The Little Pack

The last of this week’s From the Vault series, and also, in my opinion, the best. This is IO’s story, the one and only time we went camping and one of the worst 24 hour periods in IO’s life.

One April weekend, my husband and I loaded up Jackson and IO and set out for a camping trip. We were headed to Goblin Valley, Utah. We stopped in Grand Junction, Colorado, the first night. IO is terrified by thunderstorms, and as luck would have it, there were thunderstorms the next valley over the mountain range all night long. The rain spared us, but the storm was close enough to hear the thunder rumbling and echoing through the mountains, and therefore close enough for IO to be scared. When we woke in the morning, she had somehow slid off the blanket we set up for her bed, and was sleeping with nothing between her and the chilly ground but the thin floor of the tent. She was shivering, out of fear or cold, or a combination of both, I have never been sure.

I took them for a walk, thinking this might cheer up IO. We walked along a paved bike path and I threw a stick for the dogs. Slowly, IO was warming up to this camping idea. The path went by a large open field and I threw the stick into it. IO tore after the stick… and managed to run smack dab into a small cement trough that had been overgrown with weeds and was not visible. She hit the cement wall full-force with her front leg and laid down on the other side of the ditch and whimpered—which she never does. I carried her back to the trail (yes, she weighs 50+ pounds). I held my breath when I set her down. She literally shook it off and started running. If the thunderstorm was Strike One, this was Strike Two.

Strike Three occurred when we stopped to let the dogs out and Jackson peed on IO’s head. But we disregarded the omens and pressed on.

Serious doubts arouse when we reached our destination in Goblin Valley and saw signs everywhere telling us if we love our dogs, to leave them at home. Because of the extreme temperatures and because of the texture of the rock, these signs cautioned that dogs can easily injure their feet and get heat exhaustion. Which is strange because I had always heard it was a great place to be bring dogs. The campgrounds were full and we did not know the area well enough to drive into the desert and find a place to camp. So, still determined to follow through on this camping adventure, we went to Plan B and drove several hours back towards the direction we had came from, to Moab.

On the way back to Moab, we turned around a corner, and the cooler, which had become lighter as the ice had started to melt, slid and fell… you guessed it on top of IO. To top it off, all the melted freezing cold ice water spilled out of the cooler and doused IO. She was soaked. Jack, who was sitting right next to IO, was dry as can be. By now, IO was less than thrilled with this little trip.

Of course, by the time we got back to Moab, it was about 3 o’clock… on a Friday afternoon… in April. We went to every camping area that I knew about and several I didn’t. We drove down miles and miles of dirt roads looking for camping sites. We also tried all the camping grounds in Arches National Park. We had begun to get further and further from town and driven to Fisher Towers. All campsites were taken. A thunderstorm was visible in the distance. My husband looked at me. It was time to admit defeat. So we began the long trek home.

But not before one final adventure. It had been hours since we had let the dogs out to do their business and we were driving through a pouring rainstorm. We stopped at a rest area and let the dogs out. Lightning struck directly on the other side of the rest area building and IO freaked out. She crawled underneath the truck, terrified, and would not come out to save her life. My husband ended up crawling underneath the truck—through a puddle—and had to pull her out. They were both drenched.

We haven’t gone camping since.