Face to Face

I could hear the luscious, invigorating sound of rushing water from behind the trees and pushed my way through the branches to investigate. White water came into view, alive with power as it made its way through an obstacle course of rocks and small islands. This was the alpine beauty of the Howqua river in summer, and one of the reasons Penelope and I came out camping in the Victorian High Country. I was mesmerized.

Penelope also displayed a sense of pleasure, but not because of the sound. She recently developed an interest in lapidary and the river gave her an opportunity to investigate peddles in the shallows. She hopped off my shoulder and slowly made her way on all fours to the river's edge, dappling her feet in the water. "Hey wow, look at these!" she called back to me. I glanced over to the stones P was wiping clean. Red and green and black and white, stones of all different colours. It really was fascinating. "Careful you don't slip" I warned, and she nodded absentmindedly, totally focused on the task at hand.

P was happy and occupied, so I took the opportunity to sit quietly on the river bank and contemplate the water. I drank-in the power it imparted, the raw, cool energy that electrified and calmed me all at the same time. I sat on the muddy ground and put my pack beside me before retuning my gaze to the water. Closing my eyes, I tried to savour that precious moment.

Heavy, sloppy breathing broke through my concentration. Confused, I opened my eyes to see a massive hairy dog sitting between me and the water, on its hind legs, almost touching me. The dog stared straight into my eyes. It had withdrawn its slobbering tongue and closed its mouth, fangs protruding slightly, and with intense concentration it locked my gaze.

As a nature lover I am only too aware that for an animal, staring is a sign of aggression, and I was quite certain that this creature was staring me down. Penelope had also explained this attribute of the animal kingdom to me, and I was now glad to have taken her advice on board. I tried to think fast how to diffuse this situation. Lazily, and with slow movements, I surveyed the river with a feigned disinterest of my co-respondent. Nothing helped. Canine eyes continued to stare at me, waiting for something, probably a trigger for him to attack. I won't lie to you my friends, I began to get a little nervous. And of course that in itself is a problem; dogs are known to smell fear and this was not the right time to sweat.

Moments ticked by as I tried hard to think what to do. I made a move to remove my sunglasses and the dog lurched sideways in the direction of my hand. I froze and the dog stopped in mid movement, quickly looking back at my face. Out the corner of my eye I could see Penelope, a short distance away, with a little mound of stones she was gathering. I didn't quite know how this episode would end and I felt it better if she was not aware of my predicament. I couldn’t stay here all day long of course, and when I might eventually try to get up I knew that the long awaited trigger would occur. I tried to imagine the dog's pointy teeth sinking into the flesh of my arm as I screamed and kicked its belly. Would he manage to get down to the bone?

The dog stared me down for quite a while and it was clear to me that this was not normal behaviour. I had to admit to myself, with all honesty, that psychotic dogs are not a specialty of mine. To quote Woody Allen, "I am not good with anything I can't reason with, kiss or fondle". It became clear that I had to work out how to make some movement without being aggressive. A thought crossed my mind. Very, very slowly I reached down for a stone. The dog lurched forward again but, as before, stopped, following my hand as if his life depended on it. I casually tossed the stone in the water.

What happened next changed the entire dynamic of our situation. The dog dived into the rushing stream, looking for the stone I had thrown before racing back to me, prostrate, wanting more. How stupid of me! I picked up a stick and threw that in the river, and the dog risked life and limb in the fast flowing current to retrieve the stick and drop it in front of me. Reaching out I patted the now sopping animal and laughed with delight, realizing I had misconstrued its loyal playfulness for hostility. We played for a few short minutes before a low growl came through the trees. "Come back here you little bastard" were the actual words, but the dog was clearly listing to the tone. Torn between an aggressive owner and a dainty new friend, the dog motioned to stay with me, but eventually gave in to the growing growl. My fear gave way to love and, when the dog gave me one last look of longing, I had the feeling it was hoping I might, for an encore, toss its owner in the violent depths of the river.

I cleaned the mud off my pants and went over to Penelope who showed me her bounty. We could only take a few of the stones with us and she chose them with great care. I would tell her what happened, but later, by the campfire, when she was not so focused on her own excitement and I didn't feel quite so stupid.