by Ceil Drucker
Contributing Writer

It was warm for January – hot even. The sun was strong, the sky was blue, and the dogs were bored. They were laid out in the living room like the sunrise leftovers from some wild party – eyes half open, breath heavy and deep. Cocoa, the neurotic chocolate lab, was on the sofa, still and silky shiny, an exhausted and overgrown otter at rest. Bodhi, the prince of Terlingua’s lost and found hounds peered out from under a low table, a mass of long fur, brown and white and red and gold.

I decided a trip to the river was in order and got out my river sandals. I love driving the dogs around in the old pickup. Their excitement is contagious. Eternal optimists, all they need is to see someone slipping into shoes and the game is on. They bark and spin circles, tear around the room and eventually crowd the front door expectantly.

Dogs loaded in the truck bed, we headed for the river – the mighty Rio Grande. Cocoa has a definite Type A personality and she was in rare form, barking and spinning, moving from one side of the truck to the other like some manic goalie determined not to let the other team score. Bodhi is more zen monk, resembling a large furry hood ornament displaced to the rear of the vehicle, as he gracefully leans into the wind, gaze steady, fur waving.

It was close to sunset when we pulled up at the old crossing. I got out and opened the tailgate.

I saw the cows about the same moment Bodhi did: there were 4 or 5 in the open grassy field close to the river cane and 3 or 4 more at the river’s edge. For a moment I was excited, he was a working dog mix we were convinced, a borderline collie of sorts and I was pretty certain he’d never seen an actual cow before.

My excitement was nothing compared to the enthusiasm that shot him out of the back of the truck – catapulting across the grass and down to the river where the first set of cows stood staring, as cows do.

It was amazing. He went right to work. My quiet little companion was getting the cows together, commanding them to get in line. Barking and circling, he moved the cows up from the river to where the second set of cows were watching, then when he had them all together in a group he began marching them across the field. Nipping at their heels, running and circling.

The cows were obviously pissed. They had been enjoying a mellow afternoon of lazing by the river, eating, drinking and staring around and now this. One of them charged at him and I could see he loved the challenge. He was in total control.

I realized I was calling Bodhi, and calling and calling – running across the field. Cocoa stays close in unfamiliar situations and she followed me as we ran after what now resembled a very small and efficient cattle drive. Bodhi was oblivious.

There was a part of me that just wanted to stand there – cow-like  – and stare. He was beautiful, so small and so powerful, running tight circles around their legs, weaving in and out.

He was like a surfer who’d waited his whole life for this one perfect wave and he was riding it.  

I felt baffled and proud, mystified and full of love. I was the factory worker parent of a 10-year-old MIT graduate.

This strange emotional reverie was shattered by the realization that the herd was on the move again and this time they were headed south – towards the river...towards home. I ran after them.

The cows were in the lead. I noticed one of them had a rope tying its front right and rear left leg together loosely. I entertained the idea of cow races and how many legs would that be with a cow on either side?

And then the splash.

They were in the river, swimming for Mexico. My baby, my pup, the first thing I ever really commited to in my life swimming after them.

I got to the edge of the water, panting, and watched them moving up the bank and onto the dirt road, Bodhi again in charge, circling and barking as they disappeared in a slow moving cloud of dust.

I stood there and watched the dust swirl, I tried to be happy for him. I tried to imagine him herding the cows back to a grand rancho, the wizened old vaquero meeting them at the gate, rewarding Bodhi for his loyal service with a rich stew bone and a pat on the head.

This is what he was born to do. I knew this: every moment of his life had led up to this point. He was home.

Cocoa licked my hand and gazed up at me, whimpering and I thought, What in the hell am I doing?! I’ve got to go get my dog – he’s disappearing into Mexico!

“Come on, girl, we’ve got to go get Bodhi!” We waded into the muddy old river, Cocoa swam across and I dragged my wet jeans through the waist deep water, pockets full of soggy dog biscuits. We climbed up on the shore and ran up the road after them.

I didn’t see them anywhere and the sun was sinking low. I was on the verge of hysteria, my voice gone from calling and calling…and there he was, wet and panting, trotting towards us.

“Come on boy, let’s go home” I called, and headed back for the water. He and Cocoa swam across and I opened the tailgate. The cows were nowhere in sight.

Cocoa loaded up and I looked around for the prodigal son. He was headed back for the river. I called, and felt such a desperation rising in me. I ran back to the river’s edge, soggy biscuit in hand. I had given up on love winning out over the call of the wild and I was counting on bribery.

He swam into view, slowly paddling and gazing across the river. I pleaded, invoked the names of treats, summoned my most dog-pleasing voice over and he looked up at me, walked up the bank towards me, paused, gazed over his shoulder at the new life he would leave behind, and finally came for the biscuit. I grabbed his collar and escorted him to the truck, put him in the front cab and headed down the road.

He sat there, dripping muddy river water, staring out the window, barely moving. I tried to talk to him, to stroke his fur but he was distant. A ways down the road I pulled over and let him climb up in the truck bed with Cocoa, so he could feel the wind and smell the open sky.

From behind the steering wheel I watched them as I drove. Cocoa up to her old tricks, frantically positioning herself side to side, and Bodhi, like a statue, poised at the edge strong and solid.

I watched his eyes searching the horizon in front of us and there was something different in his gaze. I’ve seen that look before on climbers come down from their first big summit. After spending time in another world they come back, but they never really return. Something changes and you just can’t go back.

I wonder what he’s thinking, how long he’ll remember. If he’ll remember at all or if he’ll just go back to being my dog and loving biscuits and belly rubs.

I wonder if his life is wasted on my love, if he should be able to heed his calling. I realize the tears rolling down my face aren’t just for Bodhi. I think about the life he maybe should have had and how seeing him in action was like watching him wake up from a dream, like I wish we all could.

Later at home we sit out and watch the sky grow dark and cool. We head inside where its warm and the treats are waiting.

(Below) The author's dogs, Cocoa (left) and Bodhi.


Ceil Drucker is Southern by birth, Terlinguan by fate. When not trying to wrangle cowdogs, she practices massage and yoga in the tri-plex area (at the intersection of routes 118 & 170 in Terlingua).