Sheep

by Valerie Hobbs

  The ring was filled with swirls of color, costumes, painted faces, clown collars, smoke, snorting horses, bellowing elephants, barking dogs as the trainers tried to calm their animals and Billy ran everywhere yelling.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. It was our chance to escape.

  I found Tiffany trying to calm a terrier with a singed paw.

  “Let’s go!” I said. “It’s our chance! Let’s get out of here!”

  She looked at me with the saddest expression. She didn’t say, “What chance?” She didn’t say, “Go where?”

  “Come on!” I said.

  You and You Too were leading the little dogs out the door like it was any other day, going back to their cages without even being told. They had never known the sweet taste of freedom, and now they never would.

  Flames raced up one side of the tent, leaving a gaping hole through which I could see the sky.

  Tiffany licked the injured terrier’s paw. She nudged him to his feet. Fire was reaching for the top of the tent. From a long way off, sirens screamed.

  I butted Tiffany with my nose. “Come on!” I said.

  Tiffany turned to me, gazed down into my eyes. It seemed forever until she said, “Go. You have to go.”

  “But you have to come with me!”

  “I can’t,” she said. “Don’t you see? I can’t. I have to stay.”

  If you’d seen her eyes, you’d have known nothing I could say or do would make her change her mind.

  “Run for both of us,” she said. “Find your sheep.”

  I touched her nose for the last time with mine. “I will,” I said. “I promise.”

  Then I headed fast as my legs could run toward that blue, blue sky.

  10

  I RAN as straight and fast as the world would allow, putting as many miles between me and Billy as I could. I crossed roads, skirted houses and people and cars. With never a thought of hunger or weariness, I ran for my life. If I began to flag, Tiffany’s words urged me on, giving me the strength of two. Run for both of us, she’d said.

  I had no idea where I was until the country began to look familiar. When I came to the field of weeds, I slowed down. It was only then that I realized how dreadfully thirsty I was, and how tired. I made my way across the field the way I’d followed Snatch and Hollerin, stopping to drink from a puddle. How great it would be, I thought, if they were back from California.

  But what then? Did I really want to be a thief again? Was that all life had in store for me? Run for both of us wasn’t all Tiffany had said. She’d told me to find the sheep, my sheep. While Billy had me under lock and key, I couldn’t. While I was under Tiffany’s spell, I wouldn’t. Now I didn’t know if I had it in me anymore.

  Trotting along, deep in thought, I didn’t notice the boy on the tracks because I was feeling so sorry for myself. I was starting to believe I’d never find the sheep, never regain my purpose in life. Hard as it is to own up to such shameful thoughts, I was about to give in. I was about to settle for being, well, a dog. Your everyday fetch-the-slippers-get-the-paper dog. It was painful to settle for less than I was worth, but I wasn’t getting any younger. Life on the road can wear a soul to ribbons, that’s the truth.

  And then I heard the train whistle, loud and shrill. It woke me right up.

  The boy was walking the tracks. Balancing himself with his arms out, playing dare-you-to-hit-me or something. Foolish thing to do with something hundreds of times your size. He wore dirty blue jeans, and his hair stuck out from his head like weeds, a mutt of a kid.

  That whistle again, this time real impatient, and the boy jumped off. I was right behind him, got there so fast it surprised me. But I was ready. The boy looked down on the ground, stuck his hands in his pockets, searching for something. Then he saw it, whatever it was, on the tracks and made a dive for it. Thing is, so did I. I hit that boy from behind like he was a four-hundred-pound sheep. He went flying right off the bank, me tumbling behind, as the train rushed by, all cinders and metal and scream.

  I got up and shook the dirt off, but the boy didn’t. He lay there on the hard-packed dirt so still, I figured I’d killed him, blood trickling from a cut on his chin. I licked his face all over—it needed a good washing—and at last his eyes opened. You could see he didn’t know what hit him.

  “Hi, dog,” he said.

  The kid got up and brushed himself off. “Whoa!” he said. “What happened?” Away down the tracks went that train, no more than a black speck. He watched it disappear, still trying to figure out what had happened to him. And then I guess he did. “Whoa!” he said again, shaking his head. “You saved my life!”

  Then his eyes got wider. “Oh, no!” he cried. “My stopwatch!” He ran back up to the tracks, knelt down, and started sifting through the stones and stuff. There wasn’t much of that watch left to save, but he put a couple of the bigger pieces in his pocket. “It was my dad’s,” he said, his eyes getting puffy and red. “My dad was a famous runner.”

  Well, so was mine.

  Still, I could tell it meant a lot to him that his dad was famous, and I felt bad about his watch. His dad would sure be mad if he knew what really happened, how the kid had almost lost his life over a dumb watch. At the same time, I was feeling pretty good about what I’d done. The old herding habits were still with me. I trotted on, leaving the kid behind. He’d have to face the music on his own; I was hungry.

  “Hey! Dog! Wait up!” He hurried to catch me. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he began walking alongside. You could tell he needed the company, and I really didn’t mind.

  “Who do you belong to anyway?” he said. He knelt down, and I let him check my harness for a tag. “Are you lost? I’ll bet you’re lost, huh, boy?” He roughed me up in a good way, scratching behind my ears, patting me hard all over. “You saved my life! You should get a reward!”

  A nice hunk of meat was what I was thinking. But this kid didn’t look like he had the money for a hot dog.

  I followed him away from the tracks, toward the town. “I gotta hang out till school’s over,” the kid says, “or I’m in real trouble. Come on, I’ll show you where you can get free food.”

  We took the back streets, a good idea for us both. We were on the lam, as they say. No way was I ever going to spend another night in a cage. But that meant keeping my eyes open not only for Billy but for the truck from the pound. The kid was being careful, too, too careful if you know what I mean. This kid has no home, was what I was thinking.

  But I was wrong.

  “That’s where I live, over there.” Like he’d read my mind. He pointed to a chain-link fence and a long, yellow brick building across a scruffy lawn. “It’s the Good Shepherd Home for Boys,” he said.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. The kid lived with a shepherd! From where we were standing, I couldn’t see the sheep. Grazing in a nearby field probably. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

  “Come on, boy,” the kid said. “They’ll see me.”

  We crossed the street, went a couple of blocks, then scooted across a parking lot to the back of a pizza parlor. The kid looked all around, then began rooting through a trash can. I hung back. The smells inside that can—whew! “It’s our lucky day!” he said, pulling out a pizza box. “Pepperoni. Wrong order, I’ll bet.”

  You didn’t think dogs liked pepperoni pizza, did you? The trouble is the salt. Makes a fella thirsty as all get out. But food is food. We finished off that pizza and headed away from the main street again. I marked some spots along the way, all the while looking for water. But it was a good many blocks before I saw a water fountain in a park. I ran right over, jumped up, and turned it on. Took a long, slow drink. Was that ever satisfying!

  The kid couldn’t believe his eyes. “Wow! Are you a trick dog or what? How did you do that?”

  I hate being underestimated. Call it pride, but what’s so hard about turning on a water fountain? That kid hadn’t seen the half of it, and I wasn’t about to show him either. I’d
had my fill of tricks.

  “You need a name,” the kid said. It was that time after a meal when a fella needs a nap, but the kid was too old for a nap. Well, too old to think he needed one. After having run half the morning, I had only one thing in mind—a good snooze—but I trotted along beside him as if we’d been pals for years. When it came time to meet the Good Shepherd, I was going to be ready.

  Well, you can guess what I was thinking, who I was thinking about. I could almost smell the coffee on him, taste his big, rough hand. Now, I knew the Good Shepherd couldn’t be Bob. Still, it was hard not to mush things all up in my mind until, when we finally turned back the way we came, I almost believed I’d see Bob come strolling out of that yellow brick building, Old Dex and Dad at his side. Dad would come running over. We’d sniff each other nose to tail until we got our fill. “We missed you, son,” Dad would say. Then Bob would …

  Meanwhile, the kid was busy naming me. I’d gotten used to it. Blackie, Shep, Spot, and the worst one ever, Sparky. Names are for people’s convenience, you know, so they can call us when they get lost. Dogs don’t need names.

  “I know!” the kid said after some real deep thought. “Jack!” Jack. Can’t say I wasn’t surprised. Jack. Not your usual dog name. I rolled it around my brain. Jack. It had a good ring to it. Nothing fancy. Salt of the earth kind of name. I gave the kid a woof of approval, and he caught right on. I figured him for one of those genius types, quick to pick things up. But he belonged in school. We’d passed a red brick one with a playground, some swings, a big field. He didn’t act real interested, just stuck his head way down into the collar of his jacket and we moved right on.

  The Good Shepherd Home for Boys didn’t invite you right in. The windows were small and pinched looking, like mean little eyes, and the front door scowled, telling you that whatever you did was wrong. The kid stopped with his hand on the big brass knob. “You gotta wait out here, Jack,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you a place to sleep and some food.”

  This was okay with me. I was going to do some sniffing around anyway. The place didn’t smell right, and it sure didn’t smell like sheep. If the Good Shepherd kept his sheep somewhere else, I’d have to find them. That could take some time. The kid knelt down and hugged me, putting his whole heart into it. “Don’t go away. Okay, Jack? We’re buddies now, right?”

  Just then the door opened, and a big, beefy kid came pushing out. “Hey, Retardo! You cut school again, didn’tcha? You’re in trouble now!” He gave the kid a push on the shoulder, knocking him back.

  The kid looked down at his feet, letting the bigger boy pass. Retardo was a nice kid, I felt bad for him. Didn’t he know you couldn’t give in to a bully like that?

  There I was starting to worry about a human when all I wanted was my freedom and some sheep. I waited until the kid went inside, then took off.

  There wasn’t much to see. Yellow bricks, chain-link fence all around the back. A playground, no swings. I sniffed everything, casing the joint as Snatch used to say. All the usual smells—dog, dust, bugs, weeds, rubber, a penny, gum, cigarette butts, sadness.

  Two boys came out of the building. They leaned against the bricks with their hands in their pockets, looking down at their feet. No Retardo. It was dinnertime, or close to it, and I was getting mighty hungry. I kept thinking about an Italian restaurant that had the best sausage and a cook who liked dogs. But Retardo, what was I going to do about him? What if he was getting whipped? And here I was dreaming about sausage!

  Well, he wasn’t my responsibility. Like the Goat Man used to say, you have to take care of yourself first. Then you can lend a hand to others. But he never said anything about lending a paw.

  Funny how life is. If the Goat Man had stuck around, my life would have been a whole lot easier. I’d have learned everything there is to know. As it turned out, I learned the hard way, which isn’t always so bad, the hard way being a whole lot better than learning nothing at all.

  11

  AFTER I LEFT RETARDO, the night was pretty much a bust all around. No sausage and no sheep anywhere. My paws were tired and my spirits low by the time I turned back toward the Good Shepherd. The kid had promised food and a place to bed down. I’d see if he was as good as his word.

  He was waiting by the door, slumped over with his forehead on his knees and his arms wrapped around them. I guess it was later than I thought. I licked his hand, and he woke right up. “Jack!” He threw his arms around me. “Jack boy! Good dog! I knew you’d come back.” And all that sort of thing, pounding me half to death.

  “Okay, so here’s the plan,” he said. “I got to sneak you in. No way will they let a dog in there. So we gotta be real quiet, okay?”

  What I liked about Retardo right off was that he talked to me man to man, or person to dog I should say. He knew me for the smart dog I am. I began to belong with him because of that, because he knew my worth.

  Retardo reached for the door handle. “Okay, let’s go,” he said. The door shushed open. Fingers of cold air came reaching out. My nose sniffed for information. Floor wax, soapsuds, boiled cabbage, sorrow. I followed Retardo, who scurried ahead in a low crouch. I guess he thought he’d be smaller that way, invisible. But the crouch is basically an attack position, any half-grown sheep knows that. This kid had a lot to learn.

  The hall was dark and quiet. I could hear the soft breathing of children asleep nearby, a peaceful sound. But a clock ticked overhead as if we were stealing its minutes, no-no no-no no-no no-no. Paper rustled in a room as we passed. Then I heard footsteps.

  “Quick! In here!” Retardo closed the door quickly behind us. The room was long and narrow with high windows. Squares of moonlight fell upon the beds, each with a lump in it the size of a boy (well, a child, but they were all boys as it turned out).

  “Under here,” Retardo said, lifting a corner of the thin blanket on a narrow bed. “I’ll find you some food. But you have to wait here and be real quiet.” He reached under the blanket and pulled out a bunch of musty towels he’d stuffed there to look like he’d been sleeping all along. Those went under the bed with me. Then I was alone.

  There was not one speck of dust under that bed, not a bug or a cobweb. Made me uneasy. It seemed unnatural. Dirt was a necessary part of the things kids did, like playing softball and building forts. They liked dirt. What kind of a place was this?

  I waited, listening.

  Footsteps. I held real still, in case it wasn’t the kid.

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” Retardo said, reaching under the bed to pat me with an empty hand. I liked the smell of his hand, boy sweat, a good, honest smell. “They lock everything up in there. I’ll bet you’re real hungry, aren’t you, boy? I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll think of something.” His eyes were so sad.

  He lay beside me for a while on the floor, his hand on my back. After a while, he said good night and climbed into bed. I fell into a half sleep, the watchful kind.

  It wasn’t long before the door opened and a shaft of light sliced the room in two. I woke right up, banging my head on the bedsprings. I heard a boy stir in a nearby bed; another called out of a dream. A loud sniff came from the direction of the door. Whoever it was had a good nose for a human.

  Laced-up boots marched down the space that separated the two rows of beds. They came to a stop at Retardo’s, within inches of my nose. Shiny black boots, long black stockings. Up came a corner of the blanket. Eyes like raisins poked in dough stared hard at me. Down went the blanket.

  The bed began shaking back and forth. “Luke! Wake up. Luke! There’s a dog under your bed.”

  Well, I knew she meant Retardo. I just didn’t know Retardo was his bad name, the one the other kids called him because he couldn’t read.

  “Get up! Get out of that bed!”

  Luke yawned and whined as if he’d been asleep, but I’d felt him awaken the second the door opened. “What dog?” he said, in that innocent voice boys find when they need it.

  A hand reached dow
n and threw the covers clean off the bed. “That dog!” said the lady. Then Luke’s face appeared upside down. At the back of his neck was the dough lady’s knotty hand. Luke grinned. “Hi, Jack,” he said.

  By then the whole place was awake. Boys in striped pajamas swarmed around Luke’s bed like sheep. “There’s a dog! Retardo’s got a dog!”

  “Back!” screeched the lady. “Back in your beds, every last one of you!”

  A couple of the smaller boys melted away, but the others had fixed their eyes on me as I stood at Luke’s side. He wasn’t good for a meal or, as it turned out, for a bed either, but he’d done his best. Whatever would befall us, would befall us together.

  There was hunger in the eyes of those sleepy boys, and not the kind that food settles. You could see they needed to hug a dog, every last one of them. But the woman was having none of that. She stuck a whistle into her doughy face and began blowing and blowing. I wanted to bury my head in my paws. It was shriller than the train whistle.

  Other grownups came then. The boys were herded back to their beds.

  “You!” The woman pointed her finger straight at Luke’s nose. “Come with me.”

  She turned to a young man with a bunch of keys weighing him down. “Get that … that mutt out of here!”

  Talk about your low blows!

  “Jack!” cried Luke, but the lady had him by the ear and was dragging him out the door.

  I gave him a little woof for courage and headed for the door myself. I knew which way was out, always have.

  The man with the keys was all right. He talked to me in the hall the way people do. You know, nonsense stuff. “Good dog, that’s the way, come along, that’s it, like a good dog now, here we go.” He patted me on the head a couple of times and opened the door.

  Goodbye, Good Shepherd.

  It was a full moon night, a night you want to be nestled on a hillside, the sheep hunkered down, dreaming whatever sheep dream. I was regretting not having given that dough lady’s hand a good nip. Not an all-out bite. I could tell by her wrinkled-up face that she wasn’t a mean soul. She had a job to do and was doing her best to see that it got done. I could understand that. The problem is that children aren’t sheep.