It was night. I peered through the tall grass at the edge of the forest, thinking: Of course my brother just has to go and get himself trapped by the one foxhunting family whose dog needs practice catching us foxes. And now I need to save his furry behind again. At least it was only a cage and not the kind of trap that looks like jaws.

Pine had a tendency to get into trouble--meaning that I got into trouble, too, trying to get him out of it, and meaning that I had to sneak toward the house in the woods to do so this time.

As I crept onto the porch where Pine was being held in a cage he whispered, “Moon! You came!”

I didn’t reply; I had to get to work as quickly as possible. Latches are hard to manipulate with only paws and teeth.

After several seemingly long minutes, I finally got the cage open.

“Run!” I told Pine, but there was no need; he crashed through the open door and disappeared into the forest.

Just then, I heard barking. “Stupid!” I hissed. “The dog heard!”

I ran after Pine, but a human yanked open the door to the house, and he and the dog charged after me.

Dodging through the undergrowth, I tried to outrun the hound, but he had my scent and would be hard to avoid. Luckily, though, I knew the forest better than he did and remembered that there was a stream nearby that could wash away my smell.

I rushed in that direction, splashed through the shallow water, and hid in an empty rabbit’s burrow on the other side. I had just made it inside and turned around when the dog stumbled noisily through the bushes and onto the riverbank. He sniffed the air a bit, then returned to his master, confused.

I sighed in relief and climbed out of the burrow to go home. As I trotted toward the den, I thought, This is the kind of experience that makes me wonder why I save him every time.