I inched forward, my teeth still bared, and they retreated, glancing at me and each other, fear and anxiety pouring off of them. I thought Lucas would approve of my actions—I was protecting a cat, which was something my boy did as well.
Another man in a big floppy hat shook his head. “No, don’t shoot. She’s a pet, can’t you see? She has a collar.”
“She might be rabid.”
“No,” another man objected. He wore glasses like some of Lucas’s friends. “This is not rabid behavior. Something’s going on here.”
Once I reached Big Kitten, I sniffed her carefully. Though her head was lolling unnaturally, and her tongue protruded through her barely opened mouth, she was breathing steadily and seemed uninjured. Yet she didn’t wake up … not even when I pressed my nose to her face.
The men were staring at me with wide eyes. “Andrew,” one of them asked softly, “you have any more tranquilizer darts?”
The man with the floppy hat shook his head. “No, we used them up. She was moving so fast. I was lucky to hit her at all.”
“Well,” the man with glasses said slowly, “the truck’s only a quarter mile away. Why don’t you get more?”
The man in the floppy hat nodded and turned and left at a brisk clip. Watching him go, I was disappointed he didn’t take his friends with him. I wanted them to leave now … leave me with Big Kitten so she could wake up when they were gone.
The man with the hairy mouth rubbed his chin. “I’ve got some food in my bag. I’ll get some for the dog.” I watched apprehensively as Hairy-mouth moved slowly toward me. I was not fooled by his careful advance. I could see him right there, and I knew he was coming to do something to me and perhaps Big Kitten. I began barking loudly so that he would know I did not intend to allow him to touch me or my friend. Whatever was going on, I knew Big Kitten would not want to be carried around by men.
Hairy-mouth backed away from my warnings. “Well, that’s not going to work.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have dropped your backpack,” the man in glasses observed mildly.
Hairy-mouth turned and put his hands on his hips. “Hey, the dog was coming for me, not for you. I had to think fast. And you’re the one who always says if you’re attacked by a bear, you should drop your pack and run.”
“I think the operative word there is ‘bear,’” the man with glasses replied. “This look like a grizzly to you?”
I barked again, because the tension had built up within me and barking felt like a release. They were responding exactly as I had hoped, maintaining a good distance, their hands loose by their sides. They were still afraid of me and that was good. As long as they kept their eyes on me, nothing bad was going to happen to Big Kitten.
They didn’t know I wouldn’t bite them.
I was impatient for the situation to change, but when it did, things just got worse.
I smelled them before I saw them: Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten, probably drawn by my barks, were making their way toward us. I didn’t want them to come any closer, but they were only kittens and didn’t always understand a warning bark. Within moments, they emerged from the tree line, bounding innocently across the field toward where we stood.
I stopped barking.
“Look!”
The men took another few steps back, which was good. It was also good that the cubs slowed down as they converged on me, instinctively wary of these new creatures and unsure what I was doing so near them.
Someday, I realized in that moment, the cubs would be adult cats—Big Kittens in their own right. They needed to learn that while humans were mainly kind to dogs and some other animals, they posed a threat to a Big Kitten. If they didn’t kill the cubs, they still might make them take a deep, unnatural nap on a blanket.
“Can you believe this?” the man with glasses exclaimed. “They’ve got to be her cubs!”
“You don’t know that.”
“Why else would they be here? Where is their mother, otherwise? No cubs would willingly approach any other mountain lion, not even a sleeping one, except their own mother. I’m telling you, these are her offspring. That’s the only logical explanation.”
The kittens slowed their advance with each step. They glanced back and forth between the humans and me.
“Step back. Let’s see what they do.”
I watched approvingly as the men walked back a few paces.
“Well, if you’re right and these are her cubs, we’ve got a real problem.”
“Exactly,” Hairy-mouth man agreed agitatedly. “Her tag shows that she’s way out of her territory. If she encounters another cougar, she, and now her cubs, could be killed.”
“Right, that’s what I’ve been saying.”
“So, what’s the solution?”
The kittens were still uneasily edging forward, eyes on me, with flickering glances at the humans. Neither one of them had yet noticed their unconscious mother, though her scent was heavy on the air.
The man with the glasses spread his hands. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to do anything. The dog won’t let us near the stretcher, and now we’ve got two cougar cubs to worry about.”
Both kittens alerted to their mother at the same instant. All else forgotten, they burst past me to leap on her. Big Kitten lay unresponsive as they climbed all over her, sniffing and purring and rolling against her. Their joy was unmistakable, even if they could not bark or wag their tails like dogs.
I turned because Floppy Hat was working his way back up the trail.
The man with the glasses held up a hand. “Hang on!” he shouted. “There’s been a big change in the situation.”
Floppy Hat slowed and approached cautiously, and I moved slightly so that I stood between him and Big Kitten, still keeping my eye on the cubs, who were relentlessly crawling on top of their mother, trying to get her attention.
After a time, all the humans gathered together in a tight bunch a respectful distance away. I stood protectively between them and the cats.
The man with the glasses turned to the man with the floppy hat. “Hey, Andrew,” he said suddenly, “you’ve got some food, too, right? Don’t you have some beef?”
The floppy hat bobbed. “Yeah, I’ve got dried beef and some bison jerky.”
“Try giving it to the dog,” the man in glasses suggested.
I heard the word “dog” and watched alertly. Moving slowly, the man in the hat, his eyes never leaving mine, stooped down and reached into his bag.
My attitude about the entire situation changed when, with the unmistakable plastic rustle of a bag of treats, he reached into a package and pulled out some meat pieces, whose succulent odor came to me at once. He moved his arm, and I tensed, but then several pieces of food sailed through the air and landed close to my feet.
I gobbled one up instantly. And then, knowing the cubs were not going to leave their mother’s side, I carefully picked up a few of the delicious treats and carried them over and dropped them. Famished, the cubs attacked the meal, chewing vigorously.
The man with the glasses took them off and wiped his face and put them back on. “I have never seen anything like this in my life.”
“I’m not sure what we’re looking at. It’s like the dog is their…,” Floppy Hat trailed off.
“Nanny?”
“Right. She’s taking care of the cubs like she’s friends with them.”
“And the mother. Why else would the dog be so protective of a darted mountain lion?”
More treats came out of that bag, and I gladly accepted and shared them with the kittens.
Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten then decided that since their mother was taking a nap, they should do so as well. They sprawled out on her, clinging to her, desperate for contact. I sat but did not cease my vigil, watching the men who were watching us.
A short time later, I noticed a change in Big Kitten. Her cubs were still sleeping, but their mother’s muscles were beginning to twitch and her eyes flicked wide open and glanced blearily around.
/> The men became alert.
“I guess this is it,” Hairy-mouth said.
“She looks good. She’s going to recover just fine.”
“We’d better leave now. I don’t want to be here when a mother mountain lion is able to stand up and defend her cubs. We’ll come back for the stretcher later.”
“You guys get some pictures of all this?” asked Floppy Hat.
“Oh, yes,” another man said.
“Good, because I don’t think otherwise anyone would believe us.”
“But no social media, okay? I want to write this up.”
I watched the men turn and walk away. They were nice. They had given me treats to share with Boy Kitten and Girl Kitten. But they had done something to their mother, and I did not know what would have happened if I had not arrived. So I stayed and did what I was supposed to do, which was protect the cubs and their real mother cat.
When Big Kitten awoke, it was with a jolt that startled both of her kittens. Looking alarmed, she stretched out her claws and pulled herself into a standing position, her back legs splayed and helpless behind her. She sniffed Boy Kitten and then Girl Kitten, and then turned and looked at me. She tried to walk to me, but her back legs didn’t seem to want to work. I trotted up to her, wagging, and she did what she always has done, which was to lower her head and rub it against my shoulder.
The sun had dropped a little farther in the sky when Big Kitten’s strength returned enough for her to be able to move, albeit in an odd, sideways-slipping gait.
We were back together as a pack, but I knew we needed a rest. I led the cats back to the small depression by the stream where I’d left the cubs earlier.
We all found a place to lie down. I put my head on Big Kitten’s chest and drifted off to the soft sounds of the nearby creek.
Big Kitten seemed her old self the next morning—whatever the men had done to make her so sleepy was no longer affecting her. She drank water and let her cubs climb on her. Girl Kitten broke from all the cat-wrestling at one point and came to me as if worried I was feeling left out. I played with her but didn’t try to jump on her mother. The memory of the big male cat streaking across the grass had left me uneasy about her strength and claws.
We spent a lazy day together, and then, that night, something occurred that I hadn’t seen for a long time.
Rain.
Twenty-nine
My experience of rain in the mountains was that its approach was similar to that of fire: first a distant roar, building force, then an approaching scent, initially faint, then ultimately obliterating. It was all so recognizable, tying my memory back to other storms on other nights. I could not help the homesickness that touched me in that moment, the ache of loneliness that comes from being a dog without people.
Big Kitten was out hunting while I remained with her cubs. I hoped she would find prey; the treats tossed to me by the men had not gone far in abating my hunger, which was gnawing at my insides.
All of this—the almost desperate food craving, the sense of Big Kitten out in the dark stalking a meal, the feel of spending the night in the mountains, away from my Lucas—was all too familiar.
I was back to being a dog lost.
I detected the dramatic change in weather long before the kittens, who were absorbed in nighttime play and happily oblivious. They didn’t hear the faint rumble, and didn’t lift their noses to the fresh odors. In their utter lack of awareness regarding the obvious sensations of the world, cats are much more like people than dogs.
Presently, the characteristics of the smoke that had plagued us for so long changed completely. Charred wood reacted strongly to being painted with wet. Now I could taste it, an odd, thick, tongue-coating presence somehow made more powerful by the misting rain.
The cubs finally caught it and stopped playing and stared out into the night, alert and curious. It occurred to me that in their short lives, they had never seen anything like this.
In moments, the showers gained strength and began to fall with more force. Big Kitten soon returned to the den, looking disgusted. She did not appreciate being soaked by the clouds. She licked herself, smelled me, and then settled down next to us. The kittens were excited to see her, but Big Kitten gently swatted at them with her enormous paw, and they settled down.
In the morning, the downpour was still a steady drumbeat on the ears and a wet, welcome presence on the air. Rocks and trees gurgled with flow. I strolled out into this new clean environment, and the cubs, accustomed now to my diurnal ramblings, automatically followed. Big Kitten grudgingly brought up the rear. I knew she did not like the showers, but for me they brought back a pleasant set of memories of being with my boy, Lucas, on walks near our home when the rainwater would stream in the streets and patter off the rooftops.
Something else brought my boy to mind: a town was nearby, or at least a large assemblage of people odors—machines and oils and cooking food. I steered my cat family in that direction, following air currents, ascending a long, rocky slope speckled with the twisted remains of burned bushes.
Before long I crested a hogback. Spread out below me was the small town I had detected with my nose. I had been to similar places, where a few larger structures were surrounded by well-spaced houses. To one side of the clutch of taller buildings, a steep, looming mountain, completely blackened and stripped of all vegetation from the fire, dominated the landscape and sent its powerful tang of scorched earth and rocks and wood into the air. Down below, in the town, I could see people stepping rapidly, some of them carrying umbrellas against the steady downpour.
Olivia liked umbrellas. Lucas preferred hats.
Big Kitten joined me at my perch on the ridge, glancing impassively at the activity in the streets below. The scurrying movements of the people caught her attention. Big Kitten had no use for people, but darting motions by any creature fascinate cats. The kittens didn’t seem to notice anything at all; they were busy pouncing on each other.
I felt an urge to climb down to the town because I could find food for the cat pack there. Perhaps a kind hand would feed me.
Big Kitten, of course, had no interest in following me when I descended the hill, and her cubs remained with her, watching me curiously, waiting on my return.
I was soon walking through an area of dead trees, and the occasional gust of wind brought with it the crack of one of these lonely spires collapsing exhaustedly into the wet cinders on the ground.
At the edge of the town, I noticed something unusual: it seemed as if everyone were carrying things out of houses, throwing the objects into their cars, and driving off. I saw people wearing wet, slick coats standing in places where roads met, waving their arms, lights in their hands. “Go! Keep moving! Go!” one of the coat-wearers shouted. Cars zoomed past these people. The whole scene conveyed a sense that everyone was in a dramatic hurry.
Humans often seem driven by purposes that a dog cannot understand.
Every so often one of the people would turn and stare up at the black mountain. I saw many of them pointing at it and shouting things to one another. Vehicles with bright, flashing lights were moving from house to house, and people jumped from these cars, ran to houses, pounded on the front doors, and often opened them and stuck their heads inside for a moment.
I remembered witnessing this same sort of frenetic activity when we decided to stay with Scott and Mack in the house of barking dogs, the day when the smoke and heat were nearly unbearable. People had been dashing around in fearful agitation before the flames arrived, driving and honking. I had even seen a car with goats sticking their heads out the windows, a sight I probably would never forget.
The same thing was happening here, the same frantic energy and commotion, the same line of cars moving swiftly away, only with no goats. I felt a rising anxiety watching it all.
But there was no fire advancing upon this town. If there had been I would easily have smelled it, even with the drenching torrent pounding scents flat. Something else was happening, some
thing that frightened the people of this town.
When people are fearful, dogs should be, too. Part of me was so unnerved by all the disquiet, the agitation, I wanted to retreat back up the steep slope to Big Kitten. But hunger has a way of overriding apprehension.
I was smart enough to stay away from the road as the cars growled past, throwing up great sprays from their tires. No one was willing to stop for a wet dog in need of a meal, which was another sign that something was seriously amiss.
I tracked along the edge of town, constantly shaking the water out of my fur, searching for someone who might be eating dinner outside, or cooking something on a hot metal box. I would do a perfect Sit, or a Lie Down—I pictured being handed a treat by a gentle person, and it made me wag in anticipation.
I had no luck. Not only was the deluge making it difficult to track food by scent, I had the sense that with every passing moment there were fewer people in the town who might take pity on me. I could feel their dwindling presence even as I heard their departing cars.
When I wove my way between buildings to a big, rain-flooded road, a man was standing there with a light in his hand yelling, “Keep going, keep going, keep going!” Raindrops flared in the beam as he waved it. The line of cars diminished, each individual vehicle moving faster, and I noticed that every one of them splashed some water up on the man’s pants. He did not seem to care.
The sound of cars approaching him faded as traffic lessened. Soon there were few sloshing vehicles anywhere. I wondered what would happen if I went to the scared man and tried to offer him comfort. I wasn’t only a dog who roamed the mountains with a giant cat family, I was also a good dog who could help calm people in distress. Whatever was sending the inhabitants of this town into a panic was afflicting Wet-pants with a desperation that I heard in his voice and saw on his face.
I curiously watched as a car with a brightly flashing light on the roof drove up and stopped. The driver’s side window was rolled down, and a woman stuck her head out. “Time to go!” she shouted urgently.
What was terrifying everyone?
A Dog's Courage--A Dog's Way Home Novel Page 21