The German Shepard at the Hotel Doubletree in Durango
Durango, Colorado, USA. Visited on June 20, 2022.
It’s a nice hotel, lodge-like in exterior and décor, in a town that feels remote and far away from home, yet it’s a busy town, way up in the mountains. We are the visitors, the strangers. For us, this is a one-time destination, a stop on the way to somewhere else. For the other occupants of this hotel, it’s an annual destination, a reliable getaway. The way my family used to trek to Cape May, denizens of Colorado and beyond come here.
The air is fresh. A train whistles. A long whoooooooo and the tinkle of the bell. Though I can’t quite hear its babbling, I’m aware of the river nearby. I’m tired, but I have that appreciative feeling that accompanies travel, the gratitude for mobility.
I am unloading the car when a man with a German Shepherd appear in the parking lot. He and his dog are guests. The dog needs exercise, so they walk up and down the parking lot. The man throws a ball; the dog fetches.
Why does this strike me as a detail worth writing down?
One of my tics as a writer is to notice something and to ask questions about it and then stop. I rarely answer my own questions. When I try, I often end up with more questions.
But I know why I noticed this detail. It was the way this adult man talked to his dog. He talked to this magnificent, full-grown German Shepherd as if it were a toddler. Come on, boy and Yes, boy and so on, such that the words slurred into ahs and oohs and coos.
It took me back immediately to the tram at Sandia Peak.
A random encounter in the parking lot, and now this will be my personal association with Durango, a moment attached to a moment that reminded me of the mistakes made by parents everywhere, including my own. (All parents make mistakes. This isn’t a takedown).
I can’t help but wonder, what would Durango mean to me had I not encountered the man and his dog?