In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,71

dog, and the mood changed. Evelyn especially looked anxious. “Maybe the tripods not a good idea,” she said as the dog darted about.

Mitchell glanced up with surprise, as though Evelyn had just solved the worlds oldest mystery. He pointed jauntily at her. “You know what? I think you’re right, Evelyn,” and he unscrewed his camera, dismantled the tripod, and slid it back into its sleeve. “I’ve probably got too many pictures of rocks, anyway. Hey, doggie,” he said as Blender sniffed at his sandals. “What’s the matter; do my feet smell?” He laughed loudly.

The dog wagged his tail, and Mitchell stooped and deposited one tidy pat onto the dog’s head. Evelyn, Susan, and Jill looked on nervously. Last night, when they were sitting around together, they’d taken turns sharing their fears, and Mitchell had confessed to being afraid of dogs. “When I was a kid, I got bit,” he’d told them. “Some yappy little thing. And I have to admit that’s the real reason I didn’t want this dog on the trip. I should have been straightforward with you all. I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe on this river trip, I can get over my fear.”

So now they were all remembering Mitchell’s confession and worrying he might go overboard in an attempt to undo years of trauma. Blender had been keeping his distance from Mitchell for most of the trip, of course; dogs can sense when someone is not inclined to offer a belly rub on short notice.

Sure enough, just as they feared, Mitchell squatted and held out his hand. “Hey, doggie,” he said. “Come here, puppy dog.”

It quickly became clear that Mitchell, like Evelyn, didn’t really know how to play with a dog. In fact, he treated the dog like a cat, trailing a bit of rope through the sand in front of the dogs nose. Blender sat down.

“Go like this,” said Sam, and he took the rope and tied a thick knot, then dangled it above Blender’s head. Blender instantly latched onto the rope. Sam tugged. Blender growled and planted his feet and tugged back. Sam released his grip with a flourish; Blender fell back, recovered, and danced in front of Sam.

“Good dog. Now you try it,” Sam told Mitchell.

Mitchell wiped his hands on his shorts, took the rope, and dangled it in front of the dog’s nose. When the dog latched on, Mitchell laughed and looked around at his audience before tugging lightly at the rope.

“Grrr,” he said. “What a toughie. Who’s your best friend, huh? Who’s your best friend now?”

He played with the dog for a while, tugging and tossing and holding the rope aloft so Blender could jump for it. You could tell he thought he had invented the game.

“Be careful, Mitchell,” said Lena, watching.

Mitchell ignored her. “I think this dog actually likes me,” he observed with satisfaction. “This is a first. Maybe he’s trying to tell me something. Come here, buster,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Want to come home with me after the trip?”

Sam looked stung. Mitchell got down on his hands and knees. He held the rope in front of his mouth and growled and pretended to bite the rope.

“Honey, not so close,” Lena protested.

From down on the boats came whoops of laughter. “Who wants another beer?” Peter said.

Mitchell stood up. “Hey, that’s an idea. Okay, doggie, that’s it for now,” he said sternly. “Good doggie. All good things must come to an end. Time to go play by yourself. Time for Mitchell’s gin and tonic.”

Blender barked.

“All yours, Sam,” Mitchell said. He held his hands up. “I don’t have it, doggie! Look! Sam’s got the rope!”

But the dog was not convinced. Nor was he about to be dumped so easily. He circled Mitchell, barking, and Mitchell backed up.

“Don’t raise your hands like that,” Sam told Mitchell. “He thinks you’ve got something in them.”

“Well, I don’t! Look! Hands! Empty!” And he fluttered his fingers above his head.

“That excites him,” said Sam. “Put your hands down.”

But Sam’s instructions didn’t register with Mitchell—either that, or it was simply too strong an instinct to hold one’s hands up when a dog was barking. And from the dog’s viewpoint, what was he to make of this large man with the half-grown beard and the dark glasses and the Hawaiian shirt, standing at the top of a steep riverbank, waving his hands above his head in some kind of primitive dance?

Blender sprang forward, knocking Mitchell back, and the two of them went tumbling down the hillside, a ball of