A Dog's Life: The Autobiography of a Stray

by Ann M. Martin

  On the day after the second night, I awoke from a dream about finding cake with white frosting in the garbage heap, and I realized that my aching body didn’t ache quite so much. I rose, gingerly putting weight on my sore feet. Moon had been dozing beside me, but now she jumped to her feet. She touched my nose with hers, then licked my snout. I licked at her ear, at the scabby notch that had formed after the dogs tore it.

  Then I stepped off of the leaf bed. As in my dreams, my stomach was empty and growling, and my mouth dry and sandy. I staggered a bit. I didn’t feel up to hunting for food, but I didn’t know if any garbage cans were nearby. And how far away was a stream or a puddle?

  I was about to sink back on the leaf bed when Moon nudged me, then headed purposefully into the woods, keeping her back to the highway. She led me to the edge of a small brook. I stood on its banks and drank and drank. Then I waded into the water and let it wash over my bruised feet. I remembered chasing Bone through the stream on the day we left the Merrions’ property. That was when we were puppies, healthy puppies. Now my feet felt as heavy as logs. I couldn’t imagine running and chasing and playing.

  I picked my way over the stones in the brook and up the bank where I sat down next to Moon. Moon looked at me, then jerked to attention and cocked her head. In an instant she had leapt away and buried her head in a patch of tall grass. She emerged with a fat vole, which she laid at my feet. Then she dove into the grass again and emerged with a second vole. Moon, who preferred not to hunt, had caught a meal for me.

  I was healing. With Moon at my side, little Moon with her notched ear, my strength returned, my bruises disappeared, and soon all that was left of my cuts and bites were small bare patches in my fur.

  Moon and I stayed in the woods until one morning we awoke and knew that we were going to leave our leaf bed. We set off through the woods, keeping the highway to one side.

  Moon and I were on the move again.

  Moon and I traveled as another summer came to an end. We loped through yards where chrysanthemums and autumn crocuses bloomed. We ran through fields where the tall grasses had become brittle and rattled in the wind. We wandered through woods as the leaves on the trees grew dry and changed color and fell down on us, swirling about our feet. The air turned cold, and before I knew it we needed to find shelters that would keep us warm, as well as protect us.

  I don’t know how far we traveled, only that we walked and walked and walked and walked. Moon’s ear, permanently notched, lost its scab, and some of the fur grew back. My fur grew back, too, covering all the scars except for a long curved one on my front paw. No fur ever grew there again, and I was reminded of the starving, desperate dogs every time I looked at my foot.

  One dark, damp day, the leaves still clinging to the trees, Moon and I were trotting through a farmer’s field when something wet and cold landed on my snout. I was trying to reach it with my tongue when I felt an icy tickle on my ear, then on my back. I looked at Moon and saw tiny crystals in her fur.

  Snow.

  The first snow had come early, the trees not yet bare, late flowers still in bloom. It melted quickly, but the next night more snow fell.

  Several evenings later Moon and I found ourselves at the edge of a small town. We stood just inside some bushy undergrowth and looked out at a street lined with houses like Marcy and George’s. We were hungry, but we made no move to find food. Something strange was happening. Even though darkness had fallen, lots of children were roaming the street. They were carrying bags, and they were not dressed like any children I had ever seen. Some of them wore paint on their faces. Some wore clothing that glittered. Some wore large hats. I peered hard through the trees and realized that one child was dressed to look like a reptile, and another resembled a cat. I saw a dog, too, and even an ice-cream cone.

  The children laughed and shouted and called to one another. Small groups of them would stand at the doors of the houses and shout, “Trick or treat!” Then the doors would open and people in the houses would toss things into the children’s bags.

  Moon and I were still watching from the woods when once again I felt icy crystals on my snout.

  “Snowing! It’s snowing!” the children cried. They continued to run up and down the street with their bags, but now they danced through the little white eddies whirling around their feet, and tipped their heads back to catch snowflakes on their tongues.

  Moon and I waited a long time in the woods that night. When the last child had left the street, and the lights in the houses had winked out, we slunk out of our hiding place. We nosed our way up and down the street. We found lots of food that the children had dropped, but we didn’t eat much of it. It was all very sweet, and I had learned in the past that although chocolate tasted good, I didn’t feel well after I ate it.

  The next day we left the town. We roamed through woods for many days, and the early snow kept falling. The moon grew large and full, then became a thin slice of light in the frosty sky. One day I was watching Moon sleep behind an abandoned shed, and I realized I could see her ribs. Hunting had been difficult in the unexpected snow and we hadn’t had much luck with garbage lately. But I was startled to look at Moon and see in her place one of the bony dogs from the resting place. How long until my friend would be as desperate as they were?

  Moon was tired. She wasn’t able to walk as far each day as we had walked during the summer. I nudged her now, wanting her to get to her feet, and she gave a small growl and turned her back on me. I allowed Moon to rest for one day, then I left the shed in the woods, knowing she would follow me.

  And she did.

  We were off again, and this time I let my nose lead us. I was sniffing for the scents of a town. My nose took us first to a road — a busy road, but not a highway. Moon and I followed it, trying to stay out of sight of cars, until, from the top of a low hill, I could see a town in a valley — rooftops and treetops and church spires. We left the road then, and walked down the hill, through woods and fields, keeping the town in front of us. We stopped for food from the garbage cans at a gas station, then continued toward the town.

  It was late afternoon, the sun setting over the hill, sending its last rays through the chilly air, when Moon and I reached a point just outside the town. We paused in a field and I looked down, surveying this place that might become our home for the winter.

  The town — eventually I learned that it was called Claremont — did become our home that winter. Claremont consisted of a single main road called Nassau Street that was lined with businesses, restaurants, and small shops. Several side streets crossed Nassau. The houses on these streets backed up to woods and hills. At each end of the town stood a long, low building. After a time Moon and I discovered that one building was a supermarket and the other was a school. There was great garbage at each place.

  As far as I could see, this town was a good spot for dogs in winter. Moon and I would be able to find plenty of food. The garbage cans filled up quickly, and we could also go hunting if necessary. And there were lots of shelters — old sheds and storage rooms and garages that weren’t used at night, as well as the woods if we didn’t want to be quite so close to humans.

  I liked living in Claremont. I had never considered myself a town dog, but in this cold, snowy winter it was a fine place to settle down. Moon and I spent a lot of time watching Nassau Street from hiding places. Sometimes we were watching for danger, sometimes we were watching for food, sometimes we were just watching.

  There was a rhythm to life in Claremont. On most mornings after Moon and I foraged for our breakfast, we would skirt around the houses on the side streets until we reached a stand of trees on Nassau between a shop that sold books and a shop that sold jewelry. We would settle in the brush there and watch the town come to life. A man named Robert owned the jewelry store. A woman named Lisa owned the bookstore. Each morning they greeted each other as they met on the street. “’Morning, Robert!” “’Morning, Lisa!” Then they bought coffee at a bakery, brought the coffee to th
eir stores, and unlocked the doors.

  Up and down the street other workers arrived and other stores and businesses opened — the shoe store, the toy store, the stationery store, the sandwich shop, the restaurants, the movie theater, the library, and a few places that were mysteries to Moon and me. We could see people inside these places sitting at desks, using pens, looking at blinking screens. Men and women from the street entered these places, and talked to the people at the desks, and passed papers back and forth, and left. Not nearly as interesting as the toy store, or better yet, the restaurants.

  One store was of particular interest to Moon and me. It was named The Wagging Tail, but Robert called it the pet shop. Moon and I investigated it as thoroughly as we could by sniffing around both its front and back doors at night when Nassau Street was deserted. The Wagging Tail didn’t sell any actual pets, but it sold all sorts of things for animals. It sold food for dogs and cats and birds and fish and guinea pigs. It sold things for these animals to play with, like the things Matthias brought to Bone and me in the shed. It even sold outfits for dogs. Once, on a rainy day, I saw a small, curly-haired white dog enter the store with his owner and come out wearing a yellow slicker to keep him dry. Moon and I watched, shivering from our spot under the drippy bushes, as the dog walked down the street in his new coat, eating a biscuit.

  In the middle of the day when the sun was the highest, the people of Claremont would have their lunch. Shoppers would duck into the bakery or one of the restaurants before continuing with their errands. Robert always walked to the sandwich shop, bought chicken salad on rye, a cup of split pea soup, and another cup of coffee, and carried the things back to the jewelry store, where he ate behind the counter. He almost never finished his lunch, and we soon learned to look for the remains of the chicken salad sandwich when he took his trash outside at the end of the day.

  Later in the afternoon the school would let out, and some of the older children would run along Nassau Street, stopping in at the candy store or the bakery or the bookstore. Two girls, Amanda and Sarah, whose mother, Moon and I learned, worked in the library, always left school and walked to the library, but first they would stop at the toy store and gaze at the things in its windows. They never went inside, just stopped and looked.

  When the day began to grow dark, the stores in Claremont would close up. One by one Robert and Lisa and the other shop owners turned out their lights, locked their doors, and got in their cars or walked down the street to their homes. Much later, when the town was quiet and almost as dark as the night, Moon and I foraged for food. Sometimes we would see other dogs looking for food, but we stayed away from them. These dogs were skinny and tired, not fat and bouncy like the little white dog in the slicker, but they didn’t bother Moon and me and we didn’t bother them. Up and down the street Moon and I would walk, checking garbage cans, sniffing in corners. We walked from the grocery store at one end of town to the school at the other. We usually found enough food to fill our stomachs. And then we would look for a place where we could settle down for the night, and sleep safely and warmly.

  When Moon and I first arrived in Claremont I noticed that fastened to many of the doors in town were bunches of corncobs, or wreaths of dried chrysanthemums. But one day, after we had been in Claremont for some time — long enough to learn the names of Robert and Lisa and Amanda and Sarah and to know the rhythms of the town — I noticed a change. The corn and the chrysanthemums were taken down and in their place were hung wreaths of evergreens with big bows and shiny bells. Robert spent a morning putting ropes of pine boughs around the window of his shop. Lisa strung lights in the window of the bookstore. And in the very center of Claremont the tall fir tree that stood between the library and the post office was also strung with lights. Moon and I saw more people than usual shopping in town, hurrying along, cheerfully carrying bags and bundles, looking busy but happy.

  Sarah and Amanda continued to peer into the toy store after school, and one day they finally went inside. When they came out, each was carrying a small bag, and they chattered and skipped and Amanda sang, “You better watch out, you better not cry!”

  Sarah grinned. “You didn’t peek, did you?”

  “Nope,” said Amanda. “Did you?”

  “Nope.”

  “I have enough left over to get something for Mom, I think.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Let’s go to the drugstore tomorrow and look at the perfume.”

  A few days later the shoppers were still eating their lunches and having their morning coffee when the doors to the school opened and the children spilled out into the street.

  “School’s over!” they shouted.

  “Three more days until Christmas!” cried two boys.

  Amanda and Sarah ran down Nassau Street, blue scarves flying, and instead of stopping at the toy store, they stopped at the bakery and emerged from it carrying cookies shaped like people.

  Two days after that, when the afternoon was growing dark and it was time for the stores to close, something new happened. People began to stream into Claremont from every direction. Moon and I, pressed close together in our hiding place, drew back, afraid we might be discovered. But everyone was looking at the street. People lined it on both sides.

  “Merry Christmas!” they called.

  “Happy holidays!”

  Sarah and Amanda hurried along later, holding their mother’s hands.

  “Did we miss him?” asked Sarah. “We didn’t miss him, did we?”

  “The parade hasn’t even started, silly,” said Amanda.

  “Yes, it has! Yes, it has!” shrieked Sarah. “There it is!”

  The people, who had been cheering, now became quiet, and Moon and I tried to see what was happening. Down Nassau Street, shining in the darkness, came a group of people singing songs, and then some people riding on funny cars, throwing things to the children on the sidewalk. And then …

  “I see him!” cried Sarah. “There’s Santa Claus!”

  Moon and I couldn’t see Santa Claus, whoever he was. The people lining the street had crowded together even more tightly. We saw legs, lots of legs. And we heard the cheering start again. The people cheered and cheered, and then the parade ended and the crowd began to drift out of town.

  When everyone had gone home, Moon and I ventured onto Nassau Street. Claremont was quiet now, nearly silent. We sniffed along the sidewalks for a few minutes, and found a mitten, two hats, and some very strong-smelling striped candies, which we licked at. The parade had made me nervous, but in the sudden quiet, I found that I felt brave again. So I touched Moon’s nose with mine, and we set off in search of garbage.

  After Moon and I had scrounged for supper — the rest of Robert’s sandwich plus a split bag of something crunchy that we found outside the back door of The Wagging Tail — we returned to Nassau Street. Never before had we walked directly down the main street of Claremont, not during the day and not during the night. But not a single person was about, so we felt more free than usual. Most of the store windows were still lit up, and as we passed them we could see silent figures dressed in bright colors, and sparkly decorations, and toys and candy and ribbons.

  When we reached the corner where the bakery stood, we turned down a side street called Tinker Lane. The windows of most of the houses here were lit, too, but we felt brave enough on this quiet, quiet night to pause in the front yards and try to see what was happening inside the houses. Moon and I had not peeked in many windows during our lives, but we had peeked in a few, and this was the first time we had ever seen fir trees in people’s homes. They were smaller than the one on Nassau Street, but they were strung with lights like the big tree and also hung with glittery decorations. We could see people standing by some of the trees and they were smiling or laughing. In one house we saw a little girl jumping up and down. In another we saw a boy tying a ribbon around the neck of a fuzzy black dog.

  Moon and I wandered the streets until most of the lights had winked out. Then we spent t
he night huddled in the little space between two closed Dumpsters in the parking lot at the supermarket.

  It snowed during the night. Not much, though; just enough to add a clean layer to the snow that had already fallen. Only a few flakes drifted down onto Moon and me in our hideaway, and we awoke the next morning feeling warm and mostly dry.

  We were just creeping out into the parking lot, looking around for signs of people or other dogs, when we heard the talking of humans and ducked back between the Dumpsters.

  “They’re here every single morning,” a woman’s voice was saying.

  “How many are there, do you think?” asked another voice, a man’s.

  “It varies,” said the woman. “They’re not a pack. Sometimes only a couple are here. Sometimes five or six. They’re pretty wary of one another, but they’re always here.”

  “Well, this is a nice thing you’re doing. A Christmas present for the stray dogs.”

  I didn’t hear anything else for a moment or two, so I stuck my snout out from between the Dumpsters and looked in the direction of the voices. There they were, the woman and the man. The woman was very tall and the man was very short. They were dressed in warm clothes — scarves and mittens and big coats and knitted hats — and they were spooning something into aluminum pie tins.

  Hamburger.

  My nose told me that right away.

  “It’s not their fault they’re strays,” said the woman. “They shouldn’t have to eat garbage all the time.” She paused. “Some of them are practically starving.”

  Moon and I waited and watched. When the woman had finished spooning the hamburger into the pie tins, she and the man placed the tins around the parking lot. Then they climbed into a car and drove away.