“Oh dog doo,” Mom said slowly, like speaking at a normal pace might cause something to go terribly wrong.

“See?” Mom shifted the Wagon triumphantly into recovery mode. “The trick to not getting stuck is to just keep moving.”

Something about that didn’t add up for me. How would we get out without calling for help if we needed it? But since dogs can’t add, I did the reaction Mom’s face told me to do.

“Wait here.” She held up her hand in the stay sign. She kept her hand up as she disappeared beneath it. Finally, Mom pulled the hand out of sight so she could use it to hang onto the next rock.

“Down where?” I peeked over my shoulder. From above, the slope looked a lot more like a cliff. It seemed impossible that we’d climbed so high moving so slowly. “I’ll go wherever you go. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“Where’s everybody going?” I asked. “They’re all leaving because of the smoke, I guess.” Mom’s shoulders twitched, shrugging off a thought like it was a fly in her ear.

Once we fell in and learned to accept wet in our socks, smoke in our lungs, and not to count on kindness from strangers, it turned into a kind of freedom. Once you give in, it’s quicker to swim to shore than to walk. Though you may come out in a different place than you planned, once you shake yourself off, it’s usually only a few steps back to the trail.

“Some days great just isn’t one of the choices.” Mom’s whole body sagged as she said it, like the words made her twoteen times heavier.

I tried to imagine it, but the situation Mom was describing sounded more like the middle of a story than the end. “Then how will we get out?” I asked.

“Don’t you dare take off!” Mom hissed, hooking her frozen claws around my collar and trapping me for monster meat.

“After they mounted a thorough search for the horse, and a respectful time had passed for grief, I bet they adopted a buffalo,” I concluded. “Hey, what’s the difference between a buffalo and a bison?”

“If you can pick your problems,” I coached, “maybe you shouldn’t see wet socks as a problem at all. You would have less to worry about if dry socks weren’t something that you expected from life.”

“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.”

“Can’t the Witch call for help or something?” I asked. “You think there’s going to be cell service all the way out there?” Mom challenged. “We just left the only town big enough for a stop sign for 100 miles in any direction.”

“No, Mom! This is awesome!” I corrected her. “It’s better than awesome. It’s… There’s no word for how awesome it is in your language.” So I barked the word in my language and did a cartwheel followed by a sprint to show her what it meant.

She placed the paper ceremonially on the front windowsill and tapped it a couple of times to prove it was there on purpose. “Think of it as double-paying in protest.” “That’ll show ’em.”

The Law paused to check out the Wagon’s butt. He clutched at a big button on his breast, tucked his chin, and whispered into it. It let out a squawk.

“It’s the treasure that sparkles, not the treasure hunter,” I reminded her. “Why don’t you wear the sparkly clothes for a change?” “Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “You’re the star of the show.” I couldn’t argue with that.