We come down fast, spinning out of the stormy sky so that I half expect to land on the Wicked Witch of the West. Or make that South. Because, on closer inspection, these are definitely the Andes. Nothing in our hemisphere could be so awesomely grand.

Jagged, glacier-capped peaks spear skyward to impale us. Twice we almost slam into rocky cliff faces. At this speed the impact would surely kill us. Gisco, we have to try to find a way to steer this thing.

There is no way. It’s a primitive contraption not meant for surmounting mountain ranges. The dog lies down on the floor and covers his eyes with his paws.

Then what can we do? Gisco, get back up.

Prostrate yourself. Pray to whatever gods you believe in to spare your wretched life.

How about if we transfer our weight in the direction we want the balloon to move? Or maybe we could lean outside the gondola and alter the airflow? Gisco?

O Great Dog God, you paragon of perfection from your withers to your dewclaws, it is your humble servant Gisco, beseeching you from this precipitously descending dirigible.

If there is a Great Dog God, Gisco, he’s written you off long ago as a faithless opportunist who only dials him up in moments of grave danger. So come help me try to steer us into that valley. It’s our only real chance …

O Four-footed Master, ignore this two-ankled fool. As I whirl through the mountain valley of death, I scrape my stomach before your divine dogness. Be thou my German shepherd, I shall not want, and deliver me from evil, and I swear I won’t eat any cake for a year! I’ll get up every morning at dawn for a fast jog—

Gisco, stop this. We have only seconds. I need you to help me try to steer this thing! Why should some all-powerful canine give a damn whether you wake up early and exercise, or if you give up cake?

The dog is too frightened to respond. He’s lying on his stomach, his whole body quivering in terror, while his thick paintbrush of a tail flails weakly back and forth as if he’s waving a flag of surrender to the craggy mountains.

Beneath us, a deep rift of a valley has opened between two colossal peaks. We swoop down into it, and suddenly a boulder as big as a house looms dead ahead!

I close my eyes and prepare for death, but somehow we hop over the giant rock. I blink and glimpse a sheet of dazzling white unfolding in front of us.

Then a jarring bump knocks me off my feet as the gondola touches down on the lip of a glacier.