Chihuawolf

by Charlee Ganny

  “You think there could be?” Paco lifted his head. A small flicker of hope rekindled in his heart.

  “Yes, I do think it’s possible. We’ve come so far, we might as well find the footprints, even if they’re dry.”

  “Ay, caramba! If they are dry, what’s the use of finding them?” Paco’s hopes dimmed again.

  “When will the moon be full, Paco?”

  “Not until this weekend.”

  “And you need to drink from the footprint before then, right? To turn into a werewolf?”

  “Sí. That’s what B-Boy said.” Paco cocked his head to one side and looked at Coco.

  “And it might rain before the weekend, right?”

  “Sí. It might,” he nodded.

  “Then we have to try. If the footprints are dry, we go home. We wait for the rain, then come back.”

  “Come back? You mean do this again?” Paco thought about how hard it was to sneak out and how far they had walked and how tired he would be when he got back. “I won’t—”

  Coco’s eyes flashed. “Paco! Do you think dreams come true just by giving one try and giving up?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Then how many times should you try?”

  Paco frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  “Neither am I, but I think you need to keep trying until you decide that maybe that dream isn’t going to come true.”

  Paco listened very carefully and considered what Coco had said before he spoke. “If it’s not going to come true, what do you do then, Coco?”

  “You find a new dream, Paco. Maybe an even better dream. And you go after it.”

  The two friends walked uphill on the white road for another quarter of a mile. The way became steeper. Paco puffed a little harder. The fields disappeared too. Instead of the open meadows, bushes now closed in from both sides. Trailing vines snaked into the road and tangled around the dogs’ paws as they walked.

  Paco didn’t like them. They weren’t friendly vines at all.

  Then the white road led under an avenue of trees, whose arched branches created a black tunnel.

  Paco stopped. “I can’t see where the road is going, Coco.”

  “Me neither.” Coco stopped too. She put her backpack on the ground. “Let’s take a break. I could use a drink. Are you thirsty?”

  Paco’s mouth felt dry as sandpaper; his pink tongue hung out. “I am!”

  Coco removed one of the water bottles from her pack. She pulled the top off with her teeth and tipped it so Paco could lap at the water dribbling out. Then he held it for her.

  “I’m hungry. Let’s split a hot dog,” Coco suggested.

  “Okay!” Paco felt hungry too.

  Coco opened the pack. She gave half a frankfurter to Paco and gulped down the other half herself. With a little food in her stomach, she felt much better. She stood up and put on her backpack. “You’d better switch on my headlamp, Paco. We need to go.”

  Paco hopped over, stood up with his feet on Coco’s shoulder, and managed to turn on the light. Coco swung its yellow beam toward the darkness under the trees. The white road lit up.

  “The road doesn’t look too bad with the light on.” Coco smiled encouragingly.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Paco agreed, but secretly he thought it looked a little scary.

  Very soon, Coco thought the same thing.

  The dogs had gone just a short way into the gloomy tunnel when they spotted the dark shapes of broken-down cars and old refrigerators lying in jumbled heaps between the trees. Coco’s headlamp also lit up broken baby carriages, heaps of worn-out tires, piles of weathered boards with nails poking through, and stacks of shattered windows, their panes knocked out. Wickedly sharp glass shards littered the ground.

  They had entered a place of broken things.

  “I think we’re in a junkyard,” Coco said.

  “It smells pretty bad too.” Paco’s nose twitched as he took a deep breath.

  Coco slowed her pace. Her voice became a whisper. “What does it smell like, Paco? Not garbage.”

  Paco began to shake. A terrible suspicion poked him like a stone in his paw. “No, it’s not garbage.”

  Coco sniffed loudly. “It’s definitely something else. It smells stinky and terrible.”

  Paco took a long deep inhale. “It smells—” He inhaled again. “Ay, ay ay! It smells like hate and fear. And, and—” his voice began to tremble, “it smells alive.”

  Coco whispered. “Turn off my headlamp, Paco. Be quick now.”

  Paco rushed over, hopped up, and flipped the switch.

  The light went out. The dark closed in swiftly. The two dogs standing side by side could barely see each other.

  “Shhhh. Listen,” Coco said.

  Paco listened. He heard something moving. He heard footsteps. He heard the junk on the ground go clunk under something’s feet. He heard snorts, not like any human made, but not like any animal either. He heard a low, deep growling. He heard whatever was making all the noises coming, slowly, surely, step by step, closer and closer.

  Paco quivered from his head to his tail. He wanted to run. “Let’s get out of here,” he urged.

  “Paco, go. Go now,” Coco said. But she didn’t turn to leave. Instead, she took off her backpack.

  “What about you?” He would not go without her. That he would not do.

  “I’ll use the hot dogs to try to slow up the—the thing that’s coming. I’ll toss them on the ground. Maybe it will eat them.” And not eat us, she added under her breath.

  “I’ll wait for you,” Paco insisted.

  As Coco frantically tore open the frankfurter pack, she talked to her friend in a fierce whisper. “I can run much faster than you. You need to go first. Run, Paco! Run now!”

  And Paco ran.

  Without light to guide him, Paco hurtled downhill through a dark so inky and absolute that only the feeling of the crushed stones beneath his feet helped him stay on the road. A few times he strayed into the dirt or grass. He instantly corrected himself to get back on course. But every time that happened, fear nearly took away his senses. If he accidentally ran into the junkyard, he would be lost for good in that terrible place of danger and broken things.

  Finally Paco rushed out from under the trees and into the moonlight. With the white road now brightly lit, he started to scoot down the hillside. Then he stopped. His whole body trembled. His little legs shook. But he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He reached deep inside himself to find courage. He turned and looked back. He needed to know if Coco was coming. What if she had run off the road and was lost?

  Nothing moved on the road behind Paco. Coco wasn’t there. Paco didn’t hesitate. No matter how scared he was of the creature that might be the werewolf, no matter how terrified he was of being eaten, he started to run back uphill toward the darkness to find his friend.

  At that very moment, Coco burst into the moonlight from the darkness under the trees.

  “Run!” she shouted at Paco. “Run! He’s coming!”

  Paco had never felt a deeper joy than he felt the moment he saw Coco burst free from the unlit and evil place. With a lighter heart, he turned around and dashed along the white road toward the highway.

  Soon Coco caught up with him. Together they ran, tongues hanging out, breath coming hard, feet churning as fast as they could move them.

  From behind them came a terrible howling. The awful sound chilled Paco’s blood. It made him quiver from his head to his tail, even while he hurtled headlong down the foothills of Mount Diablo.

  Coco stayed by his side. The comfort of her next to him made him feel better. He didn’t feel so afraid as long as she was there.

  After a little while, the howling stopped. The night became still. The two dogs slowed down and their ears perked up.

  Paco
swiveled his head one way, then the other way. He concentrated hard. He heard nothing, no footsteps, no growling, no snorts.

  “Maybe he turned back,” Coco whispered.

  “He must have,” Paco grinned. “We got away! He didn’t get us!”

  Coco gave Paco a smile, but her eyes were filled with worry. She hoped the howling creature had turned back to the mountain, but she wasn’t certain about it. “No he didn’t get us. But—”

  Paco looked at Coco intently. Something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”

  “I—I—got hurt. I cut my back foot. I ran off the road and stepped on glass from the broken windows.”

  “Is it bad?” Paco’s heart gave a painful squeeze.

  “I think it is,” Coco said, then quickly added, “Don’t worry, Paco. I’m okay. Now that we don’t have to run, I can walk on three legs until we get home.”

  “It’s all my fault!” Paco cried. “You’re hurt because of me.”

  “The glass cut me, you didn’t.” Coco took a little hop, keeping one back paw lifted. “I wanted to come with you. Please don’t blame yourself.”

  But Paco did. His head hung down. He pushed away the tears that wanted to fill his eyes. He swallowed the sob that wanted to stick in his throat. He must be brave now. Yet inside he felt awful. He vowed he’d never sneak out or do anything so foolish and dangerous ever again.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, the two dogs traveled toward town along the wide, white highway. The moon finished its nightly track from the east to the west and disappeared. The stars glowed more brightly against the velvet black sky. The air became chill and damp with dew.

  Sometimes Coco looked back toward the dark mountain. A few times she asked Paco to stop so she could listen. She never said if she saw or heard anything.

  Once Paco glanced behind them and saw dark wet spots on the ground where they had just walked. “You’re bleeding, Coco!” he cried. His voice grew heavy with fear. “We need to stop. You should sit down. Wait here. I’ll run ahead and get help.”

  “No!” Coco cried out. “I can’t stay here.”

  “Por qué, mi amiga?” Paco asked.

  Coco didn’t want to tell Paco the truth. Her ears were better than his. Her eyes were better too. She had seen something sneaking along behind them. She had heard the panting of a large animal. She had realized the creature hadn’t given up at all. He was back there, keeping his distance. He wasn’t trying to catch them. He was following them back to town. She didn’t know why, but she knew for certain that he lurked out there in the dark.

  Not wanting to frighten her friend, she didn’t answer Paco’s question. She only said, “I just can’t stay here. I’ll make it home, Paco. I will, if we take our time.”

  And so the two dogs continued on their journey. Coco would walk and hop, walk and hop. Then they would stop for a minute. They moved slower and slower.

  The night waned. The hours passed. On the far horizon, the first pearly light of dawn made a band of gray against the inky sky. Coco whimpered a little, but the two dogs kept going.

  Paco worried that they would never reach the pretty houses and neat lawns of the streets he knew. He asked Coco if she wanted to stop, to give up until somebody came looking for them.

  “Never give up, Paco. Never, never, never. Remember that.” And she hopped on.

  Finally they arrived at the edge of town. Paco recognized some of the buildings. His spirits rose. They were getting close to home. They started down familiar streets.

  First they passed the cozy cottage where B-Boy lived with Tommy. It sat silently behind some hedges; everyone inside was sleeping.

  Next the two dogs came to the large house where Natasha lived. A light suddenly flickered on within it. A sharp, clear bark sounded.

  Paco gasped. His heart raced. “Hurry if you can, Coco. Victoria’s brother takes Natasha out early to run with him through the park. It must be nearly time.”

  They slipped past the house as fast as they could. Nobody saw them, but from inside Natasha barked again.

  Although it took a very long time, they never gave up. The small black dog and the large brown one finally arrived in Coco’s backyard.

  Coco sighed and sat down. She looked very tired. She pulled her headlamp off. “I can’t climb the stairs, Paco. Please take this inside for me and put it by the door. I left my backpack in the junkyard, but it really doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m home.”

  Paco grabbed the headlamp and rushed through the doggy door. He dropped the headlamp under the coat rack, then he hurried back outside. He saw that Coco was lying down. She wasn’t moving.

  Ay Dios mio! Fear gripped Paco. He sprinted over to her. “Coco! Talk to me!”

  She raised her head a little and looked up at him. “Go home, Paco, quickly, before Olivia gets up.”

  “No! I won’t leave you.”

  “Don’t worry. My family will find me soon. I need to rest now.” And she put her head down and closed her eyes.

  Paco didn’t leave. He sat right next to Coco and threw his head back. He took a deep breath, he opened his mouth wide, and bringing the sound up from deep in his chest as Professor Pewmount had taught him, he began to howl.

  Paco howled louder than he had ever howled before. He howled deeper than he had ever howled before. He howled like a big dog would howl. He howled with all the strength in his Chihuahua’s body because he needed to wake Coco’s family right then.

  And he did.

  He heard Sandy’s voice drift through an open window. “Dad! Dad! What’s that noise? It sounds like a dog in trouble.”

  He heard Sandy’s father call out, “Something’s wrong out there. That dog’s howling for a reason.”

  Paco heard two sets of footsteps running through the house and pounding across wooden floors. But he didn’t move. He kept howling until he saw the back door open. He kept howling until the second he heard Sandy’s father yell, “Coco! It’s Coco! Sandy, call the vet! Coco’s hurt!” Only then did Paco, his heart a cold stone in his chest, his spirits lower than they had ever been in his whole life, run out of the yard, across the street, down the red bricks of the narrow alley, and race lickety-split for home.

  No one stirred inside Paco’s house when he squirmed through the doggy door. Olivia and her mother were still asleep. Quietness softly filled the rooms. Paco let out a deep sigh. He was so happy to be back.

  He trotted over to his favorite spot on the recliner. He hopped up and burrowed under the afghan that Grammie had knitted. All he wanted to do was go to sleep.

  His nose hit something hard. His head jerked up. What did Norma-Jean and Little Annie do this time! he thought, getting mad and forgetting how tired he was. He pushed aside the afghan to see what was filling his seat.

  A neat pile of doggy treats sat on the cushion of the recliner.

  A little meow came from the top of the chair. Norma-Jean asked, “Are you all right? We were very worried.”

  “We thought you might be hungry,” Little Annie said.

  “Gracias, my sisters,” Paco managed to say, his throat closing up with tears. The cats had waited up for him just like they’d said they would. They really did like him. They really were his family.

  Putting his chin down on the doggy treats, Paco stopped acting brave. And only then did he begin to cry.

  There was a robber here last night! A robber with a big knife!” Sandy said. His eyes widened with excitement, and he used his hands to show how huge the knife must have been. “Coco fought him off. That’s how she got cut so bad.”

  The sunshine bright in her eyes, Olivia, Paco’s precious little girl, sat on the back steps of Sandy’s house and listened to her friend. “A robber? How do you know? Did you see him?”

  “No, Dad and I didn’t see anybody. Coco had already chased him away. But it must have been a robber.”
<
br />   “Why? Was anything stolen?”

  “Yeah! Coco’s backpack was gone. And the refrigerator door was wide open. Dad checked and he said two bottles of water were missing and—and—and a whole pack of hot dogs! I think the robber put them in the backpack. He would have taken other stuff too, I bet. But Coco got him!”

  Paco, who was lying at Olivia’s feet, put his paws over his eyes and moaned.

  The girl looked at the little dog. “I don’t think Paco’s feeling well.”

  “He looks OK to me.”

  “I don’t know. He’s just not himself.” Olivia shook her head so that her brown curls danced up and down. “I can’t put my finger on it. I dragged him out of the house today. He always runs for the door when I say we’re going for a car ride. He loves coming over here. But this time he didn’t want to move. He kept whimpering and wouldn’t get out of the recliner.”

  As if on cue, Paco whimpered again. His whole body ached like a bad tooth. Tears welled up in his eyes. He squeezed them shut to keep from crying.

  “See, like that! Maybe he’s in pain.”

  The only pain Paco felt was all inside his heart. The phone had rung early that morning. When he had heard Olivia say, “Hello? Sandy?” his chest had gotten tight. He couldn’t breathe. He had felt so afraid that Sandy brought bad news about Coco. When he had heard Livy say, “So she’s going to be OK?” his breath came out in a whoosh. So did more tears.

  He also heard Livy say she would come over that afternoon and bring Paco along.

  Paco didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to face Coco. He stubbornly refused to leave the recliner, even though Livy dressed him in the new denim jacket she had bought at the mall. A picture of a Chihuahua riding a motorcycle adorned the coat’s back, under the words “Hot Dog!”

  He looked good, but that didn’t lift his spirits at all.

  Now Paco moped on the concrete path behind Sandy’s house. Guilt settled on him like a black cloud. Coco had gotten hurt because of him, no matter what she said. He whimpered again, but this time no one noticed because all they could hear was a wild frenzy of yips and excited barking.