No two days in our lives are ever the same. This is what makes our lives interesting. If two or several days were alike, we’d get bored. Boredom is life’s greatest curse.

Writing is a way in which we bring to the forefront what it is we saw or know. It is also a way in which we become aware of what it is that we failed to notice. This is why so many give up writing, perhaps myself included.

In yesterday’s dispatch I attempted to describe the landscape on the trail I was riding. I got frustrated because the most obvious things failed to register.

Alys and Raudi on road in front of our house

Today, while I was out on a ride, I looked more closely at the landscape. What I noticed was that where there were few trees, there were tepee shaped mounds, maybe six or so inches high. And there were stems sticking out of the tops of the mounds. The snow had apparently fallen in a pattern around the branches, the falling flakes narrowing as the snow piled up.

This is the pattern of behavior. You notice something, then attempt to describe it. I’m sure that every year, this particular pattern differs.

I also failed to note that some snow had fallen on the Talkeetna Mountains in the past three weeks, not enough to obscure the trees above or below the snowline. If we get more snow, the trees will be obscured.

I went riding twice, first on Raudi. I don’t think she had a great time, being alone, and also slogging through the snow. But she took the ride in stride, cantering nicely a few times.

We got to Jim’s Road, which connects with Sybarite, the upper road, and I noted that this had been packed down by several snowmobiles. It was punchy, but not dangerously so. It occurred to me that it could be more dangerous when we get more snow.

Towards the base of the road there’s a turn. I got off Raudi and saw people ahead. I stopped briefly to access the situation. There were several adults, kids, and dogs. I kept walking Raudi, who didn’t seem bothered by the two or four footed creatures. When finally, I was amongst them, I remarked to my upper road neighbor that “my three miles of trails are now two”; this referring to the fact that our trails are getting snowed in.

It was right then that two hairy lunchmeat dogs ran up in front of me, and were nearly under my feet and Raudi’s hoofs. I slapped at one with a crop – my rule being that this is the best thing to do if a dog is close; otherwise, there is no need for this.

The kids yelled for a larger dog, which raced out ahead of me, into the open road. I got to the road, and it returned to them.

Woman with horse keeps her animal restrained. Others with dogs let them run free. What is wrong with this picture? What’s wrong is a matter of perception. It appears as though this is the perfect place for a wilderness experience. The area in which there was a conflict is used by others. It’s at the edge of a residential neighborhood. Therefore, dogs should be restrained or have good recall. Quite obviously, this was not the case.

I walked Raudi home, feeling extremely pleased. I was proud of Raudi, who acted like nothing was amiss. And, I thought, had our dogs been with me, I would by the time I got within earshot of these individuals, had them on leash. In summation, all the time I’ve spent educating my animals has been well worth it.

Next: 319. 11/20/3: Blizzard Redux