Turn's Out, My Puppy is a Werewolf

Mother Nature.

Vast, diverse, awe-inspiring…

Mother Nature is a fucking bitch.

I tilt my head up to the canopy of pine trees and let out an annoyed scream.

Of course, Johnny wanted to go camping for our third date. Of course, I assumed that he meant in a cabin, or an RV, or at the very least a tent.

But no. 

Johnny wanted to rough it. He brought sleeping bags and fishing poles.

You wanna know what I brought?

My favorite white sundress with the cherries on it and my cutest white flip flops. I brought Chapstick, eyeliner, and mascara. I brought a lacy red teddy, the sexiest lingerie I could find at Victoria’s Secret in my size. I was going to get laid if it was the last thing I did.

I was already upset when I got to the trailhead, and there was Johnny with two backpacks and a spare pair of black hiking boots. Three hours into the hike, I was beginning to get annoyed as the new boots gave me blisters. But when nightfall came, and he started setting up the sleeping bags and making a fire pit, I was downright furious. 

I told him I had to pee, and like the genius I am, I got lost.

What I really wanted right now was Johnny to come out of the trees and tell me that I’m not lost in the woods during a torrential downpour, but no. Here I am in the middle of nowhere, Washington, without a single idea where I was going or where the camp was. All I can see in the flashing lightning is ferns and moss and trees.

“Johnny!” I screamed for what felt like the hundredth time. “Johnny, I’m sorry!”

I hiccup and wipe tears from my face messily. I try to manage my long brown braid, but it is hopelessly tangled with plants. My knees and elbows are scraped up from all the times I’ve tripped, and I’m almost certain the squelch in these horrible boots is not from the rain but from my bloody feet.

“If this is some kind of test to see if I can be a crunchy girl or your hippy dippy mushroom mommy, I think it’s safe to say that I failed! Test over!” I listen to the forest around me, hoping to hear him calling my name, or at the very least, laughter. I only hear rain, bugs, and birds.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” My shout comes out more like a choking, laughing sound. This is ridiculous. I was born and raised in Seattle. The farthest I’ve ever been to the woods is looking at it from a high-rise. Not that I was against it, but there was just never any time.

I am in no physical condition for this. I’m a homebody. I read books from windows with stunning views while I drink my hot cocoa and eat a few cookies. This body is made for soft snuggling in the cold by the fire, not for hiking up mountains with absolutely ripped, gorgeous lumberjack-looking men.

Turns out, the last thing I’d ever do would not be to ride him like the spinning log challenge. The last thing I was going to do was stick my tongue out at the oblivious mountain man and get lost and die. 

“I never even got to kiss him!” I scream at the sky. “I’ll never forgive you, woman!”

Stinking god-damned mother nature and her stupid little mood swings.

Still glaring at the night sky and hopelessly trying to locate the moon or a star or something behind the clouds, I start walking again. 

Wouldn’t you know it?

I fucking fell.

At times like this, my mind would usually throw me the line “As you wish” from the Princess Bride, imagining myself as the dread pirate Roberts rolling to my death into a bog because that spoiled, blind princess didn’t recognize me, but not this time.

I hit a tree, ricochet into a rock, roll through some gravel and bushes, and land flat on my face in a creek. Sputtering, with shaking arms, I push myself up to my hands and knees and sit in the creek. I start to cry in earnest now. Full on ugly crying, sobbing so hard that I can’t breathe, crying.

That one really hurt, but I don’t think anything is broken. Except for maybe my pride.

I slam my hands into the water like a toddler and screech, wailing at the sky and the creek and the rocks and trees and mountain and GOD and whoever the hell else I can blame for this horribly, horrible date.

“If I ever see that man again, I’ll kill him! This was a bad idea! I want to go home!”

I don’t know who I’m talking to, or why I’m looking for someone to blame. Logically, I know this is my own damn fault for letting my pussy lead my brain.

“Stupid needy whore,” I yell at my own privates as I pull myself out of the creek. 

Many grunts and curses later, hands and knees covered in mud and blood, dress ruined, I pull myself up the three-foot bank and stand. A nearby tree is my only support. It’s a good tree, a strong tree, more dependable than Johnny…

Thunder cracks overhead, scaring the piss out of me, and I crouch to the ground just in time for a bolt of lightning to rip the sky apart. Vaguely, half deaf from the booming thunder, I hear the lightning hit something.

I cover my ears, hands shaking, and look around my tree. In the distance, I can see smoke battling the storm for dominance as red sparks catch and flutter wildly in the wind.

“Well, shit!”

Just when you think things can’t get worse, Mother Nature starts a fire.

I leap to my feet, regretting it instantly, and try to hobble away from the fire. Determined to get away from the potential flames, I almost don’t hear the whimpering.

I pause, shoulders up to my ears and shivering, and try to listen. 

I hear it again. A low whimper, followed by a shrill yelp.

“Is there a fucking dog out here in this?” I ask no one.

I try to keep walking, try to tell myself I’m imagining it, when the yelp comes again. This time louder, more desperate. Scared.

Deciding on instinct alone, and probably the wrong one, I turn and start walking towards the fire. The whimpering is getting louder, so I know I’m getting closer, and I try to hurry just a little bit more.

I limp into a clearing, my arms clutched around my freezing body, and try to blink away the raindrops from my false lashes. In the center of the clearing is a huge maple tree, and it’s split right down the middle. Half the tree is lying on the ground, and the other half is still standing, but burning.

Shivering so hard my teeth are chattering, I stumble into the clearing and scan the large grassy expanse. I can still hear the whining and yelping. But now it’s accompanied by frantic scratching and the sound of teeth ripping something apart.

I move more slowly, trying to watch my step, making my way to the burning tree when the yelping turns to a long, forlorn howl. Startled by the howl, I trip over a rock in the field and fall yet again, flat on my face. 

The howl immediately cuts off. There's no whimper, no scratching, just the sound of the thunderstorm and the crackling fire devouring the maple tree.

I scramble to my feet, spitting dirt and grass from my mouth, and that’s when I see it. Right there, under the fallen portion of the tree, is a husky.

“Oh no!” I cry, walking quickly forward. 

The grey husky is stuck under the tree by its back end, its mouth and paws bloody from trying to chew the tree away.

“It’s okay, puppy! I’m here to help!” I assure the dog as I inch closer. I hold both hands out in a calming gesture as I kneel close to the dog. “I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”