“What do you suppose this frisbee is doing here?” I sniffed. I’m not really a fetch kind of guy, but picking up a frisbee is a great way to start a game of tag, so I tested its texture with my teeth.

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.

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

“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.”

“You don’t have to beat all of life’s levels by yourself. Sometimes someone has already made it easier, but you have to take their hints.”

I stepped into the river and made a big show of stopping for a drink to show the water that couldn’t push me around.

I stepped into the river and made a big show of stopping for a drink to show the water that couldn’t push me around.

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

"Ack! Do you feel that?” Mom gasped. “The barometric pressure! I feel like I’m choking.”

"Ack! Do you feel that?” Mom gasped. “The barometric pressure! I feel like I’m choking.”