One sick puppy

Lame-dogIt’s something of a dilemma when you’re halfway along a hike in the middle of nowhere and your dog pulls up lame. It was serious. She couldn’t walk and was crying and kicking her leg in sheer agony.

Fortunately we were able to empty our rucksack, carry its contents and just about squeeze her inside.

30lbs of well-fed spaniel over rough terrain’s not exactly easy when the bag’s designed to hold much less and the straps cut into your shoulders. So Margi and I had to take it in turns.

After two-and-a-half arduous miles, we took yet another break and decided to try something. Margi threw a biscuit 10 feet down the trail. And out from the bag shot the dog like a well-oiled weasel from a burlap sack.

Not a limp. Not even a hitch in her step. Malingering bitch.

But is this post just an excuse for a cute dog story or does it relate to my writing?

Well, both. This curious incident of the dog in the rucksack occurred  in the Shawangunk mountains, upstate New York, the setting for my next novel.

Pitch pines, rocky barren-ness, tall cliffs (long drops). It’s an area I love. But you just know something bad’s going to have to happen, right?

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