“You won’t be able to see me whenever you want,” Shep grunted. “Or eat what you want. Or chase squirrels through the street.”
“True,” woofed Callie. “But I won’t starve, or eat a poisonous plant trying not to starve, or lose fur over whether I made the right decision by letting a black Lab den with a Boston terrier. I’ll be well fed and in an air-conditioned den with a soft bed, just for me. And I’ll run around in a safe Park without worrying about whether a pack of wild dogs is going to tear my ear off.”
“There will always be a leash holding you back.”
“No matter where you go, Shep,” Callie snuffled, “there’s always something holding on to you, whether it’s a leash or a pack or your stomach.” She waved her snout at the trees, standing black against the lightening sky. “Life isn’t about freedom; it’s about choosing what you want to be free from. I want to be free from worry. This last moon-cycle, I’ve worried enough for one lifetime.”
Shep closed his eyes. Callie was set on her track — he’d failed to convince her to stay. The only question was whether he should take off now and leave the dogs to find their way home alone, or stand by his pack and lead them to safety. Why did he even bother asking the question? There was no other choice but to lead his friends home. It’s what an alpha does.
“If it’s what you want,” he woofed, “I’ll take you home. But I’m staying free.”
A frown clouded Callie’s muzzle for a heartbeat, but then she licked his nose. “Thank you,” she yipped.
Pumpkin woke with a scream. “GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!” She bounded in small circles, kicking and scratching and biting her fur.
“What?” barked Shep. “What happened?” He hadn’t smelled or heard Zeus prowling and couldn’t see anything near her.
“A fly!” Pumpkin shrieked. “A horrible, buzzing, nasty, disease-ridden, spiny-haired ball of evil with wings!”
Shep cocked his head. “You’re tearing your fur out over a fly?”
Pumpkin stopped bouncing and panted, nervously twitching every few heartbeats. “They’re evil, I tell you. Pure evil.” Then she shook herself from nose to tail, licked her jowls, and smiled. “I know how we can find the shelter!” Just like that, it was as if Shep were barking with a different dog. “I had this dream,” she yipped to Shep and Callie, who’d joined Shep in staring at the white dog like she’d morphed into an iguana.
“I was back home,” Pumpkin continued, “sleeping in my favorite bed by the window, looking down at the beach.” She looked at each of them with a huge smile on her snout, her tiny tail waving.
“And?” woofed Callie encouragingly.
“And what?” barked Pumpkin, head tilted.
“How does this dream help us at all?” grumbled Shep.
“The beach, silly fur!” yapped Pumpkin. She slapped her paws on the dirt. “If we go to the beach, we can find my den!”
Shep sank into a sit and scratched his scruff. “We’re nowhere near the beach,” he grunted. “And even if we got to the beach, how would you know where your den is? The beach is a huge, long strip of sand, and the only scents I ever smelled there were salt and rotting weeds.”
“I’d know my beach anywhere,” Pumpkin woofed with her snout raised, like a tiny, white version of Ginny.
“Any other ideas?” Shep woofed to Callie.
“No,” she replied, “but I think Pumpkin might be onto something.”
Pumpkin sprang to her paws, vibrating with excitement. “Yes! I am!” She waved her tail and waited for Callie to continue.
Callie looked at the fluffy girldog as if even she found Pumpkin’s exuberance disturbing. “What I mean is that traveling on the beach, rather than the streets, back to our dens would mean that we would run into fewer humans. It might be safer.”
“Yes!” yipped Pumpkin. “It would be supersafe!”
“There are always humans on the beach,” grumbled Shep. “And there are no buildings to hide in or scavenge for food.”
“I don’t think the humans have returned to the city to sunbathe,” barked Callie. “I think they have a few other things nibbling at them besides how brown their skin is.”
“Is that what all those people were doing?” woofed Shep. “They sleep on the sand to turn brown?”
“My mistress sleeps on the sand all the time,” yipped Pumpkin. “I love the sand!”
“And there are buildings alongside the beach,” woofed Callie. “Maybe there will be food inside those dens.”
“Yes!” barked Pumpkin. “My den is next to the beach!”
Shep had that feeling again, of wanting to drop a paw on the little white yapper and plant her in the dirt like a palm tree. That’s not how an alpha should be thinking, he reminded himself and pressed his paws more firmly onto the ground.
“If that’s what you think is best,” he woofed to Callie, “I’m willing to go along with your plan.”
The other dogs had woken at the sound of Pumpkin’s excited barks. They now crowded around the three of them.
Shep turned his attention to Pumpkin, who bounced on her paws. “So, how do we get to your beach?” he barked as calmly as possible.
Pumpkin furrowed her fluffy brow and nibbled a jowl, putting on a bit of a show for her audience. “Well, the sun rises over the beach, so we should walk toward sunrise until we hit the ocean. Then we’ll be at the beach!”
“We’re thousands of stretches from the ocean,” Zeus growled, padding into the clearing. “How does the yapper suppose we’re going to get from here all the way to the beach without getting caught by the dog catchers?” He limped over the dribble of water streaming out of the tunnel and sat near the scrubby bushes that grew under the trees.
Shep’s hackles rose, as did every other dog’s — except Pumpkin’s; she seemed oblivious to Zeus’s menace.
“That’s no problem!” she yipped. “There aren’t that many people working to catch dogs — I only saw a couple in the kennel. The night they brought in Callie and the other dogs you were with, the humans had been yapping about a ‘nest of dogs,’ how they had to ‘break up the nest,’ so I think maybe whoever caught you was a special group organized to catch your pack. Most of the people here are trying to help clean up the mess that the storm left.”
Rufus snorted a nasty little snort, always happy to contribute some tail-dragger comment. “I’d bet my snout that any human would call the dog catchers the heartbeat they spotted us, whether they were working with them or not.”
Pumpkin — immune even to Rufus’s nastiness — wagged her tail and continued yapping happily. “Not if you’re superfriendly, they won’t!”
“I agree with the young ladydog,” yipped Ginny. “I think we’ve been taking the wrong track with all this sneaking about. Humans love dogs. If we just show a sniff of poise and reflect an open countenance, they will do anything for us.”
“I have no idea what the poofy yapper just said, but I don’t like the smell of it,” grumbled Zeus.
“She said we have to act nice and approachable,” Callie barked. “A task it’s not clear you can handle.” She growled softly on her last woofs.
Zeus sneered, but kept quiet.
Well, that is a change, Shep noted. Time was, he’d have bitten her snout off for that….
Pumpkin reared in front of Zeus, planted her paws on his chest, and began sniffing his jowls and turning her head from side to side. “Oh, I think that we can make him look friendly,” she woofed, unaware that she was a heartbeat away from getting swiped with a fang.
Zeus, however, kept his cool. He grimaced at the yapper’s shiny black nose as it wuffled in his ear, but let her finish her analysis of his “countenance” … whatever that was.
Ginny watched Pumpkin’s brave investigation of Zeus with a look of shock but then paraded closer to the boxer herself and gave him a perfunctory sniff. “Yes,” she yipped. “I think that Pumpkin and I can make you all seem like the friendliest bunch of dogs this side of the swamplands.” She
gave a nod of her snout and a wave of her tail.
Dover looked at Shep, eyebrows raised. Shep had no idea how Pumpkin thought she could turn Zeus into a friendly dog, but, Great Wolf, he was happy to let her try.
Rufus was adamant about finding some kibble before any dog attempted to transform Zeus into a friendly dog. “We’ll all have starved to death before she gives up on this fuzz-headed plan,” he grumbled.
“No need to get growly,” Callie barked. “But I agree with Rufus. My tummy’s rumbling!”
Shep wagged his tail. “Who’s up for some hunting?” he woofed. He glanced at Callie and saw the excitement flash across her muzzle.
“First dog to catch a squirrel gets first choice of kibble!” Callie howled. She sprang into the brush and began snuffling through the leaves.
Shep dove after her. He took a deep breath, scented all possible prey, and dashed after a squirrel hidden in a tussock of grass. Pure joy pulsed through him like lifeblood. How could he give this up? Hunting felt as necessary to his life now as breathing. Callie was wrong — life on a leash could never make him this happy. He watched Callie tear after a fleeing bird and saw the smile on her jowls. He knew she felt that same spark running under her fur. Give her time, he thought. Maybe after a sun or two out of her cage, she’ll remember how great pack life can be.
Callie downed two squirrels, Dover nabbed a rat, and Shep caught a rabbit, which meant there was enough meat for all. Fuzz offered to share some of the grasshoppers he’d caught, but no dog accepted the invitation.
“No need to choke down bugs — snort — when there’s meat in the bowl!” Daisy yipped, licking her jowls.
Oscar stood near her, struggling to tear the leg off the rabbit. He jammed his little paws into the hide, tugged, and fell flat on his tail. Shep wondered if this was one of those let-the-pup-figure-it-out-himself situations. Before he came to a decision, Daisy strutted up to Oscar and shoved him aside.
“I can do it!” yipped Oscar as Daisy wrenched the bones apart.
“Just shut your snout,” Daisy growled. She spat the meat at his paws.
Oscar looked at the rabbit hock. “You didn’t have to help me.”
Daisy’s ears and tail relaxed, like she was going to maybe give the poor pup a lick, but then she reasserted her tough stance. “I couldn’t — snort — let you ruin the whole rabbit with your scratching.” She turned back to her meal.
“Thank you,” Oscar snuffled.
Daisy didn’t give him so much as a snort, but Shep smelled that she was straining every muscle in her rump to keep from wagging her tail.
After catching a slurp of water in the stream, the small pack assembled in the clearing for Pumpkin’s Lessons on Friendliness and Approachability, as Ginny had labeled them.
“It’s all about the tail,” Pumpkin began. She held hers straight up like a tree trunk.
“Some of us are tail deficient,” barked Zeus flatly. He nodded toward his rump, where his stub of a tail lay.
Pumpkin didn’t let his tone faze her. “It doesn’t matter how big your tail is, so long as it’s wagging!” She gave her tail a swish, and its long hairs waved behind it. “Any human is going to feel better about a dog if its tail is wagging, so the first rule is: See a human, wag your tail.”
“What-if-it’s-a-dog-catcher-human-should-I-still-wag-my-tail?” Snoop was paying unusually close attention to Pumpkin’s lecture.
“Yes!” she woofed.
“No,” barked Shep at the same time.
Pumpkin gave Shep a head tilt. “Aren’t I in charge of these lessons?” she yapped.
Shep barely controlled a growl. “You may be in charge of teaching this pack how to look cute, but I’m still in charge of every dog’s safety.” He scanned the dogs’ muzzles to make sure they understood, ending on Snoop’s narrow snout. Snoop licked his jowls, looked sheepishly at the dirt, then began to nibble an itch on his leg.
Shep continued, “You see a dog catcher, you run. Don’t waste time wiggling your rump.”
“I disagree,” yipped Callie. “How are we going to know who’s a dog catcher, anyway? All the people I saw at the kennel were dressed like regular people. As Pumpkin woofed, the team that invaded the boat was a special group. I say we treat all humans as friends until they show us different.”
The other dogs wagged their tails in agreement. Zeus snickered.
Shep straightened his stance, lifted his muzzle, and replied in his most important-sounding bark. “You’re not disagreeing with me, Callie,” he woofed. “I said the same thing — you can wag your tail at any regular human, but don’t waste time if you see a man in green. If the dog catcher is dressed like a regular human, they’re probably not going to shoot you with a dart.”
The pack seemed confused, like they weren’t quite sure why there was so much barking on this issue of tail wagging. But they didn’t think about things the way an alpha had to. They had the luxury of just living a regular life. Shep had to constantly be on his guard for any divisions in the ranks, for any cracks in his authority. As Callie had once warned him, the last thing the pack needed was a power struggle.
Callie cocked her head at Shep, as if about to argue, but then sat down. “You’re right, Shep,” she woofed. “I should have stated that differently. I just want to make sure there are no unfortunate mistakes, like what happened at the kennel.” She emphasized her last woofs.
“What happened at the kennel?” asked Boji, concerned.
“Noth —” Shep began, but Pumpkin was already barking.
“Shep attacked this nice lady who worked in the medical building.”
The other dogs looked at Shep as if he’d attacked their own families.
“You attacked a human?” snuffled Ginny with a tremulous bark.
Even Dover seemed flustered by this revelation. For the first time, he looked at Shep like he wasn’t sure of his character, like Shep was a bad dog.
“He didn’t ‘attack her,’ attack her,” barked Callie, interrupting the anxious silence. “He pushed her and she fell over a table. The woman was trying to catch him. Shep was only trying to help me escape.” She sat next to Shep and licked his snout. “He feels really bad about it,” she added.
Shep caught her scent. “Yes,” he woofed. Then he repeated it in a more assured bark. “Yes, I feel terrible about pushing the woman.” And he realized, in barking it, that all these heartbeats later, he still felt itchy under his fur. It was as if in pushing a human, he’d violated nature and his own body was delivering the punishment.
The dogs smelled a bit friendlier toward Shep, though Ginny still stuck her snout slightly in the air when she looked at him.
Pumpkin shook herself to regain the pack’s attention. “I think we can use this,” she yipped. “See, Shep thought that the only way to get away from the nice lady was to attack her, but he had loads of other options. For one, he could have wagged his tail, like I’ve been barking. If he had played along, like he was going to do whatever she wanted, the heartbeat her back was turned, he could have run. No one’s fur would have gotten ruffled! But this requires changing your whole view of things. It’s not just about wagging your tail, it’s about meaning it.
“Humans are kind of thick when it comes to dogs. They see a cute muzzle and big eyes and get all mushy about the brain and start cooing and sticking their hands out. All you need to do is answer this natural tendency to go mushy-brained by wagging your tail in a friendly, assertive manner — up high, big swishes from side to side.”
“What if you don’t have a cute muzzle?” grunted Zeus. “Or a tail?”
Pumpkin sighed and flicked her ears. “Well, you’re just going to have to work harder,” she woofed. “Admittedly, for cute dogs like Ginny and me, and puppies like Oscar, this is a piece of jerky. Heck, most humans even go gaga for wrinkled-up, crazy muzzles like Daisy’s.”
“I’m standing — snort — right here!” Daisy growled.
“What are you getting your tail in a knot about?”
Pumpkin yipped. “I’m saying people think you’re cute!” She swatted a paw at Daisy with a little flourish of her head. Daisy was so bewildered she shut her jowls and smiled nervously.
Pumpkin strutted up to Zeus. “With you, I think the best tactic is to make yourself smaller.”
“I don’t get smaller.” Zeus met her gaze with a look of pure disgust.
“Oh, quit your growling, you big pile of hair! You can too get smaller. You could do a front-paw slap and poof!” Pumpkin flopped down onto her chest, front paws out in front of her. “You look shorter.”
“My front paw’s in a cast,” Zeus grunted.
Pumpkin sighed. “Dog, you really are a tail dragger!” she yipped. “Work with me, will you!” She leapt at his jowl and planted a lick on his snout. Zeus’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
Pumpkin wagged her tail and cocked her muzzle. “I think maybe a full lie-down with stub-tail wag and goo-goo eyes will be just the thing for you.”
“Goo-goo eyes?” Zeus grumbled incredulously.
“Like this,” yipped Pumpkin. She flounced onto her belly, then looked up at the treetops and sucked her jowls down. Her eyes bulged to gigantic beads of black. She fluttered her eyelids. “The fluttering says, ‘Don’t you love me?’ but I think you, Zeus, should go for ‘Play with me!’” She grinned with her jowls and panted slightly, straining her eyes open wide and whipping her tail back and forth. Then she gave a few light barks. Suddenly, as if a switch were turned off, she stood and shook her fur.
“Okay, let’s see you do it,” she yipped, sitting down and considering Zeus with a steady gaze.
Zeus looked nervously at Shep, but Shep wasn’t going to let Zeus out of this. You want to pretend to be a different, not-evil dog, pretend away….
“Just lie down?” Zeus woofed.
“Don’t forget the goo-goo eyes,” yapped Rufus in a snide bark.
Zeus growled at the squaredog, which shut Rufus’s snout, but lay down like Pumpkin had asked. He winced as he settled his hurt paw, then forced his jowls into a smile and panted. He wiggled his stumpy tail and bugged his eyes as far out of his skull as he could manage. The effect was too horrible to bear.
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