Dutch’s reaction was to shrink back when he saw the cats. I did not blame him. Though they were obviously kittens, they were unusually large. In fact, I’ve met many dogs smaller than these two cats. Dutch even growled a little, which halted their playful assault on him before they even launched it. They could tell that this dog was not friendly, not like me, their mother cat. They stared at him and Dutch stared back, the fur rising in a ridge behind his head.
I attempted to break the impasse by playfully pushing at Boy Kitten, but he remained fixated on the large canine in front of him, fascinated but also fearful. I turned my attention to Girl Kitten, who was far more willing to ignore what was, after all, just another dog. Dutch watched silently as I threw Girl Kitten on her back and nuzzled her. She wrapped her legs around my head, but her claws were safely sheathed.
There are some dogs who simply cannot resist fun play and I knew Dutch was one of these. His tail wagged as he watched us wrestle, an involuntary reaction. Soon he had tentatively joined us in the scrum. Boy Kitten backed away, but Girl Kitten jumped up at Dutch without hesitation, despite his intimidating size. I had demonstrated to both of them how to properly play with dogs, and Dutch quickly recognized that this was exactly what Girl Kitten was doing. Thankfully, he understood that there was nothing to fear from these babies.
I kept my eye on Boy Kitten, who was bobbing his head. Finally, he couldn’t resist any longer, and when he joined in, we played until we all fell down in exhaustion.
I occasionally focused on Dutch, wondering if he was feeling the pull of Gavin and Taylor, if he now considered himself part of this strange pack. Would he stay with us or do his own version of Go Home?
Having accepted the new dog, the kittens would have tussled all day, but Dutch’s head whipped around and I knew he had caught the odor of the cooked deer floating through the crack in the rocks. Understandably, he couldn’t comprehend how the rocks were emitting meat smells. I led him into the space, wriggling through the tight turn just inside the entryway. For Dutch, this passage was particularly challenging, as his bulk nearly became stuck between the rock walls. But the smell of the meal lured him forward until, with a grunt, he was standing beside me in the cave, watching, probably perplexed, as I dug industriously at the sandy dirt where the deer was buried. Soon I had exposed a leg and Dutch lunged at it with considerable enthusiasm. That I was able to unearth such a large meal did not seem to surprise him—one of the things I liked most about Dutch was his complete willingness to accept anything that was happening.
The kittens decided it was mealtime and silently joined us, though they were less interested in eating than they were in watching Dutch consume his meal.
Dutch and I employed different approaches to eating. I would eat until I was full, and then maybe a little bit more. Dutch seemed as if he could keep eating as long as there was food. Eventually, though, he tired of it and left us to go outside to squat and then mark the rocks around us as his territory.
I think he was a little surprised that I didn’t follow him, and eventually he returned to the den.
The sun was setting and I was weary, and Dutch watched in bafflement as I circled around and then sprawled out with my back against the wall. Then he seemed to decide this was what we were doing now, and collapsed with his head on my hip. The kittens joined us, purring. Though it was evening, normally the time of increased activity for them, they seemed exhausted.
There was too much kitten scent in the area outside the lair for me to tell whether the cubs had, as I feared, ventured outside in my absence. No matter, I was here now. And with Dutch by my side I was confident that if the large canine predators showed up again, they would be even more reluctant to attack us in our den.
I was conscious of Dutch’s restlessness all through the night. He kept getting up, turning in circles, and lying back down. At one point, I think he made the decision to abandon us and this strange place, but after he slipped outside for just a bit, I smelled him returning and he squeezed back in with us.
The next morning, we fed and explored the ridgeline. I was feeling restless—knowing we would soon be back on the trail to Lucas. He would be so surprised to meet the cubs and Dutch!
I watched Dutch, who was as cheerful as ever despite being away from Gavin and Taylor. Did he now think of himself as a dog who slept in a cave with enormous kittens? Meanwhile, the cats were as approving of Dutch as if he were their father cat, though they never bothered to examine the places where Dutch lifted his leg. Cats don’t always know the proper way to behave.
They did, however, know to follow their canine friends. I lifted my nose, focusing on feeling Lucas, and set off to find him.
We wandered down into the trees, pausing constantly because Dutch seemed determined to mark every single one. We had just come upon a small pond and were drinking when something hit me with the force of a slap. Dutch raised his head at precisely the same moment, though the kittens seemed entirely unfazed. A dank, feral, dangerous smell had reached us. Some sort of creature was nearby, something between the den and ourselves.
The kittens were oblivious, but Dutch and I immediately communicated our anxiety to each other by lolling out our tongues. Tension and fear arose in me. What we smelled now was an animal I had once sensed before. I was immediately taken back to a strange night, when fire danced in a black sky and I growled at an enormous beast standing in shallow water. This was not the same individual, but it was the same type of beast, and Dutch and I could tell it was a meat-eater.
Some thin, unburned trees lined the grassy area around the pond. Dutch and I stood absolutely still, focused on the trees, waiting to see what would emerge. We both reacted with alarm when we saw a huge, lumbering creature come out of the woods. It was black and walking on all fours, kind of like a dog does, but when Girl Kitten scampered around, trying to induce me to chase her, the animal stood up on its rear legs and held its nose to the air. It was as tall as a man, broad and covered with coarse black fur.…
Bear. Lucas and Olivia had called the dangerous animal a bear. When it dropped back down and lowered its head, I knew it was coming for us.
It lumbered toward us slowly but with deadly intent. The kittens now saw the predator and instinctively gathered behind us.
It was too late to run. The bear was hunting the cubs and did not consider the two dogs shielding them any sort of threat.
Though there were only two of us in the pack, Dutch and I reacted with pack instincts. Dutch, his fur up and his teeth bared, seemed ready to do battle with the bear. He stalked off to the side while I planted myself directly in front of the cubs to protect them. We both growled loudly.
The bear slowed. It peeled its lips back in a snarl, and I saw that it had claws like a cat, like a Big Kitten cat, menacing and deadly. I had never been this close to such a powerful animal. I realized I was panting with fear, but Dutch had gone from being an affable, happy dog to one who was threatening a killer several times his size. I noted his technique as he stealthily worked his way around to flank the predator.
The bear ignored Dutch, and it and I both made the same calculation—that I was no match for this hulking threat. The great animal tensed, preparing for a charge.
I could smell hunger on its breath, see its eyes focusing on the cubs. It felt as if the carnivore were looking through me.
I changed that by snarling and barking as ferociously as I could. I would save these kittens! I would stand here and keep them from being hurt.
The bear hesitated, startled by my viciousness. Dutch came up fast behind the creature in a silent rush and bit the thing on its back leg. The bear kicked him away and stood up on two legs, bellowing.
As it went after Dutch, I attacked, reaching it before it could reach Dutch, who scrambled desperately back. I closed my jaws on a leg and tumbled when the bear whirled back to face me. I scrabbled back as it raised its front paws, and as it was preparing to swipe at my face, Dutch went at it again from behind.
Ast
oundingly, Girl Kitten darted forward, claws out, lips pulled back in a spitting snarl. She stopped well short of the bear’s reach but the distraction gave me time to slide to the side.
In a flash, Boy Kitten had joined her, two fanged mouths now hissing at the huge creature.
Surrounded by such a fierce pack, the bear halted its assault and glared at us. Dutch was barking, I was snarling, and the kittens had their ears back and were ready to fight for their lives. The bear gnashed his teeth at the air, teeth banging together, loops of saliva flying. It pounded the soil with its front claws in fury, then twisted quickly around to growl at Dutch, who was moving up from behind.
That was my opening. I leapt forward.
But the bear had had enough. With a few loud snorts, it abruptly turned and lumbered back into the woods, as if it had grown weary of us and could no longer be bothered. Dutch charged after it, but only for a few steps, withdrawing his pursuit when I didn’t join him.
When he returned to me, wagging, Dutch was transformed back into the carefree canine I knew so well. I would not soon forget, though, the ferociousness with which he had gone after that bear.
Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten swarmed me, pushing against me, needing physical contact. Dutch lowered his immense head and they both rubbed against it, their chests rumbling.
When I was sure the danger had passed, I led Dutch and the kittens back to the den. I think we all took comfort from the sheltering cave and the meal we had after our encounter with that fierce creature. The den felt like home, and we needed to reassure ourselves that all was safe.
It was the middle of the day and the two kittens were ready to settle down for an afternoon snooze. Dutch watched them lying there, and I wondered if he was feeling what I was feeling: we were taking care of these kittens now. They were part of our pack. Instead of fleeing, they had stood with us when we confronted the bear.
But when Dutch lifted his head to stare at me for a moment, I knew that he had made a decision. He turned and squeezed through the passageway to the outside. I followed him and we stood under the sun in the grassy field. Dutch and I touched noses. I understood what was happening—we were saying goodbye, because Dutch needed to be with Gavin and Taylor. That was his home.
I would soon do Go Home to Lucas myself. That was where I belonged. But it wasn’t as easy to get to him, to follow the pull of his invisible leash, as it would be for Dutch to return to his people.
For a long moment Dutch and I silently regarded each other. I think he was picturing being fed by his people, and how easily I had rejoined them after being gone so long. Why would I give that up for a couple of ridiculously large cats? But Dutch had never met Big Kitten and didn’t understand.
At last, Dutch turned and trotted off back in the direction of Gavin and Taylor. When he reached the line of trees where he would disappear from sight, he turned to gaze back at me, his tail twitching just a little bit. His ears were down, his lips were loose; we shared a long stare.
It was how dogs say goodbye.
And then, as I watched, my friend and favorite member of my dog pack turned his head toward home, slipped into the woods, and vanished from sight.
Twenty-six
The fire was no longer everywhere, surrounding us, threatening at any moment to force us up against some rocks and cook us. I was so accustomed to its biting presence in my nostrils that the lessening of the peril led me to question whether it had gone away completely. It hadn’t—a shift in the breeze, which had also weakened, gave me a sense of where trees were burning the hottest. Now the mountains around us were much like the forest of dead trees where we’d found the charred deer—different, altered, perhaps forever, but not as dangerous.
This meant I could stay on a course more or less straight to Lucas. Once I made this decision, I didn’t hesitate, and set out just as the sun, an odd, flat disk in the hazy sky, rose above the sharp edge of the nearest peak. The cubs followed me unquestioningly, though I knew it made them uneasy to be out in daylight, particularly on trails trod by humans. I smelled almost no people now, though. The fire had forced them away in the same way it had separated me from my boy.
The kittens were strong and confident, their bellies full. When I glanced at them I saw no distress, just a singular trust in my leadership. If they wondered what had happened to the big shaggy dog who had helped save them, they gave no sign.
I loved Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten as surely as I loved their mother, as I loved Lucas. The fierce instinct to protect them from harm was as omnipresent as the smoke. I adored how, whenever I paused to get a bearing on my boy’s location, find the invisible leash, Girl Kitten would bat at me playfully, inviting me to give up the serious task of doing Go Home and frolic with her on the path. Moments later her brother would leap on her, and then the two of them would tussle together.
That first full day passed with no pause in our journey. My cubs were content to collapse into a deep sleep when I found a suitable den in the grasses. It pleased me to still catch a subtle trace of Dutch’s scent on their fur. It left me with the feeling, as I slipped into slumber myself, that my good friend was with us still.
In my dreams, Dutch and I encountered a snarling, hulking monster in Gavin and Taylor’s backyard, and held the creature at bay.
By remaining high up in the rocky, often treeless terrain, we were able to watch for predators, but I saw and smelled none; there was only the smoke, growing or weakening at the whim of the wind. Water, though, was unavailable along the ridges, and by the middle of the next day I reluctantly turned downhill, where my nose told me we would find something to drink.
The descent was easy, down a slope of rocks and plants. On one side, the fire had destroyed the vegetation and blackened the boulders; on the other side, it had shown mercy and the plants waved healthy branches in the gusts.
I smelled blood and, curious, halted at the base of a lone tree. There was nothing to see, yet the dirt at the roots was infused with the unmistakable odor of a fresh kill.
I looked up and was surprised to see one of those enormous hunter birds looking down from a high perch. It tilted its head and winked a cold eye at me. Its talons clutched both the top tree limb and a small prey animal of some kind. I wagged, unsure what I was seeing.
At my feet, the cubs, unaware of my reason for halting our descent, were pouncing on each other, rolling in the dirt.
The bird stabbed down with its sharp beak, tearing at its kill. It was sloppy in its work, and a small piece of meat fell and landed nearly on top of Boy Kitten, who jerked back in surprise, rolling away.
Girl Kitten was first to realize what was happening—food from the sky!—and gobbled up the treat. Boy Kitten stared at her in amazement.
Untroubled by our presence at the base of its tree, the bird continued to feed. I wondered if it might drop another treat and did Sit to encourage this. The kittens remained unaware of what was happening above, but they weren’t wrestling anymore. They were watching to see if I could produce another miraculous morsel.
They were soon rewarded. It was almost as if the hunter in the tree deliberately tossed down a chunk to land right between them. Again, it was Girl Kitten who got to it first. Boy Kitten gave me a hurt look, as if I were favoring his sister over him.
We remained at the base of the tree for some time while the bird alternated between eating and throwing food down for the cubs. I watched tolerantly, thinking that Girl Kitten was the better hunter of my two kittens. Her reactions were always faster, though the raptor apparently decided to compensate, because a few of its gifts landed in front of Boy Kitten’s nose.
I sensed what was coming when the bird, with a lingering look at the cat pack below it, spread enormous wings and dropped from the tree. The air resounded with the percussion of her wingbeats, and the remains of the carcass fell from the tree. I pounced, conscious as I did so that the bird was flying up and far away.
There was little left of the kill, so I let the two cubs have it. It reinvigor
ated them, and they now seemed ready to play for the rest of the day. I turned back to my descent, following my nose toward water.
We made it to the bottom of the steep hill and found ourselves in a broad, flat area untouched by fire. The wind was cooler on my tail than on my face, making it difficult to get a reading on which direction to take. The water, when I caught its scent, was far ahead of us, so I led my kittens steadily through the waving grasses.
The cubs were sensitive to how I moved along the trail, so they slowed when I did. I was still headed toward water, but now I sensed something else … something dangerous.
More than just a stream lay ahead. My nose filled with the commingling odors of the same brutes I’d seen plodding slowly down roads like a line of cars.
Though they were not meat-eaters and would not hunt us, I proceeded cautiously. The beasts were large and powerful enough to be a menace to anything.
We soon drew close enough to see them. A large herd was feeding placidly on grass by a wide, slow-moving river. They were between us and the water, enough of them that a path forward wasn’t immediately clear. Anything that huge was best avoided. Downstream, however, the waters narrowed and rollicked in dancing rapids before twisting into an area of thicker trees. I far preferred the placid areas of the stream for drinking.
Girl Kitten’s reaction to the immense grass-eaters was to flatten herself to the ground, and Boy Kitten immediately followed suit. I could see her focusing on a couple of lighter-colored babies, as if the offspring of these monsters weren’t larger than Dutch.
That was Girl Kitten—if she couldn’t bring down a horse, she’d settle for one of these giants. The two kittens slunk toward the pack, which had thus far ignored us.
I had seen the cubs stalk small rodents this way, hunkered down and creeping forward, finally to pounce with utter ineffectiveness. A dog knows the only way to successfully hunt is to run flat out. I had employed this technique with squirrels many, many times, and was always very nearly successful. I glanced around now, thinking how happy I would be to see a squirrel bounding through the grasses. I could show the cats how to go about catching one.
A Dog's Courage--A Dog's Way Home Novel Page 19