Of course.
I glance back down at the dog. She paces, stops, barks again.
I exhale slowly.
"There are options here," I tell myself, like I'm laying out arguments in a brief. "You can keep walking. You can call animal control when you get back. You can absolutely, under nocircumstances, leave a marked trail to climb into a ravine you have no business being in to save a dog you don’t know."
Allexcellentpoints.
I take a step back from the edge.
Then I look down again.
The dog stares up at me with big, puppy-dog eyes.
I close my eyes.I can’t just leave her there.
I open them again.
She's still there. Still pacing, gazing up at me as if asking for help.
"Okay," I say with a sigh. “Apparently, I’m doing this.”
For the first time in my life, I stop playing by the rules and step off the trail.
The first part isn't so bad. The slope is steep, but there are footholds, roots to brace against, rocks that seem stable enough if I test them first. I move slowly, choosing each step, keeping my weight low.
"Hi, sweet girl," I call as I go. "Just hang on. I'm coming."
The dog watches me now. The barking pauses, then starts again, almost like she's answering.
"Yeah, I hear you," I say. "I'm working on it."
About halfway down, the terrain changes.
The dirt gives way to loose gravel and angled stone. The kind that shifts under your foot if you don't place it exactly right. The kind that makes me very aware that I am not on a trail anymore.
I stop and brace one hand against a rock. I look down.
Closer now, I can see the dog clearly. She’s bigger than I originally thought, thick-coated, tail wagging, tongue lolling. She’s obviously a sweet, friendly dog. I can see now that her pink collar has a little bone-shaped charm hanging from it, but I’m not quite close enough to read it.
“I’m coming, Sweetie,” I say. She barks again in response.
By the time I reach the rock outcrop, my heart is beating faster than it should be for what was supposed to be an easy hike. The ledge juts out over a drop that leads down to the river. It's wide enough to stand on comfortably, but getting here required a bit of sideways maneuvering that’s going to be a bitch on the way back up.
Think about that later… focus on one problem at a time.
I straighten and look around.
The dog is just below me now, and I think I can coax her up to this spot. I reach into my belt bag for a package of peanut butter crackers. Opening it, I toss one down to the dog. Just as I’d hoped, she gobbles it up and then jumps up to join me on my rock.
"Good girl.” I kneel to pet her, and she licks my hand, slapping me with her wagging tail. Glancing at the tag on her collar, I see her name is Roxy. “So, Roxy, how about we get out of here? Here’s the plan,” I say, because I am still pretending I have one. "We’ll slowly work our way back up—”
With zero hesitation, Roxy turns and leaps onto a higher rock before scrambling up a slope that looks completely impassable to me. Her movements are effortless and smooth, like she's done it a hundred times. Which, I am beginning to suspect, shehas.
I blink. "Wait," I call. "Wait, no… you can’t just leave me here!”
She's already halfway up.