I was the kind of kid in my youth that was always outside, exploring the fields, hills and mountains that were behind my house. I was lucky to live with a national forest close by. The landscape rose from 2000 ft foothills to 8000 foot conifer forests. Wet Canyons lead out of the mountains that were lush with maidenhair and other ferns. Once I found a secluded canyon with 20 or more 3-4 foot tall humboldt lilies in full bloom. They are reddish, like tiger lilies, and have a whorl of flowers hanging from the stalks. That was one of the most beautiful wildflower displays I have ever seen.

I became experienced at following the lay of the land when hiking in secluded areas. I followed either canyon bottoms or ridge tops. The newly burned ridge tops in the chaparrel woodlands were easy walking; before they burned the ceanothus was so thick that I had to crawl through on hands and knees, and would bleed from squeezing through the sharp thorns.

I had some friends that had similar interests. One warm spring day we hiked up a canyon that was full of water from the spring runoff. The day became so warm that the spring flood level rose by midafternoon. It was difficult and dangerous coming back down the canyon. We had to cross the stream several times on the way back. Our only chance was to cross the current where it was at its slowest point; one cross involved water up to my neck.

It was exciting, living with a wilderness in our back yard. The forest service would close access to the mountains in the summer, after July 1, until the winter rains. This was always a depressing time for me, especially because it came half way through summer vacation.

My dog was always with me in my walks. Once a rattlesnake coiled back to strike at him; He saw it in time and leaped out of the way. He would sometimes wander off and get in fights with Coyotes. Their bite marks became infected and we would take him to the vet to clean them out. Later in his life when we encountered Coyotes he would not leave my side. He had learned they were mean. I taught him to ride on the back of the motorcycle by feeding him cookies if he stayed on, and praising him. Then he could accompany in trips through the mountains of twenty miles or more.

I also was lucky enough to have a horse during those years. My sister's arabian was bred, and the baby horse became mine by default. It was not planned. My dog and I hung around the corral and played with the baby constantly. I used to put the month old horse on my back and walk him around the corral. When it was time to break him I simply swung my leg over on to his back. I had prepared him for that by leaning over on him and letting him walk me around.

My dog and horse and I were outside together every moment I was not at school or working. A bond develops in encountering the out of doors together; sharing the the new occurrences of each day in nature. I would see my dog go out to the corral and stand in front of my horse. My horse would lower his head and Wolf would lick his face. I see the same bond developing now between the the two dogs that walk with me.

The day that sticks in my memory is a warm day that I took my horse and dog down to a wide part of the canyon that had a sandy bottom, rather than boulder-filled bottom. The winter floods had scoured out the canyon that year. I let my horse loose in the sand. He loved it -began running up and down in the sand, spirited, like a desert arabian. I would run and he would follow me, then run off in the opposite direction. The memory I have of him galloping up and down through the sand in the canyon epitomized the spirit of freedom.

I have never got another horse since him, partly because of the financial and time obligations of having a horse. Or it may be because it was so hard to get rid of a horse that was as much a friend as my dog was. The effect of him following me along the corral of the new owners and standing there watching me get into my truck to leave him, with ears forward, has never left me, nor have I ever got over it.

My old dog lived for about four years after I sold my horse. I went into manhood and left my friends behind. Now, twenty years later, I treasure those years that I spent outside with my animals, and see how much they shaped my character. I cannot think of any better way for a youth to proceed through the confusion and life-awakening of adolescent years. .