Thor

by Wayne Smith

  He was no more aware of his ear’s actions than he was of blinking.

  Thor and the rabbit stood transfixed, hearts racing, staring at each other, unsure what would happen next. Thor began to feel embarrassed. This was his big moment of triumph, and he was supposed to do something, he could feel it, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. And worse, he was sure the rabbit knew what it was, but the rabbit was so terrified that Thor couldn’t begin to figure out what it was thinking.

  The rabbit was scared right out of its tiny mind.

  Scared of Thor.

  Why?

  Despite having worked up a ravenous appetite, the thought of eating the rabbit had never entered Thor’s mind. Practically every morsel of food he’d ever eaten in his life had come directly from the Pack, and none of it smelled like an animal. At least not like the outside of an animal. Some of his food — the very best — smelled like the inside of an animal, but Thor hadn’t discovered that yet, and dogs are not instinctive killers. If he’d grown up in the wild, in a wolf pack, he would have learned to hunt by being brought along and watching his elders. But he’d grown up in a human pack. He didn’t hunt, he chased. No one in his Pack hunted.

  He watched the rabbit in open bewilderment, feeling more uncomfortable with each passing second. Finally he decided it was time to get back to Mom.

  He barked once at the rabbit, startling it horribly, but he’d only meant to say something like, “I won!” He grinned at it open-mouthed, with his tongue hanging out and his back teeth showing, but his fangs barely visible — a friendly, non-threatening grin. Then he barked a good-bye, turned and dashed away, glad to run off some of the excess adrenalin and leave his confusion behind.

  Mom was plodding along in his direction, but instead of meeting her head-on, Thor circled around and joined the jogging path from behind her. As he entered the path and saw Mom, he poured on the steam and shot past her in a second, just to show off.

  He slowed to a loping canter to let her catch up, but Mom still fell behind, so he slowed down some more. By the time Mom caught up with him he was barely doing more than a fast walk. As she finally came abreast of him, he looked up at her with the same wide, human-looking grin he’d shown the rabbit. Whenever Mom saw it, she wondered if dogs might actually have a sense of humor. Thor didn’t know what a sense of humor was. He only knew that what passed for running among humans would be completely pathetic if it weren’t so amusing.

  He understood that Mom was jogging, not running, but he’d seen her run, too, and it wasn’t much better. Even Dad, the Pack Leader, could barely move by Thor’s standards. Sometimes he found their slowness a little embarrassing.

  He glanced up at Mom again and abruptly grabbed the ground with all four feet and took off, leaving her behind as if she were standing still.

  Watch this, Mom! This is running!

  By the time they got back to the house, he’d completely forgotten about the beach again. But the Pack hadn’t. The Pack never forgot anything. As he and Mom entered the kitchen, Brett and Teddy were barreling down the stairs in high excitement, babbling about the BEACH. Thor didn’t need to hear the magic word to be reminded of the Pack’s big plan. The powerful scents of the nylon bathing suits under their clothes and the vinyl and rubber toys they carried told the whole story.

  The kids were running around like maniacs, yelling and whining and urging Mom and Dad to hurry. They made no attempt to hide their excitement — not like Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad almost never expressed their feelings as openly as the kids. It was part of being adult, as Thor understood. He was an adult too, and he didn’t always show his feelings, either.

  Of course, no matter how well Mom and Dad might hide their feelings from others, they could never fool Thor. He knew they were almost as excited as the kids. He felt what they felt.

  As usual, everyone but Thor had some responsibility. As much as he wanted to be part of the project, there was nothing for him to do but sit back and watch.

  Mom kept looking at a piece of paper in her hand (didn’t she always?) and so did Dad (for a change). Teddy, Brett and Debbie piled up towels, rubber swim fins, snorkels, face masks, and most important, Thor’s Frisbee and his tennis ball — solid proof that he was going with them.

  Thor had no idea what things like snorkels and swim fins were, nor did he care. About ninety percent of the Pack’s possessions were a total mystery to him, and for that matter, so was about ninety percent of the Pack’s behavior. But it didn’t bother him. He’d long ago learned that if he didn’t understand something, it was a safe bet that it didn’t concern him.

  But whether he understood something or not, he never forgot its scent, and he never forgot what was happening the last time he smelled it. Today’s smells all said BEACH — one of the strangest and most exciting places the Pack ever visited. One of Thor’s all-time favorites.

  Like the kids, he couldn’t wait to hop in the car and get going, but like Mom and Dad, he was an adult, so he tried to control his excitement.

  Mom and Dad kept checking and double-checking their pieces of paper and their piles of stuff; Mom and Dad did everything in slow motion. The kids collected their toys in no time, and in no time Debbie started whining, and Brett and Teddy got into an argument that threatened to escalate into a full-scale screamer. Dad yelled, “Hold it!” and hustled the kids and Thor in the direction of the front door.

  “Teddy, do you have Thor’s leash?” Dad said as Teddy opened the door. Teddy just held his hands out, palms up. “Well, get it. No, you don’t have to put it on him now, but we might need it at the beach. And wait a minute.” Dad ducked into the kitchen as if he’d just remembered something important. Thor heard the familiar rattle of dog biscuits against cardboard. Dad came back with a box of Milk-Bones. “Take these, too,” he told Teddy, handing him the box. Thor appreciated Dad’s thoughtfulness. “Now go wait in the front yard, and stay out of trouble!”

  Thor, Brett, and Debbie burst through the front door, across the porch, and onto the lawn. Only Teddy sauntered casually onto the porch — Teddy was practicing to be an adult.

  Brett and Debbie felt no such pressure of impending maturity. Debbie sort of bounced-ran across the lawn, carrying her plastic sand bucket with its plastic shovel and her favorite doll inside. Brett ran for the car at full throttle with Thor loping alongside, snapping at the Frisbee in his hand. As Brett reached the car, Thor tried to coax him into a game of fetch by playfully tugging at the plastic disc (he could easily pull it out of Brett’s hand if he wanted to), but Brett wasn’t in the mood. He was no good at throwing the Frisbee, and he didn’t like to display his ineptitude in front of his big brother. Instead, he tossed the Frisbee into the SUV and closed the windows so Thor couldn’t hop in and get it, jump out, drop it at Brett’s feet and then bark incessantly at him to throw it.

  With the Frisbee out of reach, Thor turned to Teddy, who was about halfway across the lawn, the box of dog biscuits still in his hand. Thor trotted over and sat down directly in front of him and vigorously scratched a flea. His claws found the flea and flicked it off on the second scratch, but he narrowed his eyes, let his jaw drop, and gave himself another ten or twelve scratches just because they felt so good. When he was done, he looked to Teddy to remember what he’d come over for. Seeing the dog biscuit box, he recomposed himself and looked directly into Teddy’s eyes with a soulful, expectant expression. The aroma of the biscuits wafting out of the box sent a thin thread of saliva from his tongue to the grass below.

  Teddy dug out a dog biscuit and held it up at shoulder level, out of Thor’s reach (actually, Teddy wasn’t tall enough to hold anything out of Thor’s reach, but his posture told Thor he didn’t intend to give it up yet, and Thor respected his intentions). Thor whined a little and waited for Teddy to give him a command, so he could earn the biscuit.

  “You wanna Milk-Bone?” Teddy teased.

  Thor woofed once in response.

  “What are you gonna do for it?” Teddy asked.


  Thor woofed again, a little louder. He was getting impatient with Teddy’s teasing.

  “Oh, you do want it, huh?” Teddy said, but showed no sign that he might give it up, trick or no trick.

  Thor had had enough. He sprang up on his hind legs, put his forepaws on Teddy’s waistband, and curled his claws around Teddy’s belt. Then he delicately nipped the nearest button off Teddy’s shirt.

  Thor knew clothes weren’t part of a person’s body, and he knew if a Pack member annoyed him relentlessly, he could safely retaliate by damaging their clothes. Removing a button or two was his favorite way of getting even with the kids when they pissed him off. Even Mom and Dad gave the act tacit approval. Dad didn’t want the kids teasing the dog — he’d made it clear when he first brought Thor home as a puppy that he wasn’t a whipping boy. Dad wanted his kids to understand that cruelty is wrong no matter who — or what — is the victim. And he was only too aware of how annoying kids could be at times.

  “Dammit!” Teddy said as Thor’s incisors neatly sliced through the threads and plucked off the button. “Here, take it already!” he said, as if giving Thor a dog biscuit was some great sacrifice on his part.

  He waved the biscuit up and down to show Thor he was going to throw it. Thor let go of his belt and backed away to give himself room to jump. Teddy tossed the dog biscuit in a high arc, and Thor leaped five feet straight up and snapped the biscuit out of the air. He landed with surprising grace for such a big dog.

  He ate his prize standing up, savoring the feel of the hard biscuit cracking and crumbling under his jaws. It was gone in seconds, and Thor dutifully sat down to wait for the next one.

  Teddy dug another biscuit from the box and teasingly bobbed it up and down. Thor waited politely but impatiently, squirming on his haunches, his eyes locked on the biscuit. Wide ribbons of saliva ran freely from his mouth.

  Then out of the corner of his eye he saw the Stranger with the unfamiliar (and unpleasant) walk, coming this way. All thoughts of dog biscuits abruptly left his mind as he turned to check out the Stranger.

  The man wore a dark suit and sunglasses, carried an attache case (like Dad), and was making good time up the sidewalk. He seemed to be coming directly toward the Pack, ignoring the other houses on the way.

  Thor licked the crumbs and drool from his lips, snapped his jaws shut, and faced the approaching Stranger at full attention.

  A small, almost inaudible woof! escaped his throat before he remembered his manners. He took a quick look around to see if Mom or Dad had heard his rudeness, remembered they were still in the house, and turned his attention back to the Stranger.

  Thor watched with mounting frustration as the Stranger continued up the sidewalk, carelessly passing all the trees Thor had marked with his urine to tell interlopers they were in Thor’s territory and that they entered at their own risk. It was a source of ongoing frustration: Mom and Dad took him out every day to renew the markings, and yet they refused to let him enforce the boundaries. They acted as though the Pack’s territory stopped at the edge of the front yard, or even at the front door of the house. Why did they take him on his daily perimeter patrol and then let just anyone invade their territory? They did so many inexplicable things, but this one was really maddening. It was as if they wanted to make Thor’s life difficult.

  Well, they weren’t here now, but Thor and the kids were, and the Stranger would be here in seconds. Thor repressed the instinct to simply chase the Stranger away. He’d learned with great difficulty that Mom and Dad wouldn’t tolerate such straightforward security measures.

  So he stood and watched the Stranger approach, and tried to keep his fur down.

  The Stranger came within a few feet of the driveway and slowed down. The Pack’s house was obviously his destination. Thor trotted to the front edge of the yard, putting himself between the kids and the Stranger, though he knew the kids would probably follow him and he couldn’t stop them. He walked briskly, but avoided any appearance of hurrying. He also avoided looking directly at the Stranger on his way over. Protocol demanded he not deliberately intimidate strangers without cause. The Stranger might turn out to be a friend of Mom and Dad’s. And there was another reason for discretion: It demonstrated self-confidence. Thor was acutely aware of the importance of appearances.

  While Thor maintained an outward appearance of disinterest, he also tried to make it obvious to the Stranger that it was nothing more than a posture. He held himself erect and slightly tense, ears high and trained on the man, making his presence known — and felt.

  But the Stranger didn’t appear intimidated by Thor’s presence. Very unusual. And not good.

  The man came right up to the edge of the Pack’s lawn without even slowing down, then stopped short as if he were testing Thor’s reactions. He was finally close enough for Thor to pick up his scent: sweaty underneath his clothes, a little acrid, and no trace of soap perfume. Even people who went two or three days between baths bore a slight scent of soap.

  The Stranger appeared to be looking at Thor, but his dark glasses hid his eyes, another thing Thor didn’t like about him.

  The Stranger said, “Nice doggie.” Thor didn’t like his tone of phony familiarity, either. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?” the Stranger went on. “Are you a dog or a horse?”

  He answered the man with a low rumble from deep in his throat, but no show of teeth — no threatening behavior that Mom or Dad could see from the house.

  “He’s not a horse!” Brett huffed indignantly as he brought up the rear. “He’s a German shepherd!”

  “Well, he’s a helluva big German shepherd,” the Stranger said. “Are your mom or dad home?”

  Thor casually studied the man’s shoes and hands as he positioned himself for a clear shot at the Stranger, unaware that the fur on his shoulders had risen slightly. He took a step toward the Stranger, and the man inched back a little. The first good sign. At least the Stranger was no fool.

  Before Brett could answer, the screen door on the porch swung open and Mom hurried across the lawn, nervously pushing her hair in place as she walked.

  “Can I help you?” she called to the Stranger. Thor heard tension in her voice, which she tried to conceal (and did conceal from everyone but Thor). Her tone told him the Stranger was not a friend or acquaintance of the Pack’s. The hairs on Thor’s back rose another half inch. The muscles in his hind legs flexed a little, and his claws gripped the ground. Adrenalin goaded him to action. He did his best to ignore it.

  “Ah, you must be the lady of the house,” the man said. Thor ignored the man’s words, instead focusing on the inflections; there was a smug, easy familiarity in the Stranger’s voice that sounded dishonest. His eyes locked on the man’s feet and hands, which moved with ill-concealed nervousness.

  “Yes, I am,” Mom said, answering the Stranger’s question without a trace of warmth. Her tension had not been eased by the Stranger’s false friendliness.

  Thor had observed that young kids often shared his ability to read intentions and emotions, but as they got older, their perceptions steadily faded. Teddy had already lost most of his natural sense of danger. People came to the door who would have sent Brett or Debbie running for cover, but Teddy stood and talked to them as if nothing was wrong, and called Mom to the door without warning. As the kids grew up, their attention seemed to shift to words, away from tone of voice or the way people shuffled their feet and fidgeted with their hands, or kept themselves too still and spoke too smoothly. It was as if humans could only listen to one or the other — the words or the intentions — but not both. It was a problem Thor would never face. No matter how many words he learned (and he’d learned quite a few), he would never be distracted by them; the abstract nature of human conversation took care of that.

  “Well, ma’am,” the Stranger said, “I see you have three lovely children. Are you helping them get the best education possible . . ?” And off he went, into a spiel even Thor recognized as the product of rote mem
orization. Thor liked that. As the words tumbled automatically out of the man’s mouth, his other thoughts came forward, and his intentions stood out more clearly.

  The Stranger’s emotional state shifted slightly. His weaselly posture and hand gestures revealed an aggressive flirtatiousness, a sense of superiority and arrogance, and a desire to dominate Mom that Thor regarded as outwardly hostile.

  Mom’s tension increased and Thor could see she wanted the man gone, but she felt powerless to rid herself of him. Thor’s judgment hardened: The man was enemy.

  Thor dropped all pretense of neutrality. The hair on his neck and shoulders rose to its full height and he curled his upper lip to show his dangerous fangs, and let an audible growl escape his throat.

  The man stood his ground as if Thor hadn’t done anything.

  Thor wasn’t used to this. Most people made quiet, cautious retreats in the face of even the slightest displeasure on Thor’s part. The Stranger’s refusal to defer to Thor only heightened his alarm. He waited for the Stranger to make his move, ready to do whatever was necessary to protect his family.

  Mom said something to the Stranger (“Go away,” in so many words, Thor knew), and the Stranger ignored her, too. Thor looked up at the man’s hidden face and growled at full volume and gave the man a single, vicious, snapping bark.

  “Hey, look lady,” the man said, “you ever heard of leash laws? You better control your dog before he bites somebody. This is a public sidewalk, you know, and I’ve got a right to be here . . .” His tone was belligerent, challenging. Mom bent down to reach for Thor, taking her eyes off the Stranger for a moment. As her finger slipped into the metal ring on Thor’s collar, the Stranger made a quick, flailing movement with his free hand over her neck.

  That did it.

  Brett yelled, “Hey!”

  Thor lunged at the man’s ankle, easily pulling free of Mom’s grip. He snagged a few inches of the man’s trouser leg in his teeth and barreled forward, throwing his body against the Stranger’s legs with the pants tight in his jaws, pulling the Stranger’s foot out from under him — a maneuver he’d perfected during endless hours of roughhousing with Dad and the kids. The Stranger waved his arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, and went down on his ass on the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb.