The Wild Mile

Her golden fur shimmered between hues of silver and wheat as she ran, her paws flinging pebbles and dirt behind her. I crouched and slapped my thighs, bracing my body for the inevitable impact. With one last pump of her legs, she leapt up into my arms, her chin smacking into my collar bone.

We both tumbled backward off the trail, me laughing and groaning, her yipping in joy.

Above us, the echoes of the cascading river bounced off the rocky face of the cliffs. I was always worried she wouldn’t be able to hear my voice on this trail. But no matter how far away her nose would lead her, she always found me again.

We meandered down closer to the rushing rapids, feeling the cool autumn air brush against us. The droplets of mountain water flew about like shards of glass shimmering in the afternoon sun.

I took off my shoes as we walked so I would know if the ground was too sharp for her paws. Giant boulders jutted out into the rivers path, and provided islands of isolation for us. Every weekend we would visit our world out here, and relished in its serenity.

I lay down on the cold damp stone, and Shelly laid across my belly, keeping guard while I rested.

As time ceased to exist, I stroked my fingers through her silken waves. We watched little birds chase beetles around the shore line, hopping about comically and screeching at each other for stealing their meal. My fingers froze in place when I felt Shelly’s throat vibrate in a guttural growl.

“What is it, Shelly?” I sat up quickly and looked all about. But what she had seen or smelled was invisible to my weak human eyes.

“Shelly, stay,” I whispered, worry creeping into my voice as I felt her muscles tense up. She stared off down the river, and continued to growl.

I slowly got to my feet, looking between her and whatever she saw, and said in a more firm voice, “Shelly, stay.”

Her eyes darted to me quickly, as if to say ‘sorry’ for what she was about to do.

I sprung for her, trying to wrap my arms around her neck, but she was already gone. Sprinting down the wet boulders, her claws digging in as she leapt from one to another.

“Shelly, come!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, but the rapids swallowed my voice before it had barely escaped my lungs. “Shelly!”

I watched as she took chase of her invisible creature, and prayed she would head back to the trail. In horror, I screamed her name again as I saw her paw slip out from under her, and she tumbled over, falling on her side. Her momentum pushed her forward, and off one of the boulders she rolled.

I ran after her as fast as my bipedal body could, but it was too late.

Splash.

My eyes grew foggy as tears started welling up. My chest tightened and my heart pounded, begging me to go faster.

“Shelly!”

I could barely hear her cries for help above the rapids. Her body seemed impossibly small in the water and I struggled to keep her in my sight.

But the water moved too quickly. I saw her paws splashing upwards, holding her head above water as she frantically barked and howled in fear.

I couldn’t breathe. Panic gripped about my throat and I slipped, slamming my knees onto the stone. I struggled back to my feet, but she was out of sight.

“Shelly,” I whispered, my voice desperate and devoid of hope.

Nothing answered me except the water below, splashing and racing towards the valley.

Limping now, I continued as quickly as I could, my feet and knees bruised and my hands cut from my fall. I looked down stream as far as I could, but only saw the tumultuous water.

Finally, I was forced back onto the trail and I began to run, wincing in pain with each foot fall. But all I could think of was where my poor Shelly may be. Golden retrievers are good swimmers, but she was so small and the water was so fast.

An opening towards the water appeared beside the trail and I pushed through, anxiously looking up and down for any sign of her. My ears were failing me. No sound entered them but that of the echoing cascades.

I sat down and cried. My best friend was gone. All of the worst possible thoughts rushed into my head, and my heart throbbed trying to push them away. But still, regrets poured in.

‘I should’ve trained her more.’

‘I should’ve been more careful.’

‘I shouldn’t of brought her out here.’

I knew none of this was true, because this is where we were both happiest. But in times of grief, everything leading to that moment becomes the worst thing one could’ve done.

I raised my head as a new sound danced within my ears. A bark.

“Shelly!”

I jumped to my feet and listened.

‘Oh please let me hear it again.’

Suddenly, a cold wet mop tumbled into my legs, and knocked me forward. Spinning around, I saw Shelly, soaked and covered in leaves, bristles, and mud. Her tail wagged furiously, her body low to the ground as she apologized for worrying me.

I wrapped my arms around her neck and cried. She licked at my face, her breath warming my skin. I buried my face into her wet fur and was instantly smothered by the odor of wet dog and mud.

She leapt away and bowed, as if I was to forget what had just happened. It made me laugh, which encouraged her further. She yipped and spung about in circles.

“Guess we got to go home and give you a bath huh?”

She froze mid spring, her tail held mid wag, and she cast a sideways glance at me as if to say ‘Only if you catch me first.’

With endless energy, she sprinted back off down the trail towards the car. Her muddy paws flung dirt behind her, and I followed her on to the next adventure.