Rocco’s Hiking Adventure

Rocco bent down on his front legs, pulled some water out of the pond with his hooked tongue, and bolted again. He raced along the hiking trail, jumping over tree roots and sliding beneath outstretched branches. The dried leaves, prickly thorns, and small sticks that gripped his fur bounced back and forth with each bound. As he approached a fork, he instinctively turned left. He’d made this turn a hundred times before and knew the way to the trailhead. It was only eight miles from the peak of the mountain to the nearby town and he was running at a record pace.

Benson Mountain’s peak elevation is under 3,000 feet but this trail- with steep terrain, lots of rocks, and a healthy supply of poison ivy- is only recommended for experienced hikers. As it was a particularly hot and humid mid-June day, there weren’t any others out. Rocco carried on, his tongue nearly dragging on the compacted dirt trail. He flew past squirrels sheltering in trees from the sun and wilting leaves begging for nightfall. 

After two miles of nonstop downhill thrills, Rocco veered off the trail for the small creek that supplied a steady current of fresh water. He dipped his head to the ground and drank as much water as the creek could feed him. Then, when he was satisfied, he plopped down into the water to cool off, creating a temporary golden-retreiver sized dam. As the water flowed over his tired paws and his heart rate slowed, he slipped into a nap. 

Rocco awoke with the sun in a drastically different location and a strange sensation on his back. It felt nostalgic. When he turned around, a large deer was licking his behind as if he were a salt rock. Rocco panicked and sprinted back to the trail, startling the deer in the process. He continued down the mountain, slowly at first, giving his muscles and joints time to warm up and shaking off the tingly adrenaline rush of his wake up.

At this point, the sun was directly overhead, heating up the dirt, Rocco’s paws, and the fur on his neck. Nevertheless, he continued. As many hikers know, there’s hardly a better feeling than getting into the rhythm of the trail. Your muscle memory, your instinct, and your coordination take over, avoiding hazards, and carrying you toward your destination. Your subconscious wanders, smelling the trees, hearing the whistles and chirps of birds hiding in plain height. Rocco ran in this flow state for four more miles. 

He approached a plateau in the trail and without the aid of gravity, the running became more arduous. Rocco’s stomach grumbled, filled with nothing but creek water. When the scent of wild berries tickled his nose, he knew he needed to follow it. He turned off the path and pushed through the thick bushes. 

Rocco approached the source of the berry scent, but he didn’t, as he hoped, find a bush of ripe wild berries dangling eye-level for him to snack on. Instead, he found a sleeping baby bear whose face and paws were bright red and purple and whose poop, littered around the area, was filled with seeds. A small pile of uneaten berries sat in a divet in the ground next to the bear. Rocco’s stomach grumbled again. 

Rocco got as low to the ground as he could and inched his way to the pile. He silently winced as his belly scraped across the dirt, rocks, and thorns. As he got closer, the berry scent got stronger and saliva dripped out of his mouth onto the floor. When his nose was inches away, the baby bear shifted to the side. Rocco froze. The bear released a short fart before snuggling back up and continuing his nap. Rocco continued. His nose was now at the berries and he feasted, clearing out the entire stash. 

As Rocco licked his lips, savoring every drop of the berry juice, the bear’s eyes slowly opened he raised his arms to stretch. He deeply yawned before noticing Rocco at his side. The bear jumped up and let out a gnarly warning and Rocco, newly nourished, ran away, his belly coated in leaves and thorns.

Returning to the trail, his gait was bouncy and light. The sugar in the berries perked him up and he was excited to speed through the last couple of miles to town. The final leg of the hike was the hardest leg. The ground was slippery and without precision, you were liable to fall. It didn’t help that the pads of his paws were already sore and chewed up from the heat, moisture, and terrain of the day. Rocco couldn’t afford a tumble now, already behind schedule and wanting to get to town before nighttime. 

With each step, Rocco carefully placed his paw down and tested the dirt before releasing the rest of his weight. He carried on this way, following the white trail markers painted on trees every 200 or so yards. As he continued down the trail, each white marker reminded him that he was almost home. 

Near the end of the trail, the smells of the town emerged. Rocco sensed the smoke from campfires and he drooled as he noted meats roasting in the distance. Finally, he could see the trailhead, marked by the sign stuck in the ground with “Benson’s Backbreaker” etched into the wood.

As Rocco strolled into the town, wearing a long day’s worth of exhaustion, he saw an elderly man in the distance and headed toward him. The man was sleeping in a rocking chair on his porch with an open book resting in his lap. 

Rocco climbed the stairs onto the porch and approached the man, placing his snout on the man's knee and releasing a soft whimper. The man woke up and let out a short laugh “Well look at that! Whose lost pup is this? Oh, you look like you’ve had a long day.”

When the man leaned forward to pat Rocco on the behind and rub the back of his head, he noticed the dog was wearing a red vest, made brown by a layer of dirt. Emergency Medical Alert Dog. “Where’s your owner?” the man asked. Rocco let out a short bark and then turned toward Benson Mountain.