Tracking the dog dashers of Trancas Canyon




 

Gem was my great trail dog from some years earlier, known to dash after horses and bicycles. I never let go of her leash, so I guess officially it was the “Gem and GG dash.”

We never harassed any other recreational trail users; we gave them an ample head start then pursued their fading tracks. I can’t say I understand why Gem had this bent; perhaps she was territorial after having been introduced to trails in the Santa Monica Mountains when she was 5 months old, a time when I was new to rural Agoura and the access our home provided to so many hiking destinations.

One sunny autumn day, which happened to be my birthday, we were loping along the graded Edison Road in Trancas Canyon when we spotted a good omen of fun to come. The ribbon of a big yellow Mylar balloon with a floral motif had blown up from the coast and caught on a wild lilac’s branch. The flowers spelled out “Happy Birthday.” I tied it to my backpack strap.

Up ahead, four trail horses emerged onto the Edison Road from a down- canyon trail, crossed the road and filed onto the up-canyon connector. Gem and I frequently hiked the up-canyon route, a rough-and-tumble trail with challenging twists and turns.

From a visual reconnaissance a quarter-mile distant, Gem revved up into her most determined dash mode.

The balloon repeatedly thumped me on the noggin as we gave chase, yet I had no inclination to cut loose a “Happy Birthday” balloon that had materialized in the middle of nowhere precisely on my special day.

Horse scent is distinct and sweet. It mingled with the pungent sages we plowed through. I don’t know how she managed it, but Gem kept barking nonstop even as she hurtled forward.

There was, of course, no sign of the riders except for some fresh manure. This didn’t slow Gem. As we began the switch-backing ascent, the chiseled edge of a broken scrub oak branch punctured the balloon.

One final thump then it sagged atop my scalp like a scrambled egg.

A timeout was needed from our mad pursuit. We squirmed into the puniest parcel of available shade and hunched shoulder to shoulder, heaving and panting.

There was but a half bottle of water remaining. I’m not as noble as the heroes in movies are—I shared, but the tantalizing temptation not to crossed my mind.

I looked at my canine partner. Her tongue stuck out longer than Paul Bunyan’s belt. Gem was one of those dogs who appeared to grin, and she was grinning big-time then.

“That’s a very unusual birthday hat you’re wearing,” I read in her mischievous expression, “but flattering.”

“Okay, you conniving hound, the rest of the water’s yours,” I told her, toasting her with the water bottle before she drained it.

Glasser is a freelance writer and local nature enthusiast. Reach her at whirlawaygig@gmail.com.