Thor

by Wayne Smith

  Maybe Dad was right. Maybe the Bad Thing was too far away to pose a threat. Maybe Thor had wakened the Pack for no reason. He began to feel that awful Bad Dog feeling. But his instincts still told him the Pack was in danger.

  He felt miserable; guilty for having been disobedient, guilty for waking the Pack in the night, guilty for dragging Dad into the woods for nothing. And guilty for not protecting the Pack.

  For not killing the Bad Thing when he had the chance.

  He almost wished Dad would punish him, to cleanse him of his guilt, but he dreaded punishment, and he dreaded the possibility of losing Dad’s love more than anything else.

  But if he were punished, Dad wouldn’t be mad at him anymore. If he were punished, Dad would love him again.

  Halfway back to the house, Thor noticed the occasional sounds of small animals scurrying away as he and Dad approached. They were no longer alone in the woods with the Bad Thing. There were in safe territory. Dad’s nerves seemed to quiet down, too. The leash no longer transmitted tremors or twitches from Dad’s hand. But he didn’t slow down; he was understandably eager to get back to the house, back to his warm bed.

  They emerged from the forest and crossed the little creek into the backyard. Dad walked straight toward the house, ignoring Uncle Ted’s scent trail as it veered away toward the garage. It was the trail Uncle Ted had left when he went into the woods. Uncle Ted hadn’t come home. Thor glanced up at the apartment windows above the garage. The lights were on, just as they had been when Uncle Ted left.

  Dad gave the leash and angry jerk as they approached the back door, and pulled it as Thor climbed the stairs. The moment of truth was approaching. Once inside, Thor would face judgment. He wished he could sink into the kitchen floor and vanish.

  They entered the kitchen and Dad closed the door behind him. Dad unhooked the leash from Thor’s collar, and Thor slinked into the farthest corner from the cellar door.

  Dad walked over and squatted down, then lifted Thor’s jaw in his hands to make Thor look at his face. Thor’s nose pointed directly at Dad’s, but his eyes refused to meet Dad’s. He felt extremely uncomfortable. It was not his place to look Dad in the eye.

  “Just what the fuck is wrong with you?” Dad said with equal parts of anger and curiosity. Thor had no answer.

  “I want you to be quiet! Understand?”

  Thor wanted to be quiet, wanted to be a Good Dog. But what could he do if the Bad Thing came back? Dad didn’t want to punish Thor, but his demands for obedience left Thor in the same quandary as before. Thor almost wanted to go to the cellar, just to absolve himself of this whole mess. Almost, but not quite. He couldn’t imagine being so Bad that he would want to go to the cellar.

  He just wanted to lie in the corner and feel miserable for as long as it took for this incident to blow over.

  But Dad had other ideas.

  He dragged Thor by his collar to the cellar door, opened it, and pushed Thor’s nose into the opening.

  “You! Be! Quiet! Or you’re going in the CELLAR! You understand me?” Thor trembled violently. He got the message; this was his last warning.

  Dad let go of the collar and closed the cellar door. Thor thumped his tail loudly on the floor and licked Dad’s hands in thanks for his reprieve.

  Normally, Dad would have forgiven him. He would have patted Thor’s head and repeated his warning without anger, then gone to bed. But this time he didn’t. He was still angry. He stood up, not allowing Thor to make amends, wagged his finger at him sternly, and repeated his orders.

  “Be quiet! Got it?” Thor half-leaped to kiss his hand. “You better be good, dammit,” Dad said, and turned to go to bed. Thor watched him walk to the kitchen door, waiting for him to pass through before leaving the kitchen himself. But Dad didn’t let him.

  “No!” he said. “You’re staying in here tonight. And if you’re not quiet, you’re going in the CELLAR.” He pulled the kitchen door closed behind him and snapped the latch shut, and Thor’s fate was sealed for the night. He wasn’t in the cellar, but he wasn’t allowed to be with the Pack, either. It was a kind of halfway house, a purgatory. He slinked back to his corner and lay down, defeated.

  Sleep was out of the question.

  He spent the rest of the night with his front paws criss-crossed under his jaw, staring at the glass window in the back door, listening for unusual sounds from the woods. About a half hour before sunrise, his feelings about the Bad Thing began to fade. As the sky began to lighten, his gut told him the danger had passed. For the moment at least, the Pack was safe.

  As the sense of menace faded, sleep settled over his thoughts like a warm blanket. He slept for two hours before the sound of Mom coming downstairs woke him. Thor was desperately tired, but he had to go jogging with Mom. He could never again let her go into the woods alone.

  As tired as he was, he was relieved to be wakened. His sleep had been filled with disturbing dreams consisting of hideous images of the Bad Thing and Thor and the Pack. Images that, mercifully, he forgot upon waking.

  Chapter 10

  “Well, if it isn’t the asshole,” Janet said, confident that the kids were still upstairs sleeping. She felt like she’d been up all night, but she was still glad Thor had been on the alert. As much as she loved jogging in the woods, she didn’t always feel safe living so close to them. And it wasn’t just animals that worried her.

  She’d considered skipping her morning jog today, but decided if Thor wasn’t worried, she wouldn’t worry. If last night’s uproar proved anything, it was that no intruder could sneak past Thor.

  “You better be careful when Dad comes down,” she warned. “He wasn’t very impressed with your little performance last night.”

  Thor watched and listened expectantly as Mom spoke, and though her words meant nothing to him, her tone was soothing. She was trying to sound stern (and thinking she was doing a good job), but her voice revealed her inner forgiveness. Thor wasn’t surprised. He and Mom shared a powerful common bond: They both worried about the Pack’s safety every day.

  Thor kissed her hands to apologize for last night, and they stepped out together into the early-morning sun.

  Thor sprinted across the yard, nose to the ground, occasionally looking up as if he expected to see someone coming. Instead of crossing the creek and starting into the woods, he stopped just short of the water, sniffed the ground for a second, then followed his nose back to the garage stairs.

  He’d picked up Uncle Ted’s latest scent trail, mixed with traces of the Bad Thing. It was a fresh, strong trail, only an hour or two old. Uncle Ted must have returned while Thor was sleeping. The new trail backtracked along the original trail precisely. Thor followed it up the stairs and sniffed around the edges of the apartment door as Mom stood watching him, bewildered.

  As far as he could tell, Uncle Ted was inside the apartment. He could hear heavy snoring inside, and though he’d never heard Uncle Ted snore before, he assumed it was him. There was, after all, no other scent trail on the stairs.

  Satisfied that he’d learned all he could, he hurried back down the stairs and carefully urinated on all the fence posts in the driveway, stopping to sniff each one to be sure it was well marked. He crossed the creek and marked all the nearest trees in the same meticulous fashion, then started back to rejoin Mom. About halfway across the yard, he had an afterthought. He trotted back to the base of the garage stairs and urinated on the bannister.

  “Hey!” Mom yelled, more surprised than angry. Thor ignored her. He finished the job in seconds and sauntered up to her, smiling and wagging his tail as if nothing unusual had happened. She shook her head in wonder at his odd behavior and together they started off into the woods.

  She felt a strange mix of reassurance and apprehension at the way he never left her line of sight and frequently doubled back to be close to her. He didn’t seem worried — his hair didn’t stand up on his shoulders — but he’d never acted this way before. Whatever had bothered him in the woods last night was
obviously gone, but Thor was still being cautious.

  And her own feelings agreed. She’d felt something last night, a sense of imminent danger that she’d tried to shrug off as nerves or imagination. But this morning was different. Neither she nor Thor felt anything today.

  They jogged together as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Except that Mom found herself running slower than usual so she wouldn’t have to stop for breathers. And Thor took an inordinate interest in the scents he found. And they both stopped and listened to sounds in the distance.

  They finished their run in a little more than half the usual time, and were both glad to head back to the kitchen.

  * * * *

  By the time Dad got up, Mom was already plucking bacon out of the frying pan and laying it out on paper towels.

  The smell filled every space in Thor’s brain, and he almost forgot about last night. He was just about to beg for a slice of bacon when he heard Dad’s footsteps on the stairs and remembered he was canis non gratis. He quietly went back to his corner and waited.

  Dad came into the kitchen and looked straight at Thor as if Mom weren’t even in the room. Thor thumped his tail tentatively and looked at the floor near Dad’s feet.

  “So,” Dad said. “I hope you slept well. Shithead.”

  He turned to Mom and put his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. His mood seemed to change completely, but Thor wasn’t fooled. Dad hadn’t forgiven him yet.

  But forgiveness was on the way, and would probably come before Dad left for work. The tightness in Thor’s chest loosened a notch. He almost felt ready to go back to sleep.

  But something kept him awake. A feeling of unfinished business. He wanted to go out to the woods by himself and check on some loose ends from last night.

  Teddy and Brett came downstairs, bleary-eyed and cranky.

  “Stupid mutt,” Teddy said contemptuously.

  “Yeah,” Brett chimed in, “thanks for waking us up, stoopid!” Thor ignored their derision. He had more important things on his mind than disapproval from those he outranked.

  “Oh, leave him alone,” Mom said. “He can’t help it. He heard something outside, and he thought was protecting us. You guys should appreciate him more.”

  “But he’s so stupid!” Teddy whined. “Does he have to wake us up every time a raccoon comes within a mile of the house?”

  “Look, I hate to admit it,” Dad said, “but your mother’s right. He thought he was protecting us, and that’s what we bought him for, so maybe we should all lighten up a little.”

  Mom looked open-mouthed at Dad.

  “What do you mean, ‘I hate to admit it, but your mother’s right’?” she demanded.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Dad said wearily. “I meant I hate to admit we should lay off the dog. Okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said, realizing she was just possibly a little cranky herself. Like Thor, she’d been unable to sleep, even after things had calmed down. She’d lain awake in bed for what seemed like hours, waiting for the sound of an intruder, or Thor barking at one.

  “You see the trouble you caused,” Dad said, looking at Thor. He laughed ruefully in spite of himself and said, “C’mere, stupid.”

  His tone of voice, his posture and his face all said: You’re forgiven.

  Thor scrambled awkwardly to his feet on the slick tile floor and trotted over to Dad’s outstretched hand. He planted a wet kiss on Dad’s palm, and Dad grabbed a hunk of the loose skin on the back of his neck and pulled him closer. It was such a relief to feel Dad’s hands loving him again. His tail pounded against Dad’s chair as Dad patted the side of his chest.

  Thor even dared to lie down on his back and offer his underside to Dad, and Dad stroked his chest and stomach deliciously.

  He was back in the fold.

  * * * *

  Uncle Ted missed breakfast, which had become standard; in the last few days, he’d been sleeping in later and later. Thor nonchalantly watched the back door while the Pack ate, taking his eyes off it only when someone tossed him a scrap of bacon. And even then, after catching it, he went back to watching the door without acknowledging the donor. That was a first. He usually made a point of thanking his benefactors.

  Dad noticed his preoccupation with the door. He got up and walked over to it, just to see what Thor would do.

  Thor immediately stood at attention. Nothing unusual there, but there was something oddly businesslike in Thor’s attitude. He didn’t look happy about the prospect of going out. Dad wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell was going on.

  “You wanna go out?” he said, speaking the words Thor knew as well as his own name. Thor flinched at the sound of the word, “out,” but lay back down again.

  “No?” Dad said, a little befuddled.

  Thor’s Duty had taken on new dimensions. He could not guard the Pack as casually as he once had. From now on, he would stay as close to them as possible.

  Later, when Dad left for work, Thor was shocked by his own reaction. He was actually relieved to see Dad go. And when Teddy left to play softball, he felt the same unprecedented sensation, and hoped Mom and Brett and Debbie would go shopping; then they, too, would be safe. Then maybe Thor could get some sleep.

  But Mom and Brett and Debbie didn’t leave, and Thor didn’t catch up on his sleep.

  Instead, he lay on the kitchen stoop watching the garage, and watching Debbie ruin her shoes in the creek. Brett was fooling around in the driveway and Mom was doing the laundry. Since he couldn’t stay near all of them, he watched the garage and wished Debbie would play somewhere else.

  * * * *

  A little past noon, Uncle Ted came out, looking like hell. He tried to act casual, but Thor saw the mantle of the Bad Dog on him more clearly than ever before. Uncle Ted walked guiltily to the kitchen door where Thor lay watching him. A few feet from the door he greeted Thor as if he’d just seen him for the first time.

  “Hello, Thor,” he said, with a slight quiver in his voice that a human would have missed. Thor lay in place, watching him intently. A formless question had taken hold of his mind. Most of Thor’s questions only lasted long enough to amount to a sensation of wonder before evaporating. But this question was different. This question, as wordless as the others, stuck in his mind.

  Is Uncle Ted a member of the Pack?

  He eats with the Pack.

  He sleeps in Pack territory.

  He lives with the Pack.

  He’s Mom’s brother.

  The thought suddenly occurred to Thor that Uncle Ted hadn’t simply gone out and met the Bad Thing; he had somehow brought it to the Pack, and if the Bad Thing returned, it would be because Uncle Ted went out and got it again. Even now, under all the soap and deodorant and too much cologne, faint traces of the Bad Thing were on him.

  Uncle Ted stepped over Thor and into the kitchen. Thor got up and followed him in, but walked over to his empty food bowl and stuck his nose in to mask his intentions.

  “Long sleeves?” Mom said when she saw Ted. “On a day like today?” It was eighty-two degrees, and the forecast called for highs in the nineties. Mom sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee, waiting for the dryer to finish with a load of laundry.

  “Yeah,” Uncle Ted said self-consciously. “It’s uh . . . it’s laundry day for me, too. Besides, I don’t want to get skin cancer.”

  “Well, it’s about time!” Mom said. She’d been on his case for years to stop tanning. “I’ll be through in a minute if you want to do a wash. Or you could give me your stuff and I’ll wash it. I’m going to be here, anyway. God, you look awful!” she said suddenly, with the tactlessness of a sibling. She made a sympathetic face and asked, “Did Thor keep you up, too? I’m awfully sorry.”

  Uncle Ted seemed startled by the question.

  “Oh! Yeah, but . . . I probably wouldn’t have gotten any sleep anyway. I’ve got . . . things on my mind lately.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  �
��Not really. But thanks.”

  “Want me to take care of your wash?”

  “I’m sure I can manage.”

  Thor felt a flash of recognition as he watched Uncle Ted with Mom. Uncle Ted was acting exactly like a dog who’s dirtied the living room rug while the family was out, and is trying to act nonchalant while he waits for the inevitable discovery of his hidden turd.

  Thor wondered where Uncle Ted’s turd was hidden.

  Uncle Ted took Mom’s empty laundry basket and walked out to the garage, glad to be away from the awkward conversation. Thor followed him as far as the kitchen door. He made himself comfortable on the back stoop and watched the man go up the stairs and into his apartment. A few minutes later, Uncle Ted came out with the full laundry basket in both hands. As he crossed the yard and came up the kitchen steps, Thor caught a strong scent of the Bad Thing from the pile of laundry.

  Uncle Ted’s hidden turd.

  Thor followed him through the kitchen door and watched him toss the clothes into the washing machine. The machine, Thor knew, would erase the scent of the Bad Thing, as it erased almost all scents.

  Uncle Ted seemed to breathe easier now that his turd was safely hidden. But he still bore the demeanor of a Bad Dog.

  He leaned over and patted Thor’s head.

  Thor didn’t move. He issued a low growl, barely loud enough for Uncle Ted to hear, too low for Mom to hear. Their eyes met, and Thor didn’t look away — Uncle Ted did.

  Uncle Ted slowly, cautiously removed his hand from Thor’s head and straightened up. He didn’t want Mom to see him snatch his hand away in fear. Good. Thor didn’t want Mom to see their little exchange, either.

  “So,” Uncle Ted said, nervously tucking his shirt into his pants and sounding as innocent and nonchalant as Richard Nixon, “what-all happened last night? I missed most of it.”

  “I don’t know, really,” Mom said over her shoulder as she set up the ironing board. “Thor thought he heard something in the woods, I guess, and he just about threw a fit. Woke the whole house up. You’re lucky you were in the garage.” She laughed in spite of herself. “You’d think World War Three started. Anyway, Tom finally let him out, and he ran into the woods and didn’t come back. He tried calling him with the dog whistle, but he just barked. I told Tom to forget it, let the dog come home when he wants, but he was afraid the neighbors would complain, so he trudged out there in my robe to find him. You should have seen it. I think I’ll get him a robe like that . . . it really shows off his” — she lowered her voice a notch — “ass.”