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The Wild Will Win; Man v. Nature
It growled at us, from up the hillside, a hundred yards away, a mountain lion crouching in the scrub grass, in front of a rock outcropping.
My dog was the first to react, the first to locate and identify the creature, and the first to realize and indicate this was something special.
This dog is a veteran. This dog has hiked hundreds of trails, thousands of miles, walked daily through the woods and fields and wetlands and prairies, along the shores of Lake Superior, in Arkansas Bayous, through the Badlands (don’t tell anyone), along the Mississippi, Missouri, St. Francis, White, Black, Red, Crow Wing rivers . . . too many to count.
This dog hums Johnny Cash in his sleep:
I’ve been everywhere, man
I’ve been everywhere, man
Crossed the deserts bare, man
I’ve breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel I’ve had my share, man
I’ve been everywhere
He knew something was different. This growl. That smell. Those dark eyes peering at us from the hillside.
He stopped and stared and did not not move an iota, not a single muscle, no blinking, no tail wag, only the intense stare of a military sniper, and his little nose working overtime.
