Dusty

by Jane B. Mason

  Dusty’s eyelids grew heavy. He let them slide closed, even as the smells still drifted into his snout. The smells changed as they drove. Soon the green smells were gone, replaced by the scent of sand, lizards, fast food, and wind.

  When he awoke it was dark. Luis was still driving, chewing his stick and singing softly along with the radio. He slowed the truck until it stopped. Dusty stood and stretched, yawning with his tongue out.

  “Welcome to Arizona, Dustito!” Luis said. “We’re just passing through.” He opened the door and the smell of diesel and rubber wafted in on a wave of warm air. All around them Dusty could see the hulking shadows of big, big trucks. They were as big as the bus that killed his pack. He poked his nose out the door. He had to pee, but he did not want to get out.

  Luis patted his leg and Dusty jumped down. The ground was still warm from the day. He lifted his leg on the front tire.

  Luis laughed. “Not on our tires, dude!”

  Dusty didn’t respond. He just wanted to let it all out and hop back in the cab as soon as possible!

  Luis went inside the big, brightly lit building and came back a few minutes later with a hamburger. He ate it on the tailgate. Dusty sat close, in case of drips, and because the warm dark night was making him quiver. It smelled like danger and loss. It reminded him of the shaky dog he used to be.

  “This is our hotel for the night,” Luis told him when he’d finished eating. He crawled into the covered back of the truck. There were blankets and pillows and the ground was soft. Luis had made a cozy bed for them.

  “Just gotta catch a little sleep,” Luis said. “Then we’ll get back on the road.” He yawned and closed his eyes. Within a few moments, Luis was making a deep growling sound in the back of his mouth and throat. It wasn’t angry, though. More like a purr.

  Dusty turned on the pillow next to Luis’s head. He circled three times and finally lay down. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Still, sleep took a long time to find him. The traffic zooming nearby made him shudder. When he finally dozed off, his eyes flicked beneath his eyelids. They had to move fast to follow the dream images of blowing trash and speeding cars. He whimpered in his sleep, reliving the time when danger was everywhere. When his stomach gnawed at him constantly. When he did not know where his next meal or place to sleep was coming from.

  Luis awoke when Dusty started yipping and twitching beside him. He reached an arm over and laid it gently on the pup’s soft, warm body. He knew the little guy was having nightmares and wondered, not for the first time, what his life had been like before he’d made it to the ranch. It was a wonder the small dog had survived—he was remarkably smart and tougher than he looked.

  But now, Luis worried that Dusty, haunted by his past even in sleep, might not be as bold off the ranch. Something seemed to be changing. The farther they drove, the more his bravado seemed to be overshadowed by something else … something traumatized and afraid. He kept his open palm on the pup, practically covering him with it, until he settled.

  Luis rolled over, wondering if he’d made a huge mistake. Doubts crept into his thoughts, and not just about Dusty. He had his own doubts, too. Some of his bluster was just that: bluster. He talked big, and hoped that when push came to shove, he’d come through. That was how he rolled and so far, for the most part, it had worked for him. But he wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he’d be able to pony up when he and Dusty were in a real crisis situation. He wasn’t sure that he’d have the courage and the know-how to power through, and not just during the disaster work, either. He was also concerned about after.

  Seeing Dusty reshaken by his past since he’d left the ranch reminded Luis of the emotional repercussions of the work he’d chosen for himself long ago, and again more recently. The difference was that now it wasn’t just about him … it was about Dusty, too. PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder—and depression were very real consequences for disaster teams, just as they were for soldiers and first responders. His retirement from the police force came at a time when his job was starting to get to him. Being pummeled with danger and constantly having lives on the line had produced cracks in his facade. Luis had been witness to too many stories without happy endings. For years he’d been fine, then one day it was too much. He stopped sleeping well. He wasn’t always hungry. He’d had to leave the job he loved. So why had he chosen this—a return to the unknown and traumatic—not just for himself, but for the tiniest dog in the world?

  Luis heaved a heavy sigh and forced a laugh. “Because you’re loco,” he whispered to himself. He looked at Dusty, sleeping soundly now, and somehow felt better. They didn’t have to do this alone … they could do it together. “Maybe we’re both just crazy enough,” he whispered, and rested his hand on Dusty’s small body.

  The next day the drive was even longer. Or at least it felt that way to both Luis and Dusty after their short night and fitful sleep. By the time they finally crossed the border into Texas and pulled into Luis’s driveway, they were both fighting to keep their eyes open.

  “We’re here, Dusty,” Luis said. He was relieved to see his peach stucco house with its red tile roof just as he’d left it. “We’re home,” he said, opening the passenger door.

  Dusty hopped down, took a long leak not on the tire, and lifted his nose in the air. He followed Luis to the front door and inside.

  “Home” was a word he’d heard before. Pedro used to say it a lot, and though Dusty had lived many places, none of them had been a real home, a forever home. Not until now.

  “Check it out,” Luis said. His voice was happy. “Sniff everything!” He laughed, rubbing his bald head.

  The house was small, barely bigger than Pedro’s trailer. It was cozy like Pedro’s trailer, too. And, in fact, it smelled a little like Pedro’s trailer—like soup, candy, laundry soap, and bread. But Luis’s house smelled a little stale from having been shut up for months with nobody living in it while he’d been in California.

  Luis opened a window to circulate the air, and Dusty sniffed the dry breeze. There was none of the pine scent he’d gotten used to on the ranch. There were fewer grassy odors, too. But he loved the new smells of sandy soil and blooming wildflowers mixed with cactus and coyote. He breathed deeply.

  “It’s not much, but it’s all ours,” Luis said, motioning around the house. Dusty let out a happy bark, relieved to be off the road. He jumped onto the plaid couch. It smelled of Luis—one of Dusty’s favorite new smells. Luis flopped down beside him. “We’re going to need to go get some food, but first things first,” Luis said, kicking off his boots. “What do you say to a little nap?”

  Dusty curled up beside his partner. He hadn’t run much in two days—stuck in the cab of the truck—and his legs were restless. Still, he was exhausted and a nap was just what he needed. A nap, at home.

  “Yip!” Dusty barked at the dark crack between the counter and the stove. “Yip!” he barked again. He needed Luis’s attention. And strength. He had to get back there. Right. Now.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” Luis called from the bedroom.

  Dusty sat down to wait. Settling into life in Texas in the little stucco house had been going well. Dusty had staked his claim to the recliner in the living room, the big pillow in the bedroom, and had marked every stick, bush, tree, and rock in the surrounding area … announcing his arrival to the neighborhood dogs and coyotes. He had also conducted a thorough “house cleaning.”

  “You’re better than a vacuum cleaner,” Luis had told him after he had licked up every crumb in the place. Well, almost every crumb.

  “Yip!” he barked again. Finally Luis emerged from the bedroom. He cocked an eyebrow at the little dog.

  “You’re really gonna make me move that thing, huh?” he asked, flipping the toothpick in his mouth and crinkling the edges of his eyes.

  Luis bent down and grasped the stove on both sides. With a grunt he slid it out of the gap in the counter. Behind the heavy appliance were at least five years’ worth of
dust bunnies … and a single Cheerio.

  Luis’s laugh boomed as Dusty scampered into the dust and scarfed up the tiny circle of ancient, stale cereal.

  “Was it delicious?” Luis asked, still cracking up. “I can’t even remember the last time I had Cheerios!” Dusty wagged a thank-you while Luis grabbed a broom and dustpan. “As soon as I’m done back here we’ll get to work, okay?”

  Luis’s worry about Dusty, himself, and what he had taken on had faded since they’d landed at home. With Dusty here, Luis’s days felt fuller. Richer. They walked and trained and ate together daily, and slept in the same bed every night.

  As soon as they’d gotten back Luis had put in some calls, looking for a SAR disaster unit to work with. He’d gotten in touch with a group nearby that had been working together for a year but could use another canine team. “We’d love to meet you,” Luis told the woman on the phone. All he had was a voice to go on and the woman’s description of her team, but it had felt like a good fit. Now that the day they were to meet had arrived, Luis was surprised to find himself feeling a little nervous.

  Dusty watched Luis getting ready. The big man looked at himself longer in the shiny glass than usual. He chomped down harder on his tiny stick. He changed his shirt twice. He smelled … nervous. And it rubbed off. While Luis fussed, Dusty walked in circles near his feet. He nearly whined, wondering what was going on.

  “I’m like a kid on the first day of school,” Luis said, shaking his head. He knelt down and waited for Dusty to flop over and show his belly. “We’ve got nothing to worry about,” he told the pup, though he knew there was a lot on the line. It was important that a disaster team get along and function well—the group needed chemistry. The right mix was essential when your purpose was to work together in perilous situations.

  Luis took Dusty’s leash and vest down from the hook by the door. He put it on and tightened the straps. Dusty instantly stood up straighter, making Luis grin. “How could anybody resist you, big guy?” The words made him flash back to his first reaction to the Chihuahua, and he quickly pushed the memory out of his head.

  Dusty balanced on the edge of the truck seat and craned his neck to see out the window. They were not driving to the spot where Luis usually liked to train—a big park with plenty of places for him to hide scent articles. They weren’t driving to his friend Bruce’s house, either. Bruce and his house smelled like Tater Tots, which Dusty loved.

  No, this was a new spot. And it smelled tantalizingly pungent!

  “Phew!” Luis fanned his face. “I bet you love that, don’t you?” Dusty’s fast-moving tail was all the answer he needed as they rolled past the sign for the county landfill. Luis glanced at his notes and went left, away from the place where people were paying to drop off their loads of garbage. He circled an area covered in what appeared to be construction waste and slowed when he saw four cars parked close together. A woman wearing a bandana tied like a kerchief on her head spotted them and waved the truck over.

  “Bet that’s Laura,” Luis said. She was the person he had spoken to on the phone. He’d told her all about his training at Sterling, and how he’d found his perfect canine partner. What he hadn’t told her was that his partner was smaller than a Thanksgiving turkey … more like the size of a Sunday chicken!

  Dusty shifted his paws on the seat. Luis could tell by his panting and the fact that he was looking around more than usual that the Chihuahua was picking up a little of his own anxiety. He took a deep breath and decided he needed to reverse that. Time for them to find some calm, and some courage!

  “Hello!” Luis climbed out of his truck with hand extended. “You must be Laura.”

  “Yes, and you must be Luis,” Laura countered and shook his hand before patting her leg twice. A large black Belgian Malinois appeared at her side. “This is Fredo,” she said, petting the top of his head without bending over. He looked like an all-black German shepherd with higher hindquarters, and Luis had heard that the breed made great search dogs. Laura cast a glance over Luis’s shoulder. “I guess I should have told you to bring your dog,” she said, looking a touch confused.

  “I did.” Luis patted his leg, and Dusty was there in an instant.

  Neither Laura nor Fredo could contain their surprise. They both stepped back. “This is … ?” Laura started to ask, the words not quite coming.

  “This is Dusty,” Luis finished for her as the dogs began to circle and sniff.

  “But he’s …”

  “A Chihuahua. Mixed with something else, I think. Maybe superhero.” Luis winked, not giving Laura a chance to ask anything else. “So, are you going to introduce us to the rest of the team?”

  Laura blinked twice and then gave her head a little shake. “Of course! You said you got your certification at the Sterling Center, right?” she asked as they walked over.

  Luis offered to show her their papers, but Laura only nodded and smiled. “I just never expected …”

  “Nobody does,” he admitted.

  The rest of the disaster team was standing around a pile of pallets that doubled as a table for their coffee mugs and backpacks. Laura introduced them in pairs. “This is Sabrina and Thor,” she began. Luis shook hands with a serious-looking woman in her forties and gave her large German shepherd a pat. And this is Paul and Homer. Homer, a very rosy golden retriever, was already on his way over to greet Luis. He offered a paw before Paul could shake Luis’s hand.” In less than two minutes the dogs were circling and wagging. Their people watched, amused by the new micro-recruit. Dusty didn’t have to bother going around to get to the backside of the bigger dogs—he just strolled around underneath them all, weaving in and out of their legs, taking his time to sniff all the information he needed.

  “Wow,” Paul said. “I’ve never seen such a small SAR dog. You think he can keep up?”

  Luis could tell that despite his upbeat tone, Paul wasn’t so much impressed as incredulous. His askew eyebrows revealed that he didn’t think Dusty had what it took. And he wasn’t the only one, either. Luis caught all of the handlers exchanging glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. There was only one way to squash their doubts, he realized. And that was to show them what Dusty could do.

  “Okay!” Laura clapped her hands to call everyone to order. Once she had their attention, she went over the standard operating procedure, or SOP. They were going to treat this exercise like a real disaster. That was the best way to see how they would work together. It was important to make sure that everyone and every dog was up to the task.

  “I’ll be acting as Incident Commander, based right here. Fredo will stay with me,” Laura explained. She spread out a map on the stack of pallets, and Luis saw that it showed the large landfill area. “I’ve marked off the areas where we’re allowed to go.” The city was generously allowing them to use part of the landfill for training. Outside of Sterling, it was hard to find a real simulated disaster scene west of the Mississippi. The bulldozed piles most closely resembled the landscape they might find after an earthquake, hurricane, or tornado. Only the smell and the seagulls wheeling overhead reminded them it was a dump.

  “The victims are already hidden in the designated areas, and I’ve asked them to hide themselves completely. They’ve been out here since seven a.m., so they’re probably getting a little tired of being buried in trash.”

  Each team took a two-way radio, and Laura assigned them quadrants. Whichever team cleared their quadrant first would take the remaining quarter.

  Luis walked to the edge of the area he and Dusty had been assigned. He tried to imagine that it was a neighborhood after a storm, that there were living people in the tower of garbage. Dusty bounced beside him, anxious to hear the clink of his leash being snapped off. Finally Luis stopped. He stooped and removed Dusty’s leash and entire vest. The garbage mound had many small openings, tunnels, and protrusions … Dusty would be safest without anything that could snag.

  Dusty stared up at his partner, trembling with excitement. The b
est part was—

  “Go search,” Luis commanded.

  This! Dusty scaled the scrap heap like a seasoned pro, his ears on high alert, his nose on overdrive. This new search area smelled like nothing he had ever sniffed before, and his nose was stuffed with it. Plus, there were lots of dark nooks and crannies for him to poke his snout into or crawl inside to inspect. He understood that “go search” was different from “find.” His job was to smell for a person, any person. He was waiting to hear a movement, a breath, a heartbeat.

  “Yip!” It did not take long. “Yip! Yip! Yip!” Dusty’s small bark traveled back over the distance he had covered, all the way to Luis. He kept up the alert until Luis had traversed the trash heap and was standing beside him. It was a tough walk, and though he had practiced hard and gotten much better at navigating rubbish piles, Luis arrived out of breath with muck on his shoes and pants.

  “Yip!” Dusty told him again. He nosed a board buried in junk. There was a person behind it. He was sure.

  “Here?” Luis asked. He radioed Laura. “I have an alert,” he told her. “Confirming.” Then he unburied the board enough to lift it and a red-faced woman with white hair wearing a garbage bag like a rain poncho crawled out. She looked at Dusty with a sparkly expression, not batting an eye at his size. Luis practically wanted to kiss her. “Am I glad to see you!” she told him.

  Luis pulled Bear from his jacket pocket and let Dusty tug and chew on him while he radioed confirmation to Laura.

  “You two can start on the last quadrant. The others are still looking. Fast work, Luis!”

  Luis silenced the radio. “She means you, Dustito.” He held out his hand so Dusty could return Bear. Dusty cocked his head. “More searching,” Luis explained.

  Dusty dropped Bear and wagged. Sometimes he wasn’t sure what he liked better—a good tug or a good search.