Coping with Failure

Kien's heart leapt in her chest, as they started down the hill, gasping with excitement. So many months of training, and though she was still untested there had been no one closer to the station when the call came in. She loped along at a fast clip, her paws in-line with the skis of her handler, dashing down the hill, into the back-country where the accident had occurred. Her adrenaline was quickly peaking as she strained along, finally given the command to pull out ahead, and rushed through the snow-drifts, some of which came nearly up to her chest. The wind was fierce, whipping her fur to the point it almost broke her stride, and she kept her ears tucked up against her skull. As they reached the site where the avalanche had come down, she was suddenly not struggling to stand, the snow was packed as hard as concrete. She lifted her nose to the air, trying to catch a scent, the wind distorting its origin, as the handler barked commands toward her, marking their search zone as they moved along. She stopped, digging at a first site, but found nothing, and tried again, to no avail. She loped another few dozen feet down the mountain, the sharp sound of the handler’s skis coming to a stop behind her, as she buried her nose, flinging slow behind her with her paws. She began to feel anxious - just a glove buried in feet of snow. The long lines of the handler’s poles touching only on snow. Nothing. She whined, and he tried to give Kien an encouraging word.

“Seek, girl! Go on!”

She began to flounder, as the snow softened again, and tried to find the scent lead again, but the cold was stinging her nose. She kept licking it, trying to get a hint of the smell again, and felt a whimper rising within her as she began to realize the time that was ticking by meant less and less likelihood that they’d succeed. The excitement paled as fatigue and fear crept in, one after the other. 

A whistle hailed the backup, as the wind began to slow. Another dog and handler team finally arrived, a golden retriever mix bounded down to her and the two tried to cover a larger area. The other dog, perhaps a touch more rested, rushed ahead, localizing a scent. She followed, lagging behind both dog and men on skis, intermittently sinking and climbing, as they reached a point where the trees had been disturbed, misshapen. Another team, this time with more humans, arrived with a stretcher and full medical equipment. Kien crept close watching intently as the golden flayed the snow away from an indentation. Kien was panting, head low, the fog of her breath surrounding her head before floating away. A glove - this one attached to a hand - was uncovered. Voices became more urgent, and the men, too, began to dig with their hands, trying to extricate the body buried in the snow. 

The silence permeated around her, the rescue team muffled by the fat, falling flakes. The serene quality of the gentle snowfall masked the efforts of the team as they frantically pulled the victim from the thick snow, dogs and humans alike in a flurry of their own, trying to resuscitate the victim. The shouting was lost on the mountainside, echoes absorbed by the powder. Kien felt a cold chill, that the thick fur couldn't protect her from, the sinking feeling enveloping her as the afternoon sky began to fade darker.