Written by Richard Silver – Spring was late this year in the mountains of western North Carolina. The chill in the air was still noticeable as was the heavy mist that greeted me as I walked my dog.

Maggie is a medium size dog with a tawny silky coat. She is a blend of several different breeds. It makes her unique among dogs. Not another one exactly like her.

Every day before breakfast we left our house and walked to the bridge that crossed Reems creek and ended in a glen, an open grassy space that led to a trail that circled through the woods and brought us back to the glen once again. 0ne side of the trail was bordered by thick woods and underbrush. The part of the trail that led back to the glen ran along the creek.

Maggie would sniff and examine the grass, leaves, rocks and trees always alert to any movement or sound. I would follow behind her doing my best to see and hear what nature had to offer. Although I admit that she was much better at it than I could ever have been.

One day we were entertained by two river otters. They swam and frolicked in the creek while chasing, catching and consuming the Rainbow trout recently released in the creek. We watched them play in the water for several minutes. The otters paid no attention to Maggie or me as they followed the fish downstream. We finally lost sight of them as they rounded a bend in the creek.

Maggie and I have been fascinated by hawks circling in the clear blue sky in an endless aerial ballet. The flying skills of these large creatures reinforce my limited physical capabilities. They were the masters of their environment while I can only stumble along in mine.

One early spring day we heard the brush above our position rustling loudly. We looked up the slope. At first we saw nothing. Suddenly two gray colored dog-like animals ran through the heavy woods. They were large; about three feet from tail to nose. Two coyotes were racing through the brush. They moved gracefully through the overgrown terrain. I was surprised to see them and even more surprised at their quickness. They never looked at us but I did not wait to see if they would. I turned and Maggie and I ran the other way.

Somehow I knew we would run into these two coyotes again. These woods were a part of their hunting domain. They would be back when their hunger led them to the glen in search of food. It may be days or weeks away but they would return.

Most days we would surprise a rabbit. Some days the rabbit would surprise us suddenly appearing on the trail ahead of us. The rabbit would glance at Maggie, turn quickly, and disappear into the underbrush.

Maggie’s reaction was always the same whether we saw the rabbit first or the rabbit spotted us. Maggie would freeze, stare and then pull at her leash trying to follow the rabbit into the brush. The rabbit was fast and knew the places to hop so it could quickly melt into the countryside.

Maggie would look at me. She did not understand why the rabbit ran away. Maggie is a gentle soul whose favorite game was chasing other animals and being chased by them. Maggie did not know rabbits feared dogs and running was not a game but rabbit survival.

It always ended the same way. I would tell Maggie, “Let’s go home.” We would walk back to the bridge. Maggie would stop at the base of the bridge and look back to see if the rabbit had come back to play. The rabbit never did. We would cross the bridge and go home for breakfast.

Maggie had me well trained. Every day before breakfast we would cross the creek and walk the trail. We saw the rabbit on many of these walks. As the spring weather warmed, the rabbit would nibble on the new grass shoots. It still ran when we came upon it but remained in place longer before running away. It was clear that this rabbit was becoming used to seeing us. Maggie seemed to understand that the rabbit would run if she strained at her leash. We had reached an understanding of sorts. The rabbit was not threatened by us. We gave the rabbit the space needed to develop a rudimentary trust.

One day Maggie and I set out on our morning walk. The mist would soon burn off in the early sunshine. We were both enjoying the softness of the air that surrounded us. The mist limited our view as we crossed the Reems creek bridge. We started into the glen. We stopped as the rabbit emerged from under a branch of a scrub pine. Something was different this day. A very small bunny hopped out from behind the rabbit. It was clear our rabbit was a she and this bunny was her baby.

We stayed and watched them as they ate. Maggie was as delighted as I and stood very still next to me watching. We were transfixed by the gentleness of the rabbit who from time to time nuzzled her offspring showing the bunny the best shoots of grass to eat. Finally, having eaten their fill, the rabbit glanced at us and quickly led her bunny back into the briar. Maggie and I continued our walk occasionally stopping to look back and see if the rabbit and her bunny had returned.

Spring rolled smoothly into summer. Maggie and I walked at different times of day savoring the cool summer mornings or the heat of midday or the softness of the summer evenings. We got lost in the beauty and peacefulness of the glen and reveled in the sweet tinkling music of the creek. We were one with nature; a small part of its infinite whole. As we walked each step brought us new experiences while each step brought new experiences to the world around us.

Summer lingered as it always does in the south but inevitably the signs of fall slowly descended upon us. The days became shorter and cooler. Maggie and I still walked through the glen three times each day. We always followed the trail that circled the woods at the end of the grassy area. The trail was cooler and the trees cast shadows over the trail.

Early one fall afternoon the sun was dipping below the trees and the shadows were longer and darker than previous days on the trail. We had just started down the trail. Maggie saw them first. She froze and stared at two coyotes moving slowly up ahead of us. They were hunting something. We walked forward carefully straining to see what the coyotes were after.

We soon knew what prey was on their minds. The small bunny was at the side of the trail nibbling on shoots of grass and unaware of the approaching danger. The mother rabbit was not there. The bunny was alone.

The coyotes kept coming down-wind taking care to move silently through the woods. The bunny would have no chance. My first thought was to yell a warning. As I started to yell Maggie yanked her leash from my hand and ran towards the two coyotes loudly barking and growling.

I was sure the coyotes would turn on Maggie and attack her. I started to run in their direction. The coyotes looked quickly at this snarling ball of fur rushing at them. Their ears flattened against their heads, they wheeled and ran off through the underbrush.

It was amazing but no more so than what I saw next. The bunny had not run. It remained frozen in place; too scared to move by both the carnivores and the barking dog. Maggie had reached the bunny. She was gently licking the bunny as if to assure the little creature that all was well.

Then the bunny awoke from its stupor. It looked at Maggie then turned and entered the brambles at trail side. Maggie watched the bunny and the moment it disappeared she turned and came back to my side. She basked in my praise and adoration of her bravery. She seemed to understand that she was a heroine. Maggie had saved the bunny from the beasts at Pinebrook Farm.

Since then we have not seen the coyotes. Maggie and I still walk the trail and occasionally see the bunny. Maggie always stops and looks at the bunny and the bunny stares back at her. I know that Maggie would not hesitate to chase those coyotes again if they ever come back to the glen at Pinebrook Farm.

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Richard Silver retired to Asheville after a career in Human Resources in New York. His wife Nina is a writer of children stories. They love Asheville for its quirkiness and humanity.