as I was walking up to my apartment, I knew he was going to do it, he actually tried to come inside my apartment! Right behind me! but the door locked behind me. He ended up pounding on the door. To make a long story short, I didn’t have a phone, or a weapon, or anything really, and I ended up escaping and driving myself to the police station, where they made me sit for a very long time. I could have been raped or anything and they just made me sit there. Eventually it came time to make a report, and I was so shaken up, I couldn’t even get my story straight. I didn’t want to tell anyone even. So it ended up being just a half coherant street harassment report. Then I just wanted to go home. My neighbors had actually called the police, and reported it, and the police were at my house by the time I got home, and they were all like “how come you didn’t tell us that he tried to enter your apartment?”
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The Ghost of Violet says:
Thanks, folks. I needed to write this post for my own catharsis. The story of Meredith and Ella is so heartbreaking and there is so much evil and somehow my own grief is tied up in there too.
Thanks for listening.
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Kate Smith says:
Meredith’s murder chilled me, too. Thank you for telling your story. I hate it that I have to think that way, to constantly live in caution, if not fear. Infuriating, and so sad.
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Theriomorph says:
No words.
No, five words: thank you for writing this.
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nina says:
I think this just might be the best of many many good posts that you’ve ever written. Just stunning.
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kiuku says:
to be a woman is to live a life of terrorism. You can’t go anywhere without either someone telling you how to avoid being sodomized by men, or trying to avoid being sodomized by men. A woman, a person cannot protect herself from aggressors when they are prey. Nothing is going to stop it as long as men are complacent, and they aren’t showing any signs otherwise.
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kiuku says:
until men take ownership for what -men- do..when will that be?
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Miss Lu says:
Absolutely wonderful. Thank you for this post.
Just a week after I saw Meredith’s story in the news I went out on a hike with my sister. As we walked I began noticing that every few minutes one of us would glance behind us. There was a tension and a sense that we needed to be careful. We talked about what had happened and how sad it was. It is unfair that this young woman had to lose her life. How many women will think twice about a hike in the woods? What does it take to feel safe now? My bear mace? What?
Damn, I’m pissed.
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Carrie says:
Thank you so much for writing this.
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tergeist says:
I made a suicide pact with a French woman in Canada. She teaches ballet and wanted an assassin, but I don’t do that. So I told her if she was serious, I’d show her how to do it beautifully, effortlessly, painlessly, even fun. Then I profiled her as all good forensic profilers do before they go off to die and discovered that I didn’t think she really wanted to go. It didn’t matter to me, I have nothing much to do anyway. But you hate to be left standing at the altar for something final like that.
Anyway, now I have an old Lab mix. I’m thinking she is about seven and here’s the email I sent to the French girl explaining how it happened. If you aren’t interested, I also attached the URL of a video of my house in case someone wants to buy it.
“I will have to find something useful to do to make a few extra dollars a month. The problem is not finding work. I can work anywhere and do anything with a few exceptions (like dancing). But I have to find something interesting, challenging and unsupervised. Teaching combat pistolry fits the bill, but there is no market for it and people who have been through courses like that think they are gunfighters. They aren’t. None of the instructors I know, save one, has even been involved in a gunfight, so the stuff they teach, while technically correct, does not reflect what happens in the real world when a gun comes out and your body dumps a load of adrenaline into your bloodstream. You stop thinking on a rational level, control of your body switches to the ‘old’ part of your brain and you act if you can to get inside the other fellow’s OODA loop. I shall not be able to pursue an additional degree, but obtaining it would serve no purpose whatsoever. I simply wanted to know if I could still think clearly enough to do it, but I was told about an old dog in the forest that had been running wild for a couple of years since her owner died. She just had a litter of puppies (that was ten weeks ago) and no one had been able to get close to her for these last years, but that is because people can barely communicate with other people, much less dogs. And I know this will sound crazy, but my only friend until age 6 was a dog. I love dogs more than people. Because, I suppose, I bonded with a dog instead of a person when I was a baby. We grew up together and so I can listen to the forest’s words and talk to dogs. I don’t care that people don’t believe it. I really can talk to dogs; at least some of them. Some can’t speak to me (or won’t) and some, like Dobermans and half-Wolves are not communicative, and you don’t want to turn your back to one.
So twice a day I crawled through the jungle on my belly through the mud in tropical rainstorms to take her food, and sometimes it wasn’t easy. She moved the den every day. But ventually……well, actually it was less than two weeks, but a lot of hours…I got close enough to feed her by hand and play with her puppies. She had lost most of her hair and was pretty ratty and bloody, but she let me tend to her after a few more days and eventually I got them all to the vet, spent $700 bringing her back to life and getting the puppies their shots, and finally, I scooped them all up and brought them home with me. So she is now my dog by mutual agreement and the puppies were adopted out to very good homes. I didn’t want another dog, but I have never wanted a dog. Every one I have ever had came to me in trouble, and I never turned one away. So now I have a partner in life and she will never want for kindness or attention or love.
I totaled my car on November 21st. I wasn’t hurt in the accident and the damage to the other care was less than five dollars for a new muffler bracket. But my little ’99 Honda Civic 4-door was done. The insurance paid me $5,800 for it after I paid about $12,000 in car insurance premiums since I bought it new. I went out and bought a Toyota truck. I have wanted one for years, but they were never practical. However, since this may well be my last car and I have no one but myself (and now my old dog) I bought one anyway. It’s a 2008 Tacoma double cab 4×4 with just about everything on it except heated seats and mirrors. Even with a $5,800 down-payment it will cost me about a thousand dollars a month to own for the first five years. It cost more than my first house. But it will go wherever I want to go and bring me back, so I suppose it was a better choice than another little Civic or the madness men seem to have at this age for young women and sports cars. I had a hard time squeezing myself into that Civic anyway.
The video of the house is on my website and I have a handy-dandy ad on match.com with a picture. I should have left the picture off. I explain that I’m not rich, but I get hustled by thirty-somethings all day long. Obviously I don’t respond th them….or anyone else….I am just amusing myself. I am getting very bored with life.
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The Ghost of Violet says:
Paul, I’m so happy for you and your dog. Good for you for adopting her. I understand completely. And how great that you have each other now.
Bored with life? Dude, you got a dog, you got a truck. What more do you need?
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tergeist says:
That dog looks like my dog as a pup and that girl could pass for my daughter at that age. What I need, and what I am looking for, is a roommate/partnership with a woman who has a hundred acres or so with permanent water and carries a gun to town and keeps one handy at home. Because there are a lot of sick bastards walking the streets and I want, more than anything, to catch one of them trying to rape a girl or kidnap a child or kill a police officer. Because I can’t go drooling in some old folks’ home and I don’t want to go until I have made the world safe from one more predator. So I have a limited amount of time to get back to the mainland and hope beyond hope, since it’s going to happen, that I’m there.
That’s what I want. If I knew someone who was getting credible threats or being stalked, I’d be all over it.
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simply wondered says:
…but it’s good to hear from you, tergeist!
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Sis says:
I’m still waiting for more from you Vi. Post your stories. I know there are more. Work this good doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
