A Morning at The Beach

The river, actually.

My friend, Stefan, and I took the dogs to the river around 9 this morning. We walked over over drift wood left from earlier in the year when the Similkameen river raged over the earth below us. The edgeless rocks slowly became overtaken by the silty sand that is the only evidence of the waterway.
WHERE ARE THE DOGS?
Expecting them to have just gone farther down the river, we became frantic. Maybe not frantic, but you get the idea. I went back towards the Jeep, calling the dogs, while Stefan went further down the river. He was suddenly in a maze of unfamiliar foliage. Disoriented, tangled, blinded by leaves, he could here the eerily rhythmic footfalls of the large dogs but had no visual confirmation of their whereabouts. As though 120 pounds of white was pulled tight in a slingshot and released in Stefan's direction, Torque ripped by Stefan...