by Peter Howe
“Well, you had me worried,” said Waggit. “I was sure you’d gone paws up when I saw you.”
“Not yet, my friend,” Lowdown said, chuckling. “That was one of the things the Gray One told me. He said that everyone has their appointed rising when all this will end but mine ain’t yet. He didn’t say anything about you, though, so I would tread carefully, if you want my advice.”
“What?” cried Waggit. “What d’you mean?”
“I’m joking,” Lowdown assured him. “You’re too horribly healthy to worry about anything like that. C’mon, let’s go and make sure the others ain’t digging out a little hole in the ground for my final resting place.”
And with that he got up, shook himself, scratched behind his ear, and went over to Felicia, Tazar, and the other anxious dogs, all of whom made a big fuss about him. He in turn did nothing to dissuade them from telling him how important he was to the team and how worried they had been.
While this was happening, Waggit walked into the woods to where Lowdown had indicated the Gray One had been. There, in between two maple trees, was an indentation made where a large animal had flattened the ferns. At first he thought it could have been Gordo, but there was the same strange odor hanging in the air—a smell ancient and primitive that he now recognized as the scent of the Gray One.
Everyone felt relieved when it was obvious that Lowdown’s “episode” wasn’t serious. Waggit noticed that the old dog let everyone think that what had happened was the result of his old age, and didn’t mention the Gray One at all. Later in the afternoon the two dogs were lying together in the meadow enjoying the late-afternoon sun. Waggit turned to his friend.
“Lowdown?” he said.
“Yes, Waggit,” the old dog replied.
“Do you think the Gray One really exists?”
“Did you see him?” asked Lowdown.
“Yes, twice,” Waggit replied.
“Well,” said Lowdown, “in that case I would say that for you he exists. For me too, for that matter.”
“But I mean, does he really exist—flesh and blood exist, so you can touch him? Which I never did, by the way.”
“No, me neither,” agreed Lowdown, “but that don’t mean he wasn’t there. Look at those fluffies up there.” He pointed his nose to the sky, where the clouds were just beginning to get the touch of gold that marked the approach of day’s end. “You can’t touch ’em, but you know they’re there.”
“So why did you see him when nobody else did—not Tazar, not Felicia, not anyone in the team?”
“I dunno,” said Lowdown. “Maybe it was because I wanted to see him and they didn’t. Maybe we only ever see what we want to.”
“It’s all very confusing,” said Waggit with a sigh.
“It is that,” agreed Lowdown, “and the older you get, the more confusing it becomes. You’d think it would be the other way around, but it ain’t and that’s all there is to it. There’s some things you ain’t never going to understand, no matter how sharp you are.”
Waggit, who didn’t feel at all sharp at that moment, decided he would have to accept what Lowdown said as true. He was feeling restless; when things were unresolved, he always felt restless. He didn’t like experiences he couldn’t understand; they worried him, and he still couldn’t make sense of who or what the Gray One was. He wandered over to Tazar, who was getting up and stretching as if preparing to go somewhere.
“What’s up, Waggit?” he asked cheerily in greeting.
“Not much,” Waggit replied. “You going somewhere?”
“Oh, I thought I might just head on down to the ball fields and see if there’s any lost souls who might need a helping paw.”
This was something that Tazar did regularly. Toward the end of the day he would go out to look out for any recently abandoned or lost dogs wandering about helplessly in the park who he might rescue. This was how Waggit himself had first met Tazar.
“Can I come with you?” he asked Tazar.
Tazar looked at him. He noted the worried frown that caused wrinkles in the fur above Waggit’s eyes, and he could feel the uneasy tension in his body.
“Tell you what,” said Tazar. “Why don’t you do it instead of me? I’ve got a few things to attend to here anyway.” He didn’t say what the things were and Waggit didn’t ask. Although the leader enjoyed his solitary rescue missions, the fact of the matter was he rarely found dogs to help. They were either too timid and ran before he could talk to them or the authorities got them first. Waggit was the last dog he had met on one of these expeditions who he had persuaded to join the team. But Tazar’s greatest quality as a leader was his instinctive understanding of what his teammates needed, feared, or hoped for. He realized that something had disturbed Waggit, and that giving him a task would take his mind off it.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll do it,” said Waggit.
“It’s okay to go now, but be careful,” Tazar warned. “When it’s still as light as this, the Uprights tend to hang around after they’ve played ball, and if there’s Uprights, then there’s usually a Ruzela or two.”
“Don’t worry,” Waggit reassured him, “I’ll be careful.”
He rubbed up against Tazar in a gesture of affection and then headed down the hill to see what was happening at the ball fields.
23
Lost and Found
Taking heed of Tazar’s warning, Waggit skirted the edges of the ball fields when he came off the hill. This area was fairly safe when it was dark, but with the light of late summer it could remain crowded until quite late. Sure enough, small groups of humans were gathered around benches or seated on the grass, laughing and drinking sodas. He knew that a friendly gesture from one of them could often turn to anger if ignored, and the best strategy was to avoid any contact with people completely. The presence of so many of them also meant that it was unlikely that any abandoned dog would show himself or herself until the park emptied. Or so he thought.
He had settled down under the cover of some shrubs to keep watch until the last of the humans left when a movement caught his eye. In the middle of a group of people who had just finished a softball game he saw a young dog, no more than a puppy really, running frantically from person to person. Each ballplayer reacted differently to the dog’s panicked behavior. Some were welcoming and tried to calm the animal down, while others shooed her away. One man threw a stick for her to chase, but the dog was too frantic to be interested, and the stick thrower gave up trying to get her attention.
Waggit watched all this with his heart in his stomach. One reason for his anxiety was that he knew only too well how quickly the young dog could be in danger. All it would take would be a complaint from one of the group to a passing park worker, and the animal could be snatched up in an instant and on her way to the pound. The other reason the animal’s actions distressed Waggit was that they reminded him of his own abandonment. He remembered the way that fear had gripped him as he desperately looked for his “owner,” a word that Tazar had forbidden him to use ever since his rescue by the team. He knew that in this state of mind the dog wouldn’t listen to the instincts that served his species so well and would act rashly out of despair. The frustrating thing was that Waggit could do nothing about the situation but observe. He couldn’t put himself in unnecessary danger in attempting to save the animal, because if he did, there would most likely be two dogs on their way to the pound instead of one.
Finally the group of people got up and headed for the park gates on their way home, but to Waggit’s dismay the dog followed them. Then a person at the back of the group waved his hand to shoo her away. When the dog paid no attention, the man picked up a stick that was lying on the ground nearby and raised it above his head as if to strike the animal. This had obviously happened to the dog before, because she scuttled away and stood shaking in the middle of the field. The ballplayers had left the park by now, as had most of the other humans, and Waggit thought his heart would break to see the scared and confused animal standing alo
ne as darkness set in.
Very cautiously Waggit moved forward, running low to the ground from cover to cover, a bench here, a trash can there, anything that would mask his movement. For one thing, he didn’t want to be seen by one of the few remaining people, but he also didn’t want to spook the dog he was trying to rescue. He was now as close to the animal as he could get without being seen. Now he had to take a risk and come out into the open. As casually as he knew how, he sauntered up to the animal from behind.
“Hey,” he said casually.
The young dog shot up into the air, and then turned toward him, eyes wide and body quivering.
“Hi—hi—hi,” the dog stammered, looking from side to side to see if there was any way of escaping from this new and scary situation.
“My name’s Waggit. What’s yours?”
“Um, well, let me see,” the other dog spluttered. “I can’t remember. It’s—oh gosh, it’s on the tip of my tongue. It’ll come back to me, I’m sure it will.”
“No matter,” said Waggit, his voice remaining low-key. “Where are you heading?”
“I seem to have become separated from my master,” the other said, not noticing the way Waggit flinched when he heard the word. “He’s around here somewhere, I know it.”
Waggit watched the young dog with the compassion that only one who has experienced the same fears can give. He looked up at the encroaching dusk.
“It’s kind of darkening,” he said. “Are you sure he hasn’t left?”
“Oh no,” said the female. “He wouldn’t leave without me. We’re very close.”
“Well, it’s going to be hard for you to see him soon,” Waggit observed. “I’ve got a bunch of friends who live here just up the hill. You’d be welcome to spend the night with us if you’d like.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you, but I’ll be heading home now. He’s probably very worried, and I think I can find my way back from here.”
Waggit sat down and cocked his head to one side.
“You’ve never been in this park before, have you?” he asked in a soft voice.
The dog said nothing, and that was Waggit’s answer.
“You were surprised when he brought you here, am I right?” asked Waggit.
Again there was no reply.
“And did he throw a ball for you maybe, and when you retrieved it and turned to take it back to him, he was gone?”
This time the young female answered yes in the softest of whispers.
Waggit got up and brushed against the scared dog’s shaking body, remembering how comforting it had been on the night of his rescue to feel the solid warmth of Tazar’s strong form next to him. He then turned and came face-to-face with her, looking straight into those fearful eyes.
“I know this is hard,” he said quietly yet firmly, “but you’ve been abandoned. I don’t know why, and it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that you understand that the Upright you call your master will never return.”
The young creature let out a long, mournful howl.
“No!”
The truth was too awful to contemplate, and yet, deep inside her, she knew that it was just that—the truth.
“He wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t leave me all alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Waggit reassured her. “You have many friends near here. You just haven’t met them yet.”
“How do you know?” the female asked him. “How do you know what happened?”
“Well,” replied Waggit, “walk with me and I’ll tell you my tale.”
And so the two of them started across the ball field and up the hill, he back to his team and she to her new life.
GLOSSARY
Bad water: Gasoline
Bigwater: The reservoir
Change: Turn of seasons
Chill: The first days of winter
The Cold White: Snow
Crossover: Cross streets
Curlytails: Squirrels
Darkening: Sundown
Deepwater: The lake
Deepwoods End: The north end of the park
Eyes and ears: Sentry duty
Far Distant Territories: New Jersey
Feeder: Restaurant
Flutters: Birds
Goldenside: The west side of the park
Gray One: A wolf who may be mythical
The Great Unknown: The dog pound
Hoppers: Rabbits
Loners: Dogs with no team
The Long Cold: Winter
Longlegs: Horses
Long Light: Summer
Luggers: Carriages pulled by horses
Metal Trees: Lampposts
Nibblers: Mice
Petulants: Pet dogs
Realm: Area of the park that is the domain of a team
Rising: Day
Risingside: The East side of the park
Rollers: Cars
Rollerway: Road going through the park
Ruzelas: Anyone in authority—rangers, police, etc.
Scurries: Rats
Silver claws: Knives
Skurdie: A homeless person in the park
Skyline End: The south end of the park
Stoners: Teenage boys
Updowns: Avenues that run north and south
Uprights: Human beings
Warming: Spring
Wide Flowing Water: The Hudson River
Wild Yellow: Coyote
About the Author
PETER HOWE is the author of WAGGIT’S TALE and WAGGIT AGAIN. He was born in London, lived in New York for more than thirty years, and currently resides in Connecticut with his wife and two dogs. He is a former New York Times Magazine and Life magazine picture editor and the author of two books on photography, SHOOTING UNDER FIRE and PAPARAZZI. The character of Waggit is based on his dog Roo, whom he found abandoned in Central Park.
You can visit Waggit and the pack at www.waggitstale.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
ALSO BY PETER HOWE
Waggit’s Tale
Waggit Again
Credits
Jacket art © 2010 by Tristan Elwell
Jacket design by Amy Ryan
Copyright
WAGGIT FOREVER. Text copyright © 2010 by Peter Howe. Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Omar Rayyan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Howe, Peter.
Waggit forever / by Peter Howe; [illustrations by Omar Rayyan].—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: When a shortage of food and too many humans make it impossible for Waggit and his friends to survive in the city park, they make a dangerous journey, guided by a team of street dogs, in search of a new place to live.
ISBN 978-0-06-176517-9
[1. Dogs—Fiction.] I. Rayyan, Omar, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.H8377Wae 2010 2009023547
[Fic]—dc22 CIP
AC
EPub Edition © March 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-199844-7
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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