Chapter 16. The hair of the dog...

All day we have been following an ancient highroad, or so my companion tells me, that runs alongside the remnant of the Gate-stream. We choose to walk a little to one side, preferring the uneven but springy turf, more restful when walking a long way than the rock-solid surface one can feel underfoot immediately beside the streambed. 

The explanation of the difference between soft and hard going becomes clearer when we pause to graze and I drop my nose to the grass underfoot. At this close proximity, I can see the paving stones peeking out from under the verdure that has grown over and around them.

This road has not been used in a long time? I say tentatively, more of a question than a statement of fact. For I have never passed this way before, though the way resembles the path that took us to the Doors.

It is the same path, the Voices whisper. We are simply walking along a different part of it.

I nod politely, though I do not completely understand how that path and this path can be the same when we have been walking for days. Can one path or Road continue for so many miles?

I think on the Road I travelled (and did not travel) with my hobbits and our Big Man in the first days and weeks of our journeying together. I think it may well run a long way, though I do not know for certain since we seemed to travel more off that Road than on it, through marshes and empty lands (I remember our Big Man talking about "Weather Hills" and "Trollshaws" as we walked along). Sometimes we could even see the Road ahead or off to one side or even behind us, but for much of the journey, it remained an invisible presence off to one side or the other.

As the miles wind away steadily beneath our feet, I lose myself in memories of my hobbits...

Out of sight but not out of mind, I remember hearing my Sam say after we've stopped for the night before leaving the Chetwood. The Master has asked our Big Man about our route, and the Man scratches in the dust – a map of sorts, he calls it. I notice a long, curving line when Youngest points to it and asks about it and is told it is the Road that we are not taking in order to avoid pursuit. But the Road will be out of our sight for much of our journey, or so the Man finishes his explanation regarding that curvy, rather snake-like line in the dust.

Thus, my Sam's observation, Out of sight but not out of mind.

After our Big Man has left the topic of the Road behind and gone on to describe the marshes ahead of us, Youngest says suddenly, It's rather like a dog left behind but following at our heels.

What is, Pip? one of the older cousins says.

Youngest takes a drink from his water flask and turns his face towards the older cousins, tilting his head in puzzlement. What is what? he asks.

None of your nonsense now, Pip, the not-all-that-Merry cousin says. You're the one who said it, not I! He is rubbing his feet as he speaks, and I think perhaps he is not used to walking quite so far as we have over the past two days since leaving Bree.

Said what? Youngest asks, smelling of both innocence and befuddlement. He stares at the older cousins. Have two long days of walking stolen your wits?

My Sam shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, and then he goes to the pile of baggage they have removed from my back. As the discussion continues, he begins to prepare a meal of sorts. This is the last of the bread and cheese we brought from the Prancing Pony, I hear him murmur to himself. After tonight, it'll feel less like a picnic and more like a journey, I warrant...

The Master, in answering Youngest, seems the oldest and wisest of all my hobbits. You said something about a dog following at our heels, he says in his mild way. Even at this early point in our acquaintance, I remember that he strikes me as someone who is thoughtful and kind, and I am rapidly losing my wariness of him as well as the others. 

Master turns his head to survey the trees along the way we have just come. He lifts his hand to shade his eyes as if the gesture will help him see better, though we have not yet left the shade of the Chetwood. Has some unfortunate dog followed us from Bree, Pip? I'm not sure how well we can manage another mouth to feed!

Not to mention, the middle cousin says, what if his owner should come after us, looking for him?

Whose owner? Youngest demands, staring at his older cousins in consternation.

The dog! the middle cousin snaps.

There's a dog? Youngest wants to know. Where?

I look around me as well. There are dogs who are friendly, and then there are those that like to chase ponies, nipping at their heels...

But Master's suddenly firm tone calls all the hobbits to order. Pip! he says.

Youngest jumps – or he would jump, I think, were he not seated on the ground. What've I done now, Frodo? he asks in a plaintive tone.

You said a dog was following us, Master says. Now that he has Youngest's full attention, he is once again all patience and kindness.

Youngest's mouth drops open in his astonishment. I never! he protests. I said a dog was following us?

You said just that, Master affirms with a nod.

Youngest looks all about himself as if expecting to see a dog – or perhaps some other young hobbit who said something about a dog and put the blame on him.

A sudden smell of amusement wafts from our Big Man. For some reason, I am comforted. Though I had thrown my head high, to look all about us for a wandering dog, I now am able to drop my nose to the ground again, and I listen idly to my companions as I resume cropping the grass.

I think I can clear up the mystery, our Big Man breaks into the conversation.

Well I certainly hope somebody can! the middle cousin says. Though the others have called him "Merry" from the first moments of our acquaintance, I remember feeling confused. Certainly, he is merry some of the time. But not invariably, not at all. Such as at this moment, footsore and hungry as he is.

Though I must say his smell changes to something more cheerful when my Sam hands him a cheese sandwich, and he speaks sincere thanks and adds that he hopes Sam has not stinted his own share in making up such a generous portion.

I thought to use up the bread, my Sam answers. 'Twill only be stale on the morrow.

Soon, everyone's mouth is full of bread and cheese (except for mine, of course, for though I would find the bread a treat, I must admit that cheese is not to my liking), and the conversation halts.

My hobbits (and our Big Man) seem to have forgot all talk about dogs, but as I graze, I occasionally lift my head and look around us and sample the air. But no dog is nearby, or so my senses tell me.

As things turn out, our Big Man never does clear up the mystery of the dog that may or may not have followed us. Nor do my hobbits ask him about it; at least not in my hearing, they don't.

In the end, as far as I can tell, if any dog followed us from Bree, it thought the better of things and decided to turn around and go back home.

*** 

As my companion and I amble along the ancient highroad, the thought comes to me that I am following in the dog's footsteps.

I am on my way back home. To the best of my ability, that is, and with the help of the wizard's Voices and the great horse who calls him friend.

A kindred feeling springs up between me and that long-ago well-travelled hound. I wish him well, and wonder if we might someday meet again?

***