Supernatural

The late morning rain and dark shadows of the thick Olympic Peninsula forest created a perfect environment for uncanny apparitions. So I thought, hiking at a brisk pace away from our cabin on the long abandoned logging road deeper and deeper into the woods. Under towering pines and cedars, a carpet of moss spread out on either side of the path and thick greenery filled the forest understory – wild blueberries, salal, ferns, and rhododendrons; lichens and mosses hung from tree branches. Heavy gray clouds precluded much light from reaching us on the forest floor. In the company of dogs I walked alone, smiling and unafraid. It'd take one of Forks Washington's famous vampires, I thought with a smile, to threaten me here.

Though I have been advised to carry a concealed weapon (I don't think so) or at least my cell phone, I walk with nothing. Instead, I have the company of big dogs whose presence gives me a sense of dancing at the edge of a wolf pack. There are Izzy and Kelley, my two pitbull girls. While I doubt that they would ever attack anyone for any reason, I know their reputation – promulgated by media hysteria and hyperbole as vicious killing machines – keeps many people at bay. There is Nicholai, and though he is two parts marshmallow, he is one part solid protector. Along with us today are an aunt's dogs, Ollie and Duke. Ollie is all marshmallow, but at one hundred and ten pounds of black lab and Rottweiler, a stranger might not make that assumption. Duke is a formidable German shepherd. He is even tempered and a friend to most, but someone who made a threat could find themselves at the wrong end of gleaming sharp white teeth and a hundred pounds of force. The gloom deepens and the drizzle grows steadier, drenching my hair. In the hush that surrounds us in the Olympic rainforest, I can almost imagine the approach of unnatural forces. But I don't worry. In this company, I'm just about supernatural myself.

Rain plasters my hair to my head, quiet seeps into my skin, shadows dance in the trees. The male dogs prance ahead, scouting and inspecting the road as we go. Kelley finds sticks to drop at my feet then stands quivering, waiting to dash after one when I toss it; Izzy follows her own drummer and examines each area that captures her interest. I sink into the cool wet air, the musty pine scent – environs gloomy enough to provide backdrop for vampires. Thanks again, dogs, for kicking my butt out the door and onto the trails once again. I love it here.