The Adventures of Beowulf

Beowulf and I began our 14 year long adventure together on the day I brought him home from the shelter, Valentine’s Day. Some might say that I rescued him, but I will always argue that it was he who did the rescuing. Truth be told, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for this beautiful little sentient being. He literally saved my life. But that’s another story. Here and now, I want to honor his memory by sharing some of our extraordinary escapades during the first few years of his life. The three years we lived in Colorado afforded some of the craziest encounters and unforgettable stories ever! Most of our tales involve wild animals, and this one includes a fox, a coyote, some domestic cows, and a wild ass.

So many adventures, too little time. Beowulf was my best friend, my travel companion, my warrior and savior all in one beautiful, silvery package. In the dog world, his coloration is termed “seal”, like a metallic, medium-tone grey. He was so shiny that sometimes he would look greenish when we were up in the mountains in a sprawling, lush field of tall grasses. Other times he appeared bluish with the reflections off of the Ocean or swimming pool. A furry chameleon that one. Of course, when he was older and the white hairs started taking over his sweet face, his entire coat lightened into a slightly tarnished sterling, like an old tea set. No matter what variation of seal he happened to be on a given day, people always commented on how gorgeous he was. He’d come a long way from his dull, mangy, brownish-grey shelter coat. Once he got healthy, his whole entity flourished, physically, emotionally, and psychologically. His eyes became brighter and more expressive, and his personality started to shine through with each passing day. Everyone adored him, but nobody as much as I did.

First of all, you need to know a little bit about Beo, one of the goofiest dogs I’ve ever met. He had a great sense of humor, and truly enjoyed making people laugh. He liked to goose people, shoving his snout into a thigh or butt cheek, then he’d back up and wait for the reaction. You would whip around in surprise to see a smiling dog, tail wagging wildly, and then he would run off, his job was done. It was hilarious to watch him in action, and I wish I could have caught it on camera! I was usually in a bathing suit or shorts when he got me, the shock of a cold, wet nose punching me on my bare skin would elicit a shrill yelp. He just loved that. He wasn’t sniffing butts, either, he had manners. No, I watched him do this a million times, and he never once took a whiff, just went in for the goose and the giggles. He also played “hide-and-seek”, but only with me. Every now and then I would wonder where he was, start calling for him, and get no response. Just as I started to panic, thinking he ran away or got lost in the woods, I would spot his cute little sneaky face, peeking out from behind a tree, fence, shrub, or whatever was big enough to fit behind. Sometimes his tail would be sticking out from the other side of a narrow tree or post, spinning like a propellor with excitement. He and I would make eye contact, but he just stood there like a statue, certain that he was invisible, until I finally said something like, “I see you over there!” or “I found you!” Then he would come bounding over, spin around in circles, as if he had just won the game. I can’t help snickering as I write, just the vision of that dorky dog makes me crack up.

We did a lot of hiking and camping as I love to explore the National Parks, wilderness, and the natural wonders of this planet. Beo loved it, too, always a plethora of new and fascinating smells to snork up, and interesting creatures to meet. When we headed out on a hike, it was usually just my pup and I, and whatever wildlife we encountered along our way. Some of the “open spaces”, which were typically acres of public land with hiking trails, were butted up to private ranches. On several occasions we would see cows grazing along the fences, and Beowulf would go nuts. No barking, no fear, no hesitation, he would just trot right over as if the cows were long-lost buddies and he was so thrilled to reunite. The cows were nonplussed, contentedly munching on grasses, as Beo started sniffing their muzzles. He licked a few, and the recipient sometimes licked him back! Then he would either start nibbling the grass with the cow, or prance back over to get me. “Hey, wanna meet my cow buddy? Come on!” he would pounce up, spin around, making some foreign squeaky noise, tail whipping, then run back and forth between the cow and I. I would visit the cows for a minute, then we’d walk on down the trail, off to see what new and fascinating critters were out there. Along our road trips we trekked around the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, Taos Mountain and the Enchanted Circle of New Mexico, Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, and the Great Sand Dunes, just to name a few of our excursions. We spent the most time hiking in Colorado, however, during the 3 years we lived out there. We explored Estes Park, Lyons, Sugarloaf Mountain, Bear Peak, the Boulder Reservoir Loop(with the added bonus of swimming!), and made it all the way up to Mt. Evans Peak at 14,000 feet. When we were living above Boulder, in a small town called Rollinsville, we would often just step out of our back door and walk off onto a scenic, no-name trail right behind the house. One time, we were only about 10 minutes into the forest when all of a sudden, I heard a scrambling. I whipped around just in time to see both tails, fox and dog, disappear into the underbrush. I yelled, “Beo, no, come back here, leave it!”, but the chase was on, and he was deaf to me. I was so freaked out, not knowing if he could find me again, worried about potential traps out in the woods, or some overzealous property owner who might shoot at him. I called out to him for over 30 minutes, walking in the direction he and the fox went. Suddenly, he came pouncing out of the trees and brush, a big ole grin, “Did you see that!? I chased a fox! I almost got him, too! He was so fast…” I could hear him going on and on, so thrilled by the whole event. I couldn’t be angry with him, so I just praised him for coming back, safe and sound. I was actually so relieved, all I cared about was that he found me and wasn’t injured in any way.

Then there were the giant coyotes. I was always concerned about them, having no fence around the property to keep them out. They were huge and filled-out, nothing like those small, scrawny ones you see in movies. (How big were the wolves then, I wondered.) I had heard stories about how cunning these coyotes were, and how they would lure dogs out into the thick forest, pretending to be playful and giving chase. Then the entire pack would move in for the kill, surrounding and attacking the unsuspecting dog. My main concern was not that any coyote would attack me, but for Beowulf’s safety. Knowing how super-friendly and playful he was, he would be a prime target for those sly creatures. I could easily imagine him running off into the woods with his phony friends, never to be seen again. A couple of weeks after we moved into the house, one of these gargantuan, mutant coyotes appeared in our yard, just a few feet from us, in broad daylight. I picked up a huge branch, screamed at Beo to get back, and charged at the beast. I wanted to scare both of them, letting the coyote know that he was not welcome, and telling Beo that it was not a new playmate. “Not my dog!!!”, I growled, like a mother bear defending her cub. The coyote was totally stunned by my crazed approach, branch flailing, voice bellowing. He froze for a minute, then bolted up the hill like his tail was on fire. We never saw another coyote while we lived there. (If you ever asked me who I would save first on a sinking ship full of friends, family, old and young, I’d say, “My dog, of course.”) I was fiercely protective of him, as I am with all little ones, of any species. But we were a team, mutually and unwaveringly protective of each other.

One of our most memorable encounters was on a weekend excursion to South Dakota. There is a Wild Mustang sanctuary that I wanted to check out, and an 18 mile drive around the Black Hills and Badlands called ‘The Wildlife Loop’. There were all manner of critters to see, including elk, pronghorn, mule deer, hawks, eagles, prairie dogs, and a large herd of Bison. Visitors are warned to drive slowly and always give animals the right-of-way, as well as not to get out of your vehicle or feed wildlife. Of course, there are the predictable ignorami that don’t think the rules apply to them, so they get out and feed them anyway. This leads the animals to believe that cars are friendly and there are treats inside, so they swarm the roads, block traffic, and have no fear of humans. As we slinked around the curve, I spied a sprawling herd of what looked like donkeys. They were all over the place, including several standing right in the middle of the road. I slowly rolled on, then came to a complete stop as a mare started nursing her foal about 2 feet from my bumper. Were we invisible? I mused, as Beo stared in disbelief at these strange creatures getting closer and closer…then, “Oh, hello there!” I said to the young burro who had quietly stuck his soft, grey muzzle up to my open window. I got a picture of him right before he moved back towards the passenger window. Beo was beside himself, head hanging out of the open window, and suddenly the little guy nuzzled up to my dog. Beowulf licked his muzzle, the people in the car behind us were flabbergasted, and I was too slow on the draw to get a shot of that incredible exchange. It was just so surprising and sweet, for a wild ass to be so trusting of a canine, and for my silly pup to kiss his cute little face.

Of all the great shots I’ve missed, that one lives in the ‘Top 5’ uncaptured moments of my life. Another was back in Florida, the time a Pelican swooped down on Beo as he was about to grab his swim toy, then snatched the buoy off the surface of the ocean and flew off with it. Poor Beo was like, “Hey! My toy! Not cool!”, paddling out to sea to catch the bird bully. And then there was the duck fight. A huge, solid black Muscovy drake had wandered up the bank and onto the property. Highly aggressive and territorial, he did not flinch as he charged my pup, wings out, darting bill, ready to put an eye out. He was taller than Beo, and looked ferocious, but Beo charged right back, and there was a frenzied skirmish. It all happened in an instant, as I ran out from the patio to break it up before somebody got seriously damaged. As soon as I screamed, “STOP!”, Beowulf whipped around, mouth filled with shiny black feathers, and the duck took off. (I am pretty sure he was alright, as he seemed to run quite well, and there was no blood on the scene.) That wide-eyed, very proud, duck-feathered doggy face was priceless, though, and once again I was cameraless. Ugghh! I wish I could conjure up a collection of “home movies”(like the ones in big metal canisters) that captured all 14 years of Beowulf’s wonderful life, not just for me, but to share the joy and laughs with others. Just like all of the cute little faces he made, the unexpected critter encounters, and the ever-present, unconditional love that only your dearest friend can offer, the best of Beo lives on in my heart and soul. No photo or film could ever really capture that essence anyway, but telling their stories can temporarily bring our loved ones back to life. I hope that some of our wild tales brought a smile to your face, as well! Rise In Perfection, little one, and thank you for sharing your light with everyone you met.