KAREN LAND

Inside my journal, an old, overexposed, black and white photograph of five beautiful dogs, all lounging in the grass and looking up at the camera, acts as a bookmark. Every time I look at the picture, I’m so thankful that my longtime girlfriends and I decided to pause our hike that day for the quick family photo.

In the snapshot, Kirby, my Catahoula-mutt; Kara, Shannon’s German Shepard; Cami and Pero, Shelly’s two Italian Spinone’s; and Alex, Brenda’s Corgi all lay and stay, waiting for the “free dog” cue. That was over 15 years ago, a long dog’s life; all five have since passed on. We still speak of them like they’ll come running out of the woods at any moment.

When I study this dark photo, I don’t just see the sparkling brown eyes and goofy expressions and wagging tails of the dogs we adored.

The picture reminds me of everything: the cool little house along the river where Shelly raised a family and our dogs once explored, the veterinary hospital where we all worked. I think of boyfriends we’d rather forget - Steve and Rob and Lester and... you get my drift.

A cold, wet Montana spring always bring back a memory - a bone-chilling one.

In the early 1990’s, I moved from Indianapolis to Missoula to attend the University of Montana. After my first winter in the west, I couldn’t wait to partake in the delights of spring in the mountains. Eventually, the daylight hours grew longer, the rain subsided, and the angry rivers calmed.

It was 80-some degrees, blue skies, and sunny the June day my friends and I rented giant rubber inner-tubes from a local gas station. Ian, David, and I strapped the awkward vessels down to the back of my little red pickup and headed to the Blackfoot River.

All three of us slathered our skin with the first sun block of the season. As I settled into my inner-tube, the blistering black rubber burned the backs of my bare legs and arms. I welcomed the sweltering midday heat - it had been a long winter.

Our friends floated this same stretch the previous day. It’ll only take a couple of hours, they told us. I was relieved by the day’s clear forecast; giant inflatable donuts don’t provide much storage space for precautionary gear.