A Perilous Path

The sun, a benevolent golden eye, beamed down upon the little band of adventurers. Amy Kathryn and Rex, their faces alight with anticipation, led the way, their boots crunching on the gravel path that wound its way through whispering pines. Behind them trotted Baby Blue Bears, his tail a proud banner held high, his tiny chest puffed out with the importance of the occasion. And then there was Russo. Russo, the Chiweenie with the soul of a Sherpa, was practically vibrating with excitement, his little legs a blur as he darted ahead, then back, then ahead again, his ears perked like twin radar dishes.

“Russo, slow down, little man!” Amy Kathryn called out, her voice laced with the familiar blend of affection and mild exasperation. “We don’t want you to get lost!”

Russo, of course, paid no mind. Lost? Him? He was a mountain goat! Mountains were his domain! He practically *lived* for this sort of thing, this thrilling dance with the wild. He imagined himself leaping from crag to crag, his tiny hooves finding purchase on impossibly sheer surfaces. He gave a little yip of pure joy, a sound that was more goat-bleat than dog-bark.