📸 Photo

‘That’s good, Poppa,’ Marcus laughed. ‘You have to provide for your hungry children.’

I awoke very early in the morning and found Karl already up and outside. He was whittling chips of wood from a broken branch with the machete. He placed the chips over the ashes from last night’s fire, bent over, and blew on one of the still-red logs. The fire rekindled. Karl added dry twigs and soon had a good blaze going. I crawled out of the tent and warmed myself against the morning chill. Kevin had also arisen and was breaking up a large branch. I took the pot and utensils down to the river to clean them.

The weather was better than it had been the day before. It had stopped raining, our clothing was dry, and we were soon on our way, wading in the icy water of the river.

At noon Karl noticed a gathering of dark clouds on the horizon. Before long a heavy rain was pouring down on us. Determined, we marched on, drenched to the bone.

Flaca, who was being dragged by the rope around her neck, rebelled. Her legs went out from under her, and she lay down. Karl’s shouting and kicking did no good. He dragged her a long way over the muddy ground. She didn’t let out a whimper. Finally he got really mad, took the rope from around her neck, and shouted, ‘You don’t want to come? Fine, have it your way. Just stay here!’

We went on, looking back sadly at the poor dog,