Robby tried to make himself look as big and fierce as possible as he and the bear circled one another. He knew better than to challenge a bear. Oh, how Nana would yell at him and shake him by the scruff like a dumb pup if she saw how foolish he was right now. Bears didn’t even like to bug other bears. It was like watching two mountains collide over and over again, all teeth and claws ripping and tearing.
Right now, Robby had no choice, no other options. The bear had gotten between him and the forest, and freedom. The rushing, roaring river was at Robby’s back. The grizzly rose to its hind feet and bellowed, swiping at the air with his massive, long dagger claws before crashing back down to the mucky river bank. Robby had no choice but to back farther toward the river. He could hear the river thundering in his head, spilling fear into the anger and the adrenalin that already flowed through his veins.
Robby snapped at the air, showing his gleaming teeth. He jumped forward, grabbing the grizzly by the face just under its eye and thrashing it like he did to the rabbits when he caught it for dinner. The bear screamed a horrible, loud bellow and shook his head, knocking Robby loose. He left a big gash under the bear’s eye, but it only enraged the hulking beast, and it slapped Robby across the shoulder knocking him into the river and ripping his shoulder wide open.
Robby fought the current, but was then glad that it swept him away when he saw the grizzly race along the bank hoping to finish what it had started. Robby was swept away so fast that the bear was soon a dot on the shore. He saw the woods on both sides of the river rush past him. He fought to keep to the edge, hoping something would eventually stop him.
The water was cold and he shivered terribly, but it wasn’t only the water that made him shiver. He was in shock, a dangerous, mind-numbing state. The bear had hurt him bad. He was scared, but he had to ignore it until he got to the bank. He had to keep focused and keep moving on. He was carried on and on down the river.
He had to keep focused; he had to keep going.
He had to get home to her.
sixteen
Robby was weak and numb by the time he was pushed into a slow current, and he swam slowly into shallow water. He stumbled, barely able to pull himself to his feet on the bar of gravel that jutted from the bank of the river. He fell to the ground a few feet from the water and shivered, unable to move. He felt sleepy; a light headedness overcame him. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he feared it would be too dangerous to sleep. He was much too cold and much too weak. He fought to get to his feet, stumbling and falling.
He walked to the bank, heaving himself up the slippery slope and finding a nice, dry bed of grass. He lay there relaxing waiting for the shivering to stop. He focused on licking himself clean and licking the five horrible gashes the bear had left on his shoulder. He had bled a lot, too much.
It took him several hours to feel safe enough to sleep and, when he did sleep, he slept for two days. He truly felt like he wasn’t going to make it; he was just too tired.
He awoke with a start upon hearing the blaring of a horn he knew to belong to a massive semi-truck and trailer. He was woozy as he stood. His bear claw wound and stopped bleeding, but he still felt bad as he teetered, walking in the direction of the great booming horn. He staggered in a daze, tripping over roots and sticks. A gray jay followed him, watching him, smelling blood. Robby growled at it. He knew it was waiting for him to sleep the Great Sleep so it could gobble him up and call all its friends and ravens over to pick him clean.
He hadn’t realized that he was zoning out until he stumbled on the edge of pavement. He squinted in the sharp light from the sunset, glancing around. He saw a bridge to his right. He remembered that bridge; they went over it on the way home! He perked up and wagged his tail weakly. The river had brought him so much closer than he had expected. He looked to his left and saw buildings. He remembered them, too, the Miss got ice cream from there. Robby felt hope and a surge of strength, and trotted with a bad limp toward the buildings.
He sniffed around the back of the building knowing it was hopeless; everything was kept neat and tidy so bears didn’t get into anything. He found a few bits of food here and there but nothing satisfying. A breeze suddenly brought a whiff of hot dogs and burgers to him, and in the dim light of the fading day he saw movement across the road at the parking area for fishers and boaters who launched near the great bridge.
Robby carefully made his way back across the quiet road and into the parking area attempting to not be seen. He followed his nose to a pickup that had a small propane heated cook top with a big, square cast-iron pan full of hot dogs, sausages, and burgers cooking up. They sizzled under his nose as he stood on his hind feet resting his front paws on the tailgate.
He felt guilty but he was hungry, and no one was watching anyway. He could hear them at the dock talking about the day’s catch and ignoring the bear lure they had left on their tailgate. Robby leaned forward feeling his claw wound crack and begin to bleed, but he ignored it as he gobbled up everything of the hot grill one by one. He burned his tongue and his mouth, but he didn’t care. He gulped down every trace of meat and burped, feeling overly full, almost sick. Satisfied, he hurried into the woods waiting and watching the men discover his bad deed. They looked around and rushed about, suspecting it had been a bear and not a dog.
Robby went back across the road to sleep under a truck behind the neat and tidy store. He slept well, but his full belly made him burp all night; he bloated with gas and rolled from one side to the other. In the morning he was awakened by the store keeper’s happy whistle while the older man shuffled about with boxes, tossing garbage in the locking dumpster. The store keeper acted like he had forgotten something. Pushing his glasses upon his nose and glancing around he left a bag of garbage that smelled of good scraps by the door. Mumbling to himself, he wandered back into the store room. Robby rushed over. Not knowing when his next meal would come, he ripped open the bag gulping down over-heated hotdogs and chicken, nachos, pre-made sandwiches that were out dated and ice cream cones.
He heard the store keeper coming and raced off as fast as he could limp into the woods. He was off again, on his way to her. He had made it farther than he had ever expected to.
He followed the wide, rushing river. The highway followed it most of the way anyway. He knew the name of this place; Nana had called it Cooper Landing. Nana had known many words of the human tongue. She was with the Miss when she was very young and they grew to understand each other. It wasn’t hard to do. All one had to do was listen very carefully; that was why Nana was so wise.
He was careful to dodge any bear smells and the sharp beaks and claws of the greedy bald eagles. The great black and white birds screeched at him as he passed. He thought he spied a golden eagle, but left quickly wanting no part of that goliath bird. The mass amounts of birds varying in size and color came to feast on the spawned out salmon that wasted away in the shallows and on the shore.
Robby stopped to rest and drink, staring at the land around him and feeling confident in his journey for once. He was awe struck by the beauty of it all—the raging river that wove through the shallow mountains at the edge of the mighty monsters he had snuck through almost unnoticed. He took a deep breath, noticing how easy it was to breath at the lower elevation. He scratched at his good shoulder and winched from the pain it caused when he put weight on his bear-scratched shoulder.
He looked down at himself. His glossy, golden fur was a dull brown filth and he knew he smelled like a wolverine. They weren’t called skunk bears for nothing. The massive weasels crawled inside their kill and ate their scavenged meals from the inside out. He knew he looked and smelled that bad. He began to lick himself in an attempt to clean himself but gave up after the horrid taste that came into his mouth. His mood darkened to cranky and irritated. He got to his feet and moved on, grumbling to himself.
seventeen
Over the next few days, Robby ate a lot of fish. He usually only ate it as a winter snack when dog food ran short. He like
d it more than dog food; it was tasty and fresh. But his body was not used to all the wild foods he had been eating and he got diarrhea from it, leaving him feeling kind of sick as he left the banks of the river. He grazed on grass, hoping it would help his boiling belly.
He went back into the forest and pointed his nose toward home, glad to be leaving the bears and the sharp talons and razor-beaked birds behind. He worried about leaving all the fish behind knowing he couldn’t hunt anymore, he was just too worn out.
Some sun leaked into the woods he loped through; it warmed his stiff aching body. He was traveling too slowly and he knew it. He was feeling sickly and worn down, but he was too afraid to lie down and sleep for fear he wouldn’t wake up. His bear claw wound was fevered and smelled rotten. He cleaned it as best he could, but it made his neck cramp to crane his head around to lick his wounded shoulder.
He wove his way through the forest as it rose and fell at the edge of the mountains. He pushed on feeling at times like just giving up. His thoughts of his Miss began to blur, and at those moments he wondered why he was working so hard just to get home to her.
He was marching on, stumbling and weaving back and forth on the game trail he had found before he became so sick. Finally, he stumbled and fell on his chin and chest with his tail in the air. He had no strength to pull his feet back under him; he had no will, and no more power left in him. So he dropped his body to the side and lay where he fell.
For three days he didn’t move.
The birds gathered around waiting for him to begin his journey to the Great Sleep of death.
He slept hard, a fearful sick sleep that left him drenched in a sick sweat, the sweat of the dying. He didn’t make a noise, just breathed. Ravens watched him, waiting for his breathing to stop, waiting for him to die. Gray jays laughed and cried out, hopping around him pulling tufts of hair from him to see if his skin twitched in response.
But still he slept.
Once a lynx boldly walked up to him and sniffed him. Its large yellow eyes swept over his sickly form, smelling the fever and the festering wounds. Its tufted ears twitched hearing him breath shallowly and slowly. To the raven’s surprise, the skinny long-legged wild cat walked away, its big feet silent as it walked through the dead leaves, the browning grass, and the seeding fireweed.
eighteen
Robby awoke groggy and weak, feeling the cold “winter’s coming” bite to the air. He pulled himself up so he was laying on his belly. He panted from the effort as he gazed around with his vision blurry. Despite feeling weak, hungry, and thirsty, he felt rested and better. He barked at the ravens with a dry throat sending them away with angry, disappointed caws.
The small of the lynx lingered, and made Robby look around sharply, heaving himself to his feet. A dog was no match for a lynx, especially a sick dog, and he knew that he best be gone from here. At first he walked slowly like a tender-footed puppy. Then he grew bolder and strong enough to trot down the hills to find water and maybe more fish.
Robby splashed into the shallow edges of the calm pool at the edge of the river. He gulped down so much water that he burped some of it up before laying down to settle his stomach. He dozed a bit sheltered in a willow patch that smelled like young moose, this spring’s calf most likely. He licked his paws glad that they weren’t so tender any longer.
His stomach settled after a while, so he got up feeling more alive and padded down river letting his nose lead him on. He came across a half-eaten moose calf, most likely the one that had bedded down in the willows. It looked like a lone wolf had brought it down. Robby thought it strange how much meat was left even after the lynx he had smelled earlier had its fill. He chomped down the sweet, tender meat only a few hours old while keeping an eye on the woods, his back to the river.
When he heard a rustling in the dying grass, he growled savagely, swallowing a hunk of meat, watching the grass be pushed down before the fat porcupine. The medium sized pin-covered butter-ball grunted and ground its teeth at Robby. He snarled eyeing the cranky, odd beaver-faced, alien-looking animal with annoyance. He remembered when he was a pup and dumb enough to bite at a porcupine’s back. All that got him was a mouthful of quills, wounded pride, and long painful day of the Miss sitting on him with a pair of pliers pulling one at a time out of his tender jowls.
The porcupine moved on down the river not concerned about walking by Robby with its back to him. Robby glared at the brave little barbed animal knowing very few animals bothered with them unless they were truly starving. Robby suddenly wished his own back and tail were armored in needle sharp quills. This horrible long journey wouldn’t be so horrible if he had armor.
Robby ate his fill, even resting a few times to stuff himself more, before moving on. He was surprised to find that wolf’s kill. He could smell the strong male wolf’s urine around the edges of the woods where it had marked. He had successfully dodged the long legged, empty-bellied, eating machines so far and wondered when his luck would run out. He had crossed the mountains unharmed, and stuck close to the woods near the highway where man was.
He knew that this far south, the wolves kept deep into the woods and avoided man. There was plenty of game to keep them busy. The coyotes were the ones he had to worry about in the woods of the Kenai Peninsula.
Mile after mile passed under his paws as he loped along feeling fresh and renewed. But not perfect. His head and body ached and he felt sick, but he knew he would recover with time and rest. He wagged his tail as he turned and crested an outcropping of rocks that jutted high above the trees.
Robby stood feeling the wind rustling his matted, dirty fur. The sun burned the warmth into his bones leaving no trace of the chill from the shadows of the woods that had been there. He barked and hopped like a puppy gazing over the flat sparsely treed tundra before the town of Sterling, Alaska, a joyous spot of light on the horizon.
He was almost home.
With a happy leap he raced as fast as he could toward the lights in the growing darkness; the sounds and smells of man made his feet move faster. He had broken free of his gloom and held hope upon hearing the sounds of vehicles on the road. He was right on track.
He had to get home.
He had to see her, one last time.
nineteen
Robby walked through the night and the next day. He walked through marshland and thick spruce and birch woods; he passed through neighborhoods that popped out of nowhere, and pastures where cows and horses—even lamas—looked at him with weary eyes and stiff legs ready to run if he made a move on them.
Robby was on a mission. He looked forward, never wavering from where his heart and nose told him to go.
He was almost home.
At times he ran, but he grew sick and tired and went back to his rushed walk. He was so excited to see his Miss again, to smell her smell again, to sit by Nana’s grave and watch the stars. He even missed the mean tom cat the Miss’s ma had.
Robby began to think about all his memories. He remembered the day he bit the boy who tried to hurt his Miss, and how tightly she hugged him when the boy and his pack ran away. He remembered Ice Eyes, the Miss’s brother, who snuck out late at night and Robby followed until the boy sent him away. He remembered everything and he suddenly wagged his tail with a happy bark, picking up his pace limping terribly. His mind became sharp with determination.
He was weary by the time he stumbled out of the woods on to a familiar trail that followed the path of the giant power lines that “crisscrossed the world,” as Nana once had said. He was running down the trail when a strong sent hit his nose. He slid to a stop on the hard packed mud of the trail that man drove their ATV’s on. He hunkered low, gazing around in the dark that gripped the quiet woods.
He smelled fresh blood and coyote.
He was in big trouble.
He heard them yip and make their eerie barks to one another. Robby crawled to the edge of the trail hoping they didn’t smell or see him as he crawled along silently. Suddenly, there was a wai
ling howl and the woods exploded in noises. Robby leaped into a run and raced down the trail as fast as he could only to be flanked by shining-eyed coyotes. There were as big as Robby; the summer had been good to them; they had eaten well. There were a dozen of them howling their eerie howl racing around him. They surrounded him snapping and biting, pulling mouthfuls of fur off of him. Robby roared, sinking his fangs and claws into them.
The lean coyotes tumbled over one another just to get a chance to bite Robby. They had dog meat on their minds. The feral beasts were known to commonly eat dogs in the last few years in this area. Their haunting wild, crazed eyes glinted in the dim light; they looked mad with hunger. Their long fangs were bared in the air, their gaping jaws waiting for something to sink into. Robby was in a frenzy ripping and tearing back at the hungry coyotes. He didn’t think; he didn’t have time to think. In his fight for his life, he didn’t notice the group of dogs that came to his rescue, bursting from the tall grass in mighty leaps.
twenty
The pack of dogs had heard the coyotes earlier in the night and had been on the alert protecting the very edges of their masters’ land. The rag-tag mismatched team dwarfed Robby and the coyotes as they sank their mighty jaws around the coyotes and ripped them away from Robby with thundering roars and growls, reminding Robby of his encounter with the grizzly at the river.
Alaska Dogs and Iditarod Mushers Page 54