“I thought search dogs normally barked to signal they’d found something,” I say to Luciana.
“Many do. It’s a trainer’s prerogative. I’m not a fan of the barking myself; I think that can be scary for the missing person. Can you imagine being a lost child in the woods or someone buried under rubble, and having a strange dog suddenly appear and bay at you? I teach my dogs to sit as an alert system. Daisy added the raised paw. She has a flair for the dramatic.”
Daisy wags her tail again. She is clearly quite pleased with herself. Given my last animal roommate liked to rake her claws across my ankles and leave trails of disemboweled mice across the floor, Daisy seems particularly charming.
“I’m starving,” I state now. “I was thinking of one last, ginormous hot meal before a week of freeze-dried rations. Any takers?”
“I can always eat!” Bob climbs to his feet.
“How much food do you have to carry with you to last seven days?” I ask him in wonder.
“Not as much as I’d like.” He pats his rounded belly mournfully. At six foot seven, Bob more closely resembles Paul Bunyan than, say, wiry superhikers such as Nemeth and Martin, but he’s clearly fit, not to mention that one of his legs is about as tall as my entire body. I have no problem envisioning him powering through the mountains. He probably clears small forests in a single bound.
“I wouldn’t mind a hot meal,” Luciana agrees. “Let me feed Daisy first.”
“Um, one other question. Any chance I could crash on your floor tonight?” The room has two double beds, but I don’t want to sound presumptuous. “Seems silly to shell out motel money for a matter of hours.”
Luciana isn’t fooled. “I take it going from town to town solving other people’s problems doesn’t pay so well?”
“Let’s just say being rewarded with a squeak toy would be a step up.”
“Maybe Daisy will share hers.”
The dog trots back over to me. I obligingly scratch her ears as Luciana starts fiddling with travel bowls and pre-portioned bags of kibble.
“Keep doing that, and she’ll sleep in your bed tonight,” Luciana tells me.
“Does she prefer the right side or the left?”
“More like the middle. Welcome to the life of a spoiled work dog. But, sure, you can bunk here for the night.”
“Daisy can sleep with me,” Bob offers excitedly. “Just don’t tell my husband.”
Upon seeing my startled expression, Bob shrugs affably and explains: “His name is Rob. Rob and Bob. Seriously, could we be more confusing? But soul mates are soul mates.”
“Is he a Bigfoot hunter, too?”
“Worse. A neurosurgeon. All science all the time. What was I thinking?”
“That Rob would let you one day get a yellow Lab like Daisy?” I venture.
“Yes! I’m going to tell him. When I get home, time for a new member of the family.”
“Does Bigfoot like dogs?”
“I like to think Sasquatches are friendly toward everyone, being high on the evolutionary food chain.”
“Herbivores or carnivores?”
“Omnivores.”
“Hedging your bets.”
“Can’t know what we haven’t met. But current cryptozoologists theorize Bigfoot shares many traits with the ape family, which would make them omnivores.” Bob speaks matter-of-factly, no doubt accustomed to skepticism. We are kindred spirits in that regard.
Daisy finishes scarfing down her food. Luciana takes her out to water the bushes, then instructs the yellow Lab to go to bed. Daisy seems less of a fan of this order, but obligingly curls up on the carpet where she can monitor the motel room door for signs of her handler’s return.
I finally get to set my rolly bag aside, then we’re off to dinner. Three new friends, I like to think.
Enjoying the calm before the storm.
* * *
—
We have to wait an hour to get a table at the steak house that is walking distance from the motel. We watch a steady stream of tourists flow into the western-themed establishment. Families, couples. Some glance up and smile; some never take their eyes off their cell phones. All sidestep noticeably upon nearing Bob. At one point I notice him noticing. He shrugs back at me as if to say, what can you do?
Once seated, Luciana and Bob order a beer each. I fixate on the food. I’m not picky. I eat anything and everything. I suppose my broad-mindedness will come in handy when subsisting on MREs for the next week. Just the idea of future deprivation, however, has me wanting everything on the menu. Nachos. Skirt steak. Fajitas. For that matter, I wouldn’t mind a beer.