“For the love of Dog, let me go!” I squirmed. “Hold still.” She squeezed me tighter. “I might drop you if I lose my balance.” 

Dogs don’t take pictures, but Mom had tried to explain it before. “Doesn’t a photo capture exactly what the world looks like?” I asked, showing her my bored look in profile. “Instead of taking a hunerd pictures, you could just take one and look at it for longer.” 

“Do you know where canyons come from?” Mom asked, cheating as usual. Whenever she gets stuck, she uses science to invent some improbable story because she knows a dog can’t argue with science. This time, she didn’t even wait for me to guess. “Rivers dig canyons over millions of years.”

“It must be a river,” Mom said in a sleepy voice. “This place is called Mad Gorge which means—"

“It must be a river,” Mom said in a sleepy voice. “This place is called Mad Gorge which means—"

Death sat self-consciously behind them all, its bloodthirsty depths and time-stained teeth awkwardly out of place among the picnic tables, r