Good Dog

by Dan Gemeinhart

  He picked a direction and started jogging, along the river.

  “Brodie?” Sasha called after him. “Hey, wait up!”

  She ran alongside him, her long legs easily keeping up with his.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back,” he said, not slowing down. “I’m leaving here and going back.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Brodie.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever tried?”

  “Well, no. But I know you’re wasting your time.”

  “Maybe. But I have to try.”

  “Stop, Brodie. Listen to me.” He knew she was trying to help, but he didn’t slow down. “Stop!”

  Sasha stopped running and Brodie heard her panting breath fade as he kept going.

  “Brodie!”

  Her voice got sharper, louder. “Wait!” she called out. “Do you really want to find a way out of here?”

  He stopped, then turned and faced her. She stood, her tail down and her ears up, looking at him.

  “Yeah, Sasha. I need to.”

  She looked away, licked at her nose, then looked back at him.

  “Okay. Then come with me. You need to talk to Tuck.”

  “Who’s Tuck?” Brodie asked as he followed Sasha up the hill, away from the river.

  “He’s one of us,” she answered. “He’s been here longer than anyone else. If anyone knows how to go back, it’ll be him. He’s usually running around up here by the pond.”

  Pond. Once she said the word, he knew it. He could picture the water. And then it was there in front of them, sparkling in the sunlight. Dogs ran around it, and lazed in the shade of a few trees, and splashed in the shallows or swam deeper, their heads bobbing across the surface.

  Sasha scanned the romping dogs.

  “Ah, there he is. Running, of course.” She pointed with her chin. “That big guy. The fast one.”

  The fast one. That’s all she needed to say. There were dogs walking around the pond and dogs jogging around the pond and even some dogs running around the pond … but there was only one dog straight-up racing around the pond. His tongue was flapping and his ears were down tight to his head and that dog was a thundering black blur.

  He was on the far side of the pond but coming fast, his muscular body stretched long with his strides. Sasha jogged forward to get in his path and as he careened toward her she barked and hollered, “Hey, Tuck! Tuck, hold up a sec!”

  Tuck’s ears perked up and he straightened his front legs, digging his paws into the grass and sliding to a wild, skidding stop. He had a thick square snout and a white blaze on his chest. Other than that, he was pure shiny black from his wet nose to his short, stubby tail. And that tail was wagging almost as fast as the rest of him had been running.

  That Tuck. He was all run, all wag, all toothy smile. He had the hard muscles of a warrior, but the sloppy smile of a puppy. Tuck? Well, he was quite a dog.

  “Hey there, Sasha,” he said, his voice ringing in Brodie’s head just like Sasha’s did. He was breathing fast and happy but he wasn’t out of breath, and he danced from foot to foot, like he couldn’t wait to be running again.

  “Hiya, Tuck.”

  The black dog looked over at Brodie. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Brodie. He’s new. Like, brand-new.”

  Tuck’s mouth stretched into an even bigger smile and his tail wagged double time.

  “Really? Welcome, buddy!” He stepped forward, sniffing hello. “Say, what breed are you?”

  “Breed?”

  “Yeah, you know, like what’d your people call you? Lemme guess … border collie? You definitely got some border collie in ya. But not purebred, right? Nah. No offense. You’re kinda small. Fur’s too short, too. Maybe a little Jack Russell terrier in there? Am I close?”

  Brodie couldn’t keep up with Tuck’s questions. They were too fast, with too many new words, and delivered without a breath. Tuck circled him as he talked, all friendly sniffs and bright eyes and wagging tail.

  “What?” Brodie finally managed to say. “Um … I don’t know?”

  “Ah, well, it’ll come to you. Me, I’m purebred American Staffordshire terrier. Papers and everything. That’s a mouthful, though, so you can just call me a pit bull. It’s basically the same thing. I was supposed to be a show dog, but I, uh, had trouble with the standing still part. And the being quiet part. And with almost all of it, really.”

  Tuck stopped his circling long enough to scratch his claws into the grass a few times and shake his rump in the air.

  “Hey! You like running?”

  “Um, sure, I guess …”

  “You guess? What’s not to love? Running is my absolute most favorite thing in the whole world. How ’bout you? If it’s not running, what is your favorite thing in the world?”

  Brodie stared at the grinning black blur of energy before him.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.

  “Huh. Well, it’ll come to you. You sure it’s not running? ’Cause you look fast. Are you fast? Wanna run, buddy?”

  “Uh, thanks,” Brodie answered, talking fast to get his words in between Tuck’s nonstop chatter. “But … I need to ask you about something.” He looked at Sasha and she wagged her tail, urging him on. “I … I don’t want to stay here.”

  Tuck spun in a quick circle where he was standing.

  “All right! Wanna head down to the river? I’ll race ya!”

  His eyes sparkled and his legs quivered, ready for the chase.

  “No. I mean, I don’t want to stay here. At all. I don’t wanna be in this whole place.”

  Tuck’s tail slowed, and he looked at Brodie out of one eye. When he spoke again his voice was still mostly friendly, but some of his cheerfulness was gone.

  “Yeah? All right. Sorry to hear that, but … if you’re ready to move on, go for it.”

  Before Brodie could ask what he meant, Sasha cut in.

  “No, Tuck. Brodie doesn’t want to move on. He wants to go back.”

  Tuck’s mouth pulled closed.

  “Go back?” he asked quietly. “Like, back, back? To Before?”

  “Yeah,” Brodie said. “I need to. Right away.”

  Tuck looked intently into Brodie’s eyes for a long moment.

  “Tell him, Tuck,” Sasha said. “Tell him he can’t—”

  “I can,” Brodie interrupted. “You just said I can move on if I’m ready. Well, I’m ready.”

  Tuck shook his head.

  “You don’t get it. Moving on is not going back. Moving on is going forward. What you’re talking about, that’s … that’s a whole different thing.”

  “But … but … ,” Brodie stammered, holding on to the wisp of the memory of his boy.

  Tuck stepped in close.

  “I know. You’re new. It’s confusing at first. Let’s go for a walk. Let me show you how it works around here. All right?”

  Brodie looked at Tuck, then down at the ground. An ache grew in his chest, a sharp ache that came from those shapeless memories, that shadowy feeling of danger, that vague remembering of his boy, and the feeling that somehow, somewhere, that boy needed him.

  Brodie took a breath in, then blew it out. He looked back up at Tuck.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

  The three of them set off, walking back down through the trees toward the open fields by the river. Even Tuck’s walk was fast, and Brodie had to jog from time to time to keep up. As they walked, Tuck talked.

  “So, you’ve figured out the basics already. We all had lives, back Before. In that other world, with people and stuff. And then, one way or another, we died. You remember how you died yet?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry about it. You will. Anyway, we died. And we ended up here. And here is not a bad place to be. We’ve got everything we need. Everything we could ever want.”

  Brodie looked around at the grass, the water, the dogs playing chase and basking in the sunli
ght.

  “So … this is it? We just … stay here?”

  “Nah. This ain’t a Forever place. We stay here a while. We get words, we get some … understanding. Piece by piece we remember our lives. And then … we’re ready to move on.”

  “To where?”

  Tuck paused.

  “We don’t know. But … it’s a good place. Like, the best place.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s just a feeling. You’ll see.”

  They walked on a bit in silence, the grass soft beneath their paws.

  “Here, wait. Hold on,” Tuck whispered suddenly, and they all stopped. His body was stiff, and Brodie looked where he was looking.

  He didn’t see anything strange. In the distance, a group of dogs was wrestling in a mud puddle. A little closer, a tiny long-haired dog sat, looking down the slope to the river.

  “What?” Brodie asked.

  “That terrier,” Tuck said, pointing with his nose at the little furry dog. “This is how it goes. I’ve seen it a million times. He’s about to do it.” Tuck sat, settling down on his haunches, and Sasha and Brodie did the same.

  “Do what?” Brodie asked, matching Tuck’s low whisper.

  “Move on,” Sasha answered, and her voice was shaking with excitement.

  Brodie looked over at her, saw her eyes shining and her body quivering, and then he looked back at the little dog.

  He was just sitting, looking out at that perfect world. He looked quiet. Calm. Even from a distance, Brodie could see his chest rise as he took a deep breath, held it, then released it.

  Then, syrup-slow and out of nowhere, it happened.

  There was something different about him. Brodie hadn’t looked away, but all at once there was a difference. He blinked and then he saw it. There was a glow. A golden glow around him, shimmering off his brown coat.

  Then, reaching from the clouds above, a long beam of matching golden light stretched down. Not with a flash, but with a warm seep, like the sun rising. But it was a sunrise just for him.

  His little tail began to wag.

  When the light from the sky reached the glow around the dog, he rose up. His body left the ground and the glow brightened. All around him floated little golden balls of light, like fireflies. They circled him in a gentle dance.

  As he lifted toward the sky, as the glowing grew and the twinkling lights swirled, the dog’s body began to fade. It didn’t fade into nothingness, though … it faded into light. His body glowed and faded and merged with the light, rising and growing brighter at the same time that it disappeared.

  And then, just like that, it was over.

  The golden light was gone. The swirling stars were no more. There was just green grass and blue sky. But the little dog was gone.

  Brodie sat, breathless. His tail had gone past wagging to stillness.

  It was something. It really was. Something you see once and are never the same again after.

  “That’s it,” Tuck said, his voice soft. “That’s moving on. We call it ‘Forevering.’”

  “Forevering?”

  “Yeah. Because that world we came from, that was just for a while. And this one here is for even shorter. But the next place? That’s the Forever place.”

  Tuck blew out a breath, then his tail thumped on the grass behind them.

  “So, there you go,” he said briskly. “That’s Forevering. And that, buddy, is what you should be shooting for.”

  He bent down to scratch at his ear with a hind paw, but he paused when his eyes caught Sasha. She was still looking at the spot where the little dog had been. Her eyes were still shining.

  “You all right there, Sasha?” Tuck asked.

  “What? Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. She wagged her tail and panted cheerfully. Tuck sat stone-still, looking at her.

  “What?” she asked again.

  “Nothing,” he said. But there was something that sounded a little like sadness in his voice.

  Because Tuck? He was crazy and he was fast and he was wild, but he was also wise in a lot of ways. And looking at Sasha right then, he knew. But he just finished his scratching and shook his ears out.

  “So … when does it happen?” Brodie asked. “Like … when are we ready?”

  “It depends,” Tuck said. “Some dogs run around, splash in the river, and then go straight to Forevering. For others, it takes a little longer. But everyone Forevers eventually.” Without warning, he flopped over onto his back, kicking his legs and twisting to scratch his back in the grass.

  “Well,” Sasha said. “Except for you.”

  “Me?” Tuck said, still rolling. “Eh. I ain’t in no rush.”

  “How long have you been here?” Brodie asked.

  “Who knows?” Tuck stopped rolling and jumped up, then spun in a quick circle. They’d clearly been standing still too long for Tuck. “Longer than anyone else. But not long enough, I guess. I like it here. I’ll Forever someday. That’s how it works, buddy. There’s no use fighting it.”

  All the peace that Brodie had felt after watching the little dog faded.

  No use fighting.

  It came back in flashes: His boy’s face. Angry voices. Darkness. Fear. The terrible feeling of leaving. The taste of danger in his mouth.

  “No,” Brodie said. “I … I … have to go back.”

  Sasha nuzzled at his ear.

  “Listen to him, Brodie. You can’t go back.” She spoke softly, gently. “It’s impossible.”

  “Well, I said there was no use,” Tuck interrupted, scratching at a rock stuck in the dirt at his feet. “I didn’t say it was impossible.”

  “What?” Brodie said. His heart sparked with sudden hope. “How?”

  “There is a way,” Tuck went on, stopping his playing long enough to look up at Brodie. “But you don’t want to do it, buddy. Trust me. Forget about going back.”

  “I can’t,” Brodie said. There was a growl in his voice. “I have to go back. If there’s a way, show it to me. Please.”

  “Why?” Tuck asked, going to work on the rock again, bending down to gnaw at it with his teeth. “What’s so important? Why do you need to go back?”

  “Because. Because I …”

  Brodie gritted his teeth hard, like he was gripping something that his very life depended on. And he tried, with everything in him, to remember. He closed his eyes.

  He thought of his boy. Of his face, his voice, his smell.

  A wisp of a memory came to him. Laughter. Wagging. Sunlight. Brodie grabbed the threads of the memory, held them tight with his teeth, pulled them in. And then he had it.

  It was him and his boy, chasing each other through piles of thick squishy coldness. A word came with the memory: snow. They were at a park, the same park he’d had blurry visions of earlier, and their breath puffed in front of their faces in little white clouds. The slides were empty; the swings were still and draped with snow. It was just him and his boy and the snow, and the sky was a cloudless powdery blue above them. The boy’s cheeks were red and his lips were chapped but pulled wide in a smile.

  The boy bent and scooped a handful of snow into a ball and tossed it, calling, “Catch, Brodie!” Brodie snapped at the ball and it exploded, filling his mouth with coldness and wetness and a taste like water but more. He shook the snow out of his eyes and barked for another. His boy laughed, a deep laugh from way down in his belly, and it was the best sound in the whole world. He threw another snowball, and another, and Brodie caught them all, and the boy laughed every time. Brodie was standing, the snow up to his belly, waiting for the next snowball, when a hollered voice from far away stopped his boy in mid-throw. “Aiden!” it shouted. “Aiden! Get over here!” His boy looked in the direction of the voice, and the snowball in his mittened hands fell to the ground. The smile faded from his face.

  “Brodie.” Tuck’s voice broke the spell.

  Brodie blinked, looking around. Tuck was watching him, his head to the side.

  “You go
t one, didn’t you?” he asked. “You got a memory.”

  He opened his eyes. He took a few breaths, trying to calm his heart.

  “Yeah. I did,” he said, his voice tight with excitement. “There’s a boy, Tuck. He’s my boy. His name—I just remembered his name. It’s Aiden. My boy’s name is Aiden.”

  “Your boy, huh?” Tuck’s voice was soft.

  “Yeah! There was snow and there was laughing. And there was a voice. Another voice.” Brodie’s wag slowed. “A mean one.”

  “So, what?” Tuck asked. “So you wanna go back to see your boy one last time? Is that it?”

  Brodie blinked. His mind was stuck on that voice, the other one, the angry one. That voice was tied up in the other memory, too … the dark, monstrous one with teeth and shadows and fear. The one that lurked and growled just out of reach. He closed his eyes and tried to find it, tried to grab it in his jaws, tried to see it. He found a thread of it and he held on, chasing it down. It was still blurry, still lost in shadows, but he got more of it.

  There were sounds. Shouting, slamming. The crash of something breaking. That same furious voice, shouting.

  His heart raced, the memory so close he could almost feel it: His boy’s arms around him. The sharp smell of his fear. Aiden was … crying, that’s the word. Warm, salty tears. Shaking breaths. The sound of stomping feet pounding their way … Aiden beginning to tremble, holding Brodie tight. Brodie raising his lip in a snarl … but his body trembling, too, just like his boy’s. “No!” His boy’s voice was high, terrified. “Please!” Then, worst of all: “Brodie!”

  Brodie looked at Tuck, and when he spoke, his voice was strong and true and steady.

  “No. It’s more than that. He’s in danger. And he needs me. Take me, Tuck. Now. Please.”

  There was a moment of weighing, of deciding, with Tuck’s brown eyes locked on Brodie.

  Brodie didn’t know how he knew—maybe it was one of those “understandings” that Tuck talked about—but somehow he knew that Tuck wasn’t just thinking about what Brodie had said, or about Brodie’s boy. He could see in his eyes that Tuck was thinking about something else, too, something that only had to do with himself. His eyes were clouded with deciding. And then they went clear.