Stray dog at Foster Falls.

Today, my friend Jen Chang (longtime friend from the old days of youth symphony; now just as fabulous as she was before, plus fabulous job at Baltimore NPR affiliate - the woman rules) and I traveled East on I-24 in Tennessee, to pay a little visit some gorgeous scenic points and that cute little restaurant in Sewanee, Shenanigans.

We decided to drive out to Foster Falls, a 100-foot waterfall, and after some negotiating with bad directions, we made it. As we set out on the trail, I noticed a dog watching us from perhaps fifty yards away, sitting shyly at the edge of the woods. As we got on our way, we discovered that he was following us. Whenever we stopped, he stopped, keeping a safe distance, but giving us an intense stare. The quick hike to the base of the falls wasn't easy, especially after hours of rain, but he negotiated the rocks and logs and the rope bridge beautifully. He was skilled. He was following us. We were a little nervous.

But on our way back up the trail, something lovely happened: he guided us back up. He went first, bounding up the path faster than we could -- but he kept stopping to wait for us, looking back, checking that we were fairly close before pressing on uphill. "I trust him!" I exclaimed to Jen; "I feel so calm!" Jen replied. I named him Virgil, thinking of Dante's guide in The Inferno . Dorky, I know.

As we reached level ground again, we tried to give Virgil the right of way to lead us, but he stopped in front of us and collapsed softly to the ground. I had no idea what he was doing -- was he tired? he looked so strong, so muscular -- until I recognized his posture. It's the same position my own dog takes when he wants to have his belly rubbed. It was quite sweet.

He got up, took a few more steps, and -- perhaps encouraged by some friendliness in my voice -- got down to try again. When we didn't go for it, he literally broke out into a HEARTBREAKING smile. A doggie smile. Tears sprang to my eyes and I turned to Jen, hand over my mouth. I felt so sad. It was like a human was trapped inside him, expressing a need for affection.

I'll try to turn the experience into a long-form poem, I think, but for now my brain is too frazzled and dazzled by the happenings of the weekend.