The old man saw her the moment he pulled into the the convenience store parking lot at the four-way stop; by the dumpster; a frail, hollowed creature hardly able to stand. “Fuck!” He made his way inside trying not to glance at her again. He decided on a twelve pack instead of six and a liter of Sweet Red and slowly with practiced care made his way back to the car. He wasn’t going to look but he did. “Fuck fuck”! She was lying by the dumpster now, still in the hot sun, struggling to raise her head. He bumped his forehead against the steering wheel, really too hard, trying to activate some sense which was he knew not going to happen.

Again, slowly, he left the car and opened the rear passenger door. Leaving it open he made his way to the dumpster talking dog talk. The old dog seemed aware of his intentions and stilled her head on the ground obviously hoping for good, but ready, he could see it in her eyes, to accept whatever. She was blackish, short-haired with mangy spots and gruesomely starved. The old man grunted in pain as he tried to lift the now limp fur-bag of dangling bones. She whimpered a bit as he managed to lift her. Making it up with a jerk but still hunched over, the dogs shameful light weight pulled him forward and downward as he stumbled toward the open car door. But the four-way stop and some dumbass, forever unknown, intervened; blaring horns and a loud crash of metal caused him to jerk his head up, offsetting his balance. Knowing what was coming, with all he had, he tried to twist his body around as he fell, to protect her.

When he hit, the back of his head bounced twice against the hot asphalt. The dog, though trembling, was still in his arms and he knew they had survived, for the moment. The raucous in the streets fell to silence. Everything did. There was nothing but the feel of his clutched bundle; the touch sense was strangely familiar, soothing, like a reoccurring dream; one he did not want to abandon. Gradually, sound seeped back, and it was the running, gurgling of creek water. Singing Creek ran as always washing, polishing its precious stones formed over millenniums. The cold water sliding over his feet, as he carefully tested with his toes the slickness of each stepping stone, soothed him. Beth was there, too, but not being so careful. She was doing more of a stumbling dance, skinny arms flying about mimicking what he did not know. She seemed distracted by the cute kid with his assumed dad across the creek on the falls viewing platform. “Careful Honey. It will get slicker the further we go. Do you know that boy?

"A little.”

“Is a little enough?”

“Jeeze! dad!” she scolded him with her 11-year-old mind your own damn business face.

“I love you too!” he smiled.

They reached the huge boulders that formed the lip of the falls. The actual falling part was a narrow surge in the center and dropped maybe six feet during wet season. They had walked the trail to the north bank. From that side the boulders sloped down to creek level and were less smooth and polished, even jagged in spots with only enough water trickling over them to keep them slick. Beth, a resolute non-swimmer avoided the center, and continued her unscripted, flirting dance. He knew he should warn her again, but he had really never seen her so out of herself. He hardly recognized his daughter, normally so quiet, meek, even sullen at times. Of course, it only took one tiny, slimy slick of Diatoms to create havoc. Beth, her arms shooting straight up, gasped, but he was close enough to grab her and they fell together onto the sloping, sculpted granite. He managed to land on his back. A snaggy protrusion tore into his left shoulder, stealing his breath. Beth was immediately fighting his tight grip, struggling for release. “What are you doing?” she screamed. He couldn’t find air to ask if she was ok, but he released her squirming body, and she did an immediate crawling run to the bank. Still on his back, his eyes followed her struggling escape and he saw blood on her knees and saw her calling to him, again with a scolding face, but the sounds were a blasphemous cacophony foreign to the quiet, reverent creek.
 
Horn blares bashed the old man’s head while his eyes squinted against the harsh sun. The dog, still in his clutch, was quiet. He rolled to look at his car only a few feet away. No one was around them. Releasing his grip, he slid the dog to the pavement and grunted his way to his knees and then to his feet. Grasping the dogs rear feet, whose eyes were still open and darting with awareness, he dragged her to the opened door without resistance. With one stooping movement and another stuttering grunt, he grasped the dog; half lifting, half dragging, heaving her into the seat. Sirens screamed in their approach. The only unblocked exit from the store was south and he quickly took it before it too was blocked. Half a mile south and he turned left starting a swing north towards the vet clinic.

When he reached for the lease hanging by the door Old Dog was immediately there; her untrimmed nails keeping time to her clumsy-jumpy dance on the hardwood floor. His phone rang. “Shit!” It was Beth who he hadn’t actually seen in over three years. He plopped back down into his chair. Old Dog, disappointed, lay her gray muzzle on his knee. “Hey Honey, how you doing? I thought you died.”

“Not yet. We ‘re still apartment bound. We even get our groceries delivered and we are doing the HelloFresh meals thing. We haven’t been out in maybe three weeks. It’s still terrible down here, so many cases and they are redoing the apartments landscaping so there is noise constantly. It’s hard to get any work done.”

“IT nerds have a rough life don’t they?”

“Ha ha! How are you doing? Bob told me you fell trying get a dog or something. You’re eighty…eighty something, now? You need to be more careful.”

“That was months ago and no big deal. I’ve got a new best friend I have to take out dancing all the time.”

“Dancing! You?” 

“It is a metaphor, honey.”

“Oh, one of them thangs.”

Old dog’s eyes lit up at the ensuing silence.
 
“You two need to get out. Move back to the mountains. Come and see me. OK?”

“Maybe someday.”

Another silence.

“Some ones knocking at the door and the dog has got to go out and pee.”

“I’ll let you go. My emails going crazy, anyway. Love you!”

“Love you, too!”
 
Sorry I told a lie in front of you. Maybe, you do have to pee. Hey, let’s drive down to the lake. I know this cool creek that flows over a small falls and into the lake. I haven’t been there in probably forty-something years. I want to see if is as I remember or if my mind is playing with me. We can walk to it if we take it slow. We have water bottles in the car. Want to go? 

Old Dog did her butt wiggling, nail tapping dance in the affirmative. The old man’s mind was on the fall. He wondered if Beth remembered the fall at the falls. Surely she would; he knew she was just like him, never forgetting or letting go of a moment like that. Why had she stomped off up the trail leaving him in her wake of anger? Embarrassment in front of the kid across the creek? Could it be that simple? He knew he would never know because he would never ask, and she would never tell.