Experts say that humans need to help dogs
understand their limits in tough terrain.trail where I would get cell service, so
I called Susan, panicked. “Merle fell! I
don’t know what happened,” I told her.
“I’m going for him. It’s OK. I’m OK.”
Then I saw something running in
the basin below me. “There he is! Oh
my God! I’m OK. I need to go.”
“OK, be safe” was all Susan had
time to say before I hung up and ran
down the ridge. Merle was sprinting
downhill, away from me. I couldn’t
follow his nearly vertical route without
technical climbing gear, so I needed to
find a safer way down.
After nearly an hour, I had made it to
the basin, and I saw Merle standing on
a large rock outcropping. Relief washed
over me. “Merle, come here, buddy.
Good dog. I’m so sorry,” I called. But
he ran away. I didn’t blame him. I’d
taken him on a selfish pursuit to aselfish place. I’d pushed him too far.
I followed Merle up the basin. Soon, I
was close enough to see that he looked
oddly swollen; he was covered with
lacerations, and his gait was hobbled
and stiff. When I got within a few feet of
him, he dived into a crack at the edge
of a field of rocks. I grabbed his back
legs for a moment, but he squirmed
away, deep into a subterranean pocket
within the boulders. I moved rocks and
snow away from the crack’s entrance
until two backyard grill–size boulders
slid together, clamping my ring finger
between them. I yanked out my hand
and saw the nail was smashed and
spurting blood. I threw on a glove from
my pack to contain the flow, then kept
digging. A few minutes later, I’d cleared
enough snow to stick my head in the
crack. I peered down into the darkness.
I could hear the jingle of Merle’s collar,
but I couldn’t see him.
I yelled, alternating between angry
and nearly hysterical and calm and
coaxing. No response. I decided to give
him space. Maybe he was OK and my
panic was freaking him out. I opened
the can of sardines and left them as a
lure at the mouth of the cave. While I
waited, I went to the scene of the fall.86 february 2019