The Things Echo Knows

The sound of a zipper can wake her from the dead.  The tinkle of a belt buckle, too.  While I change clothes she's certain that she must stand within six inches of me, and she often plays it safe by putting the top of her head against my leg.
She knows my ski clothes by sight and smell.  If I simply open the duffel bag she comes to investigate.
If I have occasion to be at my mom's house, Echo knows that if I disappear into the back bedroom, that she must stand sentry at the door until I emerge.  No amount of time is too long.  Then she stands within six inches of me, often with the top of her head against my leg.
Anytime I appear at my mom's house, in fact, Echo comes to greet me with a look that is nothing less than beseeching.  She would be ashamed to beg for food or tummy scratches with the same abandon that she begs to be taken skiing. 
If its cold, or there is fresh snow to clump up in her paws, then I pick up her booties and call her over.  When she sees the booties she puts her tail in between her legs and begins to circle with the same look on her face that she gets when she's in trouble.  But she comes over, and sometimes even graciously raises a paw to have the booties put on.  She knows that this is the hate of the love/hate relationship, but that the love comes later.
Once her booties are on, she freezes.  Moving only to stay within six inches of me, and filling herself with hate with each moment that I spend adjusting layers, putting on my own boots, or corking the wax into my skis.
Only once she begins to hear the gentle skoosh of my skis down the trail does she relax, the nervous tension gone from her demeanor.  The stunted movement brought on by the booties disappears as she tears off down the trail, finally free from the prison of wondering if this time she might be left behind.  After this, the only sign that she's even happy is the gentle swish of her tail as she trots ahead down the trail.  But that swish means a lot.

"COME FUCKING ON!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING????"

Deceptively happy.  Even I wasn't certain she was enjoying herself at first.

The happy tail swish in the White Mountains.

The dog, back in nervous mode, in the cabin at Tolovana Hotsprings.

"please keep your dog off of the benches." You tell her that.

Relationship Building

(You can now read this post on The Climbing Zine)

I'd been reading a book on relationships.  It suggests not to spring things on your partner; that if you have bad news you should give your partner time to digest it.  I cleared my throat.
"Neale," I started nervously, "I think I need a rest day."
Neale didn't respond.  He simply continued peeling the last apple, but his bouncy, happy countenance darkened and he began moving more deliberately.  He leaned closer to the BLM picnic table where he was working, which focused the light of his headlamp into a smaller area, darkening the evening.
I began talking too fast, "Not tomorrow! We'll still stick to plan for tomorrow," I blurt, desperate to avoid the inevitable fight.  "We'll rest the next day.  We haven't had a rest day in 8 days!  You're running me rag..."
I stopped.  I realized that these were accusations, which I knew to avoid.  I needed to stick to "I" messages.  I dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my puffy jacket and felt my head retreating into the back of the hood.  The cold desert night seemed to get colder.
"I just... my knuckles are swollen.  My skin is cracked.  I can't raise my left arm above my head.  It takes a full minute to straighten my hands.  I'm tired, Neale."
Neale looked up at the horizon.  Someone who didn't know Neale might think it was an innocent glance, but after all these years I knew what he was doing.   He was reminding himself that the starry desert sky was perfectly clear, not a cloud in sight.  Perfect for climbing.
I stopped a moment, then started again, speaking softly, "this morning" I said, ashamed, "when my alarm went off at 4:30, I started sobbing, and I don't even know why."
He looked at me.  Perhaps sympathetic, but still obviously angry.
"And how do you propose spending this day of my life?  Probably updating your twitter?"
"There's no need to be that way, Neale." I said. "Rest days are important for you too.  Besides, we'll still stick to the plan for tomorrow, remember?  The Enormodome?  Remember?  Even though I'm exhausted, I'll do that for you."
Neale nodded, happy at the thought of the Enormodome tomorrow.  And with that, he returned to eating the apple peel, and peace returned to the desert evening.

(author's note: I'm exaggerating. Neale doesn't know what Twitter is.)