I yawned and stretched and got to my feet, glancing around me. I still felt anxious, as if I had been a bad dog. Maybe the angry men were still looking for me. I stayed away from people that day, moving cautiously between houses, sniffing hopefully at plastic bins with food smells hidden inside. I could not find any bins with an open lid, but I did knock over one that spilled out a pile of soft noodles in a cheesy sauce.
Later, as the sky started to darken again, I passed a garage with a door that was not closed all the way. A gap just wide enough for me was left between the door and the floor, and a smell that I recognized drifted through that gap.
Dog food!
I squeezed into the garage and nosed around until I found a bag of dog food, mostly full, in a corner. I ripped it open and ate eagerly. I was not being a bad dog now; I was sure of that. Dog food was for dogs!
There were two other dogs on the other side of a door who did not agree that I was doing what a good dog should. They howled and barked and scrabbled at the door with their claws. But I ignored them as I crunched and gulped.
Eating dog food reminded me of Lucas. I remembered how excited I felt when he would take down the dog food from a cupboard and pour it into a bowl. I would dance around the kitchen, too happy to stay still. How grateful I felt. How much I loved Lucas, my very own person, giving me food with his hand.
Homesickness gripped me, as powerful as hunger. As soon as I’d finished this meal, I would leave this town. I would do Go Home to Lucas.
I would head back up into the mountains.
21
I had been doing Go Home for such a long time that everything about it was familiar—the trails through the hills, the search for water, the smell of animals, the lack of food. Days went past, and I headed steadily toward Go Home.
Once I startled a rabbit, but they had not gotten any easier to catch. Once I crept down to a road and found some old hot dog pieces in a metal bin that I knocked over. Other than that, I was not doing very well at feeding myself.
Dogs are not supposed to feed themselves. That’s why there are people.
After I gobbled up the hot dogs, I lifted my nose to the breeze. The hair along my back stirred as I caught a new scent. At least three of the small bad dogs were nearby.
I did not want to meet them, so I headed back into the woods, moving uphill. The odor faded behind me.
Then, as I crossed a small stream and drank my fill, I picked up their scent again. It was so strong I turned and stared down the slope behind me, expecting to see them slink out from behind some rocks or trees.
I did not see them, but I could tell they were close.
I was being hunted.
I headed up along the trail again, because there was nowhere else to go. Soon I saw the glow of unfiltered sunlight ahead. The trail burst from the trees and into a large stretch of grassy meadow. There was nowhere to hide here. The small bad dogs would see me easily.
Far ahead, the meadow sloped steeply upward. I could see a jumble of boulders poking up through the grass. The wind was behind me, blowing my scent uphill toward those boulders, but nothing leaped out to run me down. There were no bad dogs there waiting for me.
I remembered the last time I’d been threatened by the small dogs. A good dog learns when things repeat. Last time, having the rock wall behind me had protected me and frustrated my attackers. If I could reach those large boulders now, I would have a chance.
My legs were weak and tired from so many days without good food. Even so, I began running uphill.
I could feel the pack of predators behind me. They were closing in.
I was panting hard when I reached the rocks, and I lay in a small pool of shade for a time to catch my breath. From here, I could see the entire meadow below me. I spotted the small dogs when they trotted out from the woods.
Single file, they advanced through the grass toward me.
My lips drew back in a snarl.
I was not thinking about Lucas for that moment. I did not feel the pull of Go Home.
All I wanted was to face my enemies, to sink my teeth into their flesh. I got to my feet, ready for the fight to begin.
My three enemies climbed up the hill silently. Their tongues hung out. Their eyes were slits.
As they grew near they spread out, since they knew that I could not retreat. The rocks behind me held me in place.
I could smell that they were a family, all young males from the same litter. I could smell that they were hungry. In fact, they were starving. I was bigger than any of them, but they were desperate. They would not give up easily.
And if they knew how to hunt as a pack, they would win.
I longed to lunge at them, to chase them away, but I stayed with my tail to the boulders. I barked, snapping my teeth, warning them. They drew back, nosing each other. I saw that they were accustomed to prey that fled. Prey that fought back was new to them.
One of them, a bit bigger than his brothers, darted ahead. I jumped forward to meet him. He danced back and his two brothers moved to the side together, instead of flanking me on each side. They did know how to hunt as a pack. I turned to face them and sensed the largest one leaping at me. I snarled and snapped at him and the two smaller ones charged.
I chopped the air with my fangs, knocking over a small dog, and the bold one took his turn to spring. I felt teeth on my neck, tearing my flesh. I screamed and twisted and slashed and bit, and we went up on our back legs. I forced him down with my heavier weight, but one of his brothers darted forward.
Then there was a blur of motion above me. Something had climbed up on the boulders behind me and jumped, soaring over my head and landing right in front of the small bad dogs.
The pack was snarling and yelping in shock and fear. They scrambled back. I stared in amazement as an enormous cat, far larger than I was, sprang at the nearest bad dog, claws slashing. Her massive paw struck the boldest dog on his haunches and sent him tumbling.
The scent of the giant feline filled my senses, and I wagged. I knew this cat. It was Big Kitten.
And she had grown into a very, very Big Kitten!
The three bad dogs were fleeing down the hill in a panic. Big Kitten loped easily after them for a moment before she turned to look at me.
I wagged.
She came to me and purred and rubbed her head under my chin, nearly knocking me over. I play bowed, and she knew what to do. She put out one enormous paw and swatted at my nose, keeping her sharp claws in. I dodged away and darted back to put my paws on her shoulders, just as I used to do when we played. But I had to jump up to do it, lifting my front feet off the ground.
When she turned and headed uphill, I followed. She was my pack. She led me to the carcass of an elk, half-buried in shallow dirt. We fed side by side, as we had done so many times before.
Once my stomach was full, I lay down in a patch of sunny grass. I was tired. Big Kitten came over and licked at the wound in my neck, her rough tongue scrubbing at my skin until I turned away from her with a sigh.
She went away in the night, but I stayed where I lay, sleeping curled up in the grass. As the sun was rising, she returned, settling down next to me and purring.
I rested with her, resisting the urge to get up, to get moving, to do Go Home. This was part of our pattern, our way of being a pack. We would stay with the elk carcass for a few days and eat as much as possible before we moved on.
We would do this until we were with Lucas, and then we would not need to hunt any longer.
I wondered if Big Kitten would sleep on the bed with Lucas and me or across the street with Mother Cat.
Big Kitten did not stay close during the day, but she came to find me at night. Sometimes she led me to a meal, usually buried in the dirt.
Several times I smelled humans in the forest and went to find the spots where they stayed and where they filled up the metal bins with food. I gobbled down small morsels but took big things—chunks of bread, pieces of meat—up to share with Big Kitten.
We were making progress toward Lucas. I could feel it. And the closer we got to Go Home, the stronger its pull became.
We had been a pack again for some time the day we crossed a wide meadow. Other animals had been here before us, and had left large brown piles half hidden in the short, dry grass. I could see and smell that these big piles did not come from dogs. I sniffed them with interest and even licked one, but I could not figure out who had left them behind.
In the middle of the field was a strange kind of car or truck. It had four wooden wheels that had sunk halfway into the dirt, and a flat wooden frame between them that was half rotted away. I examined it with a little wariness, since things with wheels were often connected with humans. But I could smell that no people had been around this object for a very long time.
The sky was beginning to darken overhead, so I crawled underneath the wooden surface, resting in the shady dirt between the wheels. It was a comfortable spot for the night. Big Kitten would find me here after a while, and we would sleep together.
I dozed off.
In the morning, when I woke, I could not feel Big Kitten’s warmth against me. I could not smell her nearby.
But I could smell other animals. Lots of them.
I looked out from under my wooden shelter, and I saw feet. Many, many feet. They were very odd feet, too—not like dog feet, with our sturdy pads, or like cat feet with their sharp claws that can slide in and out. These feet were hard and round, with a crack down the middle that split them into two halves.
Cautiously I wiggled out from my sleeping spot. I could not believe what I saw and smelled.
There were animals all around me—huge animals, much taller than I was. They had the strange feet I had seen already, and long legs, and huge, huge bodies covered in dense, curly hair, much thicker than the fur of any dog I had ever seen.
Their heads were the size of my body and were crowned with curved horns that came to sharp points. Some of these heads bobbed down to the grass and nibbled at it. Other heads turned to look at me curiously. One of the creatures twitched its tail out of the way and let loose an enormous plop! down in the grass, and I realized that these were the animals who had left the piles that I’d encountered yesterday.
I had gotten used to being one of the biggest animals around. I was bigger than most dogs (well, except Dutch). I had once been bigger than Big Kitten, although that was not true anymore. I was bigger than the rabbits and squirrels I chased, bigger than the bad dogs who’d tried to hunt me twice. But these animals made me feel tiny. I could smell that they were not hunters—they did not eat other creatures, just plants. But I did not want to be near them.
One of them, smaller than the rest, seemed curious about me. It moved away from the side of a larger one and took several clopping steps in my direction.
I took a few steps backward.
It stretched out its nose toward me and made a strange grunting bleat.
That was all I needed to hear! I turned and leaped away, running through the crowd around me, darting around those huge, hard feet and dodging horned heads that swiveled to stare at me.
Soon I was away and could put on more speed as I headed up a hill along the side of the meadow. Behind me, the big creatures returned to their grazing. Dogs did not seem to matter to them.
The hill was not steep, but it was long. I panted as I toiled up the slope. I was nearly at the top when I caught a familiar smell and put on a little extra speed.
Big Kitten was waiting for me. She had settled down on top of a boulder, basking sleepily in the sun. I supposed she had not come to sleep with me under the thing with wheels because she had not liked the big animals, either. Or maybe because their smell had masked mine, and she had not been able to find me.
I touched noses with her, and she rubbed her face on mine. I jumped up to the boulder beside her. Now I could see the herd of big creatures on one side of the hill below us. Down the other side of the hill was a town.
A huge town.
The smell lifted up toward my nose, and I realized where we were.
We had found Go Home.
22
Excitement flashed through me. I bounded down the slope, but then I realized that I was alone.
I looked back. Big Kitten was sitting on her rock, not moving.
I trotted back to her, wondering why she was not following me. We were a pack and should stay together. Lucas was waiting for us.
She leaped lightly to the ground and rubbed her head against me. Then she scampered back toward the top of the hill. It was as if she wanted to go away from home and down the slope, back toward the meadow with the big animals, back toward the forests and the hills where people hardly ever came.
She looked over her shoulder at me. She wanted me to follow her.
When I didn’t move, she returned to me. This time she didn’t rub herself against me. She just sat and stared at me, tucking her tail around her so that it curled around her front paws.
The two of us looked at each other for a while. Then, at last, I felt that I understood.
Big Kitten was not going to do Go Home with me. She would not be lying on Lucas’s bed with me, waiting for a T-i-i-ny Piece of Cheese. For some reason, she did not want to go downhill with me toward the town that lay spread out below.
It was as if she wanted to do Go Home herself, as if she had a place where she needed to be. But her Go Home was not the same as mine.
I went to her, wagging, and touched her with my nose. I loved Big Kitten. She was my pack. But now she was large enough to hunt for herself. She did not need me to help her find food or to drive off the small bad dogs if they threatened her.
She did not need me to be her Mother Cat anymore.
So far my life had taught me that I might stay for a while with a family, like Uncle José and Aunt Loretta or Gavin and Taylor. But the time would come to move on, and it was that time now.
I had to do Go Home.
I turned and made my way down the slope toward the big town below. When I looked back, Big Kitten had jumped up on her rock once more. Dutch had been confused and upset when I’d said goodbye, but Big Kitten merely watched as I set off downhill again.
She was still there the next time I glanced back, and the next.
Then I looked again, and Big Kitten was gone.
* * *
Steadily, I drew closer to the big town. A sound reached my ears, growing louder minute by minute. It was a steady roaring, and it made me nervous. But to reach the town, I had to get closer to that noise.
Soon I could see what was making such a racket—a road. Cars and trucks were speeding along it, going so fast that the wind they made blasted into my face and made my ears flap.
I had driven on roads like this, when I had done car rides with Lucas and Mom, or with Gavin and Taylor. Car rides were fun—when you were in a car.
Being on the outside of the cars was not fun at all.
But I needed to cross this road. I knew I did. I lay down in a stand of tall grass and waited and waited for the cars to give me some space.
The cars didn’t seem to know that I needed to get to Lucas. They kept rushing past. At last I got impatient.
If the cars would not let me go, I’d have to go myself.
I stood up. I tensed. A dark car rushed by, its tires only feet from my nose. Another followed close behind it. Then there was a little space, a gap between that car and the next.
I lunged forward into that gap, running as fast as I could go.
One of the cars made a blaring, honking sound. It skidded to a halt, turning on the road, as I bounded ahead.
A small truck crunched into a low fence made of metal that ran down the middle of the road, separating one half from another. Inside the truck, someone was yelling.
A woman leaped out of the car that had stopped. “Here, pooch!” she called out.
I was afraid she thought I was a bad dog. I ran away from her. She ran, too, following me.
I
bunched my legs underneath me and leaped over the metal fence. More cars were on the other side. They made the same honking noises I’d heard before, and their tires screamed on the pavement as they skidded and stopped.
The woman jumped the fence behind me. More people leaped out of their stopped cars. “Here, dog! Here, boy!” some of them called out. “Come! Stay!” other people shouted.
It was very confusing. What did all these people want me to do?
A man jumped in front of me, waving his arms. I dodged away from him with a frightened yip. I didn’t want him to grab me. I didn’t want any of these people to grab me!
I wanted Lucas!
I was racing past a truck now, and someone flung its door open. A man leaped out. He had a big hat on his head and tall boots that thumped when they hit the pavement.
“I got this!” he shouted.
He grabbed something from inside the truck—a rope! A very long rope. It had a loop in it, and it swung the loop in a big circle above his head.
I ran faster.
The man flung the rope at me, but I knew better than to let something like that touch me. I dodged. The rope hit the roadway with a heavy smack.
The cars on the road had all stopped now, as far as I could see. I wondered why, but it certainly made the running easier.
Ahead of me, a woman stepped out of a light-colored van. Other people drew away from her. She had something in her hand—a long metal pole with a wire loop on one end.
In her other hand she held out something that, even in my panic, I could smell. It smelled tasty.
Treats! She was holding treats!
“All right, folks. Animal control! Let me handle this!” she called out.
She came toward me, holding out her hand. “Here, doggie. Want a treat?” she called out. “Good dog. Come!”
I hesitated.
I knew the words this woman was saying—dog, come, treat.
Should I go to her? Was that what a good dog would do?
Bella's Story Page 11