"Guns are unsporting," Cypher says. "I fight with my hands."
"You do that then, and I'll keep my gun."
"I'd rather you kept it anyway," Dalton says.
I start backing Storm up. It's a tug of war, but she allows me to inch her away. Dalton lopes off to the side, making just enough noise to pull the bear's attention.
I continue backing off until we've lost sight of them, and that's when Storm finally settles. She grumbles and grunts, not unlike a bear herself, her shaggy head turning from side to side as she sniffs the air. I manage to get her lying down and park my butt on top of her.
I hear a "Hie! Hie!" from the camp. That's Dalton. Cypher uses more colorful language to convince the bear it's time to go. Both crash through the undergrowth, making as much noise as they can. When a shot fires, I tense and Storm whines, but it's a warning shot, followed by crashes heading the other way and accompanied by the grunts of a fleeing bear.
"Casey?" Dalton calls.
"Right here!"
"He's taking off. We're going to check out the camp. Are you okay where you are?"
"I am."
"Then stay there with Storm in case the bear circles back."
"Got it."
I listen to the forest, gun in hand, but all I can hear is the rustle and murmured talk of the men at Jacob's campsite.
And then Storm leaps up. Leaps up, toppling me off her, and by the time I realize what's happened, she's a black blur disappearing into the forest.
I race after her. It happens so fast that I presume she's heading for the campsite, and I'm not too concerned about that. Then I realize we're heading in the opposite direction.
I should have shouted. If I'd even just yelled for Storm, Dalton would have heard it. I do now. I call for her, and I call for him, but I'm still running, stumbling through thick undergrowth, and I can tell my voice isn't loud enough to carry back to Dalton. But I cannot stop because in that moment, I am absolutely certain that if I do not catch Storm, I've lost her. She's running, and I see her, and as long as I can do that, I still have her.
I stop shouting for Dalton and call to her instead. Storm. Get back here. Stop. Come. Wait.
It's too many commands. I know that. I'm panicking and shouting whatever comes to mind, and she is not stopping. Goddamn it, she is not stopping. I should have her on a leash. She isn't ready for this, not well enough trained, and my hubris has failed her.
The ground opens up as we veer toward the mountain base. I can see her easily now, bounding over the rock. She's chasing something. I catch a glimpse of brown fur. Tawny. A deer? It leaps over rock, and as it jumps onto one, I see . . .
I see that it's not a deer.
30
When I realize what Storm is chasing, I scream at her. "Stop! Storm! Stop now!"
She just keeps bounding after a massive tawny brown cat.
A mountain lion.
"Stop!" Please, please, please, baby, stop.
She does not stop. Does not seem to hear me. She scrambles over the rocks, letting out a happy bark as she closes in on her quarry.
Quarry? No. Storm has no sense of other animals as prey. We have not taught her that.
We should have taught her that.
We didn't get her as a hunting dog, and we don't want her chasing down animals. She's had exposure to many--foxes, deer, rabbits. But they aren't prey. They're chase toys. They run, and she pursues until they take cover, and she loses the game. She's never caught anything bigger than a mouse that she once surprised, and then she just tossed it about until we got it away from her.
In failing to teach her, I have been, in my way, like my parents, failing to prepare me for life's dangers. Because what she is chasing right now is not a chase toy. It will not take cover. It is a predator, and when it turns on her, she will not flee. She will not attack. She'll think the game has taken an exciting new twist--not a chase toy, but a playmate. An animal her own size who is turning around to say, "Tag, you're it," like her human playmates do.