The Dogs of Winter

by Bobbie Pyron

  One gray day thick with mist, the dogs and I came upon something altogether wonderful and mysterious and frightening deep in the Border Land of the forest.

  The puppies found it. The pack and I had stopped to drink from a stream and investigate a large hole dug into a small hillside. I heard the puppies’ yips and their growls of curiosity and argument on the other side of a huddle of boulders. We paid them little mind. They were puppies, after all, always going on about something.

  Her head and tail held high, Girl Puppy trotted toward us with something big in her mouth. We all sat on our haunches and watched her until she dropped the big something in front of me.

  It was a long, curved bone. The bone still had bits of meat and tattered hide attached. I held it to my nose and sniffed. It smelled of damp earth and wet leaves and a sweet rot.

  “Show me,” I said to Girl Puppy.

  We followed her across the stream, behind the huddle of boulders and into a stand of silver trees. There, Boy Puppy chewed with great satisfaction and concentration on a large hoof. The dogs and I gathered round for a better look.

  “It was a big animal,” I said, surveying the length of the skeleton. “And maybe not dead long.” The dogs looked from me to the skeleton and nodded. Some of the bones were scattered from the body, but most were where they should be. Rags of hide and leathered meat draped some of the bones; others were picked clean, some crushed.

  While the dogs gnawed and chewed on this mystery, I searched around the skeleton for clues as to what it was and how it died. There, hidden under a pile of leaves, was the biggest leg I had ever seen. The long, elegant leg ended in a massive black hoof. The hoof was smeared with dried blood. At the other end was a bony knob. I stood the leg up on its pointy hoof. The knob reached just above my waist.

  I swung the leg bone this way and that. I swung it in a high arc like the golfers I had seen on the television once. I swung it like a hockey stick I’d seen the boys on my street use. The weight of it sang. The weight of it, the way it fit just so in the palm of my hand, said yes, I am yours.

  That night, we lay in the little meadow beside our den beneath the tree and watched the stars come out one by one. The puppies lay in an exhausted sleep from our adventure; the older dogs chewed contentedly on prized bones they had brought back from the skeleton. I ran my hand along the leg bone as I stared up at the darkening sky. I thought about the blood on the hoof. “What could have killed something that big?” I wondered aloud. “What is out there in the Border Lands?” And even though the evening was warm, I shivered.

  We returned to the skeleton the next day and the day after. The mystery of its story drew me. Who had done this? Who had done this to something so big?

  The first day, I asked the dogs, “Do you think it was a horse?” “Could it have been the biggest deer in all of Russia?” The dogs didn’t care what it had been. They only cared what it was now: a wondrous, stinking hill of bone and hide and stringy muscles.

  I crawled inside the house the rib cage made, and curled on my side, fitting just so. The elegant bones arched over and around me. The dogs peered through the bars of bone in puzzlement and concern. Little Mother pawed at the ground and whimpered. Rip pushed his nose through the ribs and licked my face.

  I laughed. Lucky wagged his tail and dropped to his elbows in an invitation to play.

  Smoke watched. His eyes locked on mine. And then a voice that was not really a voice spoke inside my mind. It said, This is not right.

  I gasped. “Smoke, was that you?”

  He lifted his silver eyebrows.

  I laughed and clapped my hands. “You talked to me!”

  A low grumble rattled in his chest. Come. It is not right.

  I shivered at the feel of his voice curling like smoke inside my mind.

  I crawled out from the House of Bones and chased through the forest with the dogs.

  It was the next day that I found the head of the animal. Again, we had returned. And again, the puppies found the answer. It had been dragged far from the rest of the body and half buried. I dug and pulled and tugged the skull until it finally broke free of the earth.

  It was not a horse. The head of the animal was as big as a horse’s, but antlers spread wide above the crown of the head like bony, featherless wings. The antlers were stained and smeared with the color of rust. Blood.

  The dogs gathered round this discovery, drinking in its smell. I sniffed it too, trying to read its story.

  “I have never heard of a deer big as a horse, but a horse does not have antlers.”

  Lucky clamped his teeth around a branch of antler and pulled.

  “No!” I barked. I growled in his face and showed my teeth and shook my leg-bone club. “It’s mine.” The dogs backed away, their eyes downcast.

  I placed the skull in my lap. It was heavy despite the emptiness of its eyes. I allowed Smoke to sniff the stains on the antlers.

  “It fought whatever killed it,” I said to Smoke. “It was very brave.” Smoke shifted uneasily. He cast a worried look — a look I’d never seen before — around the forest. He trotted over to the trail we had made that led back to our meadow and our tree. He barked a command.

  The dogs all stopped what they were doing. They looked at Smoke and then to me.

  I looked at Smoke. He said, We must go. Now.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. The dogs whined.

  “It’s just a little thunder,” I grumbled. Smoke barked again.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “But I’m bringing this.”

  I grabbed the skull by the antlers and dragged it all the way back to our home beneath the tree. I lifted it atop the stump of a long-dead tree, out of reach of the puppies. The empty eyes gazed out into the wild and windy night with its secret.

  The next time we returned to the House of Bones, Smoke would not cross the stream. And if Smoke would not go, neither would Little Mother. She watched miserably as I stormed across the creek with her puppies splashing close behind.

  We scampered up the grassy knoll. At the top of the rise, Lucky and Rip sniffed the air. Rip whined uncertainly. Lucky shifted nervously next to me.

  “Come on,” I said, and trotted along the faint trail our feet had worn. The puppies galloped ahead, into the grove of silver trees.

  I heard a bark, a yelp, and then a scream of terror.

  The puppies! I ran for the trees. This was the sight that greeted me: The House of Bones swarmed with dogs. One of the dogs had Boy Puppy pinned to the ground with its teeth clamped around his throat. Two other dogs towered over the cowering Girl Puppy. A fourth dog — the largest by far and black as night — stood atop the House of Bones. Its eyes narrowed with hate; its lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. It crouched, preparing to spring.

  “No!” I screamed. I ran toward the dog holding Boy Puppy by the throat, my club held high.

  The dog lifted his muzzle from the puppy’s throat. His muzzle was smeared with blood. The dog snarled and lunged.

  Lucky knocked me to the side and fell onto the attacking dog in a fury. Rip raced to Girl Puppy, barking like a much bigger dog than he really was. The dogs were not fooled. They set upon Rip.

  I leapt to my feet and grabbed my club. A cry that was neither boy nor dog tore from my throat. I threw myself upon the two dogs ravaging Rip. I brought my club down as hard as I could. I felt it crack! against the skull of one of the attackers. The dog yelped and retreated. The other dog leapt for my arm. I swung the club like a baseball bat and crack! the dog fell to the ground in a heap.

  Lucky stood over Boy Puppy and snapped at the dog who’d had the puppy by the throat. I realized for the first time that the wild dog was bigger than Lucky. Blood trickled from Lucky’s ear.

  “Leave him alone!” I shouted, swinging my club.

  Another high-pitched scream. My heart slid to my stomach at what I saw: The big black dog, the one that had crouched atop the House of Bones, now held Girl Puppy by the scruff of her neck. Black Dog shook Girl Pup
py, hard. The puppy screamed in terror. Black Dog’s eyes dared us to move, to breathe.

  And then it was as if a fury was released from the forest. Something — a brown blur — roared into the silver trees and hurled itself upon Black Dog. The two tumbled backward in a black and brown snarling, gnashing twist of bone and blood and fur. I screamed and swung my club high. Black Dog leapt aside to dodge my club.

  The other dog, the one who had set upon Black Dog like a hellhound, whose eyes were of a crazed demon, was Little Mother. She positioned herself over Girl Puppy’s body. I had never seen such hate, such rage in her face.

  Something snarled behind me. Teeth sank into my leg. I whirled just in time to see Smoke knock the wild dog at my leg to the ground. First he savaged that dog, then he attacked Black Dog. Black Dog twisted away and retreated to the edge of the woods. He barked once. The other three in the pack followed.

  As quickly as it had happened, the fight was over.

  My legs quivered, and then gave way altogether. I sank to the dirt. I surveyed the battleground.

  Little Mother had her puppies next to her. She explored them with worried grunts and sighs. Lucky sniffed Rip, who was pulling himself up off the ground. I crawled over to Rip and gathered him in my arms. He growled at the eyes still watching us from the forest.

  “You are so brave,” I said to the little mouse-colored dog. Why had I never noticed how small he was?

  Twin growls rumbled from the chests of Smoke and Lucky. Black Dog stepped into the light. I stood as tall as I could and held Rip to my chest. Little Mother snarled. The puppies, grown brave now, growled from behind her.

  Black Dog stalked over to the House of Bones. He tossed us a look of utter contempt. Then he raised his leg on the bones and urinated, all the while staring directly into Smoke’s eyes. One by one, the other wild dogs did the same. The message was clear: This was their kill, their territory. We were the intruders.

  We made our way back to our meadow. I checked the dogs over for wounds. Despite the blood and the screams, none of us were too worse for wear. The puppies each had torn ears. Lucky had a shallow slash on his shoulder. Although I could find no wound, Rip limped for the rest of the summer.

  We washed ourselves in the stream. I watched as Lucky and Smoke methodically marked the trees at the far side of our meadow with their urine. This was our territory.

  That night in our den beneath the great evergreen tree, we licked the cuts and bruises and fear from one another.

  Days passed, perhaps weeks. We still explored the far borders of the park, but never again did we visit the House of Bones. I kept my knife and my club with me. From time to time, I caught a glimpse of something from the corner of an eye and the hair rose on the back of my neck. Something watched as we passed. The fur bristled on the back of each dog’s neck and spine. A smell dark as old blood filled the air. The puppies pressed close to Little Mother. Smoke stood guard as we passed. I had no doubt from the smell it was Black Dog watching us.

  One early morning we made our way back to our meadow from the Ferris wheel park, my bags filled with food. I was so tired, so sleepy. We were not far from home.

  The dogs froze. I almost fell over Lucky. I was about to growl at him when I spotted what had caught their attention: In a misty clearing stood the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. It was as tall as a horse. The legs were long and delicate; the head proud and fine. And atop that head rose spreading antlers. I blinked. Was I dreaming on my feet? Could this be our House of Bones come to life?

  The wind shifted. The creature turned its head toward us and searched the air for our scent. Smoke tensed beside me, his eyes locked on the animal. Lucky crouched. The puppies quivered in anticipation.

  I growled at the dogs. They looked from the animal to me in confusion.

  Why? Smoke asked.

  Leave it, I replied. We are not like Them.

  The creature tossed its head and stamped one black, shiny hoof. Then as if in a dream, it bounded into the forest with a grace so old, so wild, my heart ached.

  I ran in its wake. I knew I could not catch up to it.

  That night, the moon rose full and bright. “This is the second full moon since we’ve been here, I think,” I said to the dogs. Rip looked from me to the moon and barked and wagged his tail. Lucky lay on his back, belly bathed in moonlight; Little Mother and Smoke lay side by side while the puppies play-fought over a rabbit leg. We were always together now ever since our battle with the Others at the House of Bones. Even Smoke. We hunted together, we slept together, we played together, and we fought together.

  I watched the puppies in the moonlight. “They’re no longer puppies,” I said to Rip. And it was true. Both were bigger than Rip now. Boy Puppy stood shoulder to shoulder with Little Mother, who herself was not that much smaller than Smoke.

  I stood and clapped my hands. The dogs gathered around me.

  “It is time to name the puppies,” I said. Lucky wagged his tail and panted in agreement.

  I studied Boy Puppy. He had Smoke’s amber eyes and gray coloring. He had Little Mother’s bushy tail and delicate feet. A white star of fur graced his chest. He was swift and silent.

  I stroked his chest. “Star. I will call you Star.” He wiggled and licked the side of my mouth.

  His sister watched us. She glowed pale in the moonlight. She was not brown and black like her mother, nor was she silver and gray like Smoke. She was pale, pale yellow like the moon, and watchful as the moon.

  I kissed the top of her head. “You are Moon.” She licked my hands.

  “You could not be other than Moon.”

  And so the summer passed, and before we knew it, the leaves changed from green to gold and red, and the days grew shorter. The light turned buttery. Many mornings, frost pricked my bare feet. I was glad my hair had grown long enough to cover my ears and neck.

  The winds came and the leaves fell to the ground. The dogs had a harder time hunting with the crunch of leaves beneath their paws. Even Moon and Star had to learn to walk on ghost feet.

  One afternoon I sat in the fall sunlight and watched the last of the birch leaves in our meadow fall to the ground. A cold wind lifted my hair. An aching sadness I had not felt since we had lost Grandmother washed over me. Tears stung my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

  Moon nudged my face with her cold, wet nose and licked my cheeks. I buried my face in the deep fur across her shoulders. “It must be a year,” I said. She looked at me with her mother’s worried eyes.

  “The leaves were falling off the trees and it was just beginning to turn cold when I lost my mother, and when he left me in The City alone.”

  I leaned my head against Moon’s shoulder. A year since I’d slept on a bed and eaten from a bowl. A year since I had heard my mother’s voice. “I no longer remember her voice,” I said.

  I knew the playful yip of Star, the deep grumble of Lucky, the beautiful voice of Little Mother when we all howled at the moon. I no longer remembered the color of my mother’s eyes. Were they blue as the sky or did they flash black like Rip’s?

  I stood and shook off the weight of my sadness. I grabbed my bone club. The bone was smooth and cool where my hand had worn away the stiff hair.

  “It has been a year,” I said to the dogs as they stretched in the sunlight. “And that means I am no longer five. I am now six.” I swung my club this way and that. “I am no longer a little boy holding on to his mother. I am no longer a little cockroach hiding in the dark.” I swung the club high in the air and brought it down with a crack on the skull of a rabbit. “If he came to our apartment door now, I would kill him.”

  The morning was encased in cold and frost. I climbed the tree of our home and retrieved my pants, sweater, socks, and boots. I pulled on the pants and smiled. They were no longer too long. The sweater sleeves no longer covered my scarred hands; my toes pushed painfully against the ends of the boots. I left the boots and socks and trotted across the meadow with the dogs.

  We snif
fed our way along faint trails on the far side of the vast forest we’d rarely traveled. This part of the forest made me uneasy for reasons I could not say. Perhaps it was the thickness of the trees and the lack of sunlight. Perhaps it was the way the mist seemed to never leave this part of the woods. But hunting was getting scarce and the dogs needed to eat. With the cold days, fewer people came to the Ferris wheel park. It was harder for me to find enough for all of us to eat.

  We crept through the wet, darkened wood. “At least last night’s rain keeps the leaves from being so noisy,” I whispered to Moon. Still, a feeling of dread slowed my steps.

  Up ahead I heard the snapping of sticks and a grunt and snort. We froze. Smoke, in the lead as always, raised his head and sniffed. His ears followed the sound of feet shuffling in the leaves. Smoke looked back at me, his eyes puzzled. It was not something we had smelled before. The hair rose on the back of my neck and along my arms.

  There was another grunt, closer this time. Red eyes peered through the mist. Something white flashed like a sword.

  I crouched to turn. Let’s leave, I said to Smoke.

  Just then, Star shot forward into the swirling mist.

  “No!” I cried.

  Star snarled and growled. I heard the snapping of teeth. A cry of panic. Star burst through the mist and the trees running toward us, his eyes wide with fear and his tail tucked between his legs.

  Thundering behind Star was the Biggest Pig in All of Russia.