This morning, Mamma D and I took my best friend and confidant, Nikki (AKA her dog), on a kayaking adventure to Little Seneca Creek in Boyds, Maryland. Mamma D has lived in MD for 25+ years and I've been here for 18-ish, but neither of us had heard of the creek-- until D got the hot tip from active.com. Being that D and I are well-versed outdoor women with nearly 45 years of area experience between us, and that active.com is a totally secret website that no one has ever heard of, we obviously assumed that the no man, woman, child or domesticated animal in the history of the world had ever been to this exotic and completely confidential creekside location.
Alas! We would be the first! The first to set foot on the savage coastline! The first to dip yaks into the unspoiled sea! Exactly like Captain Cook and Christopher Columbus did before us, we would be the first to explore the unchartered waters of the remote, countryside creek that had previously been left untouched and undiscovered for years! No-- decades...!! Centuries!!! Not since dinosaurs roamed the earth had... Wait, no... Not even the dinosaurs knew of this off-lying lagoon! This remote resource!! This private-- yet publicly accessible-- primitive paradise!!!
With paddles in our trunk and hope in our hearts, we took to the road, bringing with us nothing but bravery, courage, and the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches mom made in case we wanted to "make a day of it" and have a picnic. Biting back fear, uncertainty, and some mild acid reflux resulting from early morning coffee consumption, we embarked on our journey, ready to overcome whatever obstacles we would surely encounter on our predestined path to becoming modern day bikinied-and-one-pieced-clad creek-quistadors.
As we round the bend into Black Hill Regional Park, our hearts were a fluttering, our minds were a racing, and our sweat was a pouring down our backs (likely unrelated-- it was really hot outside), yet our small talk ceased and the car grew quite. For what awaited, only Siri knew...
Just then, the most curious thing happened... My four-legged friend, formally snoozing in the back, awoke from his slumber and sprung up from his seat with the unbridled joy, delirious excitement, and blind hysteria reserved only for children waking on Christmas morning and dogs approaching their favorite parks.
Perplexed by Nikki's sudden wave of bat-shit craziness, D and I hypothesized about what had caused the madness that was making my dog run suicide sprints in the back seat. Did he smell food? Hear fireworks? Did he see a chipmunk? Was he bitten by the chipmunk? Did the chipmunk have rabies? Can chipmunks get rabies...?
With so many questions impossible to answer, we did what all good dog owners do-- chalked his bat-shit behavior up to an LSD flashback, laughed at how bat-shit cute he looked, then ignored him until his bat-shit barking became kinda annoying. At this point, of course, we calmly sat him down, rationally explained how his behavior affected each of us personally, and then politely asked him to please calm down-- in a warm, soothing tone to ensure protection of his fragile feelings.
Much to our surprise, he refused to acknowledge our feelings, and his insanity ensued while Siri guided us closer to our destiny. Needless to say, the mixture of manic, psychotic barking and mechanical, mono-symbolic broken robot English was not on brand with the sound track we had vision boarded for this monumental occasion... Nevertheless, we persisted.
When we were merely one mile away from reaching our destination, Siri spotted an upcoming fork and alerted our crew. This was it- our first obstacle! Human pulses raced, K-9 barking crescendoed, yet Siri remained stoically unemotional and demanded we stay right at the fork. But perhaps she sensed our curiosity because just as our eyes began to wander, she assured us that we were on the fastest route and that our route was clear despite usual traffic. But it was too late....
We had already seen it... The sign! Oh, the sign! We saw the sign! And it opened up our eyes! (The sign... Oh, the sign.) We had seen that stately brown sign, with it's informative left pointing arrow... And it read "Dog Park."
As it turns out, D's sometimes-dog-sitter has been taking Nikki to the dog park here since he was a puppy... Over 5 years ago... AKA Long before this morning, when Mamma D and I first fancied ourselves the trailblazing Founding Mothers of the Little Seneca Creek Seaside Settlers...