The Forest Guard

This really happened.

As I sit here on my couch with my laptop, my puppy is squeaking his toy, loudly and repeatedly. I truly hope that what is an otherwise annoying sound to many will be inspirational to me. One might think, “Oh! How adorable! A story about a puppy! Puppies are such handfuls! This should be good!” And they’d be right, they are handfuls and this could be a funny story about that. But this story isn’t about my new puppy. I’ve raised several puppies throughout my life who grew up to be wonderful dogs and I have many wonderful memories of life with them, but Nova and I just haven’t had time to make those yet. He’s just a cute puppy and very new to us. This story is about dogs though. About how fascinating it is to see how they work together, how they communicate through a silent language, and how terrifying they can be. As I said before, this is a true story.

Every year, I would look forward to summer break when I could go visit my dad for a couple of weeks. And every summer I would visit him until I became an adult. My dad lived in a townhome complex in the small town of Ayer, which is west of Boston. This was in the ’70’s or early ’80’s when not a lot of the land around the property had been developed. The complex sat on a huge grassy lot surrounded by new growth forest.

There really wasn’t a lot for me to do there. I had friends at home but I was a bit shy and found it difficult to make friends with the kids who lived there. I met and befriended some of Dad’s neighbors and made more friends with the neighbors’ dogs than I did their kids. There was Bo, the black lab, who was the neighborhood peace keeper. He was known for breaking up fights among the dogs and he was a good buddy to me. There was Jader, the Shepard mix who later chased off an intruder who tried to break into the neighbor’s home. And there was Teddy, the Dachshund who loved to be petted.

I often went exploring alone in the forest on muggy afternoons where it was cool and shady. I remember the first time I went and I wasn’t really sure if I was trespassing on private property. There were no fences, no signs warning near-do-wells, so I cautiously began to explore.

I remember finding blueberry bushes and eating a couple of berries all the while wondering if I was eating something that would make me sick. They didn’t. My explorations kept pushing me farther back into the forest, where I would always be alone, until one day I found an old logging trail. To the left led towards the heavily trafficked road, to the right, deeper into the forest. I turned right.

There was a stone wall to one side, laid by people from a long time before. And there was a little creek to the other side that burbled its way to the road. It was quiet back there in the woods and I found many places to investigate. I once stepped on a small rock that turned out to be a turtle (he was fine). About a quarter of a mile up the old logging road, there was another small path that came from the left, forming a ’T’ intersection. I had only gone down that way once and came to a private property. I remember there being “No Trespassing” signs and so never went back that way.

Just north of that path was a small dam and a pond full of lily pads and big, fat bluegills. The little creek came from here. There was more to explore and to describe to you, but it was at this dam that my story takes place. I’d grown to know this area quite well and had taken my father there many times, often when we could think of nothing else to do. We fished, he took photos and we had even brought a small, inflatable boat once. In all that time I spent in those woods, I never saw anyone else, which to this day I think is odd considering a lot people had been living around there for a long time.

One summer’s day, my dad and I decided to walk back to the little pond again and the neighbor’s dog, Teddy the Dachshund, decided to come with us. We trekked through the deep leaves and made our way to the logging road, making the right turn. Everything was as before. Quiet woodland sounds and the smell of wet, mouldering earth, our feet shuffling through the leaf litter. My dad and I chatted as we walked. Teddy’s shorts legs trotted fast to keep up with us and he looked happy to have friends to hang out with during the day. His owner worked, of course, and back then it was considered ok to let your dog out to roam while you were gone.

My dad, Teddy and I had just gotten to the little dam when something very unexpected happened. A pack of six very large German Shepard Dogs came from the path that made the ’T’ towards us. My dad and I froze. We weren’t sure what to do. They didn’t bark or growl. They weren’t feral, for each wore a heavy duty collar with tags. For a few moments we stood there, each group staring at each other. Then, by some silent, invisible cue, the dogs split into pairs, each moving around us until our way was blocked. We couldn’t continue or go back home. There was no one around to help us. Poor Teddy began to cry and pressed up against our legs seeking our protection. He was so terrified.

Once that precision maneuver had been completed, one pair, I presume the leader and his lieutenant, made the first move. They walked up to us slowly and not aggressively. It was clear who was in charge of the situation and it wasn’t us. The leader began to sniff my legs. Teddy was in terrible shape and had dropped onto his back, exposing his neck and belly, and tried to be as submissive as possible.

I bravely held out my hand for the lead dog to sniff, which he did. It seems stupid now but I began to pet his head, which he allowed me to do. The second in command checked out my dad while the other four remained at their posts. At this point, Teddy was so relieved at the realization he was going to live he was crying in relief. Poor, poor Teddy.

My dad and I shared a few brief words and decided that it was best we should try to head home. As we made our past the T, the four dogs who had blocked our way peeled off on an unvoiced signal and the leader and his mate remained by our sides, clearly escorting us back the way we had come. My hand occasionally flicked out to pat the leader on his head, which he tolerated.

We made it back to the grassy clearing where my dad’s complex was and the two German Shepard Dogs bounded off, acting completely opposite from the trained soldiers they obviously were. They began chasing each other and loping through the grass and all concern for our presence had vanished. Business was over, it was time to play. Teddy was panting in relief and we returned him to his home where he stayed put.

Those German Shepards were terrifying and I don’t know how, even as a young girl, I could remain calm in that situation. They could’ve easily torn us to shreds if they wanted to. But remaining calm allowed me to observe how fluid they were as a group, how effortlessly they worked together to manage what they considered a threat and for me to appreciate what a wonder it was. Not a sound was uttered by them, yet they moved with precision. Dogs are amazing creatures whose superb ability to read body language is truly astounding. That’s why they make such great companions. They spend their time with us learning to read our physical cues and through those, our minds and try to fill us with unconditional love. That’s how we bred them and how they’ve become such an integral part of our being. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that when I’m encouraging my puppy, who is part German Shepard Dog, to “Go potty!” outside in the snow or when I catch him trying to eat a piece of plastic that he grabbed from who knows where.

The last time I visited the lily pond was with my husband before we were married. We sat on the little dam and I showed him how to make a popping sound in the water with his fingers. We laughed when I was surprised by a fat bluegill who mistook my finger for a worm. And I told him the story of the dogs. We never saw a single soul during our brief visit, human or dog.

It’s been decades since my dad moved to Atlanta and while I’ve been back to Boston since, I never explored those woods again. I see on Google Earth that they’re gone now. The little dam and the lily pad pond drained and developed. The logging trail is now someone’s paved driveway and my childhood forest is gone. In those woods I gained an understanding of just how incredible dogs are and I cherish all the memories I’ve made with the beloved pups in my life.