It's midnight as we reach the turn off for Dinosaur Tracks.
I'm sorry to arrive here so late--I'd been hoping to be here in late afternoon and to talk with the people who recognized Na'ilah as the stray they'd seen last August.
Nevertheless, I do want to stop. Where better to see the stars than this deserted spot far from any lights?
I let the dogs out of the car on leashes and turn off my flashlight.
The Milky Way jumps out at me, streaking across the sky south to north from Scorpio to Cassiopeia's Chair.
Na'ilah pulls me forward toward the empty shelters where the Navajos sell jewelry and other handicrafts. She sniffs eagerly.
I stumble in the dark on the bare rock rutted with dinosaur tracks and pull her back: "No, Na'ilah! Stay!"
We pause, absorbing the silence and sheer beauty of the skies.
When I open the back of the car again, Stormy runs to jump in. She doesn't see why we had to stop in this dark and lonely place.
Na'ilah, however, won't jump in. She keeps pulling at the leash and staring off into the distance.
She has assumed her vigil pose: sniffing, looking, listening for prey or danger.
Usually she jumps into the car obediently as soon as I say, "Let's go!" She knows a treat will follow.
But now she won't jump in. She has spent a week or more here alone at night. It's familiar to her--a place of freedom and excitement. Maybe she's forgotten about the empty stomach that was also a part of this experience.
Repeatedly I tell her "Come, Na'ilah! Let's go!"
Finally she leaps in and we get back on Hwy. 160, soon to reach Hwy. 89 and drive south toward Flagstaff.
I'm sorry to arrive here so late--I'd been hoping to be here in late afternoon and to talk with the people who recognized Na'ilah as the stray they'd seen last August.
Nevertheless, I do want to stop. Where better to see the stars than this deserted spot far from any lights?
I let the dogs out of the car on leashes and turn off my flashlight.
The Milky Way jumps out at me, streaking across the sky south to north from Scorpio to Cassiopeia's Chair.
Na'ilah pulls me forward toward the empty shelters where the Navajos sell jewelry and other handicrafts. She sniffs eagerly.
I stumble in the dark on the bare rock rutted with dinosaur tracks and pull her back: "No, Na'ilah! Stay!"
We pause, absorbing the silence and sheer beauty of the skies.
When I open the back of the car again, Stormy runs to jump in. She doesn't see why we had to stop in this dark and lonely place.
Na'ilah, however, won't jump in. She keeps pulling at the leash and staring off into the distance.
She has assumed her vigil pose: sniffing, looking, listening for prey or danger.
Usually she jumps into the car obediently as soon as I say, "Let's go!" She knows a treat will follow.
But now she won't jump in. She has spent a week or more here alone at night. It's familiar to her--a place of freedom and excitement. Maybe she's forgotten about the empty stomach that was also a part of this experience.
Repeatedly I tell her "Come, Na'ilah! Let's go!"
Finally she leaps in and we get back on Hwy. 160, soon to reach Hwy. 89 and drive south toward Flagstaff.
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