Our Walk In The Woods
 

     We In June, 1998 I heard the words that would change my life forever: "You have breast cancer." From that day until this one, I have relied on the love and support of my husband, my family, friends, and even strangers to get me through a nightmare and help me to reemerge into the light. But no one has helped me more than my precious Golden retriever Gemma, now three years old.
     The best way I know how to illustrate this is to relate how, out of many, many hikes with Gemma, one stands out in my mind. We were alone this time, just the two of us, and she was still under 1 year old, so had to be supervised when off-leash pretty carefully. We hiked a trail in Marin County (north of San Francisco) called the Cataract Trail on the north side of Mt. Tamapais. It was a cool, drizzly day last fall, and I intended on only walking around Bon Tempe Lake; but for some reason, seeing the enthusiasm of Gemma's romp and wag, we kept going. Above the lake we started on the Cataract trail which follows the Cataract Creek up the side of the mountain through a mixed forest with plenty of redwoods, Douglas fir, madrone, Golden big-leafed maples, and water tumbling over boulders in the creek.
     I remember feeling as if I was in a cathedral; the tall trees gave me the sense of being small and insignificant, but also safe in a way that I have rarely felt in my life when alone. The only sounds were the rushing water, my boots on the soft, damp, leaf-strewn trail, and the sound of Gemma's paws on the earth and her soft panting.
     She was ahead of me, sniffing and exploring every hollowed-out tree stump, every crevice in the rocks, every stick floating in the creek, and every movement that might signal life and potential puppy prey. When suddenly she stopped in her tracks, and almost pointed! When I got up to where she was staring down at the ground, I saw what had stopped her. A newt, dark greenish-brown with a flaming orange underbelly, was crossing the trail. If you have ever seen a newt, you know that they appear to be entirely unflappable and mellow. They never hurry, and almost seem to move in slow motion, inexorably forward, toward some unknown destination. Well, Gemma (who proved early on to be a true retriever of both animate and inanimate objects) just stared.
     After a few moments, I picked up the newt in my hand and let it walk, without a sign of fear, from one palm to the other. Gemma looked at the newt, then up at me with cocked head as if asking, mom what is it? And why isn't it running away in terror? We then put the newt down, watched it move slowly into the fern-covered bank, and disappear from view—then we moved on up the trail, Gemma frapping away as before.
     It wasn't until later, on the way home with Gemma snoring in the back seat, that I realized what peace I had just experienced. As so it is everyday that Gemma opens my eyes, makes me look at life in another way—a way other than the complicated, striving, often frustrated, and fearful way we humans do. She makes me look with wonder and joy! She makes me slow down, and keeps me walking forward; she makes me keep living. This is what I learned from just a simple walk in the woods with my Golden retriever.