A Dog's Courage--A Dog's Way Home Novel

by W. Bruce Cameron

  Girl Kitten sprang to her feet as if to give pursuit, and I barked several times in warning; it was enough to halt her in her tracks. I trotted up to the cubs and nosed them to let them know I loved them and wasn’t angry, but we should not spend time chasing horses. The horses might decide to chase us back.

  It was as hard to communicate this message to the kittens as it would be to another dog, but I thought they understood from the wag of my tail and the way I deliberately turned away from the direction of the horses that I was ready to move on and that they should follow—which they did, though Girl Kitten kept stopping and staring back in the direction of the horses.

  A day after finding the backpack on the side of the road, hunger had returned and was carving away at my insides. I was plodding dully along a human trail, registering that it had twisted me away from my intended direction and finding it difficult to care, when I detected a tendril of succulent meat odor drifting on the wind. I quickened my pace and the kittens, lethargic and weak, struggled to keep up.

  They reluctantly followed me into an area where the ground was black, clearly afraid of the lingering scent of fire. The trees in this burned place had no limbs and were pointing sharply skyward and had been completely scorched. I made my way steadily toward what smelled like someone cooking meat and the two cats warily stayed close on my heels, clearly unsure of what I was doing or where I was going.

  Cats, I had long ago decided, didn’t recognize obvious odors the way dogs do.

  We eventually found the source of the tantalizing smells. We were in an area where some rocks formed a natural barrier to further progress. At the base of these rocks, there was a gathering of large, four-legged creatures, some kind of big deer. They had died from the flames and had been cooked where they fell.

  The kittens were unsure about this offering with its burned meat, but I had no such compunctions. I dug in and, observing the gusto with which I was enjoying this long-delayed meal, they joined me, taking a few tentative bites, then ravenously attacking the carcass. It was as satisfying to hear the quiet munch of their little teeth as it was to fill my own belly. When Boy Kitten raised his eyes and gazed at me, I felt sure I was seeing his gratitude.

  Sated, I decided to explore along the base of the wall of rocks. As happened so often, we emerged from the scorched area into a sandy place with sparse, unburned grasses.

  The kittens wanted to nap and I tolerantly let them climb on top of each other at the base of the rocks. Sniffing around, I found a pool of water that was fed by a tiny stream coming from a crack between two boulders. There was barely space for me to squeeze past the boulders, but that’s what I did, finding a small cave just past the entrance. Water dripped from a wall covered with black moss, the drops joining to form a small basin that flowed out between the two boulders and into the sun.

  I turned and saw the kittens following me into the cave, concerned that I had left their side. When I curled up for a brief nap in a soft, sandy patch of earth, they came to me instantly, purring and rubbing their heads on me before they, too, began to slumber.

  For the first time since their mother abandoned us, I felt that I was doing a good job of taking care of my kittens. I thought about Big Kitten and anxiously hoped she wouldn’t wind up like the cooked deer, trapped by fire.

  It was day outside the cave when I awoke. The kittens were still asleep. I wandered out away from them and back down to the herd of burned deer. After eating a meal, I seized one of the large creatures with my jaws and pulled it, stepping backward. I couldn’t drag it very far before the ache in my jaws forced me to take a moment to recover, but I kept at it, thinking that if I could draw it to our new den, it would entice the kittens to stay put for a time, and perhaps their mother could find us. Our place seemed safe for now, as I could smell no new smoke on the air.

  As I was resting from my efforts, a motion caught my eye and I whirled.

  Fox.

  Twenty-one

  The fox was staring at me with light-colored eyes, its sides heaving. I stared back. It opened its mouth and I braced myself for an unnerving scream, but the rows of wicked teeth were on silent display for only a moment before the jaws hinged shut. We kept our eyes locked on each other.

  A growl stirred within me at this unexpected threat, and I gave it soft voice. I was larger—attacking me would not be wise. But desperate animals will make bad choices, so the fur was up on my back, my gaze unwavering.

  I did not like foxes. They were feral, with fierce fangs, and not friendly to dogs or humans. I had chased a few and they were nimble as they fled, but I never really wanted to catch one, not the way I lusted to catch a squirrel. I did not wish to find out what a fox’s bite might do to my nose.

  This fox could harm the kittens and would see them as prey. Though they were nearly the size of the fox, Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten still moved through the world with the vulnerable innocence of the very young. They needed my protection. If that meant engaging this fox in battle, I would do it without hesitation.

  Yet even as I girded for a clash, I reconsidered. I could smell the fox now, and I could sense that it was terrified of me, and that it was starving. The corpse I was dragging lured it forward even as its fear of me held it back. It didn’t know what to do: take on a larger foe in hopes of food, or withdraw without trying to steal a meal?

  We were still staring at each other, the fox and I. Though not a dog, the small predator before me was clearly communicating a real desperation. Especially since I had recently eaten, I was much stronger, yet it still was challenging me because I had food. I felt the tension leave me, my back fur relaxing from its upright ridge. This creature, I realized, wasn’t evil; it was just trying to survive in a world gone mad with fire.

  The meal the fox so frantically coveted was on the ground between us. I backed away, offering the burned deer. The famished creature approached cautiously, timidly, flinching if I so much as moved. With its eyes on me, it lowered its head and urgently fed on the carcass. I watched and did nothing.

  Having spent many days eating with the relatively dainty kittens, I was struck by the forcefulness with which the animal before me dove into its meal. A fox, I realized, was more like a dog than a cat, despite its ears and cat-like body. Still, I had never seen a fox on a leash. I could only assume that they envied dogs for our connection to people.

  The fox managed to separate a hunk of leg from the carcass and, with a last look at me, scampered off with it.

  I tracked the small predator by its scent; when I was satisfied that it had gone far enough away, I relaxed.

  Evening was approaching, and the cubs would soon be stirring. I bent to continue the work of dragging the burned carcass and suddenly smelled the kittens. I looked up and saw them approaching at a run. I was not able to suppress a wag at the joyous manner in which they were scampering toward me. I was glad, though, that they hadn’t found me when I was face-to-face with a predator.

  They sniffed me and the deer and, when I lowered my mouth and put my jaws on it and began dragging the deer, they watched alertly, eyes bright with interest.

  Before long, Girl Kitten reached a decision and darted forward, pouncing and seizing the deer’s body with her teeth. She began backing away, joining me in lugging the food toward the den. Hesitantly, Boy Kitten followed his sister’s example. Between the three of us, we were able to make good progress, and soon we were there at the mouth of the cave. We managed to wrestle the deer into the den, and I watched contentedly as Girl Kitten threw sand and dirt over it while Boy Kitten observed as if learning a lesson. Then they bent their heads together to lap at the water pooling from the drips trickling down the moss wall.

  I knew now that I had found a safe place to await Big Kitten’s return. The two of them would not be leaving this food supply until it was gone. They would rest and feed and play, never straying too far. It was how their mother had behaved when she was their age.

  So, I had created an opportunity to try to range farther
away and pick up Big Kitten’s scent without worrying about my kittens.

  I set out to do exactly that the next morning. I left behind the familiar smells of the territory around the den and crested a rocky ridge and started downhill through loose rocks to a stand of trees well below me. I was feeling happy. My stomach was full and my cat family was safe in the den. We might remain here until we had fully regained our strength, and then, with or without Big Kitten, we would resume our trek to Lucas, whom I could sense was now at a considerable distance—the fires were closer than he was, so I would need to be careful when we were back on the trail.

  I indulged my nose when I picked up traces of rabbit, though I didn’t find one. A small patch of unburned grass and flowers attracted me for the sheer joy of the fresh, moist dirt. A large shadow flickered past and I peered up at an enormous bird clutching a small rodent in its talons. The mountain creatures were already recovering from the trauma of the fire.

  I was midway down the hill when an updraft brought me the unmistakable smell of canine. Not dog, though. Not any dog-like creature I’d ever encountered. I slowed, concentrating, peering into the wooded area below me. When I saw a shadow flit between trees, I was startled. I had learned that the animals I considered to be small, bad dogs were called coyotes, and they were feral and they would hunt me, but they were small, smaller than I. Only as a pack would they be a threat. But these hunters carried a different scent, and from brief glimpses, I could see they were larger than I was.

  They weren’t dogs, but whatever they were, I could see several of them. I wasn’t sure if they had detected my presence. I needed to get a good head start back to the den if they had.

  I turned around and was shocked to see Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten romping down the slope toward me, as if we were out for a neighborhood walk with Lucas.

  I panicked. Surely the predators in the woods would see these small cubs as an uncomplicated meal. I didn’t dare turn to see if they were coming up the hill at us. I wanted to bark, wanted to warn the kittens of the danger, but I kept silent, hoping we had not been spotted. Panting, I dashed up to the kittens and, to their astonishment, ran right past them toward the den. I looked over my shoulder and saw them racing after me, clearly sensing my urgency, if not the threat we faced.

  We had covered most of the ground back to our cave when I sensed that the big hunters had grown near. I glanced back and saw them, pursuing us steadily. They were cloaked in light bushy fur, with bright, dark eyes atop long snouts, and tails that were not wagging. They were chasing us with deliberate and deadly intent.

  Any one of those animals would be a formidable opponent. A pack of them would tear me and my kittens to pieces. I pictured it, how they would move to encircle us, falling on me in numbers while the kittens were easily picked off and carried away. The last thing I would hear would be Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten’s frightened cries.

  To protect them I needed to divert the attack toward me, give the cubs time to escape. I lagged slightly, ignoring my rising terror. The cubs did not pause to see why I had slowed, but continued to flee toward the den. My fear had somehow communicated to them the urgent need to make themselves safe.

  I sensed the predators gaining ground. They were not only larger, they were faster. They were going to catch me.

  Ahead was our den. I saw Girl Kitten slip into the crack, followed by her brother. Panting, I put on a burst of speed. I knew the pursuing predators were coming closer and closer. Now I could not only smell them, but also hear them. I could feel them, right there, and it wasn’t until I reached the crack in the rocks that I glanced back and saw that I was mere steps ahead of the closest predator.

  It was a female, clear determination written in her gaze. She hesitated, though, at the entrance to the cave, which gave me an opportunity to slide into the narrowest part of the passage and turn around.

  My lungs heaving, I growled.

  The female was joined by the rest of her pack and they milled about outside, taking turns peering through the crack into the dark cave. I had no doubt they could smell us. Certainly, they could hear me. I didn’t bark, I just kept my growl low and continuous, my lips drawn back from my teeth.

  Behind me, the kittens bobbed their heads and sniffed each other anxiously. They saw the danger now.

  The big canines probably could squeeze in here, but there was no room for them to maneuver, so they would not be able to attack as a pack. It would cost the first one dearly to try to take me on face-to-face, wedged between boulders, with nowhere and no way to turn. And whatever damage I inflicted on the first one would be a lesson to the next.

  Try to come in here and you will learn what a dog’s teeth can do to your snout.

  Whatever happened, whatever I had to do, I would protect the kittens.

  When I nuzzled Boy Kitten, I could feel his heart racing inside his rib cage. Whenever I moved, the cubs darted to a new position, always directly behind me.

  The big female hunter put her cold eye to the tight entrance. I eased forward, showing her my fangs. She wanted my cubs. I would not let her have them.

  I was no longer afraid.

  That night, the predators vented their frustrations in a mournful wail. The sound of it was chilling and unlike anything I could remember hearing before. It rose up into the night sky, and not long after I heard an answering howl from somewhere far in the distance.

  We had food, we had water dripping down off the moss, and I was determined we would not leave the cave until Big Kitten returned.

  The next morning, the sharp, oily tang of the hunter canines was gone from the air. I cautiously emerged into the sun, suspiciously peering around, but I did not see our would-be killers. I could smell where they’d spent the night, huddled right here, hoping I would come out and lead my kittens to them, but they’d grown impatient. Surely there were easier meals to be had than one they could reach only by fighting their way through a narrow crack in the rock.

  To be safe, I remained inside with the cubs that day and that night, restlessly sniffing for the scent of the predator pack. If I concentrated, a faint trace came to me, but it was like so many other odors drifting on the air, thin and distant, never strong enough to indicate threat.

  When I decided it was safe, we emerged into the fading light of a sunset. The kittens and I spent the rest of the daylight dragging the final carcass from the burned-out area of the woods, across the charred ground back to the den. As we did so, one of the tall trees suddenly snapped at the base and fell to the ground with such a roar that the two kittens fled in terror. I watched them, thinking their reaction was silly. It was just, after all, a big stick.

  Eventually they returned to me, led, of course, by Girl Kitten. The three of us worked together and managed to get that deer all the way back to the cave.

  Now, I knew I could leave the kittens here and they would remain safe, watered, and well-fed for many days.

  It was a good den. The tiny stream was enough water, especially where it pooled.

  I resolved that I would range farther to see if there was any trace of their mother on the wind. With her hunting at night, we would have food to keep us strong while we did Go Home to Lucas. But I did not know if Big Kitten was even still alive.

  I left with the sunrise and made steady progress, keeping the fire to one side as a frame of reference. I mostly followed trails, which made the journey easier.

  No sign of Big Kitten. No trace at all. I lifted my nose and inhaled the air, concentrating, separating out all the odors, searching for hers.

  And then, because I was so focused on finding individual threads in the vast jumble of smells that were the mountains in the summer, I was jolted by the faintest whiff of a familiar scent.

  I knew where I was.

  Twenty-two

  Every dog carries a unique scent, just like people. And, again like people, some dogs smell nicer than others. (Dogs who’ve just had a bath smell the worst.) When I know a dog well, I can remember their scent with
out having to use my nose. I’ll find it in my dreams, and meet other canines on walks with similar bouquets that remind me of the original dog. So, when the wind brings me even the faintest trace of an old friend, I know exactly who it is.

  Several winters ago, when I was making my way back to Lucas through these same mountains, I was separated from Big Kitten and met a big, shaggy dog named Dutch. For a time, I lived with Dutch and a man named Gavin and another man named Taylor. Precisely how this happened was something of a mystery to me, because people decide where dogs live, and where they walk, and what they eat. One moment I was doing Go Home to Lucas, and the next there was a leash on my collar and I was with Gavin and Taylor and Dutch. I soon came to understand that both Dutch and I were new to the two men, because we both laid down fresh dog scents when we first arrived. (Astoundingly, Gavin and Taylor did not already have a dog!)

  A good dog obeys kind people, so I felt guilty that, despite the affection lavished on me by the two men, I was always looking to escape and get back to doing Go Home. Dutch, on the other hand, loved Gavin and Taylor, Gavin especially, and accepted them as his pack. Which was why Dutch was so surprised when I seized my first opportunity to leave and head back into the mountains.

  Dutch followed for a time when I departed, because we were a pack, but eventually he broke off to return to his new home. He did not know about Lucas, and there was no way for me to explain. But I never forgot the big, shaggy dog or the two men with the tender hearts who took me in and gave me human love and a warm bed to lie in.

  It was Dutch’s smell coming to me now, as clearly and uniquely him as any other canine I’d ever been acquainted with.

  Even better, his scent was recent. It was on the air and not drifting up from the ground. Dutch was not nearby, but he was out there, and I was instantly consumed with a need to find him. I pictured jumping on his back and wrestling with him and, in that moment, there was simply no urge more important.