Two Dog, One Cat Night
by Dave Barth, February 2008
This story is an exercise in creative writing. Any similarity to any persons is entirely coincendental.
My name is . . . well, it doesn't matter what my name is. What matters is the story I'm going to tell about my adventures through life. Perhaps my
relatives will marvel at it or, perhaps, think it quaint. In any case, it truly has been an adventure for me.
I was born in August 1947. World War II had ended a couple of years before, and they call kids born in that era "baby boomers."
My early years were good. During my upbringing I was imbued with good values, the enjoyment of reading, and a love for animals.
In my early years as an adult, I didn't want to do the normal sorts of jobs that my fellow high school graduates took, like retail clerk, accountant, restaurant server,
and boring jobs like those. I wanted do some interesting, exciting things. I recalled the Robert Frost poem, "The Road Not Taken:"
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
and the end of the poem:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
Took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
When I got out of high school, my parents couldn't afford to send me to college, even though I was told that my IQ was above 150, which put me into the genius
category. I can remember just about everything I read, but can't everybody? I guess I was blessed with a great memory. It helped me whiz through school.
I decided to enlist in the military. The Vietnam War was going on, and I didn't want to become a "ground pounder," so I enlisted in the Air Force, where I
spent the next four years as an aircraft mechanic. The Air Force was a great experience, and I got along well with my buddies.
After I got out, I wanted to go to work, but I didn't want a standard "nine to five" job. I found that a nearby city ran river trips, and they were looking for
river guides. I was a tall and in great physical condition, and I felt this would be a great adventure, so I applied and got a job as a guide. The other guides and I
guided tourists down rivers like the Colorado, Snake, Green and many others in Colorado, Utah, and Idaho.
Before we took passengers on a river, some of us guides checked it out by taking a rubber raft down it to make sure it was safe and to estimate the level of difficulty
which ranges from 1 to 5, with level 5 rivers having the roughest water. Class 5 rivers usually result in at least one raft capsizing, dumping everyone on board into the
swirling water. It was dangerous because you could get sucked into a vertical swirl that kept taking you down, back up, then down again, and you might not be able
to get a breath on the upward cycle. The trick is to swim out of it at right angles to the swirl, then swim to the surface. People have died in class 5 water.
When a trip was scheduled, we drove trucks holding supplies up-river to the place we had decided was a good starting place, arriving hours before the tourists. Each
of us had a job, but we traded off from time to time to keep it interesting and to make sure each of us knew how to do each task. For example, we had a foot pump
to inflate the rafts, and that took awhile, so we would switch off now and then. We became a closely-knit team, and we worked fast and efficiently. After we had
checked everything to be sure the supplies were secure and all safety equipment was on board, we kicked back and relaxed until the tourists arrived.
The number of rafts we readied depended on the number of tourists who had signed up for the trip. Usually, we took three rafts on a trip. We loaded the supplies
into the rafts, including water, food, cooking supplies, tents, blankets, and other odds and ends. Each raft had four paddles, one on each side, one in the rear
for the guide to use to control the raft, and a spare tied to the bottom of the raft.
When the tourists arrived, usually in the early morning, we had each of them put on a life vest. We gave them a thorough safety talk and showed them the rafts and
equipment. We told them that it was possible to fall into the water, and if they did, to swim to the surface and get back to the raft. We couldn't stop the raft from
floating downstream, and we didn't want to have to put it to shore to pick up a person in the water unless he couldn't get back to the raft. Then we pushed the
rafts off the shore and got everyone in. Most people wore swim trunks or shorts, a T shirt, and tennis shoes.
By afternoon, everybody was pretty soaked. If the water was a bit rough in places, spray would get everyone wet, but if the water was calm, as it was on some trips,
boredom would cause one of us guides, or a tourist, to splash someone and say, "Oops, sorry, my mistake!" which would result in a general water fight. Girls who
had nice hairdos when we left, looked like soaked rats by evening.
In the afternoon we pulled into the shore at a spot we had checked out before. While some people set up tents, some of us lit a fire and got dinner going. This wasn't
a gourmet meal, but it sure tasted good after a day on the river. After eating, we all gathered around the camp fire and sang songs, looked at the stars, and just enjoyed
nature before bedding down. It was wonderful, and we guides got addicted to this great life.
In the morning one of us, usually me, got up around 4am to stoke the fire and get breakfast going. The first item on the agenda was coffee. We filled a large coffee pot
with water, got it boiling, and made coffee before most tourists has awakened. The smell of coffee in the morning is most pleasant, even to those who don't imbibe that
wonderful, eye-opening concoction. Most people need a coffee kick-start in the morning, and I'm one of those.
After breakfast, we broke camp, loaded the rafts, and headed down river. Some trip were one-day excursions, some lasted two days, and a few went for three days,
but a three-day affair required substantially more food and water.
Finally, I was ready to move on. I went up to Montana to see what interesting work I could find up there. I happened to find a logging company that had a contract to
clear trees in a national forest. The Forest Service contract specified that no motorized vehicles could be used to move the logs so as not to disturb the soil and mash
delicate plants beneath the wide, steel tread of caterpillar tractors. To meet this requirement, the logging company used horses to drag to logs from where they were
cut in the forest to the road where they would be loaded onto trucks.
Because I was a large person and liked working with animals, I was given a team of horses to move logs. Each morning I hitched my two horses up to
a tow bar. Long reins went from the horses necks to where I would walk behind the logs. When a tree was felled, I would take the horses over to the log, connect it
to the tow bar, and off we'd go to the road. It was very interesting work, and sometimes it was quite a distance from the cutting to the road. At times it seemed
as though it was just me and the two horses in this gigantic forest. It was really fun. Except when it rained. Then the horses were wet, I was wet, the logs were wet,
and it was miserable and sometimes, cold.
When I tell people this story, they often ask if I had to watch out to not step into horse shit since I was walking behind them. Well, I answer them by saying that
we loggers weren't out there at an ice cream social, and horse crap is no big deal. After awhile, you get used to it, and when you got back to camp in the evening,
you just kicked most of it off your boots, and that was it.
After that contract had ended, once again, I began to look for work. I decided to settle down. I found a nice girl and after we were married, we moved to a small
ranch in the San Luis Valley of Colorado. I always loved nature, and this was my kind of living. I did some farming and had a few livestock and a dog and my
beautiful wife. Life was good. Ranchers in the area helped each other when needed, usually during harvest, whenever a machine broke down, when they needed
to move a large piece of equipment, or to raise a barn. I was known as a guy who would always pitch in and help out. As a big, strong guy, I was usually one of
the first people to be called on to help, and I appreciate that I was accepted into the community.
Eventually, my wife and I split up, and I decided to go into medicine. I always enjoyed helping people. I didn't have enough funds to become a doctor, so I went to
nursing school. I really enjoyed it, and I learned a lot about medicine. Today, when people discuss medical problems with me, they often think I am a physician.
Well, it is that good memory of mine kicking in. I can remember most of the physiology of the body and the long list of drugs and their effects that we had to learn
in school.
But my internship in a hospital was too far removed from nature, so I opted out of nursing and took a course in psychology to get a certificate in mental
health. After school I got a job with the local government to help people who had emotional problems. The State of Colorado put together a very interesting program
where a group of these people would take a wagon train from New Mexico up to Denver. Interested parties donated wagons and stock to pull them. We got
supplies together, planned the trip, got permission to cross ranch lands, and made the trip. It took several weeks, but it was like I imagine it would have been
like to be on the Oregon Trail. At least we didn't have Indians to contend with!
After my foray into the world of medicine, I decided to become a cab driver. Some people might be aghast at that decision, but I was beginning to settle down, and
my interest in people would be fertilized by the different sorts of persons I would carry in the cab. I could write a book on the people who rode in my cab. By that time
I had rescued a wonderful pup from a shelter. He was such a smart dog, I named him Newton. I really can't talk about Newton without choking up because he is no
longer with us.
But from time to time he rode in the front seat of the cab with me. One time I stopped for to pick up a passenger, and when the guy opened the door to climb into the
back seat, Newton let out a low growl. I immediately told the guy that there was something wrong with my cab, and I was heading back to the garage to get it fixed.
Newton might have saved my life that night. Finally, I was done with being a cabbie, and I was, once again, job hunting. I went to a local staffing agency, and they
found me a job doing telemarketing.
You might think that talking on the phone all day would be totally outside of my comfort zone. I'd be sitting in an office all day, looking at a computer screen, talking
with people I couldn't see. Well, it is one of the best jobs I've ever had. My boss is the ultimate salesman/entrepreneur. He is always ready to grab onto a potential
money-making venture, and he works very hard at it. We are a great team. He gets the business, and I make the contacts. We are both very intelligent, and we
think along the same lines. Sure, we have our disagreements from time to time, be we make the business work.
Although this job is much different from the other work I've done, my boss is very understanding, and in our workplace, he gave me a large, roomy office with a huge
window that looks out over a quiet neighborhood. I can watch people come and go at the offices across the street, and this gives me a view of the "outside world,"
so I don't feel so confined. Over the years I've gotten a couple of disks in my back hurt, and I have bad knees. Maybe it has been all that outdoor work. The sitting
is good for me, but I can get up from my chair from time to time and walk a bit to get the kinks out of my body.
I have to admit that I'm very good at my job. I have a soft, soothing voice, like the great orator, Garrison Keeler, of Lake Woebegone and Prairie Home Companion fame.
When I talk with a prospect on the phone, my voice and kind words immediately disarm the person to whom I'm speaking. Most of them want to hear what I say,
and by listening to me, they hear the pitch and they realize I'm not a salesperson, but simply a friend telling them about a great deal. Using this technique, which is
really just me talking to a person I feel is a friend of mine, I get a lot of hot leads for our company's clients. I've worked at this job for two years, and I'm still here. I
guess that is testament to how much I enjoy the work.
On the home front, I have two dogs and a cat that have become real pals to me. During winter, I keep the thermostat low to save money on gas. At bedtime, the dogs
and the cat hop up on the bed, and we all keep warm that way. I call cold nights a two-dog, one-cat night.
My life has been one great adventure, and I wouldn't trade it for anyone else's. Life is good. The road I took has made all the difference.