Watchdog and the Coyotes

by Bill Wallace

  I plopped on my bottom. I sat down so quickly I forgot to move my tail out of the way. It crooked under me, and I had to shift my weight to get it out.

  “I smelled it before. I tasted it. Only I didn’t know what it was.” I glanced at Poky. “Why didn’t I smell it on you the first night the coyotes came?”

  Poky’s tummy growled. “I was mad. When they stole my food, then got my chewy bone, I was so mad I couldn’t even see straight. That was my favorite chewy bone. I was so mad I forgot to be scared.”

  I looked down at my front paws, remembering.

  “I smelled something very close to it from the big coyote, the leader, only it went away. I remember because it was like the smell on the burglar that night he came to my master’s house.” As I stared down at my paws, pictures and smells and tastes flooded the space between my ears. “I remember tasting the smell on my friend Scotty when he left for the pound—only somehow it was a little different from the smell of fear on the coyote and the burglar. And I remember my second master. The little little boy and his . . . his father and . . .”

  I stopped as the sadness swept through me and made me jerk.

  Red turned to me. The white hair above his eyes wiggled. “You said you’d tell me about your second master.” Red yawned. “Your little boy in Oklahoma?”

  I had tried not to think about that. Having all the misery of putting up with the coyotes made me feel bad enough. Thinking about my last home would make it even worse. Talking would just bring the bad feelings back again. I didn’t want to tell them, but Red and Poky kept insisting.

  “I was only there for three or four months,” I began. “My little boy was named Ben. He was real little—only about five or so in people years. With my big little boy in California, I could romp and play. We had a blast flirting with the big little girls on the beach. When we got home, my big little boy would wrestle with me. He’d roll on the ground and tumble over me, then he’d jump up and run. I’d chase him, and we’d romp and tumble some more.

  “Things were different with my little little boy. I couldn’t romp and play with him ’cause he was too easy to knock over. I’d follow him around, and he’d hug my neck and pet me. I’d lick him—real careful ’cause my tongue would send him flopping backwards if I kissed him too hard. He used to try to ride on my back. It didn’t hurt much, since he was so little, but if I stood up, he’d fall off and start crying. I was always real gentle with him. I really loved him.”

  I sighed and scratched a flea that nibbled at my empty tummy. “Ben’s mama had a dog—a poodle. Her name was Fu Fu. That poodle didn’t like Ben, she hated me, and she didn’t like the mama too much.” I licked my whiskers and flopped my ears. “Come to think of it, I don’t suppose Fu Fu even liked Fu Fu.

  “Mostly she stayed in the house. But one day she had an accident on the carpet. The mama shoved her out the door into the yard where Ben and I were playing. I was polite and said hi to her, but she just stuck her little nose up in the air. Ben wanted to play with her. But she just walked off with her nose held high and snooty. Ben followed her.

  “He chased her all around the yard. She growled and told him to quit. I tried to explain that all he wanted to do was play, but she didn’t care. ‘I hate kids!’ she growled. ‘Get the little stinker away from me or I’ll bite him.’ I didn’t believe her. I guess I should have.”

  As I remembered that terrible day, a tear rolled from my eye. I wiped it away with a paw.

  “Finally Ben cornered Fu Fu at the back of the yard. He kept trying to pet her and pick her up. I told him to stop. I tried to get him to play with me, instead. I tried to warn him, but . . .” I took a deep breath, sighed. “But he didn’t understand. When he tried to pick Fu Fu up, she bit his hand. He jumped back, and Fu Fu bit him on the leg. When Ben ran away, she chased him. She kept biting at him, and she got ahold of his leg again.

  “That made me mad. I mean, she’d already chased him away. He was crying and hurt, but she just kept snapping and snarling and biting. I ran after them. I told her to leave my Ben alone, but she bit him again. He fell down and started crying really loud. I had to make her stop! I couldn’t let her hurt my little boy. So . . . so . . . I bit her.

  “I didn’t mean to bite her hard. I just wanted to make her stop hurting my boy. But . . . well, she was little and I was big. When I picked her up, Fu Fu screamed. I threw her across the yard. She didn’t get up, at first. She just whined and squirmed around on the ground.

  “Fu Fu finally got to her feet, but she could barely walk. She limped and cried as if I’d half killed her. I didn’t mean to bite her. I didn’t think I had really hurt her. I just wanted to get her away from my boy. But I was mad and . . . and . . . my Ben was still crying, and a little blood leaked from a hole on his leg where Fu Fu had nipped him. I nuzzled him with my nose. I kissed him with my tongue, but he kept crying. I was afraid he might be really hurt, so I picked him up and took him to the house, and . . . and then . . .”

  I couldn’t finish. I was shaking all over.

  “Let me guess,” Red snorted. “Ben’s father came out to see what all the crying was about. He saw Fu Fu lying in the yard and saw his boy dangling from your mouth.”

  I nodded, feeling my tail begin to tuck itself under my tummy.

  “When you tried to explain that you’d saved your boy from Fu Fu, the father wouldn’t listen, right?”

  I nodded again and flattened my ears against my head. “I guess he thought I had attacked Fu Fu, then turned on Ben. I guess he didn’t know I was bringing Ben to his daddy. He must have thought I had bitten Ben, too.

  “I’d never bite my boy. I loved him. I’d never do anything to hurt him. But that’s when I smelled it—the fear. I’d never smelled it before—that was the first time. It was a little different from the smell of that burglar and the smell from the coyotes, but very close. The smell jumped from the daddy so strong that I could taste it, even with Ben in my mouth. He took Ben away from me and kicked me. Right on the side of my head. That spot still hurts. I can feel it now, just as if it happened yesterday instead of a long time ago.”

  I flopped down on the ground and covered my face with my ears and paws. I felt so rotten and sad that I almost made myself sick. My tail was tucked under me so tightly that I couldn’t even feel it. My nose, which was always cold and damp, felt as hot and dry as a bone that had been left in the sun. I wanted to curl up and die.

  Chapter 10

  Poky and Red tried to comfort me. They nuzzled me with their noses. They licked my ears and nudged me with their paws. They talked to me and rubbed their cheeks against my forehead.

  “You did the right thing,” Red told me. “The poodle was hurting your boy. You had to make her stop.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” I sniffed. “She never could walk very well after that. They had to take her to the vet and . . . and . . . after she came home, she still limped.” I sighed and let my ears droop over my eyes. “Fu Fu always limped.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Poky whispered in my ear. “Fu Fu’s limp wasn’t your fault, and the daddy getting scared wasn’t your fault, either. He shouldn’t have kicked you.”

  “Why couldn’t I make him understand?” I whined.

  Red grunted when he stumbled to his feet. “People can’t understand dip,” he snorted. “I heard that they could understand a long, long time ago. Then they learned this thing they call language—you know, the words they use. Ever since they got words, that’s the only way they can talk. We use wiggles of our ears and our tails. We smell, we taste, we look. They forgot how to smell and taste and look. If they can’t talk with words, they can’t understand a stinking thing. I tried to tell my master about the coyotes. Idiot just looked at me and patted my head. You can wiggle your ears and give off your smells and twitch your hair till you’re blue in the face. Without words, people can’t understand diddly-squat.”

  Poky stood up and looked toward the back fence. It was getting late. “What are
we going to do about the coyotes?”

  My tail didn’t wag, but at least I could feel it again. Red shoved me hard with his snout. I got to my feet. My nose was still hot and my insides shook, but I took a deep breath and cocked my ears away from my head so I could hear Red.

  “Sweetie,” he said. His eyes and ears spoke very seriously. “You’re going to have to do something. Poky is too little, and I’m too old. You’re going to have to fight the coyotes. We can help, but we can’t do it without you.”

  I shook my head. My ears popped against my cheeks. “I can’t fight. I can’t bite!”

  “Why?” Red snarled. “Because you made a mistake once and bit some old lady on the bottom?”

  “No. Because of what I did to Fu Fu and to Ben.”

  “You didn’t do anything to your Ben. You helped him, and the dumb daddy just didn’t understand.”

  “But what about Fu Fu?”

  “She deserved it.”

  “Oh, no.” I cringed. “She didn’t deserve to limp for the rest of her life.”

  Red put one paw over the other and squinted at me. “You might not have even hurt her. She sounds like the kind of dog who just might be faking her limp to make the mama feel sorry for her and not throw her outside when she messes on the floor. Even if you really did hurt her, which I doubt, you didn’t mean to. What would have happened if you hadn’t done something?”

  I shrugged my ear.

  “What would have happened?” he repeated.

  “Well, I guess she would have kept biting my boy.”

  “Right.”

  “She would have kept hurting him.”

  Red gave a knowing nod. “You did what you had to do to protect your master. You’re still hung up about your brothers and sisters calling you a bully. You don’t growl or bite because you’re big and you figure you might hurt somebody. But if you hadn’t stopped Fu Fu, she would have hurt Ben even worse. When you fight to protect your master, you’re not being a bully. You have to do what’s right.”

  Red grunted as he got to his feet. He stood in front of me—so close that his nose touched mine.

  “You’re scared that you might get sent to the pound. But even if it’s dangerous—even if your people might not understand—you still have to do what’s right. Doing the right thing isn’t easy, sometimes. But if you don’t do anything, if you just think being a good watchdog means doing nothing but sitting and watching . . . well, you still got in trouble with your master, remember. It’s much better to do what’s right, even if you get in trouble, than to do nothing at all.

  “You have to help Poky and me with the coyotes. Protecting your friends isn’t nearly as important as protecting your master, but we need you. We can’t do it alone.”

  Red’s words made sense. He took his nose away from mine and sat down. When he did, he groaned again. Red was old and feeble because of his arthritis, but he was wise. Very wise. Still . . .

  I plopped down on my bottom and crunched my tail again. I didn’t even move it, though. I just sat on it.

  “I’m so confused,” I confessed. “When I was a puppy, I was confused all the time. But I thought that when I grew up I’d know things. I wouldn’t be confused. Only . . . now I’m grown up, and I still don’t know . . .”

  “What are you confused about?” Poky asked with a wag of his tail.

  “Well . . .” I felt my cheeks puff out when I sighed. “When I smelled fear on the burglar, I should have chased him off. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And when I smelled fear on the coyotes, I should have bitten them, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But I smelled fear on Ben’s daddy and on my friend Scotty when he was headed for the pound, and I smell it on Red when he thinks about the coyotes. Am I supposed to bite them, too?”

  Red stood up again. “No. It’s a different smell. Different kinds of fear have separate smells. They’re very close, but different. One odor is simple. Your Ben’s father was afraid you had hurt his boy or would hurt him. Scotty was afraid of the pound, and I’m afraid of the coyotes.

  “The other smell—the one from the burglar and the coyotes—their smell is because they’re scared of getting caught doing something they’re not supposed to. The burglar knows it’s wrong to steal, and the coyotes know it’s wrong to take our food. It’s still a fear smell, but it’s sort of a sneaky smell, too. It’s hard for people and animals to be brave when they know they’re doing something that’s not right.”

  I nodded, remembering how the smells were the same, only different. “Why does the smell of fear hurt my nose and at the same time make me feel big and strong inside?”

  “A long, long time ago, before we befriended people, we dogs had to take care of ourselves,” Red explained. “There were animals we could eat and animals that would eat us. All fear smelled the same back then. Life was much simpler. When we ran across something that smelled of fear, our bodies told us to chase it so we could eat. That’s where the strong feeling comes from. But when people came . . . well, we like people, and we don’t want to eat them. But sometimes they smell of fear, too. Most of us have learned to overcome our instincts and not chase them.”

  “I think I understand now.” I smiled. “One kind of fear—when people are afraid of us because they don’t know us or because we’re big—we leave them alone. The other kind of fear—the sneaky kind—that’s when we chase and bite.”

  Red’s white hair at the side of his mouth curled to a smile. “Right.”

  Poky’s brown eyes opened wide. “Then you’ll help us with the coyotes?”

  “Yes.”

  • • •

  The coyotes didn’t come when they usually did. I guess it was because Poky’s master worked outside in the yard until after dark. He was piling hay and straw around his roses and cactuses because of the cold.

  I ate every bit of my food. It felt good to have a full tummy. As soon as Poky’s master went inside, Poky and Red came to my yard. It was cold, but we were full and cozy. We curled up in the spot at the middle of my yard where we had been sleeping. I don’t know why we didn’t go into my house. I guess we were just used to the low spot in my yard.

  It was a lot easier to sleep, now that my belly was full and now that I wasn’t confused anymore.

  How long I slept I didn’t know. But in the very middle of the night Poky lifted my ear with his nose.

  “I think we’re in big trouble,” Poky whispered. With his paw he nudged Red. “Wake up, Red. This looks really bad!”

  Chapter 11

  There were twelve coyotes in my yard. While we slept, they had formed a circle around us. When Poky woke me, I saw the coyotes watching us with their yellow eyes. They licked their lips.

  “We’re hungry!” The leader drooled.

  Still half asleep, I struggled to my feet. Our tummies were full, but we were still cold and weak from hunger. “We have no more food,” I said. “You’ve eaten it all.”

  “So?” one scoffed. “You guys look pretty tasty to us.”

  “Yeah,” another added. “I bet that little one there—the one with the big ears and long tail—I bet he’s downright yummy.”

  They all laughed. It was an evil-sounding laugh. Yellow eyes shining, white fangs glowing in the night, they took a step closer.

  “Get ’em, Sweetie!” Poky whispered.

  I leaned close to his floppy ear. “Let’s try, just once more, to be friends.”

  Poky rolled his soft brown eyes.

  I turned to face the coyotes. “If you eat us,” I reasoned, “there will be no more food. Without us, our masters will quit filling the bowls. Then you will have nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “We’re hungry, now.”

  The circle of coyotes tightened.

  “That big one ought to feed six or seven of us,” one coyote yapped.

  “I want a leg,” another chuckled.

  “I want his guts,” yapped another.

  I took a deep breath
. I didn’t want to bite. But I was not a coward. I took a brave step toward the coyotes. “Take me,” I said, “but please don’t eat my friends.”

  The big coyote, who always seemed to do most of the talking, grinned. “That’s what we’re planning to do.”

  “Yeah,” another coyote snickered. “And when we get through with you, we’ll eat those other scrawny mutts, too.”

  They all laughed and took another step closer.

  Red backed his rump against me. He bared his teeth and growled. “There are some animals you just can’t reason with. We’ve either got to fight or die.”

  Poky leaned against my leg from the other direction. “Ready to get ’em, Sweetie?”

  “I’m ready,” I whispered.

  I felt the hair ridge-up along my back. I bared my teeth. Growled.

  Only it had been so long since I’d growled that just a little “fruff” came out.

  I took a deep breath so I could bark at the mean coyotes.

  Only it had been so long since I’d barked that all I said was “yap.”

  The coyotes howled and laughed. One jumped in and nipped me on the leg. It hurt. I tried to bite him back. Only it had been so long since I’d bitten, my jaws didn’t open. My cheeks just puffed in and out, making a little popping sound.

  The leader of the coyotes jumped on Red. The Irish setter fought bravely, but in no time at all, two other coyotes had helped the leader knock him down. One chomped down hard on Red’s leg.

  Poky fought and snapped, but he wasn’t very big. Two coyotes grabbed him. One holding each of Poky’s hind legs, they stretched him out and started dragging him off across the yard.

  Five pounced on me. Their sharp teeth hurt. I growled, but it was a soft, weak sound. I bit, but my jaws were so gentle that my teeth wouldn’t have hurt a kitten. All I could do was stand there as they bit and slashed at me with their glistening white fangs.

  I screamed with the pain. I hoped and prayed it would be over soon.

  Chapter 12