The Camping Trip

by

Silverwolf ©



The Camping Trip

My place of business was closed for remodeling, and Tippy and I found ourselves with two weeks of paid downtime. I was thrilled, but confused as we drove home. We hadn't had a vacation in years and I didn't want to waste this one. The timing couldn't have been better, I thought. August 10th, the next day, would be our fourth anniversary together, a day she and I both enjoyed. We also both enjoy the outdoors, I thought, and asked what she felt about two weeks camping. Her inactivity in the seat beside me I decided was approval, and announced to her we would leave tomorrow for the Adorondiaks. That night I dug out equipment that had only seen use on weekends at lost lake, if that, in the past few years, Tippy watching with increasing interest as I packed her pillow and favorite food dish. Dancing out beside me, she leapt in the truck as I loaded it. Disappointment showed when I informed her we weren't leaving till morning, and following me back in, we made it an early night.

The weather that morning was ideal, and with Tippys head lying in my lap, I cruised up old rte. 3, taking the long way to our destination. Four hours later, after parking at the end of the last dirt trail from Indian lake, Tippy and I made our way down a grass covered trail into the West Canada wilderness area. I preferred these out of the way places, as we were unlikely to see another human even at that time of the year. Tippy trotted along at the end of her hot pink lead that I'd attached both to her matching harness and the handmade saddle pack she wore. I made the pack for our day trips into Lost Lake, and she couldn't handle much of a load, just a few pouches of kibble really, but she looked so damn cute wearing it!

We arrived at my chosen campsite about noon. I'd ended up carrying Tippy and her pack over the rough ground of the last half hour till we reached a sandy ridge of high ground on the south bank of Little Canada creek, and setting her down, I announced my decision to go no further by dropping my pack. I unhooked Tippys pack and removed it, reconnecting the lead to her harness and slipping it around a nearby tree. It was after all a wilderness area. I began unpacking, first Tippys food and bottled water, which she immediately attacked, then the tent and other gear, which I had to put up before eating myself. It's great to be a dog! By four p.m. I was finished gathering firewood, and dropped down beside my lady to relax.

We took a short hike that afternoon, building an appetite for dinner, and hoping to meet some of the wild residents. I'd seen sign of black bear while gathering wood, and was looking forward to sighting this elusive animal in their natural environs. We came across fresh sign about an hour out of camp; Tippy alerting me to the wet, berry filled scat with a foxlike point. While examining the sign, I watched her test the air, her head tipped slightly back, nose bouncing side to side as her nostrils opened and closed. Standing, I followed as she strained her leash in the bear's direction. We made a good team, I thought, my life in the woods and fields with my dad, and her heightened senses and love of exploring combined to make these trips exciting. She ignored the leash, as she usually did in the woods, stalking our prey in vulpine posture. Head alternately up testing the breeze, then close to the forest floor smelling each twig and blade of grass, her horizontal tail lead me in our search, each paw set gently and with slow purpose before her.
She halted; laid back ears snapping forward and tail climbing above her hips to twitch slowly side to side. A low, almost inaudible whimper caught my ear as her sharp eyes focused on our quarry. We were at the edge of a mountain meadow, stately white pine giving way to birch trees and tangled undergrowth. Large blackberries made up most of the growth, the kind we used to call longjohns as kids, covered now with their juicy bounty.

We were crouched in a light thicket of hemlock, branches sparsely needled but extending to the base of each tree, and following Tippys nose I saw her. A beautiful mountain of shiny black fur about twenty yards from our perch moving through the waist high wildflowers. When I was a kid, my dad took me to the dump in Inlet, the gate to this natural wonder of New York. It was bear season, he said, and he wanted to show me the "sporting hunter". Dad loved nature, and loved hunting, but he had a code and a belief he lived by. He hated to see man taking advantage of the natural world. There were bears in the dump, my first time seeing them. About a hundred of them fed there off of the human refuse. Surrounding them, more than five hundred people ringed the outskirts of this hellhole, rifles in hand, ready to play the great white hunter. Dad held me there as we watched them open fire, seeing those magnificent beasts rear up and run for prayed for safety hurt as they fell one by one. Turning me, dad headed for the truck. "Don't ever become one of them." He told me, a surprising tear in his eye.

Watching this fantastic beast plodding through the black eyed susans, I thought how dad would feel knowing that damn dump had been closed, and areas like West Canada created for these animals to live in freedom. Still hunted, but not here. Tippy no longer studied the bear. Trusting me to that task, her nose took her on a journey with the bugs in the soil at her feet. The pursuit was her thrill, and the pursuit was over. I studied the ursine movements, wondering where her cub was, when the ripples of grass a few yards from her told me a cub was there, and that I was unlikely to see it today. Upwind, Tippy saw to that, we hadn't disturbed them, and I decided we'd intruded long enough. Clicking to Tippy, I headed back to camp.

We arrived back at camp as darkness crept up on the forest. Clipping Tip's leash to a stake by the tent, I lit the pit-fire I'd prepared before our hike. The flames danced and curled, keeping the night at bay. Tippy watched intently as I prepared our anniversary dinner. I'd packed in canned potatoes, onions, garlic, and dried beef, and set to work turning it into hash. That and bisquick biscuits would be our only non- dehydrated meal of the trip, but this was after all a special occasion. Fixing a plate for Tippy, I attacked mine with gusto. The fresh air always gave me a good appetite, and as Tip ate hers faster than her usual easy pace, I figured it did her too. Smiling, I thought at least my mate enjoyed my cooking. Hash gone, I took two biscuits and frosted them with a can of ready-made I'd brought. Cutting one in half, I set it before Tippy. "Happy anniversary, Lover." I whispered, than ate the other myself. An eccentricity to you, I'm sure, but we're allowed a few in love. The gift was another, a hot pink collar matching her harness, with a sterling heart engraved with our names. She waved her feathered tail, rewarding me with a kiss as I buckled it on. She looked so beautiful in the flickering firelight, flames dancing off my heart on her snow-white throat. Unsnapping her lead, I followed her to the tent

Unrolling my sleeping bag, I watched Tippy rubbing her cheeks along its length and sneezing, as she did our bed at home, marking it as hers. I laughed thinking how she'd done the same thing to my body at times, running the breadth of my abdomen with her face. The fire outside was dying as I zipped the tent and lit a Coleman lantern. I sat and ran my hands over Tippys sexy body, stopping to unbuckle her harness and undress her. I left her new collar on and taking the chain and cross from my neck, added a matching heart to my throat. I took my time undressing, pausing off and on to kiss and neck with my lover. Naked before her now, I opened my sleeping bag doubling its width on the tent floor, and lay her pillow next to mine. She immediately lay on it, looking up expectantly for me to join her side.

I leapt on the opportunity, stretching my length on the bag beside her, nuzzling into the fur of her ears. She softly licked my neck, just below my ear, sending shivers to my soul. Raising, she turned on the pillow, positioning herself facing me with her head toward my feet. Flipping her tail back, she raised her leg, presenting her plump vulva to my eyes, lips moist and parted to show a hint of pink. No subtleties here, I thought, reaching to kiss that tender flesh. She returned the favor with a long hot lick the length of my swelling shaft. She pushed her front paws against my thighs, nails digging my skin, as we lay, lovers sharing the ultimate kiss. I filled her with my probing tongue, watching her ass twitch above my nose as her papery tongue stroked my base and sack. We lay pleasuring each other in a long, slow embrace; my hands running over her pulsating rump as she released over and over again.

Tippy moaned once again, rolling with a whimper onto her back and ignoring my throbbing flesh. Drawing back to her crimson clit, I traced rapidly across her tip, bringing her up then easing her back down. In a final thundering hump, she came to me, flooding my mouth with her fluid come, then leapt to her feet with a high pitched yip and turned to kiss her musk from my face. Still kissing, a slower, passionate type now, she straddled my hips and backed herself against my head. No subtlety, but no selfishness either I thought while guiding my cap gently between her delicate lips. She leaned back more, her hind paws even with my ribs, and let me slide along those silken walls of love. My hands caressing her shoulders, I set a rocking rhythm with her as I listened to her breath increase to match. Both moaning with pleasure, I rolled us on our sides and increased my slow, steady thrusts nearly pulling out before gently sliding back to the hilt. Her soft thighs were bucking against my waist as I moved her onto her back and increased the speed of my thrusts. My hand cradled her tiny head, kissing each other between gasps. Her body shuddered beneath me, and with a yelp I felt her vagina tighten and pulse around me as I penetrated her cervix for as final time. I exploded inside her as she whimpered and dug her nails into my chest. She trembled as we rolled back onto our sides, and holding us together we kissed passionately yet again. I thought as we kissed how wonderful she was, and how great two weeks of nothing but Tippy and me and nature was going to be. We slept, still joined, to end a very special anniversary.

I awoke in the chill morning with a cold wet nose nuzzling my neck, just below my ear. Turning in the sleeping bag, I received a lingering, passionate kiss from my lover, her fur travelling the length of my naked body under the down-filled fabric. I wrapped my free arm round her soft back, the warmth of her stomach skin pressing mine, her sex growing wet on me as we kissed. " I love you this morning," I promised her, "as I loved you yesterday, and will tomorrow." She whimpered her love in return. I ran my hand reverently from her tiny head down along her femininely sinuous spine to lightly caress her round hips, pressing her closer to me, taking in her wet heat, still kissing, the arm she rested on gently massaging her slight muscled neck. We lay there, what seemed like hours in a long good morning hug.

With a last probing kiss she pushed away from me and snaked out the head of the bag, nipples then thigh teasingly brushing my cheek, then sat before the door of the tent, pausing with a white paw on the closed zipper. Crawling from our cocoon the morning shocked my flesh as I pulled on old sweats to let her out. Stepping out behind her, I watched as she ran to the same patch of grass she'd used for five days of our vacation. Spreading her thighs over a stiff clump of weeds, she wet, ending with a curl-tailed hump over the vegetation, and I found myself picturing a quite different hump the evening before. While she moved behind the brush to finish, a sideways glance having caught her unwanted audience, I turned yesterday's ashes to expose still glowing coals for cooking breakfast. Her modesty restored, Tippy wandered to the clear bubbling stream for a refreshing drink before trotting to my side, tail wagging "what's for eating?"

I filled her dish with kibble, warmed in the grease from my salt pork and eggs, and placing my dish beside hers, lay on my stomach to eat at her level. She halted eating; reaching to give me a greasy, liver flavored smack on the lips. Laughing, I tussled her delicate ears, and went back to my plate. The beginning of another wonderful day in our vacation, and our life together.

That morning saw me standing hip deep in the icy waters of West Canada creek, take down bamboo fly rod snapping the crisp air above my head. My elusive quarry native brook trout. They don't fight like a Rainbow, breaking the water in shimmering leaps and turns, rather their cream colored bellies twist in the current contrasting the red paint speckles of their fins and back. They are in my opinion the premier eating trout though, and that's why I fish. Tippy languished on the bank at the end of a twenty-foot tether, waiting to play her part in our escapade. Her chance came with a whir of waxed line as a healthy specimen snatched my hand tied bumble bee fly. With a whip of the wrist, I spun line, fly and fish to shore rather than reeling it in. Tippy pounced as soon as her prey hit the grass, landing lightly with a paw on head and tail, laying her chin across the struggling trout's body as I sloshed reeling toward shore. Reaching her side I carefully removed the hook and slid my prize from under her. A fourteen inch beauty, sleek and shiny, and a female by the rounded fins. Too beautiful, I released her back to the creek, deciding the three in my creel would be enough for our supper.

As I changed from my waders, Tippy peacefully nibbled a dry lunch. Waiting for her to finish, I gathered an old garden trowel and my empty daypack, telling her we'd go to the bear's meadow to gather the rest of supper. Before clipping the short lead to her harness, I put our catch in a pit I dug in the soft soil of the bank, already filling with water, and covered it with a large stone to protect them and keep them fresh till our return.

We followed the now well worn trail we traveled that first wonderful night, Tippys dancing tail leading me through the thick undergrowth. Our first stop was a patch of moist, swampy ground I'd noticed the first night where bunchberry stems, with their heavy red burdens hung over fragile wintergreen and rare goldthread, both endangered here in their micro-environment. I'd only dig goldthread in an emergency, its root being styptic and by its nature a clotting agent, but near the waters edge the bright green, pointed leaves of common arrowhead burst from the shallows. Prized by ducks, Its starchy root was a good replacement for potatoes, and I scarified the mud with my trowel, bringing several of the tubers to light with minimal damage. Using my penknife to remove a small piece of root with the stems, I discarded them back in the water where this virile little plant would root and continue to grow. We continued through a small stand of wintergreen, Its waxy berries prepared for the coming long winter, and I plucked a few leaves to season the "potatoes" while Tippy lead below soft white pines to our next foraging prey.

Stepping out of the pines we looked again upon the berry covered meadow that remained an ursine favorite haunt. My search here today lead us to stiff stemmed Queen Anne's lace, The white plate of flowers already dry and curling, that with more patient digging rewarded us with a slender taproot with a faint carroty odor. The taste in our dinner would by slightly stronger. Tippys delicate nose caught the rest of our menu before I sighted its fleshy, grass-like stem. Called wild garlic or Indian onion, it was in fact a tuber like potato rather than an oniony bulb, but the chive-like flavor would add to our enjoyment. After picking a few handfuls of blackberries, half of which Tippy ate while picking, we headed back for the campsite as evening crept in.

We arrived back at camp, Tippy dragging me along in her exuberance to eat. As I carefully skinned both fish and roots, her interest was drawn to some invading winged creature who'd made the sad mistake of wandering into "her" tent. She barked at the invader, a sharp woof that I heard so seldom from her and never failed to fill me with joy. Stoking up a fire, I began melting a small piece of the morning's salt pork into two frying pans to sauté the fish and fixings. The campsite was soon filled with the aroma of fresh trout and onion, the false potato and carrot simmering next to a pot of coffee. Tippys tormentor evicted from the tent, her eyes studied me removing the delicate bones from the flesh of her fish. Scooping a healthy ration of veggies into her dish, I arranged the trout over them and warned he to let it cool some before starting. Where the average mutt would tear right in, she sat and patiently waited for me to serve mine before sampling her own. The fish was delicious, the mint and chive seasoning adding a light mountain flavor to the tender flesh, and we both had a second helping of "potatoes and carrot" before greedily gobbling the rest of the berries. It never entered our thoughts that we'd spent the entire day preparing this one meal as we filled our waiting tummies.

We lay by the fire half naked, well me anyway, my lips exploring Tippys tender stomach, when her upraised ears and stretching neck told me something watched us from across the creek. Looking up I saw a stately Whitetail buck paused in his drinking to eyeball us back. Waiting patiently in our awkward position, we were perturbed that he remained staring at us in the dusk. "What the hell", I whispered to my love, "Let him get his own girl" and we went back to exploring the wilderness of each other's forms.

Tippy was licking my face, not her slow passionate kisses, but an insistent, whimpering wake-up bath. Fearing coyotes or bears, or worse the wild dogs that have no fear of man nor beast, I opened my eyes, sliding my hand through Tippys harness in case we had to move fast. We did have an intruder eating our food stores, and frightening Tippy, but when I saw the culprit, I had a hell of a time stifling a laugh. Sitting on my daypack, eating biscuit flower, was a huge frightening chipmunk! My lady was trembling so hard she was shaking off balance. To laugh at her terror would have been an insult. The bold little bastard eating my fixins, helped matters none, turning in our direction and giving the sweet girl a real tongue chirping. Tippy became a ball of energy, ripping free of my grasp and darting hell bent for leather into the tent, retreating a quivering mass in the further corner. Deciding her ladyship had been abused enough, and needing to get out of her earshot, I scrambled toward my pack, waving my arms and yelling, sending her assailant scurrying for the pines. Hitting the treeline myself, I finally burst into a fit of breathless laughter, hoping Tip would stay hidden till I finished.

She did. She stayed hidden while I cleaned up the mess as well, still wearing nothing but my shorts in the cold dawn air. I crawled through the tent opening, her nerves still doing a tattoo with her skin behind the pillows, and I immediately regretted my earlier laughter. Big or small, that bandit had frightened her, and badly. I stretched my stomach on the bag, reaching behind the pillow to reassuringly stroke her fur. She whimpered pitifully when I touched her, and still trembling, moved around the pillows to cower at my side. With a pitiful whine, she shoved her tiny nose under my arm, pushing her plump little body against me. Thew fear chose that moment to cause her to wet herself, and me and my bag. Trembling even more, she looked up with watery brown innocence, waiting for what her memory must have told her would be a severe scolding. In all the time we'' been together she never had an accident, nor did I scold or punish her, she was my partner after all, not a child or servant, and don't know exactly what she expected. What she got was gently toweled off, as did I, and moved to the dry side of the tent. Throwing the wet sleeping bag out the door, I lay back side of her. The only thing remaining dry, a woolen army blanket, I pulled over us, her still shaking form pressing ever closer to me.

Leaning on my side, my lips caressed her worried brow. "It's alright, punkin" I whispered, "Everything's cool now." She whimpered again, but the trembles were intermittent now. I kissed her again, her tender cheek the target, and this time received a shaky lap on the lips, her questioning eyes still unsure. Wrapping my arms around her small frame, I pulled her tighter, snuggling my face deep in the curly fur of her chest as a light rain began drumming the canvas over our heads. She placed her tiny paws on my shoulders, tentatively kissing me again. Staring at her pure black face, the fear just melting from those beautiful eyes, I was taken back to the day we met, her trembling and fearful at the SPCA, yet taking my heart with a kiss. I'd wanted to hold her tenderly then, kiss away the pain of hunger, fear and lost pups, but was not able to. I held her now, tight as she'd let me, And would do my damnedest to kiss her fears away now, be they big or small to me, they were real to her, and hurt deeply. We lay caressing under the blanket, the drizzle becoming a downpour to drown the campsite, but we were warm and safe. The morning passed, with us still holding tight in peaceful slumber.

Afternoon came calmer, both the weather and Tippy, who again woke me with a kiss, hot and probing this time, that brought me up and immediately aware. Her hot body pressing mine, her tongue probing my parted lips, I found myself wishing we'd woken this way hours ago. Kissing her back, I rolled on my back as she climbed up on my chest. Her fine fur tickling my body hairs, she splayed her delicate legs across my hips and rocking lightly against me. She resumed her oral stimulation, whimpering with pleasure as I felt her small lips parting along my stomach, till, with a sneeze into my face, she yipped and climbed off. Turning circles by my head, she settled in a curl, tail over her black nose, and drifted contentedly back to sleep. Hoping she'd wake again soon, I struggled to do the same.

I woke shivering from the chill mountain air. The wool blanket that had covered us both the night before was now firmly wrapped around my lovers warm body, and the sleeping bag remained soaked outside from the previous days rains. Nothing for it but to get dressed, I thought, gently sliding my arm from beneath Tippy so as not to waken her. Looking at my watch, I noticed it was only 4 A.M. but figured I'd build a fire and begin packing what we wouldn't use that day. Standing to get dressed, I saw my shorts were stained from Tippys accident the morning before. I never took the time to change them, I thought, then realized we hadn't taken the time to eat either. That meant she hadn't moved in nearly 24 hours, and I knelt back down to check on her. Sliding a hand beneath the blanket, I felt her ribs moving in and out with the feel of her hot breath on my arm. Christ, I thought, that chipmunk had scared her so bad she hadn't even left my side to drink. I gently kissed my delicate mate's forehead, and began to dress so I could begin her day with a hot meal.

The campsite was a washed out mess, devastation greeting me when I stepped from the tent. My sleeping bag looked like a drowned rat, and one pack, my daypack, and its edible contents had been ransacked by something larger than a chipmunk during the night. Squatting to salvage what I could, I clearly made out a bears paw print in the sandy mud at my feet. I hadn't heard a thing, and apparently Tippy hadn't either. Amazing, I thought, and finished saving supplies. Moving to the fire pit, I found it half full of watery mud, extinguished coals and half burned sticks. No fire would be built there today. I reached for my folding shovel and filled the pit, then began another a few feet away. Going about 2 ˝ feet deep, I lined the bottom with stones and began a search in the half-light of dawn for dryer tinder.

An hour later I had gathered enough to get a warming blaze from the sandy pit, and turned my attention toward fixing a morning meal for my lady and I. I had managed to save three eggs, a small hunk of salt pork, some biscuit flower, and the herbs Tippy and I had scrounged a few days before. Separating an egg with half the herbs, flour and salt pork, I combined the rest with some of Tippys kibble into a kind of doggie omelet, the smell of which filled the tent nearby. Hearing a shuffling sound at my back, I found a sleepy-eyed Tippy-up testing breakfasts scent with a bobbing nose. Deciding she liked what she smelled, she yawned gape mouthed and sauntered to my side with her tail slipping side to side behind. Dishing hers out before her, I began scrambling mine. Having not eaten in a day, I expected her to bolt the mixture down and laughed as I noticed her picking daintily at her plate in her normal ladylike way. Her starving mate having no manners, I burned my tongue gobbling mine from the pan!

Stomachs full, we wandered creekside to wash, drink and shave. Even out here I shaved every day, at her insistence. Her tender thighs had been whisker burned once, and she would not have that again, so for her comfort and my pleasure, I happily shaved. Splashing icy water on my stinging face, I glanced over to watch her licking herself clean. I loved watching her bathe though she seldom let me. Today was no different, as, catching my eye, she headed for the tent to finish her ablutions. Laughing, I turned back to the water to finish mine.

While I began packing most of our gear, she came out in the early sunlight and stepped behind some bushes. "We're having company today Tippy", I spoke to the bush. Her little face peeked around the foliage, ears pricked in questioning silence. "Steve and the girls" I continued, referring to my younger brother and nieces. Her tail started dancing at the mention of their names. "And Sheryl." I added my sister in laws name hesitantly. The tail dropped, and curling her lip slightly, she disappeared behind the bush again. I loved my brother, and he doted on Tippy, but his wife was another story. Overbearing to him, overprotective of the girls and constantly trying to fix me up with some friend of hers, I could understand Tippys dislike. Still, she was his wife and my niece's mother, so for their sake, we tolerated her. Yet, I knew her constant introductions to one overweight friend after another bothered Tippy, who hadn't the voice to say" Forget it, bitch. He's mine". I finished packing, and Tippy curled at my side, I settled before the roaring fire to await their arrival.

As the day drew toward noon, it found me still sitting by the now dying fire, back against my pack with my hand gently exploring Tippys body. Eyes closed, her moans echoed each stroke of her tender flesh. Her hot tongue showing appreciation to my elbow, she clasped her paws around my muscular forearm to leverage the slow thrusts she made against my hand. My own eyes closed as well, I soaked in the sun and the sounds of my lover. What a beautiful morning, I thought, and no more peaceful way to spend it. Our interlude was soon shattered though, by the unnatural screams of two excited children. Ahh, my nieces were coming over the hill behind us. Though glad to hear their joyful voices, I wished they had waited another hour or so. Reluctantly drawing my finger from Tippy, her digging claws begging me to continue, I rose and turned to greet them.

My nieces ran leaping to my arms, all smiles and giggles, with energy that sent Tippy scurrying for the tent. Hugs and kisses dispensed, I caught sight of my little brother lumbering over the crest weighted down with all the encumbrances women seemed to need in the woods. A giant of a man, even he bent under the strain. A grin bigger than Montana broke his face as he waved a cherry hello. "Hey little bro," I called, " Great ta see you" "You too, bud." At the sound of his voice, Tippy darted from the tent, tail pounding to greet her second favorite person. As much as loud noises frightened her, his booming voice brought joy to her face while a giant hand enveloped her tiny head. About to ask the whereabouts of his wife, I saw her stumbling down the hill, waving a Polaroid of the latest victim of her matchmaking whims. Seeing her, Tippy abandoned the kids' joyful hands to retreat into the tent again.

She ventured out again only after I'd blown off my sister-in-laws blatant attempts to break the bonds of our marriage, pissing her off to silence the rest of the night. I can be quite firm in my commitments. As Tippy wedged her way between my nieces and myself, Steve began a feast of fresh meat and veggies that we hadn't tasted in days. The meal was great and the conversation better as I was brought up to date on family news and stories of the kid's vacations. I smiled watching Steve fix a plate for Tippy along with the rest, his prudish wife snorting her disgust. The night flew along as we made plans to follow them out the next day and have Steve drive my truck down to the mouth of Canada creek. Tippy and I planned to rent a canoe and take it the length of the creek in the next 4 days.
The kids retired to their tent hours ago, their mother finally following while Steve and Tippy and I added to the fire and conversation. He wanted to hear all about our trip so far, and wished he'd had more than a weekend to spend here. Near midnight he retired, and we made our way to the now dry sleeping bag for a night of silent cuddling to avoid disturbing their rest.

That next day was Sunday, and a more perfect day couldn't be asked for. Tippy woke me with a fiery kiss just before dawn. With our guests still snoring, we hiked to the hilltop to watch the sunrise over the high peaks to the east. We sat side by side on a rotting log, ladyferns and bracken surrounding us as I pulled Tippy close to me. Gazing down the depths of her eyes, I silently gave thanks to the day, the forest and the unknown spirits that brought us together. I tried to think how my days, my life were before Tippy. There was no life; just sad disjointed memories and a pain I'd hidden so long. I felt no pain this day with her at my side.

Streaks of orange and purple cut the eastern sky, the sun's rays setting fire to the clouds chasing away the moon. I raised voice and howled for the joy of it, the joy of her, my long lonesome tone echoing through the pines. Pressing closer to me, Tippy threw back her head adding her high chirping tones to mine. Her paw on my leg, my sinewy arm caressing her supple body, our eyes lifted to heaven, we harmonized our voice in the crisp morning. We worshiped, our prayer rumbling through the forest to bounce off the mountain faces and reverberate crackling through the azure dawn. We sent a baying prayer to our gods, as on our wedding night, calling on nature in her voice, every rise and fall of our voice giving devotion to life, to love, to each other. Pulling her close, I hugged her to my heaving chest, tears of joy filled my eyes as she lay her chin on my shoulder whimpering with our pledge of love still ringing in the distant hills. As the sounds of two wild hearts faded in the silence of the forest, we turned and headed back to those who, try as they might, could never understand the religious bond our souls shared.

Walking back to camp, we were assaulted by the smell of bacon frying on the fire mingling with the aroma of "cowboy coffee", a concoction my father had taught Steve and I that involved brewing rough ground beans and melting bakers chocolate in the resulting strong syrup. That stuff will keep you jumping all day. Steve was bent over the fire stirring up a mess of flapjacks, while his wife fried eggs in a cast iron skittle. " Oh, Tippy, we're gonna eat this morning girl", I joked. Steve looked up from the fire, " Yeah Tippy, if ya ate my cookin all the time, might put some meat on yer bones." She ran up to greet Steve, a sloppy good morning kiss getting wiped from his cheek. "Save yer kisses for your boyfriend, cutie", Steve laughed, as she sat by me at the fire to await our meal.

Breakfast went deliciously past, Tippy gobbling a whole stack of golden brown cakes and honey, then begging more off my plate. The girls finished theirs, and ran off to explore the creek bank with Tippy tagging along. As she was occupied babysitting, Steve and I dug out our fishing poles and sat on the bank ready to BS, watch the girls, and pretend we had a purpose. A great day fer goofing off by the water, Tippy even allowed herself to get wet as the girls splashed and waded in the clear waters. So the morning passed, not a bite on our lines, yet the best day of fishing I'd spent in a while. As for Tippy, she was actually running! Chasing the girls around the campsite, her ringing bark, so seldom heard, mixing with their laughter filled my heart with joy. Dancing up to me, she lifted her fore end on my leg, her swinging tail and smiling eyes saying, " join us, its so much fun!" I stood, throwing her to my shoulder for a bear hug that was rewarded with a hard, open-mouthed kiss. The girls ran up, tackling their uncle to the ground and mauling and tickling me. To my delight, Tippy joined right in, holding my head in her paws and smothering my face with kisses. Finally, laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, I extracted myself from their tortures at which point all three ran screaming for the trees. Obliging them, I persued each in turn, catching and tossing them into the air till their laughter bounced off the sky. Tippy was caught last, giving me a playful nip on the nose and murderously licking my face. Her yip and snap got the girls laughing even more and they were soon on the ground holding their sides.

Playtime over, we had Spam sandwiches for lunch, then Steve packed their gear for the hike back to the trucks. Knowing the time it would take to hike out with two little kids, I said Tippy and I would break camp and catch up later. After two hours of removing our "footprint" from the pristine landscape, we caught them just before reaching the road. Given the lateness of the day, I had Steve follow me to a nearby motel rather than the canoe rental. The rental place was within 2 miles, and I figured we could hike that in the morning. I checked in for the night, paying a hundred-dollar deposit to allow Tippy to stay too. Jeesh, I thought, she's neater than I am and better behaved. Steve followed me to the room where I showed him on a map where to leave my truck. His wife stood nagging in the doorway, whining about getting home late. Nodding in her direction, Steve said" wish I was going along with you, bro." I chuckled, "Wish ya were too, bud." With a crushing hug, he took the nag and left Tippy and I in silence. I missed them already, even the nag, and Tippy agreed with a hug.

I looked over the motel room with a critical eye. A double bed to start, nice though we'd of fit as well on a twin. Still, I like room to stretch and move around. A TV sat at the end of the bed, which I switched on just to hear some noise. I was thrilled to find it had cable, and flicked channels till I found Discovery. There was a phone by the bed that I used to check with the office about a wakeup call and some food. We'd have a wake-up at eight and pizza in twenty minutes. I went in the bathroom, Tippy following, and found it clean and well stocked with towels. Good, I thought, with Tippys enjoyment in joining my showers we'd need them all. That wasn't why I went in here though, and I politely asked Tippy to wait in the other room, reminding her that she hated being watched. She left me to my work, and I heard her testing the mattress as she waited. I hoped it would meet her requirements!

The pizza arrived on schedule, and we ate six slices each after I picked the mushrooms off Tippys. There were things she wouldn't eat, heheh. After eating, I hooked her leash on and figured we'd take a walk looking for a store. The closest thing in old forge was a convenience store half a mile down where I bought some Mt. Dew and chips. And on a whim picked up some spray whipped cream and a jar of candied cherries. I didn't find any good ice cream though, but bought the other stuff anyway.

Returning to our room, I laid the goodies on the nightstand and undressed to grab a shower. Tippy, knowing what was up, bounced along the mattress until I undressed her too. Our shower, removing a week's worth of forest floor, turning the fiberglass black, energized us both. I used every towel drying us off, then followed her to the bed for a little TV viewing. I lay on my stomach facing the foot of the bed, and tuned in a program about seals. Tippy rolled and rubbed the last bit of moisture off her fur on the carpet, then leaped on the bed lying just ahead of my face. Her beautiful ass was only inches from my cheek and I leaned over to kiss her rump. Her tail drummed the bed twice as she turned and kissed my cheek. Laying my head on her warm side, we returned to watching the show.

The seal show ended; a vet program flooded the screen. The pizza having lost its bulk in me, I turned my attention to the chips. Sharing nibbles and sips of soda with Tippy, I cursed not having bought any dip. It was then I remembered the whipped cream. Popping the cap, I squirted a dollop on a chip, but before I could sample my creation Tippys agile tongue wiped the chip clean. Determined to deprive her of the first taste this time, I popped a chip in my mouth and sprayed the cream after it. She pounced on the can, cream spurting down my chin. Her tongue attacked my jaw, then she sat back smiling to say, "I got that one too!" I squirted some into her open mouth, her snapping it up getting more on her then in her. I obligingly licked and kissed it off, getting incredibly aroused in the process. I dropped the can, moving slowly down her tender stomach when a loud pop and hiss startled me. Something wet and cold spattered my side. Looking up, I found the bed covered in whipped cream with a very surprised Tippy in the middle of it all holding the cans cap in her mouth. Laughing till my sides hurt, I watched my hundred dollars deposit getting squished into the comforter as Tippy, finally seeing the humor of it, lay her cheek in the mess and ran her body along the bed. Eventually cleaning what was cleanable, we headed back to the shower, with no dry towels! We sat on the floor by the bed waiting to dry.

We crawled into bed about 11 PM, and relaxed holding our still damp bodies close, passionate kisses filling the room. I disposed of the cherries, one for her, one for me, leaving one in the empty jar on the nightstand for the maid to wonder what might have been. Rolling on my side I slept holding my lady, and dreaming of might have beens myself.

Tippy had me up two hours before our wake-up call, and after a bit of cuddling we headed out for the canoe rental. I dropped the room key in the night box and gave up on my doggy deposit. I'd like to have seen that maid's face though.

A half-hour walk found us at First Lake, in front of a dilapidated boathouse on the outskirts of Old Forge. The flaking sign for boat rentals gave no indication of an ongoing business, and neither did the near empty docks, a waterlogged hulk of an old mailboat being the only craft in view. She looked to be a hundred years old, and though I am fascinated with old-fashioned woodcraft, I certainly didn't want to take her down the south branch of Moose River. Still, she'd warrant a look over one day, despite the diesel fumes emanating from her.

The paint on the front door looked older than the mailboat, a couple gallons flaking off when I struggled with the warped wood and rusty hinges. It finally opened with an entry bell jingle, and I stood just inside letting my eyes accustom themselves to the light. Tippy snorted after inhaling paint and fuel fumes to put the old boat to shame. When I could see, I liked the view more. Rows of gleaming watercraft filled the barn-like structure, from racks of canoes and sailboats to a small cabin cruiser in the rear, all looking clean and well maintained. A set of crooked stairs ran up to an office on legs behind it.

The office door flew open; a small bent remnant of earlier days stepped out, looking for all the world like a fixture of the boat out back. "Hello," his cracked and gravely voice pronouncing his age even stronger than his appearance; "I'll be right down." With a speed that belied his age, he was soon standing bent and shaky before us. Ignoring me at first, he stooped even further to scratch Tippys pretty head. To my surprise she didn't budge but sat wagging her tail with a hello friend smile lighting her face. He cooed and chirped to her, asking her how she was, and telling her she was a pretty little lady. I liked the old soul immediately, Tip and I actually becoming close friends with him at a later date. For now, he finished introducing himself to my mate, and rose his tired neck to greet me with a smile as big and friendly as Tippys. "What can I do fer you two folks?" "I'd like to rent a canoe from you," I replied, "We're going down the South branch by way of West Canada." "Be quite a trip," his eyes gleamed, "Years back I logged the head of West Canada. Don't get up there much now, but I like it better grown back up. That lower areas untouched ya know. Real wilds." I replied that we'd been camping down there for ten days, and loved it. "Heheh, I recall the times me and my hound usta go down there and hunt. Sleepin under the stars. Get me down on the ground now, and ya might's well dig my hole, cause I ain't getting back up." Chuckling with him, I matched his shuffling gait to the canoe racks. "Better take a fourteen," he stated," ain't enough to ya to handle an 18 or 20 alone." Though I disliked the reason, I agreed with his choice for other reasons. There were going to be at least three portages, and a 14 footer would be easier to carry. After pointing out his choice, he lead the way to a short counter full of papers, a register (a National no.1, as ancient as the mailboat) and a coffee pot. Offering me a cup, he poured himself one and pulled some venison jerky from a drawer, which he offered Tippy before me. After filling out the nessecary papers, and paying a whole 25 dollars for four days rental, I questioned him on portages and rapids. "Where ya figure on finishing up?" " McKenna, where Rte.28 crosses the south branch." "Well if you're gonna do that, ya might wanna start up on Little Bear pond. Start on West Canada and work yer way down." "That's 15 miles from here." I said. "I'd like to, but that's a long walk." "Heck, I'll truck ya up there."

Half an hour later found me on Little Bear, loading equipment in the front of the canoe to balance my weight. "I'd camp tonight on the head of that first portage." The old guy was climbing back in his beat up ford. "There's a little island there to park on, and that portage is a half days hike, at least." After getting my thanks and a farewell kiss from Tippy, he headed home no richer for his act of kindness, having refused payment for the ride. Having finished loading, I clipped Tippys harness to my belt and started across the smooth waters of the pond, heading west toward the outlet, and the end of our trip.

It was near evening before we reached the first set of rapids. Tippys interest in the trip waned after hours of staring at the hemlock choked banks we found from leaving the broad expanse of the pond. On the deep glassy surface there she had barked and pointed at every ripple made by fish or fowl, now she lay sleeping on my boots. The water picked up speed as we rounded a sharp northerly bend in the creek, and I caught site of the islet splitting the stream. Water roared down the left channel here, and though the right looked shallower, I steered toward that flow so I could better control our landing on the southern tip. The island was little more than a sandbar, covered to the north with dogwood scrub, but flat and clear on this upstream end. After using the paddle to ground the canoes nose, I unhooked from Tippy and leapt for shore. The rapid flow already tried pulling the stern toward the left channel as I grabbed the bow and dragged the craft free. I slid the boat onto land as far as I could, and staked the bow rope to a nearby shrub, then surveyed for high ground for our campsite.

Finding a suitable piece of flat earth, I began unloading supplies, Tippy still snoozing in the boats bottom. Given the distance traveled and the time we had left, I had already determined to camp at this first portage for 2 days, so took care in choosing a site above high water. I had already set up our tent, gathered wood, and dug the firepit and still no movement from my lady. Checking on her, I found she still slept, curled upon herself with her sweet tail covering her pretty nose. Staring down on her, I fell for her all over again. I found myself pitying those who could not feel what I felt with her. No, she was not a dog to me, a friend, a lover, an equal, better than I in many ways. Returning to the fire, I unrolled our sleeping bag beneath the darkening skies and fluffed her pillow in its center.

Lifting her limp and yawning out of the canoe, I lay her gently upon her feather filled throne. I lay close beside her as she again closed her eyes, my own soaking in her beauty. I concentrated on her every detail, from her wet leathered nose along the square shaped head and feathery ears, my eyes traced the lines of her outstretched legs and supple curves of her black body to her long thin tail hanging loosely over an inodinantly large, plump pussy. You can say I lusted her, I did and still, as writing this, ache to feel her against me, to taste her kisses and smell her sex. If I wanted only to feel a dog's body on me though, Tippy would not have been my choice. Making love with this small delicate frame filled me with fear our first time, afraid to hurt her, to go too deep, push too hard. She proved herself the more capable partner, initiating our sex, her lust as great as mine, her love greater. Taking me, easily and gently, she brought me to the spiritual side of sex. So I lusted her body, yet lusted her soul more, as she gave both to me freely.

I bent and kissed her soft brow, slid below her tail to kiss her tender sex. Dropping her tail more, she raised a delicate leg, letting me lovingly wet her soft lips with my tongue and softly suck her hood. I took her sex in, my tongue sliding slowly between her lips to taste the moisture of her silken walls. Gentle, reverent strokes brought her forth, and turning, she licked my mouth full of her. Clumsily undressing while pleasing her, I released her sex to accept her french. I rolled on my back, her following to keep our mouths locked. She released my tongue, turning her attentions to my stiffening shaft, stepping over my shoulders to straddle my neck. I tasted her again, and at my touch she leaned back refilling my mouth. Greedily sucking and licking her, my tongue rapidly teasing her clit, I felt the sharp points of her gleaming teeth as she swallowed my head. Increasing our rhythm, I felt her press harder upon my face then slowly hump my chin.
She stepped over my face, reluctantly letting me go, and turned to straddle my hips. She slowly humped over my hard sex till I guided my head between her lips. Again at the touch to her, she pushed back, and I slid along those wonderful slick walls. Steadily thrusting with me, her moans and whimpers filled my ears till, with a piercing yelp, she gripped me in her paws and let me fill her with my seed. She lay heavy on my chest, still holding me in, and kissed me again before resting her chin on my shoulder. We slept there, joined body and soul, the morning finding us still joined and again making love.

We spent that next day exploring our tiny island, and re-exploring our hearts, feeling complete in each other's company. A day filled with walks among nature in her glory, a night filled again with passion only true lovers may feel. The third morning found us back on the water after a three-hour hike carrying the canoe. In the distance I could still see the rippling water caressing that tiny stretch of land, and Tippy stood also looking behind, both cherishing our memories on our island of love.

A little math lesson. Combine the following figures, and summate the results. A 65-pound canoe loaded with 90 pounds of equipment, steered by a 170-pound oarsman making 325 pounds total. Now add a wonderfully excited 35-pound dog and a confused 5-pound mallard hen. Know what it adds up to? A wet and wild adventure on the cold West Canada for Tippy and her mate.

We had taken our time through four more short portages in a day and a half, banking the canoe often to view sights and creatures we'd encountered. Fascinated, Tippy watched a pair of Black Bear cubs rough- housing on the bank not twenty feet from our perch, one cubs huge paw batting the other into the drink with a loud "maaaawwwww" escaping his lips. The mother bear raised on her haunches a few meters away, looking at a distance huge and threatening. Paying us little more attention than a brief glance, she tussled and mothered each cub in a gentle purring tone. The sight and sound brought the mother out in Tippy, whimpering low and longingly, and brought to me a twinge with the knowledge that I could never provide a child for my mate despite our making love.
Another halt found us holding each other tight; looking over a valley of yellow Birdsfoot Trefoil backed by the stately form of Blue Mountain, choked with sweet singing Sparrows darting to and fro. Our attention taken by a parting rustle in the vegetation, we enjoyed the antics of an overly large, awkward seeming porcupine using his sharp foreclaws to shred a rotting log in search of a crunchy insect feast.

It was one of these stops, to view a deer in velvet nibbling Serviceberry leaves that nearly turned to tragedy. I unhooked Tippy and was carefully reaching toward the bow for my camera. My eye caught movement on the near bank as an apparently threatened Mallard hen flew into the canoe, aiming directly at Tippys surprised face. Tippy leapt in the one direction of escape, over the gunwale, even as I was clumsily turning to rescue her. The duck hit her in mid leap; both struggling bodies catching the already leaning stream side of the canoe, and, as I reached for them, sending all aboard into the drink with a capsizing splash.

Hitting the icy water, the duck quickly escaped as I floundered trying to swim and Tippy and the upturned canoe both drifted downstream in the rapid current. I could see her struggling to keep her head above the ripples and paddle toward shore and fought my wet clothes and boots to reach her. Ten feet from the farther bank, and still five feet from me, I saw her beautiful head go under, eyes wide in terror as she fought to reach me. My heart sank with her when I didn't see her surface again.

Reaching the spot, my feet found bottom and I dove to my knees feeling the soft bottom for her and shoving my face under to see where she had sunk. Four times I was forced to come up for air, the last time catching sight of her, floating downstream close to shore. I jumped for the shore screaming her name, and ran for the bobbing black form. She was nose down, caught on a submerged branch, and unmoving as I dove for her. Cradling her limp form over my shoulders, I fought my way back to shore, and lay her on the grassy bank.

There was no movement from her but a slight throbbing in her ribs, but her eyes were still wide with the light of life. She was not breathing, though, and I panicked not knowing how I could resuscitate her. I had to try, that went without saying, so remembering my training in battlefield first aid, I tried methods hoping they'd work on a dog.

Laying side of her, I listened to her chest. Her heart beat still, weak but there, surrounded by a swishing sound like waves against a shore. Wrapping my hands round her waist, I gently pressed in and up toward her ribcage, released and squeezed again. On the third squeeze brownish water ran from her small nostrils, a sucking sound accompanying the release. More water came with the fourth, but stopped before I did. Letting her go I bent to listen for breath. The heartbeat still thrummed, but no breathing. I rolled her on her back, cradling her head in my palm. Opening my mouth wide, I took in her entire muzzle, covering the corners of her lips with my free hand. Afraid of blowing her lungs open, I blew most of my breath through my nose, giving her just a light puff, then releasing her nostrils to let it escape and waited to hear any response. Nothing happened. I followed the routine again, and again for what seemed ages, but in reality was a few short breaths. On what probably amounted to the sixth such puff, she hacked and snorted while still in my mouth. Pulling away, I turned her on her stomach while she coughed. The seizures in her side subsided, and she took several deep breaths still lying limp in my hands. Her breathing slowed to normal bit by bit, and her eyes narrowed back in their sockets. Weakly lifting her head, she met my eyes in a sad yet sweet stare and thumped her tail once on the ground.

I let her lay in my arms, eyes closed till her breath became steady and her heartbeat strong, then lifted her with me to find our canoe or a place safe to sleep. I walked about a mile carrying my exhausted lover till I caught sight of the boat snagged in some shallows on its side. I laid Tippy on the shore, kissing her wet, sleeping head, and waded to the craft. Dragging it to shore, I noticed most of our gear still lashed in the bow. I moved back from shore, finding a spot fairly level, and thought what a great thing waterproof bags were as I unloaded a dry tent and sleeping bag. Wrapping Tippys damp, shivering body in the sleeping bag, I set up the tent and built a fire near the door. Pulling a dry blanket and towel from my pack, I stripped and dried my body in the cool evening air, letting the fire warm front then back. I dried Tippy, waking her and receiving a kiss for it, then wrapped our naked bodies in the blanket and again in the sleeping bag to share our heat. The fire helping warm us, I slept holding her tightly to my chest and thanking whatever gods would listen for keeping her here with me.

The final day of our vacation broke to find my mate still stretched across my chest under the blanket, breathing deep and steady. I gently slid from under her, leaving her covered as I crawled into the cool air. After dressing, I stoked the fire thinking about the agenda for today. I had planned being on the south branch before camping last night, and taking my time from there to the bridge. I was short of the south branch by a good three miles however, and my prime concern was getting Tippy to her vet to be checked out.

The sun warmed our little camp, crawling above the hemlock and reflecting golden off the paper birch surrounding the tent. I stirred kibble into melting grease from some salt pork, hoping to give Tippy a warm meal before starting out when she woke. If she woke, I found myself thinking. I had yet to hear a stirring from the tent, and dishing out her breakfast, crawled back in the tent to check on her.

I knelt beside the bag, carefully pulling back the covers, and gazed on my lovers sleeping face. How frightened I was over loosing her. I bent and kissed her soft cheek. Her lid fluttered, she yawned. My heart soared as her eye showed. Seeing me, her eyes lit, and she gave me a warm good morning kiss.

Stretching beautifully, tail thumping she kissed me again and went to her dish. I watched her eat and drink, packing our gear as she finished. She searched out an adequate bush, then ran to me as I pushed the canoe in the water. She stood hesitant on the shore, one paw lifted in a gesture of indecision. I picked her up, and held her tightly to me. "I'm sorry little lady. So sorry to see you frightened. We won't stop today, just from here to the bridge." Setting her down again, I smiled to myself watching her carefully climb in the canoe and settle into place in front of my seat. I sat behind her and clipped her harness to me. "I won't let anything happen to you again, lover, I promise". Pushing off with the paddle, I turned the canoe and headed home with my lady.

The end



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