or mêlée

[mey-ley, mey-ley, mel-ey]

noun

1. confusion; turmoil; jumble.

If a blogmaster were to be taking roll, I’d be suspended due to excessive absences.

Do I have great excuses? Not really. I turned thirty. I had one of the best weekends. I went to brunch thinking I was meeting two fellow cocktail servers, and one by one people showed up and made me feel like I was a gal in a new town that had friends. This was a far cry from the week before when I approached the hostess with, “Beth, party of one.” This time there were candles in my French toast and a “Happy 40^th Birthday” balloon tied to my chair.

I can’t stop hiking up mountains because I can feel the impending winter creeping in. The leaves are bright orange and red and yellow and they bring tears to my eyes. I call my mom and say the same thing that goes something like, “Every morning they are brighter! It’s unreal. Like it actually doesn’t seem real…I’ll try to capture it and send a picture.”

A too-charming customer offered me a free golf lesson and I accepted. Another average-amount-of-charming customer offered a fly fishing lesson and I accepted. I can see the fly fishing sticking.

Melee. The word of the day is melee.

I went on a hike with Randy’s dogs while he is away.

And I lost them.

Confusion, turmoil, jumble. Melee.

I know the two dogs pretty well by now. We’ve been on a couple hikes and we snuggle every morning. I met my coworkers for a hike and took the dogs. They always run around like mad, get all kinds of energy out, and then meet me back on the trail.

Yesterday, they ran around like mad but did not meet me back on the trail. I called for them every few minutes and even though they didn’t return, I had hope they’d be near the trailhead at the end of the loop. “I will be worried soon. But not yet. They are hunting dogs and Randy said he’s hidden from them and they still found him,” I said to the girls.

We saw a mountain biker on the way down and I asked, “Have you seen two brown dogs on the trail?”

He replied, “I did at the trailhead. One was in the back of a white pick-up truck.”

Hm. “Oh. Spotted? Brown and white? Two of them?”

“Mmhmm. One was in the truck. One was in the parking lot.”

We got to the trailhead and there were no dogs. There was no white pick-up truck. There was no breath in my lungs. The girls called for them for the hundredth time. We sat on a log.

I said, “We’re in a small town. What if white pick-up truck knew the dogs were Randy’s and took them to his house a mile away? That’d make an excellent story.”

We hopped in the car and drove with hope.

But the only exciting thing at the house was the leftover morning coffee. We put it over ice and went back to the trailhead. I called Randy. He tried to remain calm and told me the usual trail they take in that area and to go back to the top and yell from there.

My coworkers had to go to work so I ran up the mountain and once completely exhausted, I started to feel like I was going to throw up. “Randy, your dogs are gone.” Oh, my gosh. I said the words “shit” and “damnit” yesterday more than I have in thirty years.

We started the hike at noon and at four pm, as I was running through the woods, my cell phone service came through and I got a text from my awesome coworker. “They’re at the animal shelter!”

Oh, my goodness gracious. I drove the half hour to the shelter, regretting the coffee because my heart was pounding.

Their tails were wagging like crazy and they fell asleep within the minute on the way home. Once in bed last night, they cozied up as close as possible. One started dreaming and her legs were mimicking a run. Then all of a sudden, her legs stopped and she took a deep breath and sighed and looked so comfortable as she continued to sleep.

Was she dreaming about her adventurous day? Was she worried? Is she so relieved to be back home and touching her master for the week? I’m thankful the confusion and turmoil is over. Sigh.