she kept staring up toward where the sunrise should have been. Instead of a sunrise, there was a giant mountain covered in an armor of thorny rock spikes. Puffy clouds were stuck in the spikes like trash stuck a fence along the freeway, and those clouds were lit up from underneath by the missing sunrise. The whole thing worked like a trap to pull on Mom's eyes like a giant billboard that said CLIMB ME.
Even though it was very easy to follow, Mom tripped and swore almost as often as she took pictures because the big rocks above our heads kept stealing her eyeballs making the rocks under us steal her feet.
Mom hiked on all fours, grabbing the bigger rocks with her hands until she found one that stayed in place, and then stepping her back paw as high as it would reach, and then half-pushing herself up with her back legs while she pulled herself up with her front. Some of the mountain fell down the hill behind us with each step we took.
Since Mom was already off balance, my jig pulled her off the one leg she was standing on and she kicked the packpack of the lady crouched down to take a picture, and shouted a bad word, and then told the lady it was my fault that she'd ruined their picture.
My fan club stopped so that they could all take the exact same picture of each other smiling in front of the waterfall, and because Mom didn't want them to all ask to borrow my chicken hat, or feel silly for not being as handsome as me, we continued up the mountain leaving the waterfall behind us.
"Are spiders very good at planning ahead?" I asked. "No, I guess not," Mom said. "Nor are they good at learning from their mistakes. The Eency Weency Spider didn't learn anything from his experience, he just climbed up the spout again."
Even though the trail was the same, we were very different. Mom had just claimed her independence and was still recovering from her revolutionary war when we were on this trail last year.
Once Mom had put on my traditional powdered wig for the photos, I ran back up the stairs where I knew she wouldn't follow to show the other hikers that I was a good guest and knew all about local customs. They were very surprised to meet a furry-ner who was so sensitive to their culture and had brought a powdered wig all his own to the top of a mountain for a traditional Washington picture.
Suddenly we heard a noise above our heads, and saw a rock the size of a dog’s head fall down the mountain. It didn’t fall right into open air, but whacked into the mountain several times on its way down, and every time it did it knocked more rocks into the abyss with it. Mom froze in place and watched it fall, and when we couldn’t see it anymore she listened to it fall. It fell and fell for what seemed like an impossibly long time until we couldn’t tell if it had stopped falling or if we had just stopped hearing it.