Saber Tooth

The snowfall was increasing, and the distance of clear visibility was rapidly diminishing. Ellie was anxious, whining to be off leash so she could frolic in the snow, but I saw the coyotes before she did which forced me to immediately increase the tension on her leash.

I tried to remain calm, so as to not alert Ellie to the looming threat, but she was easily able to sense the distress in my rapid change of demeanor.

This was her favorite trail to walk. We walked it every day, and she was normally off leash. She knew something was wrong.

Intimately familiar with every inch of these woods, retreating in the poor visibility wasn’t the difficult part. It was keeping an eye on the shifty pack of hunters that was closing in around us.

Ominous howling cut through the sharp whines of icy wind, making the snowflakes seem less magical, and more foreboding.

Ellie’s hackles rose along her eighty pound spine, making her appear wild, and formidable. Baring her long incisors, she reminded me of a saber tooth tiger in its ancient, wintery element, and with the snow mingling within her crimpy, copper fur, she truly resembled her ancestors.

The comforting echo of barking dogs told me that we were nearing the trail’s entrance. That meant people. Safety. We were almost there.

A loud snap boomed just off to our right. I lost my balance on a slick patch of compacted snow, and fell.

Yellow eyes surrounded us.

Ellie snarled.