Nevada's Stick

Nevada has a stick. It is her very favourite stick. It is the very best stick in the whole wide world. No game is as much fun with any other stick. It is Nevada’s stick and has been Nevada’s stick for a long, long time. Rather then drag this stick back and forth to the school field, Dale and Nevada found a safe hiding place for this most precious of sticks. On the way to the field, they stop and pick up the stick. On the way home after their play, they stop and return their stick to its safe hiding place. And so it has gone for over a year now.

Today, Nevada’s stick was almost lost. Not once, but twice. Disaster. Total Disaster.

Nevada must have her stick. And Dale indulges her in every way – even with her stick. Today, after their play time, Dale and Nevada staggered into the house, cold, wet and bedraggled. Dale was in such a dither it took a while for him to be able to explain things to me coherently.

As usual Dale and Nevada had headed out for their walk and play time. And as usual on the way the field, they stopped to pick up Nevada’s Stick from it’s safe place. Then they continued on to the school, and behind the school where there is a small field to play. Here, the stick throwing commenced.

Eventually, somehow, the stick went down the steep embankment, which sloped toward the Penetangore River. Nevada flew over the bank – quite safely – and proceeded to search out her stick. She searched and searched, growing more and more frantic with each passing moment. It was nowhere to be found and she refused to leave without her stick. Eventually, Dale gave way and headed down the embankment – not quite so safely as Nevada had, tumbling head over heels till he reached the bottom. He oriented himself and stumbled to his feet. He and Nevada then continued to search out Nevada’s Stick, eventually finding it. Nevada, happy as a lark at this development, bounded up the embankment. Dale was not so lucky and it took several attempts to gain the brim of the “hole” as he now calls it. He started up several times only to fall back the steep, rough embankment. He finally worked his way round to a stand of trees and hauled himself up, bit by bit, with trees and branches. After stumbling round, puffing and panting, he eventually regained his breath and the stick game continued – with Dale carefully NOT throwing it near the embankment and Nevada gleefully racing after it.

But danger lurked everywhere today for Nevada’s Stick. After a few throws, the stick bounced and on the rebound, landed in a dumpster. An almost empty dumpster. At the very bottom of an almost empty dumpster. Nevada of course did everything but leap inside after her stick (Nevada, for those that don’t know her is extremely agile – even for a Weim ) Dale held her back and went to investigate himself.

He peered over the edge of the dumpster and way, way, down, at the very bottom was Nevada’s Stick. He couldn’t reach it – not even close. But upon further investigation, he discovered a bit of a ledge. He stepped up on this ledge and leaned over. He was much closer to reaching Nevada’s Stick, but couldn’t quite get his fingers on it. He helfted himself up just a tiny bit more, reached, almost had it, strained just a wee bit further, had his fingers on it, lost his balance and went head first into the dumpster, amongst the bits and pieces of garbage and rubbish.

Dale got to his feet. Nevada’s Stick grasped firmly in his fist and peered out. Nevada of course is sitting back watching these strange goings on with great curiosity, head cocked and eyes very wide. She is not about to leave until she has her stick clamped firmly between her teeth.

There is no ledge to step up on inside the dumpster and after many tries, Dale realizes he is stuck inside the garbage bin. He just isn’t agile enough anymore to swing his leg up and over the top. Starting to panic and with no help in sight, he gets steadily more agitated. He is out of sight, behind the school. No one was within shouting distance. No one knew where he was. No one could be expected at the school until Monday morning. (this was Sat. afternoon) Finally reason kicked in and he started piling the little bits and pieces of garbage in a corner until he had enough of a pile to stand on and haul himself out of there. He did finally get out, stick in hand, with Nevada waiting impatiently “on the other side”. Rather dirty and stinky, wet, cold and bedraggled, they staggered toward home, stopping only to put the stick safely back into it’s safe hiding place.