Zorba: Making CampRidges rise steeply behind trees on either side of MacKenzies South Fork where Bill and Janet took you and me camping. First off you dug a hole too big for burying anything underneath an enormous fallen tree. We laughed at the fury of your campaign. They set up the tent then he hiked up-river to fish and she stayed camped while you-and-I walked downstream (I cant remember why). Canyon sun sets fast. This one died quickly, dusk to inky pitch, robbing rocks and roots and riverbanks of all but their ability to hurt. I panicked but your clinking dog-tags beaconed as you stay!-ed when I called and crawled to you through brambled tunnel-paths perfect for your height. At camp we Good dog!-ed your devotion and natural good sense. Later we saw from our rain-soaked tent that your tree-capped hole was dry and just your size.