I screamed her name and tore off my pack, dropped everything on my person and ran to where I thought perhaps the canal let out into the river. I passed other hikers, asking them in a loud voice, "Have you seen my dog? She's big and brown! She has a blue collar! Tell me if you see her!" My brother was right behind me, yelling to run down river as he ran up river. Panic is such a strange emotion- so high pitched and lurching and cold. Fast thoughts flashed through my brain: canals I'd been to, dark water, lost dogs, the soft fur behind her ears, grates that catch debris.
What if she'd been caught against a grate? What if she was drowning? What if her collar or her harness snagged on something? She's not a good swimmer! Tears and sweat and dirt caked me. Tyna ran down the hill to me and I fell into a little heap and cried onto her tennis shoes, certain that my best friend (this dog that owns me! this dog that eats my Birkenstocks! this dog that takes up my whole bed! this dog that won't stay off the counter and loves hot sauce!) had died and I would never even find her body.
Tyna's husband yelled from the top of hill, near where Zuri had fallen in, saying we need to go UP! Come up! The canal was on the other side of the cliffs- a three mile hike on a utility road. My best friend Emily had already begun the trek. It was no small hike, but finding Zuri dead or alive was up to us. No one else was going to go. So we moved quick through the hot sun up and up and up, and then down and down and down. The land spread out, speckled with trees and rocks and more rocks.
My brain yelled, "She's gone. She's gone. You'll never find her." My heart whispered, "She's alive. She's alive. Zuri doesn't die. Dogs don't fear death." I sprinkled trail with tears and prayers. Small pebbles and sharp pieces of plants were pushing into my sandals. Emily was so far ahead I couldn't even see her down the long road.
At the opening of the canal, no dog in sight. There were four of us who spread out. I ran off path towards the river that traces the park. Emily went west. We yelled, I cried. I felt saturated with exhaustion. Two hawks flew over my head, balanced in the light breeze. I plopped into the dirt and told myself that if we didn't find her today, we'd find her tomorrow. Someone would. Zuri is not dead, I kept telling myself.
"We have Zuri! B! We have her!" I could barely hear Emily yell through the trees. I ran to find Zuri, bouncing as always, with Emily holding her leash. Not even a scratch on her. No broken bones. Very much alive. It was as if she hadn't even noticed that she just took a swim down a mile long canal that travels under thousands of tons of earth.
That night in the tent, I pulled her fleece over her big head. She laid down next to me and stretched out her endless legs. My body ached. The arches of my feet felt the consistency of sawdust. I tried to push the events of the day to the back of my mind, but before I could forget to tell her, I laid my head next to her soft ears and said, "I love you and all of you. I love you and all of you. All the bad parts, all the good parts. I love you and all of you," to the dog who owns me.
