"How can you do this day after day?" I asked her. "You're outside. No toilets. No air conditioning or heater. There's no Starbucks. For crying out loud, woman, there are bugs out here."
She stared back, kind of drooling.
Molly, my 13-year-old basset hound who loves the outdoors and won't come inside, always knows how to deal with my moods. She sniffed my hand briefly, hoping for a treat. Then she left to see if anything edible fell out of the fruitless pear tree.
I went back to setting up my bivy tent. I hadn't taken it out in a year. I had to see if it works.
It had that musty kind of summer-in-Fresno smell. One of the fiberglass tent poles snapped when I got the thing standing up. That got my dander going, buddy.
"I spent $49 on this tent only four years ago," I hollered over to Molly. "I've got holes in my socks that are older than this tent. What a stinking ripoff."
Molly knew it was just nerves. She knew I wanted my bargain-basement equipment to be in tip top shape for the Muir backpack. Heck, she had been sitting right beside me when I ordered this three pound, 10-ounce tent.
She responded swiftly to my tirade. She rolled on her back, growling in delight as she rubbed her snout on the hybrid bermuda. She snorted and sneezed.
"OK, you've made your point," I said. "I'm chilling out. But now I have to get another tent pole. What? No way. I am not sleeping out like you do. Are you kidding? There are bugs, bugs, bugs."
My argument fell on deaf ears. Sleepy ears, actually. She fell asleep on her back, listening to me. She snored.
This is the kind of angst I go through when I'm planning a backpack. Everything has to be right, or Molly hears about it. I knew I shouldn't have compromised and bought fiberglass tent poles. Molly knew immediately that I should have gone for the aluminum. But no, I was saving a buck.
I reconsidered the basset hound's advice about sleeping out. Should I use a tarp and a mosquito net? Then I could just sleep out in the elements, just like my stout, long-eared pal in the back yard.
"OK, what happens if it rains sideways and gets me wet underneath that tarp?" I asked her. "What if I lose the netting and run into a swarm of blood-thirsty mosquitos who eat me alive? Huh? Yeah? What about that?"
She stared again.
"OK, I'll think about it a little more and decide later. But what do you think about the sleeping bag? Down or synthetic?"
Molly placed her head in my lap. Gobs of drool made my shorts soggy. She sighed. I had pushed her patience too far.
"You're right again," I said. "I'm obsessing."
I tossed her a treat and she got her exercise for the day, chasing it down and gobbling it. I watched. What a dog. What a friend. And how silly of me to worry about this stuff with such a wise old chum.
On the other hand, maybe her mood will pick up enough to discuss Gore-Tex versus nylon for my rain slicker.
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