When my boyfriend and I went to get our first puppy, I’ll admit I was a bit nervous. Sure, my parents had dogs as I was growing up but they were never really MY responsibility. Big dogs scared me a bit, but I told myself often that when we raised our own it would feel different. To my credit it was. I loved our little Starlight even as she grew to be nearly 80lbs.
The first time I saw her it was like magic. My boyfriend was doing paperwork and I had been left to sit with all the puppies of her litter. I advocate greatly for the ‘adopt don’t shop’ mentality, though the idea was that we would adopt other dogs once we had an established ‘leader’ of our house training. Yes, I think it would be great to have a full house- three dogs, two cats, assorted tank critters, and a stray kid or two who come by for meals and life lessons. “The cool Aunt,” I call it. This puppy was the start of a plan, and between her and her cloudlike siblings, I could feel it starting to come together. BF wanted a heavy work dog he could include in his profession, so he chose her breed based on potential strength. All I saw were these pillow size pom poms running circles around me.
Like most dogs, her training was constant. She was incredibly headstrong and mouthy, and boy howdy we had some long conversations about her behavior. Talking and singing to and with that dog made mundane but cherished memories I will carry forever. We would take walks constantly, morning and night. Neighborhoods, parks, hiking trails- nothing was long enough as she got bigger. We read somewhere that her breed would go explore places they hadn’t been before if they got loose, so eventually I took Starlight somewhere different every day. That may have been my mistake.
We had just moved into our own house as Starlight hit doggy adulthood even though it didn’t have a fence. A fence was in the plans, but money is saved by taking your time with these things right? So we explored all the nearby parks over the course of a few weeks. She and I settled into our routine of taking a week to take all the trails of each park up and down and moving onto the next again for a while- and then as the autumn winds began to blow I read about a new State Park that was ready to take visitors close enough that we could walk there from my house. I was just about as excited as my dog was anytime I even looked at her leash. And so we went.
The new Park wasn’t anything special- about as midwest as they come. Sycamores, maples, pin oaks, pawpaws, mulberries, a few wildflower varieties among the native grasses. A river cut through it, but there were no bridges so hiking was limited to one side. It was fairly small for what we would typically walk, but it was just so close. We went there at least once a week and sometimes Starlight would decide that instead of wanting a car ride, she wanted THAT park and that park only. Who would I be to decline? No matter how bad gas prices were or were not, saving money was always great. Sometimes we’d see other dogs there too, locals we knew and others. Because it was so small, sometimes we’d just loop around a few times. A well exercised dog is more likely to chill at home, after all, and without a fence to let her do her thing, the same could be said of me.
There were a few days I think I could point out where it felt like we were being watched, or followed. Those days, it felt like the parts of the path we were walking stretched far far beyond what I recognized them to do. I brushed it off thinking it was just trail brain, a kind of road hypnosis, since we’d walked those trails on loop so many times. Often I’ll tune out noise because I’ve always had a mild case of underlying buzzing in my ears that can sound like voices- so little giggles I think back on now just didn’t really register at the time. My dog and I would notice movement in the leaves, and I’d tell her to leave those critters alone. They lived there, after all.
It wasn’t unusual to see people in all kinds of clothing at this park. It was tucked away and green, but it was only a quick drive to areas where people would work, and was often an easy place to park and eat and touch grass. I didn’t think anything of it when people in suits, hiking gear, swimming clothes, or anything else would stop us to say hello, ‘what a pretty dog’ and so on. Starlight was stunning, naturally we were stopped by everyone whenever we went out. At the time she stood about up to the waist of a short human, with distinct black saddleback coloration over her blindingly white belly fur, and linebacker blots under her eyes with a little pink heart shape on her otherwise black nose. That tail curled up daintily behind her and almost never stopped wagging. She was always more than willing to stop and be praised.
I mention the suits, because of a specific occasion where we met a man who seemed strongly out of place. We were at the bank of the river, and I didn’t hear him approach. In fact, when I noticed him, it seemed as if he had been standing there long before we stepped foot on the bank. My dog was more interested in the water, even as he said hello and I gave my own polite greeting before turning my attention back to Starlight splashing and snapping at the river.
“What a beauty,” he said, and I nodded, not even looking back at him. “Where does one find such a beast?”
“About six hours away,” I hummed a usual answer. He didn’t say anything else, just stared. I didn’t notice much else about him beyond his suit and tight hair. Starlight began pulling me back to the trail and I let her. I glanced back as we disappeared into the trees, and he was still watching from the very same place he stood. It gave me shivers, but then, I walked with scary dog confidence and forgot about it quickly.
The first time I truly noticed the path extending was intense. I had an appointment later in the day and needed to end the walk by a certain time, so I was paying more attention for once. As we rounded a bend I was sure would lead back to at least the parking lot, I had to stop. Before us was another sharp turn in the trail with two branches further beyond it. It looked similar to another fork in the path further back, but that fork was at the bottom of a hill, and we had been walking across flat ground. I looked back, and forth, and looked at my dog. She looked at me with that silly dog grin and her tongue hanging out, waiting on me to know which way we were headed. I glanced at the time- not even five minutes past when I’d looked before, thinking that it was time to head out. I chose the left, since logically if there was a fork here, the right would lead to a dead-end at the water. Looking closely though, the trees seemed like they had been re-arranged. Either we’d made a wrong turn and hadn’t been here before, or we got turned around and were walking the wrong way, I thought.
With forced confidence though, I led on. Those noises I usually ignored were slowly boring into my head, and slowly the hair on my neck began to stand up. I pushed it down. Swallowed my gut fear.
“Starlight, let’s go home,” I spoke confidently, internally begging my dog to validate the path I’d chosen. Instead, she sauntered to the side of the path to sniff something, planting her paws as if to say ‘this now, lel what u doing’ like the little troll she could be. Then some shifting in the brush caught her attention and she perked to attention, standing stone still, staring at the leaves as if daring them to move again.
“Honey, we gotta go.” I commanded, giving her the two tug indicator that she needed to get moving. It broke her focus and we carried on the path. I focused on my breathing, still trying to squash the sensation that something just wasn’t right.
Time moved at a crawl. I counted to myself for several minutes, and then checked my phone to check the clock again. Not even a minute gone by, according to the digital numbers on the screen. I blinked several times and tuned out as I put my phone away, the dull buzz in my ears growing above the sound of the breeze and the birds. It felt like shock, maybe, or denial. I don’t count that fast, right? Who knows. I tried to let it go, get back into the meditative feel of walking without a goal to relax again. It felt like several hours passed before I went to check the clock again. A rabbit dashed underneath the leash, between Starlight and I, as my hand wrapped around my phone. My eyes followed it and then snapped back to the phone- 5 minutes since the start of the path. I gasped sharply, but when I looked up again I nearly tripped on the asphalt of the parking lot.
After that day, we didn’t return to that park for several weeks. Between temperatures, storms, and a new job, there just wasn’t enough time in the day. Starlight’s beautiful coat had to be brushed so often, we’d taken to brushing and then playing for a while in the yard at her dog-sitter’s house before heading home after I got off work. By the time we got home, it was too dark to go anywhere else.
Right as the heat broke, I had a day off. A day to ourselves. When we got in the car in the morning, my dog was so confused when we took a different route than usual- but so, so excited when I returned to the car with some vanilla soft serve from a small market we passed by. She about lost her mind when we stopped and got out into the lot at that Park, and I clipped up her leash. Starlight pranced and wagged and spun back and forth looking at me and the trail as we got going. If only I’d known.
For the most part, the path had begun to wear into dirt from the short grass it had been at the start. The strange part was after so long of walking, the path began to widen, as if to fit several people at shoulder’s breadth. I stopped and looked back when I noticed, trying to see where it began to give, but I saw nothing but uniform dirt road stretching out behind us. It was unsettling, to say the least. My dog didn’t seem bothered, so I shrugged, and decided to just walk. Today was an adventure, just us all day, after all. I rambled about work to her, letting the bland tone of it distract me from my unease.
“Excuse me,” came the voice of a child from off to my right, “What a pretty creature,”
I looked over and saw not a child, but a small person- with the head of a fox. I nodded politely, saying “Thank you,” as one does from muscle memory. The creature said nothing more as it watched us continuing to walk. With our backs to it, my face contorted as I tried to comprehend the sharp features and yellow eyes I had observed. Slowly, I rationalized that it had been a mask, though my denial did not last as I saw another small person- closing the door to their little house. In the woods. In the Park. I stopped, but Starlight dragged me right over to this rabbit person- whose long sod-colored ears flicked around like radar dishes towards us. He was dressed like a smart little GoldenBooks character and I was stunned. Starlight was not, and went about greeting her new friend as she normally would.
“C’mon honey, get back, you can’t just make friends without their permission,” I crooned, trying to keep that tone of ‘gently talking to someone by telling your dog what to do in a friendly way,’ and it seemed to work. Sort of. Starlight plopped her butt down and rolled her head back to look at me like the brat she was.
“Sorry, she can be a bit much sometimes,” I told the strange little rabbit man, who nodded.
“This one seems well trained, I’m glad to see a friendly face.” His voice was pleasant enough, “A very beautiful creature, indeed.”
“Thank you,” I said again, trying not to panic in the face of something that I could attribute to myself having a mental breakdown. In fact, again I tried to rationalize- ‘maybe I’ve been working too hard. This is a normal person in front of me, and I’m seeing them as an animal and I really really shouldn’t say anything about it.’ And so awkward politeness won my responses.
“Is her name well?” The rabbit man gently patted Starlight’s nose. Through the buzz of anxiety in my ears, I just nodded again. I was no stranger to jumbling my words, so I answered in kind.
“As well as the stars are bright I think,” was my answer. He seemed satisfied with that, and patted her nose again. His dark little hands almost matched the patterns on her face.
“Towards the end of the war I had one just as big, I think,” He mused, looking from her to me, “a Proper Steed it was,”
I grinned.
“I’m sure you would be more comfortable in a cart pulled by a stronger one, they seem to like to work. Can I ask you a question though?”
The rabbit man nodded.
“I’m not sure where this is- are we far from the end of the trail?”
“I’m sure if you keep walking this way you will find where the path lets out.”
It was my turn to nod.
“Thanks again, I won’t let her keep you any longer,” I told him, urging my dog to continue. She bayed a low goodbye ‘woo’ at him and plodded away, always happy to have met someone. I did not look back this time.
As we went, I noticed other strange things in the trees. We were not stopped by anything else, but we saw faces, hands, and heard murmurs. The crackling of branches and swaying of leaves gave us more direct indications of being watched, and slowly my heart picked up speed again. To kill the bad vibe I started rambling to my dog again about this, that, and another. I told her how majestic she looked. I told her that she’d make a better war-horse than any pony any day. I’m sure anything listening would have agreed.
The trees around us had ceased appearing like any I was familiar with. Some had bark like cherry but leaves bigger than your face, others seemed to be towering pine without any needles along the forest floor. We saw flowers I couldn’t name, both large and small. The ivy seemed standard- forest ivy, virginia creeper, and all the mullin and burdock growing massive and wild. I tried to relax again, naming the plants I recognized in my head to remind myself we were still close to home.
When the sun hit its peak, I admitted to myself we were actually not in fact still close to home. We had walked in a straight line almost since we had gotten to the dirt road of a trail, and I knew we should have either hit the river or the highway by now. Tales and stories from my childhood drifted through the back of my mind and something in there assured me that turning back was most certainly not an option. I said as much out loud, and the look in Starlight’s eyes when she met mine seemed to say ‘well duh.’ I laughed and told her that if she was truly a proper steed, then it was unfair I couldn’t get a ride, since my legs were getting tired. She howled in response, and my laughter grew nervous. I looked around again, feeling eyes from the trees.
“Lets pick up the pace,” I told her, as I stepped faster. Things felt suddenly very wrong, and I couldn’t place it. Despite noting the sun’s zenith, the forest felt remarkably darker, colder. The faces in the trees began to form more fully and I struggled to keep my breath even. We certainly weren’t being chased, but I felt like if I turned to look, we would be. The memory of the eyes of the fox-child, the rabbit-man, and the trees were burned into the back of my eyes, demanding I keep them only on the path ahead. Tunnel-vision. I barely noticed the canopy opening up and grass returning to muddle the path ahead of me, leash grasped in my white-knuckled fist.
The sun on my face felt so fresh I brought my hand up to shield my eyes. It was then I noticed the feel of the leash in my hand- it was dragging along the ground. My heart beat out of my chest as I looked down. And then behind me. My dog, my Starlight, was gone. I almost puked right then and there.
“STARLIGHT?” I bellowed into the trail behind me. I took a step, intending to run back as fast as I could, but what I noticed gave me pause.
There was no wide dirt path. I was at the parking lot. The sun was to the east. My breath caught in my throat and garbled my voice as I screamed out her name again. I held up the leash, and looked at it- it was still clipped to her collar, as if it had unclasped while I hadn’t been paying attention. I brushed away sticks and leaves tangled in it, and held it up to my chest. My girl, my baby dog, had gotten loose before but usually came back to me. I tried to call her name one last time but it came out as a whimpered whisper that got lost before it made it into the woods. I pulled out my phone to call my boyfriend, and almost didn’t believe the time shown on the screen. When he picked up, he couldn’t understand anything I said besides ‘she’s gone,’ and understandably panicked too.
We called the cops, called animal control, put out posters and facebook posts offering rewards and took blankets to the park. We got special permits to camp there, but I never really worked up the nerve to do it.
I still walk the trails of that park, calling her name. I’ve even found the path stretching once or twice. Since then though, I’ve seen less and less people there. I still have hope that my dog is around. Nobody else seems to have experienced the place where the path widens, and all I get when I do google searches are names of old fairy-tale books and those ‘photo proof’ of fairies that people made with camera tricks back in the early 1900’s. The reward we posted should have been incentive enough for anyone to bring her back- she’s even chipped! Am I going crazy, or did the fairies really take my dog?