The Postscript

“My Treat Bag”
Dax stared at me in disbelief. I am the Treat Lady, and I had no treats. It was inexplicable.
Dax is one of my regular customers. He is a young black dog with a lot of energy. His sister, Zia, is a little older and has the uncanny ability to find me with or without her owner anywhere in the vicinity. On this particular day, Dax was with his owner on a run and he was beside himself to suddenly encounter the Treat Lady, without even the help of his resourceful sister. Dax was over the moon. That’s when I discovered I had no treats.
We’ve had the kind of weather that makes it hard to dress for my daily hike. If the wind is blowing or the sun goes under a cloud, the temperature becomes irrelevant, so I’ve been dressing warmer than necessary then peeling off what I don’t need. That’s what I was doing when I lost my “treat bag.”
In reality, my treat bag is some sort of tattered old passport bag, I believe. It hangs around my neck and is the perfect size for a little notebook, a pen, a couple of business cards, and a small Ziplock bag just large enough to hold eight dog treats. A seven-dog day is the record, so I feel safely provisioned with eight treats.
But somehow in the shedding of my bright red sweater, the treat bag went flying and I didn’t even notice. I continued to walk until I encountered Dax and discovered, to my consternation, I no longer had any treats.
I was not going to walk back two miles to fetch that old bag.
I had already harvested all the good ideas out of the notebook. I would lose six treats and a serviceable pen. I knew, with those treats inside, some critter would likely make off with my bag. No great loss, I figured.
“I’ll give you an extra treat when I see you next,” I told Dax. He was still staring at me uncomprehendingly. The Treat Lady was failing in her one and only duty.
An hour after I got home, my phone rang.
“Is this Carrie?”
“Um, yes.”
“This is Laura. You know me and my dog, Miley.”
I searched my mental database for a Laura and Miley and came up blank. This does not mean much. I have been giving out dog treats for 10 months now. I usually remember the names of the dogs, but I frequently forget the names of their owners.
“I’ve got your bag!”
“My treat bag!”
“Yes! My son-in-law found it on the trail.” We arranged for her to hang it on her doorknob so I could pick it up the following day.
I picked up my bag and two days later, I saw Dax again. He was with Zia and they both got a treat from my old treat bag. (Although I reneged on my promise of an extra treat because Zia would never have understood).
And I realized that, while my treat bag has seen better days, its worth is hard to measure.
The dog owners think I am doing something nice for their dogs when it is entirely the other way around. I don’t have a dog. And yet, every day, dogs kiss me on the face and nuzzle my hand and smile at me in that way that only dogs can. I am enriched beyond measure—all for the price of a treat.
I left Dax and continued my hike. It ended up being a six-dog day. It was a very good day.
Till next time,
Carrie
Carrie Classon’s memoir is called, “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

Lake Mills Graphic

204 N. Mill Street
Lake Mills, IA 50450

Office Number: (641) 592-4222
Fax Number: (641) 592-6397

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