The situation called for immediate action. 

Gianna trotted near the ridgeline, her tail erect, her dark coat soaking up the mid-morning rays of the early spring day. Her nose was working feverishly to take in all the smells of the thin breeze as it slipped over the rounded top of the mountain. She loved to stay on high ground. From here, she could survey the brush and rock outcroppings below, and watch for the smallest movement, hoping to flush out small game to chase and pounce on. She was rarely successful in her hunts. She was old, a bit clumsy, and never really a hunting dog, but the instinct was there, and it was a wonderful diversion from being asleep on the floor at home.

Almost 100 yards behind her, and about 100 feet below, she could see her companion and her master. She didn’t know his name, but she knew how he smelled; she knew his form, the slight limp in his gait, the hat he wore, and she knew the sound of his voice. She was happy whenever he called her Gianna, but when he needed her urgently, he called her GiGi. She sensed that his life, like hers, moved slowly now because of his old age. 

She loved their trips up the canyon. She could almost always tell when a trip up the canyon was in the plans for the day because of the preparations that preceded the event. Once he began loading the tools in the back of the old truck, donning his heavy coat, and packing the worn canvas bags, she knew a trip was pending, and she hurried excitedly about the yard, waiting for his preparations to finish. No doubt, had she been able to help with the trip preparations, she would have gladly done so, but with no alternative, she paced the yard excitedly, as though her mere presence was enough to somehow speed the process along.

Up the narrow canyon road the pair went, Gianna in the passenger seat, watching out the window, as the old truck slowly bounced over rocks, and as tires occasionally spun on the loose gravel of the unmaintained mountain road.  Their small village, and its valley below slowly slipped from view around an early curve of the mountain road. 

He never seemed to stop at one place for long on these trips up the mountain, and that was fine with Gigi, for it gave her more opportunity to explore. She knew that soon enough he would be calling Gianna to come from her adventures and load in the truck. It was time to move on to the next spot where luck might hold them in better regard.

GiGi never fully understood what he did up here in the canyon among the brush, trees, and rocks. He would park by the road, unload the tools, and slowly climb around boulders and search behind trees, often muttering to himself. Then, at whatever seemed the right spot, he would take his tools and dig among the rocks, breathing heavily from exertion in the thin, mountain air. He tossed most rocks aside, but occasionally, while still talking to himself, he’d hold one up to the sunlight for a better look, and when he was especially interested, he’d crack it open with a blow from his hammer, put one or two pieces in the bag, and then move on to a different spot. 

Today, he seemed to be especially interested in a small rock outcropping near a tree that had fallen years ago and lay rotting on the ground.  Consumed by the passion of discovery, his loud huffs occasionally punctuated the roaming babbles that marked his train of thought while he dug and pried. The rocks he flung aside rolled down the hillside.  

As her master worked along the sharp slope, Gigi fluttered about further up the mountain’s side, ever hopeful that today would be her day to flush out a rabbit. The outcome would, of course, never be in doubt. The rabbit would easily escape, but the thrill of a chase was an addiction.  Near the top, she halted, panting rapidly to catch her breath, and taking time to survey the area for any movement from her unsuspecting prey. She liked to hunt and explore, but she also liked to always be near enough to see her companion, or at least close enough to hear him call when it was time to move on.

As she paused, panting, and drawing in the mountain air, from the mix of faint smells that her sharp canine nose processed, came something different. Her nose worked feverishly trying to draw in more air and process every molecule of this new scent.

The scent she detected set off an instinctive alarm that coursed through her body. She took a few steps forward and scanned toward the direction of the smell and then paused as she identified its source.  About 20 yards below her companion, a small brown bear cub clumsily emerged from behind a bush. Gigi’s eyes were then drawn toward a movement to her right and there she saw a mother bear running down the hillside toward her cub, and, toward Gianna’s companion who was now between the cub and its mother. In spite of the fact that the charging mother bear sent rocks rolling, and tree branches snapping, her preoccupied master hadn’t noticed the commotion, or the extremely dangerous situation that had suddenly developed around him.  He was bent over, tugging at a large rock with his hands, and softly cursing at his inability to move it.

Gianna knew that her odds of an old dog such as her in battle against a mother bear, infused with motherly instinct, were almost impossible. But her companion was in extreme danger, and she knew instantly there was only one thing that could possibly save his life, and without hesitation, she began running as fast as she could, hoping to distract and scare the mother bear from her course. The bear was going to save her cub from this human. 

Gigi’s course to intercept the bear was short and quick. Her hope was to at least distract the bear long enough for her companion to notice the danger, and escape to safety. As Gigi hoped, the bear eventually saw her approaching and turned to face the streaking black dog. The bear’s scent was overpowering, and she was massive. Gianna felt her instinct to fight come to life, and she leapt toward the bear to begin the attack. From a corner of her eye, she saw the bear's giant paw swinging toward her.

Harland turned the television off. It was time to coax his creaking old frame out of the chair and be off to bed. To his right lay Gianna, asleep in her bed on the floor, and from the signs, he could tell that she was having another one of her dreams. The fluttering eyelids, the quivering lips, the twitching muscles of her legs, and the short, muffled barks that escaped, led him to conclude that whatever was happening in this dream, must be something rather violent. “Come on, Gianna,” he said, “it’s time to go to the kitchen for your bedtime snack and then it’s off to bed for me.”  

As his aching frame struggled to rise from the chair, the noise startled Gigi awake.  Her eyes tried to focus as she re-oriented to the reality that she was not on the mountainside after all, but had fallen asleep beside her master's chair. As Harland's old body struggled for freedom from the deep, comfortable chair, a thought carelessly ran through his mind, while he grunted from the exertion: “The things I do for that old dog...I can't imagine that she would ever do anything to help me.” 

   Copyright 2026, Vally Mulford