canât live
alone.
This hound is so friendly,
and he must have a name.
I try out a few, but he wiggles
happily, no matter what I say.
Angel, Magic, Wizard.
I make my voice high
and squeaky
so it sounds excited.
My approval is the dogâs
reward.
Suddenly, I feel hopeful. Ever since
I learned about trail names,
Iâve wondered what Iâd call myself
if Iâm ever brave enough
to be a thru-hiker.
Rescue Beast. NoâTrail Beast!
Thatâs what Iâd be, part Trail Angel
and part mysterious,
ferociously dedicated,
educated, scientific,
magical.â¦
Â
34
GABE THE DOG
SEARCH!
Iâm tired, but we have a place where Tony was last seen, and we have a scent objectâhis backpackâso I plunge my nose in, sniffing his boy-life of games, paper, ink, and sweet treat snacks.â¦
Then I tug the long leash to keep my Leo close behind me as I inhale shoe prints, nose to the ground, following tracks, so I can
find
find
find
our Tony.
Nothing else matters.
Â
35
TONY THE BOY
RESCUED!
The hound is too weak
to walk, and too heavy to carry,
so I stay still, hugging him,
even though I desperately
want to run and search for berries and a stream.
Hunger.
Thirst.
Fear.
Now I know how TÃo felt
when his raft
was drifting.
How long can a dog live
without any food and water?
If it gets colder, my fingers
and toes will be numb.
If only TÃo or B.B. would find us.
They both know all sorts
of human and canine first aid.
Sounds in the forest grow
eerily loud
when youâre lost.
The wing beat of a raven
is like thunder
or a monstrous roar
so when I hear a collar bell
that tinkles like Christmas
and I see the orange flash
of a SAR dogâs happy vest,
and I feel the familiar warmth
of Gabeâs panting breath,
I feel so relieved
and so safe
that I finally crumple up
and cry.
Gabe licks me, TÃo hugs me,
and the hunterâs hound rolls over
to show Gabe that heâs
not a fighter. The two dogs
sniff each other curiously.
Itâs some sort of diplomacy,
like when the presidents of countries
shake hands on TV.
If Iâm going to be a veterinarian,
Iâll have to learn as much as I can
about the sign language dogs use
to talk to each otherâthis joyful
dance of wagging tails,
lolling tongues, thrashing legs,
and wiggly bellies.
After that, my mind is a blur.
Base camp, then the truck, a clinic,
good news: the bear hound
will survive, and the hunter
was found by one of the dogs
that has practiced finding me
over and over, when I was just
a volunteer victim
pretending
to be lost.
The rest of that first day at home
is so peaceful and cozy
that I canât imagine
ever going outdoors again.
All I want is soup
cookies
hot cocoa
and sleep.
The next day, I feel strong enough
to accept TÃoâs after-breakfast lecture
without any arguments. Heâs right.
I should have stayed at base camp.
I should have listened
and cooperated.
We spend the rest of the morning
relaxing, and then, after lunch,
we go online together, and we order
a fancy new satellite phone
so that Iâll never again be stranded
in any rugged, remote area
where old-style cell phones
canât get a signal.
But the biggest gift
my uncle gives me
is the calm, patient feeling
that I still have plenty of time
to learn
common sense.
Itâs just like math, he promises.
Just learn one formula at a time.
The first is such a simple rule
that youâll never forget:
DONâT HIKE ALONE.
My lost-and-found mood
of grateful relief
lasts until Halloween.
Thatâs when everything
suddenly
turns mean and scary.
One final prison visit.
Mom is a no-show.
The nightmares come back
with such hurricane force
that I know Iâm facing
a decision.
This is my life.
My chance.
My only hope.
Iâm at a crossroads, a place
where two paths meet.
There arenât any road signs
telling me which
alone.
This hound is so friendly,
and he must have a name.
I try out a few, but he wiggles
happily, no matter what I say.
Angel, Magic, Wizard.
I make my voice high
and squeaky
so it sounds excited.
My approval is the dogâs
reward.
Suddenly, I feel hopeful. Ever since
I learned about trail names,
Iâve wondered what Iâd call myself
if Iâm ever brave enough
to be a thru-hiker.
Rescue Beast. NoâTrail Beast!
Thatâs what Iâd be, part Trail Angel
and part mysterious,
ferociously dedicated,
educated, scientific,
magical.â¦
Â
34
GABE THE DOG
SEARCH!
Iâm tired, but we have a place where Tony was last seen, and we have a scent objectâhis backpackâso I plunge my nose in, sniffing his boy-life of games, paper, ink, and sweet treat snacks.â¦
Then I tug the long leash to keep my Leo close behind me as I inhale shoe prints, nose to the ground, following tracks, so I can
find
find
find
our Tony.
Nothing else matters.
Â
35
TONY THE BOY
RESCUED!
The hound is too weak
to walk, and too heavy to carry,
so I stay still, hugging him,
even though I desperately
want to run and search for berries and a stream.
Hunger.
Thirst.
Fear.
Now I know how TÃo felt
when his raft
was drifting.
How long can a dog live
without any food and water?
If it gets colder, my fingers
and toes will be numb.
If only TÃo or B.B. would find us.
They both know all sorts
of human and canine first aid.
Sounds in the forest grow
eerily loud
when youâre lost.
The wing beat of a raven
is like thunder
or a monstrous roar
so when I hear a collar bell
that tinkles like Christmas
and I see the orange flash
of a SAR dogâs happy vest,
and I feel the familiar warmth
of Gabeâs panting breath,
I feel so relieved
and so safe
that I finally crumple up
and cry.
Gabe licks me, TÃo hugs me,
and the hunterâs hound rolls over
to show Gabe that heâs
not a fighter. The two dogs
sniff each other curiously.
Itâs some sort of diplomacy,
like when the presidents of countries
shake hands on TV.
If Iâm going to be a veterinarian,
Iâll have to learn as much as I can
about the sign language dogs use
to talk to each otherâthis joyful
dance of wagging tails,
lolling tongues, thrashing legs,
and wiggly bellies.
After that, my mind is a blur.
Base camp, then the truck, a clinic,
good news: the bear hound
will survive, and the hunter
was found by one of the dogs
that has practiced finding me
over and over, when I was just
a volunteer victim
pretending
to be lost.
The rest of that first day at home
is so peaceful and cozy
that I canât imagine
ever going outdoors again.
All I want is soup
cookies
hot cocoa
and sleep.
The next day, I feel strong enough
to accept TÃoâs after-breakfast lecture
without any arguments. Heâs right.
I should have stayed at base camp.
I should have listened
and cooperated.
We spend the rest of the morning
relaxing, and then, after lunch,
we go online together, and we order
a fancy new satellite phone
so that Iâll never again be stranded
in any rugged, remote area
where old-style cell phones
canât get a signal.
But the biggest gift
my uncle gives me
is the calm, patient feeling
that I still have plenty of time
to learn
common sense.
Itâs just like math, he promises.
Just learn one formula at a time.
The first is such a simple rule
that youâll never forget:
DONâT HIKE ALONE.
My lost-and-found mood
of grateful relief
lasts until Halloween.
Thatâs when everything
suddenly
turns mean and scary.
One final prison visit.
Mom is a no-show.
The nightmares come back
with such hurricane force
that I know Iâm facing
a decision.
This is my life.
My chance.
My only hope.
Iâm at a crossroads, a place
where two paths meet.
There arenât any road signs
telling me which
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