As Shep and his boy climbed the last few steps to their den, Shep smelled a stranger. Sure enough, an unknown, dark-skinned man in a white shirt stood outside the entry door talking to the boy’s kin. The man held a board with papers stuck to it. Shep sniffed: The man did not smell dangerous, but the boy’s kin were extremely anxious.
Shep growled a warning: “I protect this den.”
The white-shirted stranger stopped talking, turned, and pointed at Shep. “No dogs allowed,” he said.
Shep snarled. This man was not from Shep’s family; he had no right to give commands. But the boy’s kin seemed cowed by this man in the white shirt. Shep’s man replied quietly. He waved the woman, the boy, and Shep into the den, but remained at the door.
Shep looked up at his man as he passed and wagged his tail. His man ignored him and shouted something into the den in a commanding voice.
Shep licked the man’s hand. Did I do something bad?
The man glanced down at Shep, patted his head, and returned his attention to the stranger in the white shirt.
Shep padded into the main room of the den. The floor-sucker lay dead on the rug, its long, tubular neck extended in front of its bulbous body like it’d been killed mid-suck. The woman stood next to it, her eyes fixed on the blinking light-window in the corner. The light-window showed a small man pointing at a picture. The picture had swirls of color that moved back and forth, and a little cloud that flashed with lightning. With each swirl, the woman muttered to herself. There was nothing unusual about this to Shep; often the man and woman stared at other men and women in the light-window. Shep only worried about the light-window when other dogs tried to get into the den through it. When that happened, he had to bark a warning to let the offending dog know that this den was protected.
The boy called to him from the food room and Shep scampered in. His stomach gurgled; he was hungry after playing and fighting in the Park. The boy placed Shep’s bowl of kibble on the floor, but instead of sitting at the table beside Shep to eat his own kibble as he always did, the boy left the room.
Why isn’t the boy eating his kibble with me? Shep wondered as he crunched a mouthful.
The woman came into the food room and began filling several large bowls, some with Shep’s kibble and others with water. She placed them on the floor, all of them — more food than Shep had ever been fed before.
Well, I am feeling quite hungry, Shep thought happily. He stepped toward the food.
“No, Shep,” the woman commanded.
Why no? wondered Shep. He sniffed the bowls to make sure that they were his kibble and not the boy’s or his kin’s. He’d been right the first time — the bowls were full of his kibble.
“No,” the woman said again, wagging a finger at his snout.
The man called to her from the entry and she shooed Shep out of the food room in front of her.
Shep slunk down the hall, tail lowered. “Why can’t I eat my own kibble?” he whimpered.
Shep found the boy in his room, shoving body coverings into a bag. Shep sniffed: The boy was anxious and upset. He began speaking to Shep in a worried voice. He said “Go” and “Car.”
What about Car? Shep wondered. He waved his tail. Perhaps the boy would take him in the Car, and they could both Go somewhere, together.
The boy tugged lightly on Shep’s scruff, then walked out of the room. Shep followed him, loping alongside the boy’s legs. Shep loved Going in the Car. Sometimes the Car took them to the beach, where Shep could really dig his paws into the sand.
The man stood beside the entry door with several filled bags. “Be good, Shep,” the man said.
The boy said something to the man, his voice angry.
Why was the boy angry? Shep pawed at the boy’s bag. Why were there so many bags?
The boy knelt and hugged Shep tightly. Water fell from the boy’s eyes. Why was the boy so upset? Shep whined, scared and unsure of what was happening.
“Let’s Go,” the woman said, coming from the back rooms. Her eyes nervously scanned the den. She said something to the boy and took his hand.
Shep wagged his tail and sniffed at his leash on the table. “I’m ready to Go,” he whimpered.
“Sorry, Shep,” said the boy, wiping his eyes. He tousled Shep’s fur, then picked up his bag. “No dogs allowed.” The woman pulled his hand and he followed her out of the den.
The man flapped open a newspaper and spread it on the mat in front of the door. He said something, patted the paper, and picked up the remaining bags. Shep tried to follow him out the door, pressing his nose against the man’s leg.
“No, Shep,” the man said, pushing Shep’s muzzle back inside. “Stay.”
The door closed and Shep heard a click. He stood near the door and listened to the footsteps of his humans. The slap of their shoes echoed in the stairwell, then nothing. His family had left him.
Shep sat by the door. This did not seem like some short break, like when the boy left with his bag full of papers, or when the woman went out and returned with kibble. There was the strangeness of the packed bags and the visit from the white-shirted man, but strangest of all, the humans had not put Shep in his crate. They always put him in his crate when they went away from the den. Did they simply forget? And what about leaving all those bowls of kibble? The humans never gave him extra kibble. Whenever he begged for more, the woman said something about fat lumps, whatever they were.
Something strange is definitely happening, thought Shep. I’ve got to keep my nose open.
Shep kept watch by the door for many heartbeats. He heard the patter of footsteps echoing in the stairwell — none smelled like his boy. Each time feet passed his door, he whined and scratched at the door frame. But nothing happened. The door did not open; his boy did not return.
It was midsun, but the den was dim. Shep went to the window and looked out. People carrying bags waddled, arms over heads, down the rain-soaked streets. A few Cars growled at the light below Shep’s window. When the light changed, they raced away. All moved in the same direction, the Cars and the people.
Shep glanced up at the narrow strip of sky visible between the buildings. The thick clouds he’d seen earlier covered the whole of it, moving like a flock of fat birds from sunset toward sunrise. The clouds were not unusual for this time of year, but these moved fast. The light rain continued to fall; the water glittered as it swirled in each gust of wind. Shep wished he could see more of the sky — were these clouds followed by others? He wanted to sniff the wind again — did these clouds carry more than rain? Not that it mattered to Shep: All the windows were closed and he couldn’t go Outside without his boy.
The thought of Outside made Shep anxious. He needed to be walked!
Shep went to the door and sniffed the crack at the bottom. No fresh human scent reached his nose. He whined, then barked. He scratched at the door, kicking aside the newspaper the man had mysteriously laid on the floor. Shep did not want to mess inside, remembering how upset that had made the woman when he’d first arrived in the den. She had yelled at both Shep and the boy, pointing at the rug. The boy had given Shep an angry look as he scrubbed the spot with a rag.
But there was no choice. Shep had to go.
He skulked to a far corner of the living room, behind the couch. He relieved himself quickly, humiliated at having to mess when he knew it was wrong. But he couldn’t wait. He would apologize to the boy and the woman when they returned. He would wag his tail and whimper and they would know he was sorry. They would have to understand.
Miserable, Shep returned to his vigil by the entry door. He curled himself into a ball, his tail covering his snout. Dim shadows stretched across the bricks of the building outside the den’s windows. There was no noise from the hallway, no sound at all except the occasional whir of the cold box in the food room.
Shep’s belly rumbled. He hadn’t eaten in many heartbeats. He padded into the food room and stood over the large bowls of kibble set out on the shiny brown floor. Shep rem
embered the woman’s command, that he should not eat the bowls of kibble in the food room. But he was so hungry.
Shep kept glancing at the door to the food room as he devoured his kibble. If the woman returned and caught him eating the forbidden food, she would yell at him. Worried, he ate and ate without thinking. He gobbled one bowl of kibble, then another, then another, until he’d eaten all the bowls left out by the woman. As he crunched the last few pieces, he realized what he’d done. Great Wolf! The woman would be horribly mad now that he had eaten all the kibble.
Shep’s throat was parched. He lapped up some water, then scrambled out of the room and hid in his crate. Why had they left him? Shep whined and buried his nose in his paws.
Shep was asleep on the couch, which he knew angered the humans. He didn’t know how he’d gotten onto the couch, but he was there and it was soft and smelled like the boy. Shep was happy. Suddenly, the cushions began to unravel. Claws raked through the stuffing, and fight dogs burst into the room like ants from a dirt pile. Shep tried to catch the dogs, to put them back into the couch. But the dogs kept coming, now from the Bath room, now from the food room, burying Shep. Shep struggled to hold the dogs back, teeth and claws in constant motion. Pictures fell from the wall. The kitchen table crashed onto its side.
Shep opened his eyes. He was still in his crate, though he’d been scratching in his sleep: His blanket was a rumpled pile beneath his hind legs. So my nightmares have changed, he thought.
It was night, but the sky was not black — the lights of the city shone orange and white on the thick coating of clouds. Although there were no lights on in the den, the colorful signs of the stores along the street set the room aglow. Shep stretched and went to the window. When the wind gusted, the rain splattered on the glass. He waited for many heartbeats and saw only a single Car with flashing lights roll slowly down the street.
He walked to the entry door and sniffed: nothing. Pricking his ears and holding his breath, he heard a cat mewing nearby and a dog barking somewhere below, but no human noise. He was alone. His family had abandoned him for the night. They had never left him alone at night before.
Shep had to go, and so he used the same corner to mess as before. His shame was somewhat less — the humans had left him with no other option.
Shep went into the kitchen and lapped up some water. He snuffled the bowls he’d already licked clean. Now he was hungry again and there was nothing to eat.
He sniffed at the cabinet where his kibble was kept. He pawed at the door, hooking a claw on the corner. It opened briefly before snapping shut. Shep tried again, this time careful to keep his claw on the cabinet. It opened a little farther before it snapped shut once more. After several tries, Shep got the cabinet open far enough to stick his snout into the opening. He pushed the cabinet door all the way open.
Inside, he found his bag of kibble. It fell out of the cabinet easily; only a few kibbles rattled around inside. Using his sharp teeth, he tore the bag apart and ate what remained. He was still hungry.
There must be more food for me in here, Shep thought. He sniffed inside the cabinet and smelled his treats. Shep pawed at all the bags in the cabinet, knocking each out to examine it. At last, he dragged out a shiny bag that smelled like his treats. Holding the bag between his paws, he used his teeth to rip it apart. The bag itself tasted terrible, but inside he found the sought-after long, thin strips of dried meat. He ate them all gleefully, slobber dripping from his jowls.
As he licked the last crumb of treat from the floor, Shep’s stomach gave a low growl; he was still hungry. He nosed through the other bins and bags in the kibble cabinet, but none smelled of food. He decided to explore the rest of the food room.
The cabinets along the floor contained bowls — some metal with handles, some made of chewy plastic, some hard and clear — but no food. Shep stood on his hind legs and tried to scratch at the cabinets on the wall, but he couldn’t catch his claw on their doors for long enough to swing them open.
One cabinet that he hadn’t tried was the tall metal box that hummed. Shep knew that there was food in that box — he’d seen the humans open its door, felt the cool air from its insides, and smelled the kibble inside. He snuffled around the edge of the cold box’s door, testing its seal with his nose. Then he scratched at the crevice between the door and the box. After a few swipes with his paw, the door opened with a sucking sound. A light shone and a cold mist wafted down. Shep sniffed the bottom shelves. Everything smelled wonderful.
At nose-height, there was a tray covered in shiny metal. Shep hooked a claw along the edge and dragged the tray onto the floor. It landed with a crash, splashing a brown liquid all over the floor and his fur. He licked it — the fresh meat and spices pranced on his tongue.
Shep lapped up the brown liquid, first from his fur, then the floor, then from inside the tray. To his delight, the tray also contained meaty morsels soaked in the brown stuff, which were so much better than that scrap of pinkish meat he’d found on the Sidewalk that one time. He had to find out what other delicious things were hidden in the box.
Shep pulled down every tray and box and bowl he could reach. They clattered to the ground, spraying bits and syrups and juices every where. Some tasted good, some awful. But by the end, both Shep and the floor were covered in muck.
Having emptied every thing he could reach in the cold box, Shep stepped back and sat. His belly was stuffed; he panted gently. Eyelids low over his eyes, he scanned the floor. The full weight of his exploration hit him like a rolled newspaper: He had ruined the entire room. The woman would be furious!
Shep ran out of the food room and crawled inside his crate, trembling from nose to tail. Why did the boy leave him? And why for so long? If they hadn’t left, Shep would never have opened the cold box and found all that yummy kibble, and he would never have gotten excited and eaten it all. He licked his paws and sulked, thinking of the trouble he would be in once his family returned.
But the humans did not return. The first tails of dawn wagged in the sky, lighting the thick coat of cloud above, and still Shep was alone in the den. Rain fell lightly onto the street below.
Shep hoped this meant that his humans could come back. The air in the den was hot and stuffy — the cold-air blower in the window was off, and all the windows shut. Shep’s tongue lolled in his dry mouth. He trotted into the food room and discovered that when he’d pulled the trays from the cold box, he’d knocked over all the bowls of water that the woman had left him. He licked the empty bowls, desperate for even a drop of water, but they were dry. The floor around them was sticky with the various goos and gobbets that Shep had pulled from the cold box. There was no water anywhere!
The Bath room, Shep recalled. He always heard water rushing in the Bath room, and it was where he was given his Baths, which involved a lot of water. Shep scrambled down the hall. The stones of the Bath room’s floor felt cool on his paw pads. He sniffed the water in the white bowl. It smelled of chemicals and flowers — and was a strange blue color. He would not drink that water.
Shep stood on his hind legs and licked the silver paw that stuck out of the tall white bowl; it was dry. So was the silver paw in the white tub where the boy gave him his Bath.
Shep dragged himself back the entry door and whined. He knew there was no one around to hear him, but it made him feel better to call to his boy.
My boy will return soon, Shep thought. He has to.
The patter of rain against the windows woke Shep. It was light out, probably near midsun, but clouds obscured the sun’s rays. The rain was falling harder now than it had been at dawn and Shep heard a growl of thunder in the distance. He scented the air under the entry door — no humans had passed as he slept.
Shep stretched, first bending back, rump in the air, then forward, belly to the ground. When he looked again at the windows, there was a small brown girldog with a stunted black snout and bulging brown eyes hovering in the air Outside.
Shep raced to the nearest window. He sa
w that she was in fact not floating, but rather stood on the rickety metal-grate balcony that stuck out from the side of the building.
“This is not your den,” he growled as a warning.
The girldog glanced at him through the window. “What?” she said, her bark strained with fear. “It was the lizard! I didn’t mean to! Help!”
Shep knew her bark — for moons, he’d heard her yapping on the other side of the wall at every Car, human, or bird that dared to pass the building. She was not trying to attack his den; the yapper must have somehow escaped her own den, and now was stuck on the balcony. Her paw pads pressed through the holes of the metal grate and she licked her toes, whimpering for them to stop hurting.
“How’d you get out there?” he asked, his bark soft and friendly.
“My human left her window open,” she cried, her thin legs trembling. “I saw a lizard on the grate, so I scratched my way through the screen to chase it.” She looked around, forlorn. “I was so hungry — am so hungry. The lizard skittered off just as I scratched my way through. Now my paws hurt, and I’m afraid of this grate.” She shivered, her short fur bristling.
“I haven’t had a drink in a sun,” Shep whined.
“There’s water in my den,” she barked. “If you help me get off this grate, I’ll share my water with you.”
Shep sniffed at the window. “I wish I could, but all my den’s windows are closed.”
“So break one,” the girldog squealed, sounding desperate. Her eyes were wide with fear and she licked her jowls nervously.
“Windows break?” Shep asked. “How do you know so much about windows?”
“I like to chase things,” she barked, lifting one paw off the grate, then another. “Outside things that land on the window, or near the window. Once I knocked a heavy metal thing into the glass while chasing a bug and the window broke.”
Shep’s family would not be happy with him for breaking a window. But he was desperate for water — what other choice did he have?
The Storm Page 2
