The Storm

by Dayna Lorentz

  “What kinds of things break windows?” he asked.

  “There,” the girldog said, her nose waving toward the corner of the main room. “That light should do it.”

  Shep padded over to the tall light in the corner. The light was like a metal tree: It had a fat base at the bottom, then a thin stick, which stretched up to an open-mouth part that shone with light when the humans flicked a switch on the wall. Shep tapped the light with his snout; it didn’t budge. The light was certainly heavy, but the glass in the window was strong — Shep had slammed his paws against it enough times to know. He wasn’t sure if the girldog’s plan would work, but he was so thirsty. He had to try.

  Shep pushed at the tall, thin stick part of the light, first gently, then harder and harder until the whole thing began to sway on its base. With one final shove, the light toppled over and hit the nearest window with a loud crack. Now the glass looked like a spider’s web.

  “Push on the window with your paws,” the girldog said.

  Shep reared on his hind legs and pushed at the spiderweb. It gave slightly against his paws — the girldog was right! Shep pushed harder, thrusting off his hind legs.

  “Watch it!” the girldog barked. “Jump from the floor and push once with your paws, then jump away. Broken glass is sharp.”

  Shep followed her advice, seeing as she’d been right about every thing else. He leapt off his hind legs, shoved his paws into the glass, then caught the wooden edge of the window with his hind claws and thrust himself back into the room. The window splintered and fell Outside, onto the grate.

  Shep stood on the couch and looked out through the hole in the window. Shards of glass glinted in the rain, sharp as fangs.

  “Now what?” he growled, frustrated. All that work, and he still couldn’t get out of the den.

  “I don’t know,” the girldog yapped. “Get something to cover the sharp bits.”

  Shep thought about this: He needed something to protect his paws. Like shoes! The woman had put shoes on Shep’s paws once, but Shep instantly pulled them off and he hadn’t seen them since. And even if he could find his shoes, he couldn’t put them onto his own paws. Perhaps the mat by the entry door would cover the sharp bits?

  Shep ran to the entry and pulled up the mat with his teeth, knocking off the newspaper. He dragged it to the window, onto the couch, and then swung it through the hole. He had to push the mat with his snout to get it all the way through, but, once through, it flopped onto the grate and covered the clear bits completely.

  “Now jump out and help me!” the girldog howled.

  Shep looked at the hole in the window. Glass still hung inside the window frame like a mouth full of teeth. “Wait!” barked Shep. He had an idea.

  Shep went into the Bath room and pulled up the mat that lay on the floor beside the tub. He dragged it into the main room, up onto the couch, and, gripping it firmly between his teeth, flung it out the hole in the window. It landed on the glass still clinging to the window frame.

  “Did the first mat not look soft enough?” the girldog yipped sarcastically.

  “No,” Shep growled. “The first mat won’t protect me as I climb out the window.”

  The girldog cocked her head, thinking, then cowered. “I should’ve thought of that,” she whimpered.

  Shep balanced on the edge of the couch, then put his forepaws on the windowsill. He leaned back, raised his paws high, and sprang off his hind legs. He cleared the window hole completely and landed on the mat-covered grate.

  Shep barked with joy. “I did it!”

  “Brilliant!” the girldog yipped.

  Shep turned on the mat so that he could give the girldog a proper sniff. Through the wet, she smelled like humans and dirt, good dog smells. He wagged his tail and she wagged hers back.

  “My name’s Shep,” he said.

  “I’m Callie,” the girldog replied. “Now let me onto that mat!”

  “Sure thing,” Shep yipped. He pulled the mat from the window hole and flung it onto the grate in front of him. It landed right at Callie’s paws.

  “Double brilliant!” she howled, leaping from the grate onto the mat. “Oh, that feels better.” Callie sat and lifted her front paws, licking each in turn over and over. Her paw pads were red and swollen from being pressed through the grate.

  Now that he was Outside, Shep could see the hole in the screen out of which Callie had jumped. It was far too small for him to squeeze through.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get a drink in your den,” Shep said. He lapped at the rain — the morsels of water were something, but not enough to slake his thirst.

  Callie stopped licking her paws for a heartbeat. She looked at Shep, then at the hole in the window’s screen. “We could scratch a bigger hole?”

  Shep considered this. It would take some time to scratch a wider hole in the screen. Even then, the window itself was small and would be a tight fit for a big dog like Shep. He licked the grate, lapping up a few more drops of rainwater. “I’m so thirsty, my tongue hurts,” he whined.

  “We could go down — hey, there’s a lizard! — to the ground,” Callie suggested.

  Shep looked through the grate and saw a puddle in the alley below. “Leave our dens?” He was thirsty, but was he thirsty enough to abandon his home and his boy?

  Callie peeked over the edge of her mat at the ground below. “It is a rather long way down, isn’t it?”

  Her ear twitched, once, twice; on the third twitch, she attacked the floppy ear with her hind paw, scratching furiously. As quickly as she’d attacked, the itching spell was over. She stood and shook herself, nose to curly tail, then looked at Shep as if nothing had happened, as if he were the weird one.

  “Well, for one thing,” said Callie. “I’d like to get out of this rain — look at that black bird! So we either die alone inside our dens — and another! — or try to get into the alley.” Her muzzle flicked back and forth, up and down, eyes peering this way and that.

  This little dog is one kibble short of a bowl, thought Shep. And who does she think she is, barking orders at me? I came out here to save her, after all. Shep shook the rain from his fur. He was about ready to jump back through his den’s window and risk death.

  “There are stairs!” Callie barked.

  Shep squinted through the holes of the grate. It was hard to see anything through the blur of the rain, but Shep could make out a metal staircase leading from their balcony to another just like it two stretches below.

  “Perfect!” Shep woofed. They could climb back up the stairs to their dens after they got a drink! The only thing was how to get from where they sat to the top of the metal stairs.

  What would my boy do? Shep remembered how, when he got a Bath, his boy laid towels down, end to end, leading from the Bath room down the hall to keep Shep’s wet paws from sliding on the slippery floor. I’ve got it!

  Shep stepped onto Callie’s mat. He dragged his mat along side of them, and then in front of Callie’s. The mat reached the first step.

  “Super brilliant and a rawhide chewie!” yipped Callie. “Shall I go first?” Her tail wagged so violently that her whole rump waved from side to side.

  “No,” barked Shep. Even soaking wet, abandoned by his family, and cowering on a grate, he had pride enough not to follow a small and rather nervous yapper.

  “Okay,” she barked, annoyed. “But let’s get a move on. I smell something delicious down there.” Slobber dripped from her jowls.

  They made their way down the stairs easily — the steps were solid metal and didn’t hurt their paws. They dragged their mats behind them, and then placed the mats one after the other along the grate to the next set of stairs.

  As they worked, Shep wondered about Callie’s fascination with lizards. “You said you were hungry and went after a lizard?” he asked. “What made you think that the lizard would be good to eat?”

  Callie sat on her haunches and squinted at the raindrops. “I don’t know exactly,” she
said at last. “Something inside me just told me. ‘Hungry?’ it said. ‘Then eat that lizard.’”

  Callie trotted onto the mat in front of her and began her way down the stairs. Shep thought about all the lizards he’d ever seen — none had seemed particularly edible, covered as they were in scales and spiky bits.

  “It’s like with the Red Dot,” Callie continued. She stopped and looked at Shep, ears pricked. “Have you seen the Red Dot?”

  Shep dropped his mat. “Red Dot? Never smelled it.”

  The little dog sat back and stared out at the building across the way, her brown eyes wide and unfocused. “The Red Dot is crafty, oh so crafty. It’s fast and tiny, so tiny it can never be caught, neither by claw nor fang. It makes no sound and has no scent. My girl waves a metal stick to summon it. It appears out of nowhere and disappears just as mysteriously.”

  Shep didn’t like the sound of this Red Dot. “Is it dangerous?”

  The little dog snapped to her paws. “I don’t know. But something inside me says, ‘Chase the Red Dot!’ — the same something that told me to eat that lizard.” She trotted ahead, mat squeezed between her jaws.

  Shep and Callie climbed down three sets of stairs. When they reached the fourth grate, there were no more stairs. Instead, this balcony had a hole that dropped straight down into the alley, which was three or four stretches below.

  Callie looked over the side. “I can’t jump that.” She began to tremble.

  “It’s not far,” Shep barked, trying to sound confident. In fact, he was a little nervous about how far the ground was from where they stood on the grate. Once they jumped through the hole, how would they get back onto the grate to return to their dens? What if the boy came back and Shep wasn’t there to greet him? But Shep didn’t want the little dog to worry. She was so nervous. And he needed water. They would figure something out after they had gotten a drink and some kibble in their bellies.

  Callie’s trembling was getting worse. “After further consideration,” she squealed, “I’ve determined that this jump is too far. It’s not bad for you, but the drop looks like ten full stretches for me. I can’t jump that without breaking like a dry biscuit.”

  Shep spotted some large, shiny black bags in the alley. He’d seen his boy jump off his bed onto bags full of dirty body coverings without getting hurt. “Maybe I can jump down, and then roll some of those bags over? They might be soft enough to land on.” Shep wished that some dog would come along and pile some soft bags for him to jump onto. But he was the big dog here.

  “All right,” Callie whimpered. “I’ll try it.”

  Shep took a deep breath — Great Wolf, protect me. He sprang off the grate and through the hole. He stretched his front paws and landed hard. But Shep was used to falling — he’d been thrown many times in the fight cage, and he’d had to learn how to tuck and roll. He did this now, curling his head between his front legs, rounding his shoulder, and rolling on his back. He tumbled once, then landed on his paws, all in one piece. Amazing! Four strides down! He barked and jumped in a circle.

  “Enough celebrating,” Callie cried. “Some help for the starving dog?”

  Panting, Shep trotted to the pile of shiny bags and began dragging the softest of them over to the hole with his teeth. Shep piled four bags together, shoving them with his paws into a tight cushion.

  “There,” he woofed. “Is the starving dog happy now?”

  Callie peered over the edge of the hole. She was shaking so hard, the grate was trembling along with her. She licked her jowls over and over.

  “You really think I can make it?” she asked, leaning back and then forward on her paws, as if preparing to jump.

  “You can make it,” Shep barked. He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

  Callie closed her eyes and leapt from the grate with a howl. “Ayeee!” Her little legs pawed at the air, and then she disappeared into the pile of black bags. There was a loud whump and the bags exploded into a fountain of human trash.

  “Callie!” Shep barked. The little yapper could drown!

  “I’m all right!” A part of the trash pile began to shiver and shake, and then out squeezed Callie, covered from head to tail in muck.

  “Thank the Great Wolf!” Shep bounded to her side, rolled onto his back, and pawed and nipped at her neck.

  Callie panted at Shep’s display, but then joined in the play, nipping him back and kicking her hind legs at his belly.

  Shep licked her shoulder. “Hey, you taste good.”

  Callie licked at the same spot. “I am quite tasty.”

  Both dogs hopped to their paws and began to dig through the trash pile, hunting for whatever had smeared itself onto Callie’s fur. They never found that exact morsel, but they found plenty of other goodies to fill their bellies.

  After stuffing themselves completely, Shep moved from puddle to puddle, lapping up enough water to fill a Bath.

  Callie lay in a brown box near the entrance to the alley, licking her paws daintily. “So now what?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” Shep sat down beside her to get out of the rain.

  “We have the whole city to ourselves,” she said. “We can do anything.”

  Shep looked out at the street at the end of the alley. It was normally busy with Cars and humans, all noise and smog and confusion, but now the street was silent and empty. The drizzle of rain glinted in the dull light and gusts of wind pulled at the green fronds of the palm trees.

  All Shep really wanted to do was climb back into his den and wait for his boy. A chilling thought occurred to Shep — if there were no people on the street here, where was his boy? Was he trapped somewhere? Did he need rescuing?

  Callie hopped to her paws and shook herself from nose to tail. “Let’s explore,” she said. “I’ve always wondered what’s in these other buildings.”

  Shep felt like a tug toy caught between two hounds. Part of him knew he should wait and see if his boy returned on his own, but another part thought he should go out and search for his boy in case he needed Shep’s help. Still another part bristled at the thought of how it would look to this yapper if he — the big dog, the rescuer — turned tail to cower alone in his den.

  “You ready?” Callie yipped, bursting with excitement.

  Shep looked up at his den and whimpered. He also had no idea how to get back up there. Before he could answer, Callie bounded out of the alley and into the street.

  “Off we go!” she howled.

  “Wait for me!” barked Shep. He raced to catch up. Half of him was thrilled to smell what awaited him around the corner, but the other half was filled with dread. Two more stretches, and he wouldn’t even be able to scent his den.

  They’d covered several hundred stretches, raced across the street and back, and sniffed their way down two alleys, and still Shep waited to feel the friendly tug of his boy on his collar. He had to remind himself that there was no boy, no leash. His collar jingled, loose around his neck. He was free to roam where he wanted, sniff every tree. The thought made him terribly sad.

  The street was different without all the people. Shep had never felt afraid Outside with his boy, but Outside had been transformed. The rain made every surface glossy; its patter and the whistle of the wind’s gusts deafened all other sounds. Shep could hardly smell anything over the scent of the rain. After sniffing several doors and smelling nothing but wet, Shep gave up all hope of being able to find his boy.

  Worse yet, things that he knew weren’t dangerous, things he’d never thought twice about, were on the attack. A trash can — a thing that Shep thought couldn’t move on its own — tumbled down the street toward him and grazed his paw, causing a sharp pain. Shep yelped as much at the hurt as at the shock of having been wounded by a lowly trash can. He felt as helpless as a pup.

  Shep couldn’t rely on anything, it seemed — he had to remain vigilant, suspect every thing, be ready for any threat. His eyes trained over every wall and tree and box. He flinched at a bag blowing
past his flank. A flapping door caused him to scuttle across the street.

  Callie, on the other hand, skipped from grass clump to trash pile to metal post, sniffing and marking and yipping with delight. A paper rustled in an alley; she dove after it and tore the paper to shreds. A bird flew over the street and she chased it, leaping into the air every few stretches. Nothing scared Callie. It was as if the strangeness of the empty street brought her to life.

  “My fur!” she barked. “Isn’t this the best?” Her eyes sparkled and her tongue lolled from her open mouth. “No leash holding me back, no one yelling for me to Come or Sit — ooh, shiny!” She scrabbled along the gutter after a silver strip drifting in the trickle of rain water.

  “I think we should go back,” Shep grumbled. “We have to find a way into our dens before nightfall.” He shook his fur. If there was no chance of finding his boy, why was he out wandering in the wet? He was soaked, and the rain was falling harder with each passing heartbeat.

  “Just a few more blocks,” Callie begged. “Then we’ll go back, okay?” She waggled her tail and nuzzled her head into his neck.

  “All right,” he growled playfully, nipping her ear. “Great Wolf, you’re a pest.”

  Callie trotted ahead of him, but not too far. “What’s this about a Great Wolf?” she asked. “You keep saying that. What’s a wolf?”

  Shep loped over to a tree and sniffed at the short fence surrounding it. “Just something I heard about as a pup,” he woofed. “The Great Wolf was the leader of the dogs many cycles ago. The story goes, ‘The Silver Moon looked down and saw dogs running about, tearing into one another as they might a scrap of meat. She loved dogs above all other creatures, and did not want to see them suffering alone, dog against dog. So she found a lowly pup, newly weaned, and sprinkled him with moonstuff. The moonstuff shimmered on his hide, and he grew into a mighty dog — the Great Wolf. All dogs cowered under his sparkling white mane, and all stood to listen when he howled. He asked them to join his pack so they might hunt together and live in peace, and all bellowed with joy.’” Shep wagged his tail at the memory. “At least, that’s the way the old timer told it.”