Worthy Witness

The little girl with the dancing curls and big brown eyes was walking just ahead of her Mom that day when we nearly collided at the intersection of White’s Woods.   When she saw the pug, she immediately stopped as he did, and I nearly tumbled over the two of them.  Her mother was close behind and quickly came to retrieve her daughter, laughing at the antics.  Once introduced, Samantha, Sam, asked her Mom if she could walk the dog.  I nodded that she could.  The walk was cool in the shaded riverfront, and Sam and OJ took the lead while we chatted at the rear.  I learned that Sam was a precocious five-year old, home schooled, and today’s lesson was based on the organisms in Vernal pools.   The mother said, “There’s a huge one just beyond the bridge, and we should get a good look at the merging amphibians.”  I was curious, but knew that OJ would be reluctant to cross the bridge.

On either side of the walking trail there were buttercups, violets, sweet grass and dandelions.  Spring had taken a foothold in the Litchfield hills, and winter seemed far behind.  Both Sam and OJ would stop if there was a strange sound, and Sam would go to her knees and pet him.  He was a perfect pug that day, no tugging or pulling to go ahead, just steady walking, stopping just long enough to ensure that we were right behind.   Any other day, there would have been walkers, runners, a myriad of dogs and owners, but today there was no one but me and OJ, Sam and her Mom, and we were coming to the end of our trail; the bridge loomed just beyond the curve.  OJ had stopped and was lying on the ground.

Sam was trying to coax him up.  She asked, “Why did he stop here.  Isn’t he coming to the Pool?”  I told her that he had never crossed over the bridge; we usually stopped and went back.  Sam asked me if she could try to get him to cross.  I looked at her Mom, and she shrugged that it was okay with her.  I touched the little girl’s head and looked directly into her eyes.  “Yes,” I said, “if you can get him to cross, we’ll go to the pool.”  She knelt down on one leg, lifted one of his ears and whispered into it for what seemed to be a full minute.  She then gave us the okay sign as she straightened and took the lead.  OJ followed, no fear of falling through the slats, no thoughts of turning back.  Soon we were over the span and the widest part of the river.

Just down the path, perhaps two hundred feet or so, a quiet pool of water had puddled under several large hemlocks.  Sam and her mother, wearing green boots with yellow frogs, stepped into the water, heads down, and using sticks, parted the leaves from the mud.  OJ and I watched from high ground as Sam explained that they were looking for the tadpoles who would be wood frogs that summer.  Her Mom had taken a small net and specimen boxes out of her backpack.  I was amazed that a five-year old could have so much information and in awe that her Mom would be so dedicated to her schooling.

On the way back, Sam and OJ took the lead and OJ stopped at the foot of the bridge.  Again, Sam knelt down and whispered in his ear.  Without a struggle or need to pull, OJ followed her.  When we said goodby at the intersection, Sam relinquished her hold on the lead.  The road leading to various trails was filled with joggers from the school, and OJ could see a Retriever and was tugging to see him.  I asked Sam if she could share her secret with me so that OJ would cross other bridges.  She shared her secret.

“When you told me he wouldn’t cross,” she said, “I got very close to him so that he wouldn’t be afraid.”  OJ had stopped tugging, and it seemed we were all hanging onto every word she said.  “There are no magic words, just say his name, and tell him that he can do it.  You have to say it three times.”  To ensure that I did it right, I asked her to say the exact words.  She knelt down, lifted his velvet-black ear, and this time in more than a whisper.  “OJ, you can do it.  OJ, you can do it.  OJ you can do it.”  And, OJ has done it ever since; thanks to Sam.