Every night when I let my brave little dog out to pee, I’d open the door to the darkness where killing coyotes lurked. She drew herself up, big as she could, with hackles raised, to launch herself into the unknown. Announcing her presence to the enemy, she’d offer three of her fiercest barks. As if to say, “Here I am. I’m not afraid.”

Some nights on the fire line, when the fire laid down and we finished digging line, we’d take a break. One such night we sat with our backs to the embers, mining our packs for snacks. By my watch, it was two am. Eating helped us stay awake, but so did interesting stories.

“So, who’s up for Truth or Dare?” someone asked.

We travelled to our Prineville rental last spring with my sister-in-law, nephews and niece for a weekend away. I intended to take my nephews to visit the Hotshot memorial. It’s dedicated to the 9 Prineville Hotshots and 5 other firefighters caught in a firestorm on Storm King Mountain at Colorado’s South Canyon Fire. That fire was 27 years ago, but I made a vow not to forget.