Big dog tiring badly. Huffing and puffing. Sorry. Can’t make it. You go on without me. Boat anchored offshore. Actually not a boat. No time to explain. Good luck, old bean.

Come on, fur ball, you can’t give up now. Roll yourself down this hill if necessary.

Gisco stops, gasping air. Can’t do it. It’s over.

I stop next to him. Steep mud cliff. Rotund dog. Motorcycles racing up behind us. Only one thing to do.

“You’ll thank me for this later.” I grab his shaggy coat and throw him forward with all my strength.

Gisco tumbles wildly down the mud cliff, building speed. He’s somersaulting snout over tail, faster and faster, unable to stop. Flattens ferns. Bulldozes bushes. Decapitates a willow tree. Cuts a wide swath as he hurtles down over pebbles and through river mud.

Terrified dog yowl all the way down: YAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

I follow in the wake of the one-dog avalanche. Make it to the bottom. Water lapping against bank. Gisco? Where are you?

I’ll get you back for that. Don’t think I won’t. I’m part bloodhound. You can’t hide from me.

You’re the one who’s hiding. Where are you?

Dead. I’m dead and this must be dog heaven. But what would a miserable human like you be doing in dog heaven?

I spot thrashing dog paws. He’s upside down with his head and snout wedged deep in what looks like the entry hole to a rodent’s nest, dug into the mud bank.

I grab hold of his hind legs and tug.

Ouch! What are you doing?

Trying to pull you out.

Gently, fool. A canine’s anatomy is like a finely calibrated Swiss watch.

Beams of light sweep over us. Drone of motorcycles above us. The Dark Army! Atop the mud cliff.

Some of them slide down after us while others raise weapons.

I yank dog’s hind legs again, with all my strength. Either I’ll rip Gisco out of hole or I’ll dismember him.

There’s a loud sound of reverse suction, as if a giant bottle of champagne has just been uncorked. Gisco pops loose from the hole and his backward momentum carries him toward the river. I’m still gripping his legs. We splash together into the Hudson, as the Dark Army’s laser beams melt the mud bank we were just standing on.

River dark and cold. Strong current catches us. Where are you, Gisco?

Out here. They’re coming. Hurry.

Ponderous pooch may not be built for distance running, but he sure can swim. Buoyant as a manatee. Can dive like a walrus. His head pops out of the river, and he looks like a grizzly bear happily hunting salmon in an Alaskan river. Come on, slowpoke!