It had been four days since he had last seen the dove. It had been an incredibly rough four days. His food was pilfered one night while he slept; by who or what he did not know. He had eaten only what plants and cacti he came across that he was sure were edible. His water had run out the day before because the creek he had been told crossed his path did, but was dry. The cloth from his survival kit that he had stretched out on the ground the night before to collect dew had only collected dust.

He was parched; his throat felt like the outside hind quarter of a wild boar when he swallowed. His stomach rumbled with such intensity that it would have scared off the dove, had it been around. And his skin was red and cracked, the sun having beaten him heavily the last few days. The cracks in his skin were painful, especially when he had to stretch an arm or a leg farther than normal - like when climbing up an embankment of a dry creek, for example. On a more positive note, his toe had forgiven him and no longer throbbed.

I need to rest for awhile, he thought. I need to gather my thoughts and consider my options. A small palo verde tree to his left offered a spotlight of shade, but it was adequate for his needs. He laid his knapsack up against the trunk of the tree, and plopped down next to it. He grabbed a small stone he found in the shade of the tree and put it in his mouth, hoping to generate enough saliva so as to not have to swallow dry. He tried to think of his options, of what he could do to survive what must now be considered a foolish trek. But he couldn’t concentrate. It was if the lack of water had caused his thoughts to dry up. His eyelids were heavy from trying to think; he fell asleep within minutes, his chin resting awkwardly on his chest.

I swear, he thought, a person sure could sleep more soundly if that pesky dove weren’t cooing incessantly. The thought woke him up with a jolt, forcing his head up and back with such force that the red skin on the sides of his neck were caught unprepared, and tore ever so slightly, causing him to wince. He opened his eyes and found himself looking face to beak again with the dove. “You’re back!”? he found himself saying, though not even the dove could have heard a sound come out of his dry mouth. He stared at the dove, and the dove stared back, it’s muddy beak giving it the appearance of a bearded bird.

As he looked at the bird, he saw the mud on its beak, but it didn’t register at first. Slowly though, a thought worked its way to the surface, squeezing through and past any initial thoughts of death. That dove has mud on its beak, he realized. That means there is water close by. As if the bird has seen his thought as it surfaced, it spread its wings and flew a few hundred feet to the right of where he had been sleeping, landed on a rock and turned to look back at him. He grabbed his knapsack and stood up, ignoring the screams of his back and legs, and began to walk toward the dove. When he was nearly upon it, the bird took off again, only to land a few yards further away. When it turned and saw him following him, the bird launched again and flew another hundred yards before lighting on a tree limb.

This game of fly and chase continued for about 10 minutes before he noticed the dove begin to fly in a circle. It must be flying over the water, he thought. I’m almost there. He watched as the bird continued to circle, once, twice, three times before it landed just out of site behind a small rise. As he came over the rise, he saw it - a small pool of water near an outcropping of rocks. The water seemed to be flowing out from underneath the outcropping and swirling gently around a large sage bush. Dropping his knapsack, he ran to the pool and dropped to his knees. As he bent down to scoop up a drink with his hands he glanced over at the dove, which had landed on the edge of the pool. As he brought the cool water to his mouth, he watched the dove bend down and dip its beak into the pool. They both drank for a very long time, he and that dove, a very long time.