Chasing Chippie


(An ode to St. Roch)

Chippie with St.Roch

The voicemail left me stone cold... Chippie had run away from his new adoptive home on that first Sunday night. Sherri, Terri and Jasmine were devastated.

Chippie made the trek home with his new family and all seemed fine for the first few hours as he was eating snacks and playing with the whippet girl, Jasmine. They were running in and out of the dog door to the fenced dog yard and having a good time. All of a sudden, no Chippie. He either jumped off the deck or squeezed between the gate and fence post to escape. It was after midnight and he took off into the Yakima valley dark.

The search began immediately and lasted into the pre dawn hours. He was sighted nearby along the road; eyes caught for a moment in the headlights only to vanish at the sound of the car door opening. And again, darting across the road. Then nothing more all night long. A soft impression in the tall grass near the pump house was the only evidence he had stuck around until sometime before daylight.

Monday morning, Sherri raced to hang 75 flyers from the rural mailboxes in a two mile radius, hoping folks would notice the little red and white dog running through the orchards. They did... " I saw him in my field playing", " I saw him going down the road" and " I saw him flying across the sagebrush like a blur". The area of these sightings became the focus of the search.

24 hours passed and nothing more. No Chippie....

On Tuesday, a K9 search and rescue dog team was hired. The official searcher stood tall in his badge and gun. His walkie talkie ready for action and mumbled something about rattlesnakes. The hardy search dogs snorted the old dog blanket for a scent of Chippie. They searched one orchard and then another. Finally a trail and a sighting, but they could not get within 100 yards of the frantic whippet boy.

The search and rescue became a very expensive search and leave....

No Chippie....

Impatient. The waiting unbearable. I had to do something more than make phones calls and worry. A distant voice whispered "go, go, go". Henry and I grabbed the backpack and hit the road for the 250 mile trek to Yakima.

Multnomah Falls, Oregon - Columbia Gorge Highway

We headed east along the Columbia Gorge. The beauty of the rock, Douglas Fir trees and white capped river were comforting. Sad songs played on the radio bringing tears for Chippie. Snuggled on the plump pillow in the front seat, Henry snored.

Columbia River looking south to Oregon

We crossed the mighty Columbia River into Washington and headed north. The scenery changed from water, stone and tree to stone and sagebrush. The highway wound steep up layers of the gorge cliffs. The air was dry and sparky. I remembered we were nearing the Yakima Reservation.

I felt a shift.

I knew Tsaglaglal * was watching.

She Who Watches (Tsaglaglal)

The sky was vapor gray.

I caught a glimpse of the Stonehenge Replica War Memorial*
and we made a short detour.

Stonehenge Replica built by Sam Hill in the 1920's.

Henry and I explored Stonehenge.

The view between the stone slabs was remarkable.

Columbia River separating Oregon/Washington

Henry was not thrilled when I tried to
take his photo atop the sacrificial alter.

sacrificial slab

The wind was coming up from the river.
Was that a voice I heard? "go, go, go"

Columbia River looking southwest to Oregon

Traveling north, the make of the land changed to more rock and sagebrush. The breeze splashed against the windshield.

Up through Goldendale, the geography looked like the back drop to an old western TV movie. The rotten fence post and barb wire; the occasional tumble weed. I imagined faces in the stones. The air was quiet but I thought I heard a whisper?

Farther north, there was a bit of green in the landscape. The sky had more blue mixed with the grey. The highway was leveling out more. Stone and sagebrush turned to fruit stands, trading stores and old motels. We were almost there.

Henry and I met Terri and Jasmine at the house. We checked to see how Chippie might have made his great escape - over the deck or between the gate and the fence post? We strapped Jasmine and Henry in the back seat of Terri’s big Volvo SUV and took off for the orchards where Chippie was last seen.

North Yakima Valley

Under the blue sky, the orchards were beautiful.
Row upon row of green trees, full of red apples.

one of a zillion rows of fruit trees

We parked the car and checked the live trap for Chippie. The food untouched. No sign of Chippie. I left a toy and blanket hoping he would show up and asked St. Roch * (and anyone else who might be listening) to help find Chippie.

The live trap set with spiked food

We walked between a hundred rows of trees.
The air fresh and fragrant with apples and good dirt.

No Chippie...

Newly planted grapes and fruit trees

The contrast between the trees and the basalt rock and sagebrush was distinct. One step would lead to the dry rock and brush; the next to the grass covered pathways through the trees.

I felt a shift.

The breeze made a stiff noise in the dry brush. Was this a message from the orchard spirits? I did not understand what they were saying. Was it a warning? Was I going in the right direction? Was the breeze letting Chippie know we were there? Henry left his mark every few feet. He wanted Chippie to know we had been there, whether the plants were talking or not.

We walked the orchards for two hours. There was no fencing and we could travel easily from one farm to the next.

We worked our way back to the car and then drove four more hours through more orchards and down canyon roads. High powered binoculars in hand. Camera ready.

No Chippie...

old canyon land burn and old smudge pots standing sentry

It had been six hours of searching and the sun was looking from behind the hills and the breeze turned to a chilly light wind. We called it a day and headed back to the house, deflated and defeated.

No Chippie...

The end of the trail for Chip?

The dry leaves rustled in the breeze. As we drove away, I said good bye to Chippie. I imagined him running joyfully across the canyons and through the orchards chasing hares and field mice and rolling apples. This was a beautiful place to spend one's last days. I thought he might become a legend and folks would have Chippie sightings for the next one hundred years. We could erect a memorial out of basalt.

None of this was comforting.

Chippie had now been running free for almost 72 hours....

Depressed and tired, we dragged ourselves back inside the house.
Henry and Jasmine flopped on the couch.

Jazmine, Terri and Henry after the long search day

About 10 minutes later the folks at the Wilridge Winery a mile away, called and they had Chippie! Mary found him under a bench, by a pond in a hidden little known canyon, accessible only by foot. He was injured and not moving. They carried him out and put him in a baby jogger and tied him in with a sweat shirt. We raced over to the winery and there was Chip with this nice little family standing around him. All we could see was his little head sticking out of the bundle on the baby jogger. He looked like a modern day papoose!

Chippie

We thanked the kind folks who saved Chippie and offered them a reward. They refused and made us promise to take Chippie to the vet. We rushed him back to the house. He had puncture wounds and what looked like a tire tread mark in blood on one side of his little body. We warmed him, cleaned him up and fed him water and a bit of dog food. He stayed quiet all night and slept by my side. I kept waking up and looking at him astonished he was safe. I smiled at the crumbled St. Roch prayer card as I pulled it from my sweat shirt pocket.

Chippie exhausted from his three day adventure

The next morning, after a quick trip to the local vet for pain meds, antibiotics and an anti inflammatory, we hit the road for Portland. I told Henry we were not stopping for pee breaks and driving the 3 1/2 hours straight through. Fortunately, Henry was ok with that as he had emptied his tank the day before marking in the orchards.

Now that Chippie was in the car, the landscape was unremarkable, the songs on the radio sounded corny. The wind silent.... St. Roch tucked in the visor.

Back in Portland, Chippie spent the night at the emergency vet where they tended to his puncture wounds; one wound required a drain and if any deeper it may have punctured a lung. The x-rays were remarkably normal although the diagnosis was Chippie had been hit and bit. Since he was running in the orchards he may have been hit by one of the small all terrain vehicles called "gators". Who knows what may have bit him?
Coyotes?
Other dogs?

Only Chippie knows and he's not talking...

Chippie after the ER visit

|
Chippie's x-rays
_______________________________________

Epilogue
Chippie has recovered from his wounds. His coat is growing back in the big patches around the old puncture wound scars. He is happily playing with toys and running around the backyard. He snuggles with Henry and plays with the other whippets. He has not attempted to escape...

Chippie playing with Blossom, Cinner and a snuggled with Lucy.