A Shadow, A Lifeline
Not too long ago, my world had shrunk to the size of a single room. My mornings were a battle against the crushing weight of depression, a fog so thick that getting out of bed felt like a monumental effort. The pandemic had stripped away my work, my finances had dwindled to nothing, and a broken heart had left me feeling utterly adrift. Happiness felt like a distant country I had been exiled from.
Then, a shadow with a wagging tail and the saddest eyes I’d ever seen came into my life. His name was Ouka, a beautiful, huge rescue dog who had his own ghosts. He’d been abandoned, adopted, and then returned to the shelter—twice. He was a dog who had been told, in no uncertain terms, that he was not wanted. In him, I saw a reflection of my own feelings of worthlessness. I think we both needed a rescue.
Adopting Ouka was an act of desperation, a last-ditch effort to give myself a reason to face the day. A dog doesn’t care if you’re drowning in sadness; when he needs to go out, you have to get up. He was my lifeline. He forced me out of my bed and into the world, one reluctant step at a time. We needed each other in a way that’s hard to explain. We were two broken souls who, in the quiet understanding that passes between a man and a dog, began to heal one another. And in the most unexpected and beautiful twist of fate, Ouka led me to the other great love of my life. Lauriane, his dog sitter at the time, was a kind-hearted ICU nurse with a smile that could cut through any fog. He brought me to her.
An Adventure in the Morning Air
Now, my mornings are different. The alarm clock still rings at 6 a.m., a signal that Lauriane is getting ready for a grueling 12-hour shift at the hospital. I’ll drift in a state of half-sleep, hearing her soft voice telling Ouka to stay put, that it’s not time for his adventure just yet.
But by 8 a.m., the mountain sun is streaming into our van, and the day insists on beginning. The moment Ouka senses I’m truly awake, he’s on his feet, his tail thumping a steady rhythm against the wall, his eyes fixed on the door. There’s no arguing. I open the door, and he steps out into the crisp Alpine air, finding a cool spot in the shade to supervise my morning routine. Breakfast is a shared ritual, though his idea of “sharing” involves him finishing his bowl in approximately ten seconds and then staring at my food with an expression of profound, theatrical starvation.
As I sip my coffee, I check the weather. The forecast is a perfect poem for a paraglider: a beautiful, sunny day with a light south breeze expected in the afternoon. It’s a perfect day to fly.
The moment Ouka sees me pull on my hiking shoes, he knows. A new energy fills him, the quiet anticipation of an adventure about to begin. I get my pack ready—a lightweight glider, my harness and helmet, and a special custom-made flying harness for Ouka. I pack water for us both and a cereal bar for me. With just a few kilograms on my back, we are free. The world is our launchpad.
A Leap of Faith, Together
I clip the canicross harness to Ouka, and we begin our slow, steady hike up the mountain. This gentle climb is a chance to warm up our muscles and for Ouka to, well, take care of business. When we reach our take-off spot, a beautiful clearing overlooking the valley, we pause to drink and catch our breath. I watch the wind socks, observing the gentle currents. Everything looks perfect.
Ouka, in his element, immediately begins his favorite game: collecting cuddles from every other pilot preparing to fly. He is a master of affection, a big, furry ambassador of goodwill who has never met a stranger he couldn’t charm into giving him a good scratch behind the ears.
When the conditions are just right, it’s time. I lay out the glider, a vibrant swath of fabric on the green grass. “Ouka, harness!” I say, and he calmly allows me to fit him into his special gear. He has never been afraid of heights. Even standing on the edge of a cliff, he looks down with a calm curiosity, a true adventurer’s spirit.
Teaching him to fly with me was a process built on trust and countless treats. I taught him the command “Take off,” which is his cue to come and stand between my legs, ready to run with me. This gives him the power to choose; if he ever didn’t want to fly, he could simply run away. But he never does.
“Take off, Ouka!” He moves into position, and I connect his harness to mine with a secure carabiner. We wait for the perfect gust of wind. I feel it, a gentle, upward push. “OK, let’s go!” I shout. I pull the glider up, it inflates above us like a giant lung, and then comes the final command: “Run! Run! Run, Ouka!”
A Shared Sky, A Quiet Gratitude
We run together, our steps getting bigger and lighter until, in a magical, weightless moment, the ground simply falls away. We are flying.
The air up here is different. It’s clean and quiet, the silence broken only by the gentle whisper of the wind through the lines of the glider. Ouka is completely serene. He settles in, and I rest my feet just under his paws, a small point of connection that reminds us we are in this together. We don’t talk much. I just scratch his head from time to time, and he leans into my touch, perfectly content.
From our vantage point, the world is a beautiful map laid out below. We see other gliders sharing the thermals, tiny hikers making their way up the trails, and sometimes, the majestic sight of wild chamois navigating the rocky cliffs. This is our happy place, a shared sanctuary in the sky, suspended between the green of the mountains and the blue of the heavens.
After a perfect fifteen-minute flight, our landing spot comes into view. I prepare for our descent, and with a final, gentle glide, our feet touch the earth—a perfect landing. With the right breeze, it’s a landing so soft you could do it on a box of eggs without breaking a single one. The moment we land, the celebration begins. I cheer for Ouka, praising him for being the best co-pilot, and he rewards me with happy, slobbery kisses. The joy is real. This, I think to myself, is what having a dog should be. Pure, unadulterated fun with your best friend.
Later that evening, as I park the van in a new spot for the night, Lauriane finally returns from her long shift. Ouka’s whole body wags with excitement at the sound of her car. I watch them greet each other, this little family that Ouka brought together. As the sun sets, casting a warm, golden glow over the mountains, I am struck by a profound sense of gratitude. I look at my girl and my dog, and I realize how far I’ve come from that dark, lonely room, and how close happiness was all along. I don’t know what the future will bring, but as long as these two are by my side, I know it will be the best adventure.
