The Trail-Personal Narrative

My owner is dead. I am alone now, left to face the frigid temperatures alone. The trail is long ahead, I just want to go to bed, but I can’t. The struggle is real, I cannot feel my paws nor see them under the powder snow. I keep moving, looking, and searching for a place to go; a place of warmth. The man can no longer make a fire for me to keep warm, and I am a dog that is acclimated to being warm. I have got to keep moving ahead and never tire. The obstacles ahead are going to be difficult to overcome. Backing down is not an option, doing what I have to do to survive is what I will do. You have no clue quitting is not in my vocabulary. As I look out across the white landscape, I try to find a place to go. Right or left, maybe straight, not knowing what to do will kill me. Straight is where I am heading, right into the trees. Once in the trees, I feel more protected. I am dodging around trees, jumping over fallen branches, soaring through the tree filled land like an eagle in the sky. I finally find a game trail and start moving along on it. The snow is packed and easier to travel on. I am running now, hoping to find any sign of humans or a camp site. SNAP! Something
Unburdening my jaws and slowly sliding my teeth over my froze, blood losted leg. Surprisingly, when biting down I do not feel anything. The numbing temperature must have made the feeling leave my leg. Biting down harder, tasting the dirt off my fur on my tongue, and sensing the spiky hair touch my tongue. I chew my foot until it is mangled and the bone is the only thing left to go through. Blood turning the snow crimson. Gnawing at the bone now, trying to escape this animal holding nightmare. My bloody teeth finally chop through my leg bone. I cringe to the ground, in relief. The red oozing substance coming out of the end of my mangled leg, crystallizing as the frigid wind sweeps over my numb of a