Chances and Changes: My Journey with Molly

I say that water runs downhill, so that’s probably where the pond will be. We should follow Linda’s idea. Hiking downhill on a rain-slicked path is tough. It’s hard to keep our footing on the slippery pine needles. Soon, we’re polka-dotted with spatters of mud and our saddle shoes squish with every step. It’s not raining anymore, but discouraging drips drop on us from every tree branch. No one says anything, but I’m pretty sure we’re all thinking this is a mistake.

Linda leads the way and I’m right behind her. I see her slide and grab wildly for a tree branch before landing on her bottom. She’s sitting in a mud puddle. Linda grins and scoops a handful of mud and lets it drizzle down. Suddenly, she breaks out in song to the tune of “Gopher Guts”: “Big brown blobs of slurpy, murky, mucky mud.” Linda looks so mud-freckled and funny that we all laugh. We help Linda stand up and I pour water from my canteen over her hands to rinse off the mud. We all laugh again when Linda unthinkingly tries to dry her hands on the rear of her shorts, which are also covered with mud.

Laughing lightens our feet and our moods, and the mudslide somehow manages to cheer us up. The sky is beginning to lighten, too. After we walk another half hour or so, Molly stops short and whispers, “Shh.” When Linda asks what is wrong, Molly doesn’t answer. She frowns and holds her finger up to her lips to signal for quiet. We all listen, until we hear it at the same time: bushes rustling and sticks cracking under someone’s foot. We even hear a little soft whimpering. We clutch one another, quaking in fear and looking into the undergrowth, expecting to see Soggy Sam lumbering towards us.

We wait, but nothing comes out of the thicket. Molly says she’s going to see what’s in there, and Linda says we should all stick together. Molly steps forward, stoops, and lifts the low-hanging branch and ducks into the thicket. She takes a few steps before she stops. Underneath the tangle of bushes, we see a dog. Linda says he might be hurt. It looks like he’s stuck. The dog is whimpering and scrabbling to move, but his collar is caught on something. I take off my rucksack and lie down on my stomach and stretch my arm to reach him. Linda warns he might bite.

But regardless, I can’t reach him. But I know I have to do something to help this poor dog. I think of Gem and how she helps injured animals. I tell Molly and Linda that the collar is stuck on something. I need to get close enough to untangle him. Molly says she’ll help. Linda hesitates, but then does the same. I crawl under the bushes so that Linda and Molly can hold the branches up so that they won’t scratch me and the dog. I slither on my stomach pulling myself forward with my arms. I tried to coo the pup so that he doesn’t get startled or scared.

The dog manages to wag his tail to show me he’s not afraid. When I get next to the dog, I see his collar is stuck on a branch. When I untangle him, I see he has some scratches on his back and leg from trying to free himself. I ask Molly for her canteen, since mine is empty. I pour a little bit of Molly’s water over the dog’s wounds, and he licks my hands as if to say thank you. I can tell the scratches aren’t too serious. I crawl back out and the dog follows me. But the scratches are bleeding a little bit. We’ll have to bind them with somebody’s camp tie.

Molly does so, and the dog licks her hand, too. Linda is impressed and says that I was right about him not biting. I say that Gem taught me how to calm injured animals. This guy wouldn’t hurt a flea. We gently pet the dog, and he’s so happy that he wiggles all over with joy. Linda asks if we can use her camp scarf as a leash to keep him with us. Maybe he can lead us back to his home so we can telephone camp.

Molly says that the dog doesn’t belong to us. Maybe we should let him go free so he can find his own way home. Molly and Linda both turn to me. What should we do?