It was a beautiful day, perfect for playing outside. I was about 9, and I had a friend over for the day. Both of us had a tendency for the dramatic.
I lived in a perfect place for kid exploration. We had a log cabin that sat back away from the road in the woods. No other house was in view because of the trees. Through the woods, down a path, ran a small creek.
My friend and I headed down the path toward the creek followed by my faithful dog- a loving mutt named Henry. We were prepared for woods exploration carrying water bottles and a first aid kit.
When we reached the creek, we played for a while and then turned to start home. Suddenly I was "lost." As many times as I had walked to the creek and back, I seemed to have a memory lapse and forget how to get home!
My friend and I discussed our options. How would we ever find our way home? We formulated a plan. We would put bandaids on the dog and send him back home- because he obviously knew the way. When my mom saw the dog returning alone and with the bandaids, she would deduce that we were in trouble and would come to help.
Unfortunately the dog had other plans. He kept looking at us wondering why we were sticking all these bandaids on him and why we weren't coming when he started home.
Eventually we had to abandon our efforts to send for help and resort to following the dog home. So much for Lassie.