Stray Dogs

The villages of Fira and Oia sat on opposite sides of a snowy island, linked by a single trail.

Swift racing teams pulled sleds back and forth. Focused. Eyes locked straight ahead.

Aspen had a different kind of crew.

His were strays. While racers stared down the path, his noticed everything else—wind patterns, side paths, the way snow sparkled differently near the rocks.

From the outside, they looked easily distracted.

From the inside, they were paying attention to a dozen things at once.

Aspen often arrived last. Some children giggled when he finally pulled up to the village square.

But his strays always seemed to know things others missed.

One morning, the ground shook. A giant boulder tumbled from the hillside and crashed down.

The path was blocked!

Racing teams stood frozen. They’d been trained for one way forward. When villagers tried leading them around the boulder, they whined and pulled back toward familiar ground.

How would people travel between villages now?

Aspen’s crew tilted their heads, sniffed the air, and wagged their tails. They trotted toward a gap in the rocks.

“This way!” Aspen called.

They squeezed past the boulder, followed a winding ridge, and popped out on the other side.

First to arrive in Fira!

The racers had always been faster on the straight path.

But when that path disappeared, only the strays knew where else to go.

The End.