|Rescue (standard:Flash, 605 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Nov 08 2007||Views/Reads: 1804/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Awe-inspiring majesty, one icy crack.|
The Indians will tell you that giants dwelt on this land and they fought for it, fought to the death. The seventeen peaks of everlasting snow are testament to their courage. This is a part of the world so incredible, so magnificent, so inspiring that one could immediately write a song for it. Standing on this proudest of peaks, this cloud-topped summit, I observe fresh footprints in the snow, two sets so small I have to conclude they are those of women or children. This is the majesty of Mount Hood, welcoming all who have the audacity to venture to his side. Do not speak to me about the grandeur of the Alps, for their beauty lies inland, and while they may appear high, they are, none-the-less, hills built upon hills. Mount Hood stands solitary, piercing the clouds, yet he is not alone, being the brother of seven other peaks. It rises suddenly, unmistakably a mountain as only a mountain can be thought of, a monument to those who fought so valiantly for it. So many wondrous things address its beauty, from the black mass of magnificent forests, which creep in from the ocean's edge up to the snowline. Clouds drift, creep, flow in along the mountain passes in long unbroken lines, and other times shapes so incredible, so mystical constantly move in contrast to the blackness of the forests below. My dog, Lucy, scampers easily through the snow, while Jonty, with his four-inch Corgi legs, advances with more caution, preferring I go first. We were all in splendid spirit. Lucy cascaded down the mountain, a black and white storm of fun. The disappeared. Mt heart sank, for I've heard there are chasms to be wary of. The mountain had swallowed up Lucy. I ran, tripped and fell down the mountain to where I last saw her. Sure enough she had fallen down a fissure and as I lay at the edge I could only imagine that I might follow here. Jonty, sensing danger stayed away, and I can only assume it was his instinct to do so. I emptied my haversack of food, flask, rope and other useful implements packed for my days hike. I unzipped the haversack and tied it to the end of the rope, forming a cradle and placed her favorite ball in the bag. I lowered the bag the twenty feet or so that Lucy had fallen. She was not whimpering so I considered she was unhurt, thankfully. It was then an hour of coaxing her. Enticing her to step into the bag and not be frightened. Lucy is a sheepdog, bright, fun and loyal. I had to get her out. I couldn't help think that we might both end up at the bottom...if indeed that was the bottom. At first I made the mistake of letting the bag reach the floor of the fissure, so when she stepped onto it the movement immediately frightened her. After several attempts I tried a different tack. I kept the bag off the floor, opening the loop end in my hands and encouraging her to step onto the swinging sack. Lucy might be good with sheep but she is not the greatest agility dog. Finally she got the idea; I had her on the bag. I started to haul her out, using the stern command of ‘stay', which she understands very well. Even so I was concerned that she would panic and kept speaking soothing words. Then I had her in my arms. It was unimaginable joy. She licked my face, and barked excitedly. That was one adventure we could have done without. Tweet
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