In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,15

for the groover.

But as he turned, he heard a whimper, an anxious whine that definitely did not come from a reptile. JT peered into the scrub again.

There, panting heavily on a bed of leaves and sticks, lay a dog. Its fur was gray and matted, its nose crusted, and yellowish goop had collected in the corners of its eyes. Seeing JT, the dog trembled, and with the tremble came a quick chattering of its teeth—the sound JT had mistaken for a rattler. It was some kind of mutt, he wasn’t quite sure, but it seemed part poodle, part terrier, with loopy gray curls and a dirty wet wisp of a beard—actually, of the approximate lineage as the dog JT had had as a boy. With liquid black eyes, this direct descendant of the true and loyal companion that had slept in the same bed and shared the same bath and eaten the same bologna sandwiches as a very young JT Maroney now gazed straight into his heart.

JT had seen a lot of animals on his 124 previous trips down the river. He’d seen bighorn sheep and coyotes and countless ringtail cats who crept around camp in the middle of the night in search of leftovers. But he’d never seen a dog. For one thing, dogs weren’t allowed below the canyon rim. He’d heard other guides tell of the occasional Navajo cattle dog showing up, especially in this first stretch, where access to the river was easy. But JT had never run into one himself. And this sure as shit did not look like a cattle dog; wash it up and put a collar on it, and it might pass for a Biff or a Molly, with a plaid doggie bed and a personalized bowl nearby. JT couldn’t for the life of him imagine where it came from. Definitely not another boating party; they could never have gotten a dog past the ranger up at Lee’s Ferry. A renegade hiker, a dog-loving Ed Abbey living in the piñon?

JT held out his hand. The dog sniffed his fingers, then slapped its tail heavily on the bed of branches. It struggled to its feet but could not get up, so it lay back down, setting its chin resolutely between its paws.

“Hey, boy,” said JT. “Come on. Get up.”

The dog didn’t move.

JT knew better than to handle an injured animal; he dug deep into the pocket of his shorts and held out a few oily peanuts. The dog sniffed, then licked them out of his hand. JT moved back a little and held out more nuts, and with a great deal of effort, one haunch at a time, the dog managed to raise himself on all fours.

Now JT could at least see what the problem was, for the dog was favoring its right front paw. JT moved in and, while offering more nuts, tried to inspect the paw. The dog drew back, but JT smoothed his velvety ears and kept feeding him nuts, and the dog calmed down enough for JT to finally locate an ugly cactus thorn lodged between the leathery pads of his paw.

No wonder the dog was whimpering.

“Easy, boy.” He cradled the dogs leg and with his stubby fingers tried to pick out the thorn. However, he only succeeded in breaking off the tip. The dog lay down and began licking the tender area.

JT glanced back toward camp. It crossed his mind that he should go back and get Abo and Dixie to come help him decide what to do, but he was still partly afraid that perhaps he was dreaming this all up, and by the time Abo and Dixie got up here, the dog would have vanished, and he, JT, Official Trip Leader, would be the butt of jokes for the rest of the trip.

He didn’t give it any more thought but bent down, circled his arms underneath the dog, and hoisted him to his chest. Forty pounds, maybe, no more; JT had certainly carried heavier loads. With the dog in his arms, he retraced his steps out of the tamarisk grove and headed back down the path.

When he reached the hillock that sloped down to the camp, he saw people crowded around Dixie’s boat; she’d opened up her drink hatch, and people were fumbling through the burlap bags for their personal stashes. Evelyn noticed him first. Then Lena, who nudged Mitchell, who said, “What now?” which caught everybody else’s attention, and they all turned to stare up at