by Craig Green
When I stand in the broad expanse of a valley between two snow-capped mountain ranges on a brisk April morning, watching Stansbury Island grow from the fog of the Great Salt Lake, I think:
"Now THIS is tracking!"
When I stand in the foothills at the base of the Sandia Mountains near Albuquerque, gazing at mountain peaks over a hundred miles away in the cold, clear New Mexico dawn, I think:
"Now THIS is tracking!"
When I walk into a lush alfalfa field dripping with the early morning dew to start a new tracking dog in the floodplain of the Meramec River near St. Louis, I think:
"Now THIS is tracking!"
When I plot tracks at Glen Cunningham Lake near Omaha, challenged by the logistics of getting tracklayers in and out without interferring with other tracks, I think:
"Now THIS is tracking!"
When I stand by Chatfield Lake near Denver and marvel at the glorious sunrise and crisp mountain air, without traffic noise, sirens or urban hubbub, I think:
"Now THIS is tracking!"
When I walk through the woods of Iowa, Missouri, Kansas or Illinois, looking for a place to test a few good tracking dogs, I think:
"Now THIS is tracking!"
I ask my friend with the magnificent nose,
"What manner of scent is this?"He tells me as clearly as sniffing a rose,
"What difference, but that I not miss?"
These few verses describe the unbounded joy I feel when I participate in the American Kennel Club (AKC) sport of dog tracking. AKC tracking is a sport in which dogs follow an unmarked course of human scent through an open field. A link on the main LIFEPOWER page will take you to my articles on tracking.
© 1997 by Craig Green. Permission is granted to publish this poem or excerpt(s) with full credit to the author and reference to this web page or the LIFEPOWER website.
Craig Green's Poetry Index