Tails from Juniper Lake

Beau was a happy-go-lucky Golden Retriever with a slobbery grin and a backpack full of snacks. His owners insisted he carry his own food and treats. Tilly, a sleek gray cat with a taste for adventure (and a profound disdain for Beau’s drool), assisted her owner in packing her bag with sardine tins, catnip, and her favorite cat hammock to relax in.

Their plan was simple: a weekend summer trip to Juniper Lake. A place with open fields, chirping birds, and—according to their owner's guidebook—a secluded cove perfect for sunbathing and solitude. They hit the road in a rickety red Bronco that reminded Tilly of the bottom of a dumpster. Meanwhile, half of Beau's body was dangling out the window, slathering the side of the car in a viscous slime. Tilly balanced on the top of the back seat with a death grip onto the cloth, terrified that she might fall into the abyss of the filthy floorboard.

The first sign of trouble came when the Bronco broke down halfway there.

"Well," their owner said, slamming the door shut, " it looks like we are hoofing it the rest of the way."

Tilly squinted at him unamused as if to say, “We have hooves now?”

Meanwhile, Beau might as well have died and gone to heaven and the excitement spilled out of him as he stopped to urinate on every limb, shrub, and stick he could find.

After an hour of trekking through scratchy brush and questionable mud puddles, they reached Juniper Lake—only to find it crawling with campers, kids, and chaotic dogs. The secluded cove? Occupied by a volleyball game and a very loud stereo.

"Well," the owner said, rubbing the sweat from the back of his neck and surveying his options, "I know it is not as serene as we wanted guys, but we will find a spot."

Trying to salvage the trip, they found a quiet patch under a pine tree to set up camp. Beau accidentally crushed the tent poles while chasing a butterfly. Tilly tried meditating, but a squirrel kept chattering rude things at her from a branch.

By nightfall, it started raining. Beau huddled as close to his owner's make-shift tent as he could, but the sleeping bag still ended up in a puddle. Tilly glared at the sky as if it had done this personally. Their campfire fizzled before it even began.

Cold and shivering, the owner readjusted the tarp of a tent as best he could to keep a good portion of raindrops from falling on them, but it was of little use. Beau and Tilly climbed into the sleeping bag with their owner to keep him and themselves as warm and dry as possible.

The next morning, they woke to the scent of sizzling sausages and the sound of laughter. A young girl and her grandpa had set up a nearby camp and invited them over for breakfast.

“Ya'll hungry?” the man asked kindly.

"We brought our food," the owner replied, smiling, despite the rough night of little sleep. "It is in the Bronco."

"You might want to check that," the old man responded. " Saw some raccoons digging around there last night, and they are pretty sneaky."

Sure enough, when the owner went back to the Bronco, the back door had been opened, and in a scattered mess of wrappers and paper lay the trail of what would have been their breakfast.

With nowhere to go, they accepted the breakfast and, surprisingly, the company. The girl painted Tilly’s portrait in watercolor, and Beau played fetch with the grandpa until his legs wobbled. They roasted marshmallows. They slept under a real, dry tarp.

On the ride home, the owner looked in the backseat at both Beau and Tilly and chuckled, “Next time, we bring raccoon repellent.”

Beau wagged his tail, and Tilly gave a slight purr.