I had a buddy at Ft Rucker during my 6th grade year named Jimbo. He was one of the cool kids and was among the first to convince his military father to allow him to grow his bangs out. He developed that 'bangs flick' that was so popular in the 60's and of course all of us boys who still went to the PX Barber for the military cut were quite jealous.
Jimbo and I spent a great deal of time in the woods around the housing area at Ft. Rucker. Four Mile Creek ran through the Post and we seemed to gravitate to the water or the tiny tributaries bleeding off of the main artery. One summer day, we ventured off and took his dachshund with us. I remember she was a solid red but for the life of me I cannot remember her name---it was something like Roxie, so that is what I will call her.
The 60's were such a different time. All we had to do is tell our parents that we were going to the woods, and that was enough. No cell phones, no bug spray, no checklists of what to watch out for, just, 'bye'. We spent the day frolicking in the water, oblivious to the South Alabama dangers of water moccasins and other assorted critters. Roxie seemed to enjoy the fun, keeping up with us at every step.
Jimbo and I were gone for probably 4 hours and realized that we had no idea where we were. It was one of the few times of genuine fright, as we were completely and totally lost. Roxie was dirty, dragging her poor belly along the pine strawed trails and red clay. If you have ever been in the deep woods in Alabama in the summer, you know the misery of the stagnant humidity and blistering heat. Still, she trudged along, clinging as close as she could to us as we wandered through the hardwoods and southern pines.
We figured that the best thing to do is look for the largest patch of blue sky, as this would indicate some kind of clearing. This led us to what I call a 'jeep trail', two ruts that indicated wear by an Army vehicle. At that point we knew we would at least get 'somewhere'.
That somewhere eventually led to civilization...halfway across the Post. We knew exactly where we were and how far we would have to walk to get back home, which added another hour. We eventually made it, Roxie still dirty and wet, following close at hand along the busy roads.
Thinking about it now, I chuckle to see how everyday life in 1967 would create a major crisis in 2016. 2 boys and a dog missing for 5+ hours! But I suppose what remains unchanged---while culture, mores, rules, do change---is the dedication of a dog. Just thinking about this little dog: by our side the whole time in the Alabama sauna, we never once picked her up, felt sorry for her; she was just 'with us'. Through the woods, once we found 'civilization', walking beside the busy roads. It never occurred that we might need a leash.
No real significant moral to this tale. No 'we got our butts whipped' for being gone for so long, for taking a short legged dog off on an all day adventure, etc. That was just our life. The only question I remember my Mom frequently asking and getting all bent out of shape was, "HOW did you get so dirty?" Which brought on the 12 year old boy's Pavlovian respone, "I don't know." No review of the day, no dramatic lost in the woods story.
I do remember Jimbo telling me that Roxie slept the whole next day. Then she was ready to go again. A member of the pack.
That's just the way it was.
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