Springer Fever would hit at the oddest moments. One evening, I took Ruby for a walk around the block. As she tugged on the leash she hated so and I pulled back to keep her in control, I looked up in the sky and saw a silent flash of lightning.

Back home, longing for the trail

I was instantly transported back to Pierce Pond Shelter near Caratunk, Maine, where me, Ruby, and four other hikers packed into the little three-sided lean-to near a beautiful glacial pond. We sat there in silence that night, watching the lightning shoot across every direction in the sky like a giant strobe light. Ruby snuggled close to me, afraid of the curious lights and too scared to leave my side. While I had so much to be thankful for here in the"real" world, I found myself wondering. Wandering. Wishing.

	Advice for Humans

Weeks later, Ruby and I readied ourselves for one of our occasional weekend backpacking trips. I was eager to experience trail life again, to live like we did when we were hiking, all our belongings tucked neatly on our backs. These weekend trips were therapeutic for Ruby and me, helping us to cope with our return to our sedentary lifestyles — Ruby confined to a house, me to an office. But just when I thought Springer Fever was the biggest obstacle I faced, life dealt me another blow.

I lost my Ruby. As we prepared for her morning walk, she saw a stray dog in the road and darted out the door toward it. The man in the pickup tried to stop, but he couldn't. She was struck right in front of my house, just like that. As she lay in the road, dying before my eyes, all I could think of was our time on the trail together.

Flashbacks of Ruby begging for my leftover instant mashed potatoes as I ate yet another campside dinner. Visions of her tail wagging as she ran ahead of me on the trail. Nights of snuggling together in the tent when it was cold or sharing water out of the same dented, metal Sierra cup when it was hot.

Gone, but never forgotten

Ruby had her own band of supporters back home, people whom I had never met, who followed our progress as I chronicled the journey in a series of articles for the Roanoke Times. These kind people sent letters of encouragement to us at each of my mail drops, and often they added treats for Ruby.

Upon hearing of Ruby's untimely death (she had just turned four years old), a close friend left flowers and a note on my desk at work. The note read:"It's still spring." It was the beginning of May then. Just a year before, Ruby and I had been heaving our backpacks somewhere between Bastian and Pearisburg, in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. Now I found myself back at work, carrying a different weight, adapting to life without "Order."

But my friend was right — it was still spring. The birds were still perching on that tree outside my window; the flowers I planted before Ruby died were still going to bloom. And each year since then, I have continued to get Springer Fever and think of Ruby.

Advice for Humans Be respectful. Keep your pet leashed or restrained when at public shelters and sleeping and eating areas. Wildlife and dogs don't mix. Use extra care to keep porcupines and skunks at bay, and teach your dog not to harass wildlife, for everyone's health. Give your dog a boost. Daily vitamins can help keep your dog's energy levels healthy. Check with your veterinarian for vitamin recommendations for working dogs. If your dog's pads are cracking or blistering, try using booties. They come in a variety of sizes and styles to accommodate even the oddest-shape paw.

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