My shrink told me it would take time. The best thing for me to do is get back into the swing of things, but she was wrong. I couldn't hack it. I couldn't make it work. 

I bring my camera to my eye and look through the lens. White-capped mountains jut skyward in the distance, and I let out a breath as I click the shutter button. Below, a carpet of red Indian Paintbrush covers the lush meadow. 

My golden retriever, Clancy, barks and prances off into the flowery field. Red: the color of blood. I press my eyes together and try to forget the screams and the sounds of bombs that burst my eardrums. If I could forget. If I could only forget. 

I whistle for Clancy, and he comes bounding back like a vision of happiness and lost love. I scratch his ears, grateful for his ever-present loyalty. It's something I desperately need in my life now. 

Deciding to take a diversion from the trail, I follow Clancy into the red-dotted field, clicking close-ups of wild flowers along the way. My first love was always nature photography, before I changed my focus to photojournalism. Everyone always told me to be practical. No one can make a living as an artist. I finally realized it is better to be broke than broken.

I move on toward the clumps of blue bonnets and buttercups, and I kneel to take in the view of the flowers below the towering mountain. I increase my depth of field to get the entire scene in focus.

I've been traveling in my old RV for the last four months, all across the country, from upstate New York, to New Mexico's painted deserts, and now to Glacier National park in Montana. I've amassed thousands of photographs, which I lovingly sort and process before I upload them online to sell as prints. For the most part, I'm still living on my savings. 

Clancy barks in the distance, and I follow him into a stand of pine trees. The air is cooler under the shade of the forest. I breathe in the fragrant astringent scent of pine as needles break under my feet. 

Clancy runs off through the dense underbrush, and I follow. I seem to follow my dog a lot these days. So far, he's never led me astray. I wish I could say the same thing for others I've followed in my life. 

My dog stands at the entrance of a dark crack in the jagged rock face of the mountain. I peer around the edge of the crack and see that it's a cavern that leads deep into the mountain. 

Looking around the entrance to the cave, I see the faint markings of what I imagine must be ancient Native American cave paintings. Focusing on them, I click away on my camera. Fascinating. The markings are a combination of spirals and what looks like serpents with wings. Strange. 

I don't know much about the local Native American culture, but I've never seen anything like these markings before. I tell myself to look them up on the internet once I get back to the RV.

Clancy bounds off into the cave, barking like a maniac. "Clancy," I yell after him, but he doesn't listen. Damn dog. I knew I should have paid for those obedience lessons before I brought him on this trip. Clancy's been there for me through some rough times. I think he's perfect as he is, even if he's not always that obedient.

I follow my dog into the darkness of the cave, pulling out my cell phone to light the way. There are more markings on the walls. They become more intricate the deeper I go into the cave. I wonder if anyone else has ever found this cave. This part of the park might be remote, but it isn't that remote. It’s Montana, not Antarctica. Still, I can't help feeling like I'm the first person to lay eyes on these symbols for thousands of years.

I can hear Clancy's barking echoing through the cave as the walls begin to narrow around me. Dust falls from the ceiling and dread begins to swirl up my chest, gripping my heart and lungs in its iron claws. I call for Clancy again, but he isn't listening. His bark becomes more frantic. He's scared and so am I. I shout his name and tell him to “come right now,” but he just continues to bark in a yelping, high-pitched yowl.

I hurry after him, afraid of what I will find. It's probably a grizzly bear or something that will kill us both and put me out of my misery. My heart flaps against my rib cage and blackness threatens to overtake my vision. "Clancy!" I bark at him. Finally, I catch up with him and find him barking at two dark figures at the end of the cave. I can see my flashlight shine off the glossy rocks. The figures are over six feet tall and covered in shadow. I can't for the life of me figure out what they are.

"Come on boy," I say, gently, afraid they will pounce on us at any moment. My dog is going crazy, like a complete idiot, but the figures only sway as if blown by the wind. I reach out, grab Clancy’s collar, and yank him back, tugging him away from the creatures.

"Wait,” says a hissing voice.