Pecwan Pete

He's not your average dog. Most of the time he's well below average.

Not in looks though. Here, he excels.

And where does one find such a good looking and photogenic dog you ask?

In the forest.

Seven years ago I was doing rare plant surveys for a timber company in Northern California. This particular week I was working way up in the Klamath Mountains high about the Klamath River. I had driven more than an hour on a gravel road and was heading to a logging road which would require a 4-wheeler for the remainder of the journey. The maps of the area where we needed to go were so bad, my work partner and I were both following the foresters who had drawn up the plan to keep us from getting completely lost. This was a luxury as we usually had just a compass and a bad map to follow most of the time. 

Somewhere outside of Pecwan Creek, I noticed a red dog hanging out along the road. A really cute red dog. I called the foresters on the radio and asked about the dog. I could feel their shrugs of disinterest when I got my answer. We journeyed on. I should note that there are no towns anywhere near this area and that the logging roads aren't accessible by the public most of the time. There is a Yurok settlement down near the river, but that is still miles away from where this dog was sitting on the side of the road. The only sign of humans nearby was a small mock gravestone with a logging boot on top of it, that read, "Here lies Pecwan Pete." I kept imagining this dog belonging to a long gone logger, his loyalty keeping him next to his grave.

We journeyed on and worked all day and headed back down the same road. There was that red dog still sitting in the same spot. My work partner had some sandwich left from his lunch and left it for him. We worked again in the same place the next day. I brought a little extra lunch just in case. And yes, there he was, within feet of the same spot. By the end of the day when he was found in the same spot, I knew what I needed to do. I scooped him up and brought him home. He was skin and bone and covered in ticks, but fine otherwise. I put out some radio ads hoping to find his home, but he didn't act like he'd ever had a collar on in his life, so we didn't hold out too much hope. So...Pecwan Pete joined the family which already included 2 dogs. We figured we'd find him a good home as soon as we could.

 We soon discovered Pete to be a rather unique dog and, well, dumber than a door knob. The examples could go on and on and it is one of our favorite pastimes to try and recall all the reasons. I'll just name a few. When you open a door to let him in, he generally goes straight to the hinged side of the door. It takes a fair amount of coaxing to get him through doors. Often I'll hear a "bang" followed by a "yarp!", whenever he runs into a wall. He always gives me a pathetic look as if I've just bapped him for no reason in particular. The vet assured me his eye sight is just fine. Also, I think most people would agree that teaching a dog to sit is pretty straight forward and quite simple. Seven years later, Pete will still just hover his butt above the ground rather than sit when asked...no matter how many treats you give.

His more annoying habits include swallowing anything he can find, such as entire ropes or towels. He has not turned out to be an inexpensive dog and now has very little of his intestines left. Pooper scooper duty is always entertaining as I always find interesting things: various colors of poop from crayons, dollar bills, feet from Rowan's animal toys stretching out of the poop as if they're trying to escape.

He's completely unfaithful. He always tries to leave with other people that we encounter. He jumps in their cars, he follows them, he tries to enter their homes. Then he'll look at us like he's seeing us for the very first time and give a sweet little wag. We finally stopped trying to give him away. I thought he might be good for my mom, but he won't play with her yappy little dog. We thought he'd be good for our niece and nephew as a first dog, but he won't fetch. We finally realized he's not going anywhere. 

And then he disappeared.

   Memorial Day weekend we decided to go backpacking. We have been pretty excited as we haven't been able to do this since having kids. We've done plenty of camping, but no backpacking. Rowan is finally old enough to hike a few miles even if it's painfully slow. We headed out to Cooper Canyon in the San Gabriel Mountains which promised waterfalls and plenty of mountain views and rather short hikes in between points of interest.

Allie carried the dog gear. Doesn't she look thrilled?

Rowan carried his sleeping bag and magnifying glass, which he called a spy glass due to too much pirate influence. I carried Iris, a sleeping bag, and a couple of celebratory beers. Brian carried everything else. Pete carried nothing.

Hanging out

 The little buddha and her belly find some food offerings

   Pete disappeared on the first night, so we spent the entire time mostly hanging out and calling for him and worrying. To be honest we didn't have real high hopes for him by the second day. We kept thinking about him racing around too stressed to find water or slowly starving to death. Then there were thoughts about mountain lions and how that might be the quickest death for him. None of them were pleasant. We couldn't figure out why in the world he would take off. The last I had seen, he was in his happy spot, curled up by the tent without a care in the world. 

We weren't the only ones camping that weekend though. There was a large church group doing some kind of survival training. While they were keeping busy teaching various skills, they seemed to forget their camp etiquette, such as 'leave no trace'. Nor did they seem to care about the beauty of solitude or peace while out in nature. I don't want to imply they were completely rude. On the contrary, they made sure to smile and say good morning to us as they tramped through our campsite and chopped up wood inside of it while I nursed Iris. They were surprisingly congenial after spending all night having yelling contests around their campfire. All I can figure is that Pete got startled by all this at night and then confused with all the noise and could never find his way back.

 

   We spent two days searching and finally headed back out the way we came. We had intended to move to a different spot each night, but stayed put in case Pete made his way back. We called and searched the far mountainsides for a sign of red with no luck. We left a leash and a note at the trail head and I figured I would come back up the next day with signs and photos of him to place at trail heads and ranger stations. As we were leaving, a young guy and his dog were getting ready to set out on the trail. We told him about Pete and then parted with heavy hearts.

 

   It was a sad ride home and it was hard looking up at the mountains as we pulled up to the house. I kept thinking about how ironic it was that Pete would end up back in the forest alone, exactly what I had tried to save him from. About an hour after arriving, the phone rang. It was the guy with the dog. He said Pete was hanging out at his campsite, chilling out by the creek. He seemed completely content, but gladly accepted a little food, and then started playing with his dog. Of course, this makes me wonder if Pete actually realized he was missing. Who knows. I'm just glad the picture above is not the last picture I would take of him. He's way to photogenic for this. And for now, I'll stop threatening to give him away.