Fight or flight. A storm of options raced through her mind as she stood trembling on the forest path. The two dogs were in front of her at the edge of the clearing, and one didn’t have to be an expert in animal behavior to read their body language. Their ears were back, their heads were down and their hackles were raised. The low, rumbling growls caused her hair to stand on end. The message was clear. There was danger ahead. “Bob, Jezebel, come,” she whispered. The golden retriever and black lab didn’t move from their post. “C’mon guys, let’s go home. Who wants a cookie?” she hissed. Neither animal moved. Gwen wished she’d grabbed her grandfather’s rifle before leaving the cabin. Not that she’d know how to use it, but she thought just having it in her hand would have made her feel safer. The memory of last year’s cougar attack washed over her. The big cat had sprung out of nowhere, faced off with them and left Jezebel with a gushing wound at the neck. Gwen had gotten away from the encounter with a sprained ankle and a bruised ego, but Jez had required many stitches to close the long, ragged claw marks.
