Page 1 of Rangers Mountain Rescue

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1

Havoc

The dog comes out of nowhere.

That’s not a metaphor.

One second, I’m walking across the gravel lot with a coffee that tastes like it was made yesterday, the next moment, there’s a muddy, determined-looking German shepherd, sitting directly in front of my truck like he’s filed a formal complaint.

“Move,” I tell him.

He does not.

He tilts his head.

His tail thumps once.

Then twice.

Then he stands up and walks toward me like we have an appointment.

I stop.

He stops.

We stare at each other.

“You’re not my dog,” I inform him.

He sits.

Which feels less like obedience and more like a negotiation tactic.

Wolf findsme three minutes later, standing there with the mutt sniffing my boots like he’s conducting a background check

“Did you get a dog?” Wolf asks.

“No.”

“Then why is there a dog touching you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He followed me.”

The dog sits on my foot.

Wolf squints. “He likes you.”

“I don’t care.”

The dog sneezes on my leg.

Wolf grins. “He really likes you.”

By noon, the dog has:

Stolen someone’s sandwich

Took a drink from Saint’s coffee sitting on the table.

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