Happy Birthday!

For the next mile I lead my expedition party through the canyons, showing them how my big voice got even bigger as it bow-wow-awooo-ed down the canyon walls. When I wasn't giving speeches, I impressed them with my most gymnastic rolling.

Thriller canyon

Slot canyons give me the willies. Their plots are like thrillers, where you never know what’s around the next bend, but you know it's something that doesn’t belong to the real world. Mom loves slot canyons for all the reasons I hate them, because they are filled with surprises and she needs to find clever, swashbuckling ways out of danger.

Drying out

The trail looked perfect, except for that review that said, “The trail is the river. I repeat, you will be hiking IN THE RIVER.”
“What do you suppose that means?” Mom asked.
“It means that you would never have picked this trail if it weren’t nearby, less than 3 miles off the highway, and didn’t require a lottery for a permit,” I told her.
“Yeah, but what’s that bit about the river? Do you think it’ll be like that for us?”

Rekindling

“Lemme at ‘em! I’ll bark at ‘em, and I’ll chase ‘em, and then I’ll bark at ‘em while I chase ‘em!” But Mom, who doesn’t understand how to appreciate wildlife at all, ignored me and slowly chased the beasts to my side of the street.

Slots

Mom says that mountains and canyons tell the story, both about how they were built and how they are fading away. But the story of the mountains in this part of the desert doesn’t make any sense. The lines of their puppyhood are all twisted in unlikely ways, and the mix of rocks and colors are like the unbelievable details in a liar’s story that all seem like they came from somewhere else and don’t fit together. You can’t trust mountains like these

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