Rescue (standard:Flash, 605 words)
Author: Cyrano	Added: Nov 08 2007	Views/Reads: 3623/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Awe-inspiring majesty, one icy crack.

The Indians will tell you that giants dwelt on this land and they fought
for it, fought to the death. The seventeen peaks of everlasting snow 
are testament to their courage. This is a part of the world so 
incredible, so magnificent, so inspiring that one could immediately 
write a song for it.  Standing on this proudest of peaks, this 
cloud-topped summit, I observe fresh footprints in the snow, two sets 
so small I have to conclude they are those of women or children.  This 
is the majesty of Mount Hood, welcoming all who have the audacity to 
venture to his side. 

Do not speak to me about the grandeur of the Alps, for their beauty lies
inland, and while they may appear high, they are, none-the-less, hills 
built upon hills. Mount Hood stands solitary, piercing the clouds, yet 
he is not alone, being the brother of seven other peaks. It rises 
suddenly, unmistakably a mountain as only a mountain can be thought of, 
a monument to those who fought so valiantly for it.  So many wondrous 
things address its beauty, from the black mass of magnificent forests, 
which creep in from the ocean's edge up to the snowline. Clouds drift, 
creep, flow in along the mountain passes in long unbroken lines, and 
other times shapes so incredible, so mystical constantly move in 
contrast to the blackness of the forests below. 

My dog, Lucy, scampers easily through the snow, while Jonty, with his
four-inch Corgi legs, advances with more caution, preferring I go 
first. We were all in splendid spirit. Lucy cascaded down the mountain, 
a black and white storm of fun. The disappeared. Mt heart sank, for 
I've heard there are chasms to be wary of. The mountain had swallowed 
up Lucy. I ran, tripped and fell down the mountain to where I last saw 
her. Sure enough she had fallen down a fissure and as I lay at the edge 
I could only imagine that I might follow here. Jonty, sensing danger 
stayed away, and I can only assume it was his instinct to do so. I 
emptied my haversack of food, flask, rope and other useful implements 
packed for my days hike. I unzipped the haversack and tied it to the 
end of the rope, forming a cradle and placed her favorite ball in the 
bag. I lowered the bag the twenty feet or so that Lucy had fallen. She 
was not whimpering so I considered she was unhurt, thankfully. It was 
then an hour of coaxing her. Enticing her to step into the bag and not 
be frightened. Lucy is a sheepdog, bright, fun and loyal. I had to get 
her out. I couldn't help think that we might both end up at the 
bottom...if indeed that was the bottom. At first I made the mistake of 
letting the bag reach the floor of the fissure, so when she stepped 
onto it the movement immediately frightened her. After several attempts 
I tried a different tack. I kept the bag off the floor, opening the 
loop end in my hands and encouraging her to step onto the swinging 
sack.  Lucy might be good with sheep but she is not the greatest 
agility dog. Finally she got the idea; I had her on the bag. I started 
to haul her out, using the stern command of ‘stay', which she 
understands very well. Even so I was concerned that she would panic and 
kept speaking soothing words. Then I had her in my arms. It was 
unimaginable joy. She licked my face, and barked excitedly. That was 
one adventure we could have done without. 


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