They swarmed my passive black lab, and the mass turned like a hurricane tracked on radar - her small body the eye of the storm surrounded by churning golden fur. I could hear her yelps and all the growls, and picked up a rock - no fallen branches in reach - running to her defense. Seeing she wasn't alone, the pack fell away - seven, then five, then two. Then just she and I running down the gulch without looking back, rock still in my hand. We dared a quick drink at the junction, still breathing hard, then climbed the singletrack for home as if it had all happened long ago.
Vert Libre: free-form poetry and observations from the trail