Wild & Chance

by Allen Zadoff

  I edge closer, silently communicating that I’m here to help.

  “Yeah, she’s my dog,” he says, picking up on my energy.

  “Bullcrap,” the oldest kid says. He shouts and stamps his foot to shoo me away.

  “Nice try, kid,” I say, and I bare my teeth and roar at full volume.

  He goes pale, and he drops the silver cell phone and backs up. His friends do the same.

  “To heck with it,” the older kid says. “I’m not in the mood for rabies this week. Let’s go, guys.”

  “We’ll kick your butt later, Chance,” one of the other kids says.

  Chance? Is that the boy’s name?

  The kids walk away, and my rage dissolves. Chance whimpers on the ground next to me. Before I know it, I’m whining along with him.

  He looks at me strangely. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  It’s some kind of instinctual bond, and I can’t help it.

  Chance sniffles and stops crying, and I do the same.

  “Weird,” he says, then he pulls himself to all fours and looks around.

  I can hear the older boys’ footsteps moving away down the street.

  “Why did you help me?” he asks.

  “Maybe I don’t like bullies,” I say.

  He looks at me strangely. “You bark like you’re trying to talk to me. Or maybe I just got punched in the head and I’m imagining things.”

  He checks the street around us, then he groans and gets to his feet. He immediately grabs for the cell phone, snatching it from the ground and bringing it up to his face, frantically pressing buttons.

  “Come on, come on,” he says, biting his lip. It takes a moment before the phone comes on, bathing his face in a blue glow.

  “Yes! It still works.”

  I watch him, intrigued by his energy, intense yet vulnerable.

  “I keep my phone on all the time, even when I’m sleeping. Just in case my mom needs someone to talk to.”

  He wipes the screen on his shirt and, satisfied that it’s working, puts it safely away in his pocket.

  “I should call the cops on those guys, but I can’t risk getting in trouble,” he says, and then he laughs. “Nice move, Chance. First you get beat up, and now you’re talking to a dog. You have definitely lost your mind.”

  He rubs dirt from his hands, shakes the gravel out of his hair, then he turns to leave.

  I whimper at the thought of being alone again. The sound embarrasses me, but I can’t stop.

  Chance pauses. “Whoa, what’s going on with you?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. I turn away from him and bury my face in my front paws, ashamed to be seen crying.

  “I’m sorry, girl. I wish I had some way to say thanks, but I don’t have any food, and I can’t—”

  He kneels in front of me, his voice low.

  “Are you a stray?”

  Stray. There’s that word again.

  He studies me in the light of the streetlamp.

  “It looks like you were in a fight like me. Are you hurt?”

  He reaches for me, and I growl, warning him back. Despite how much I’m hurting, I don’t want to be touched by a human. Not yet at least.

  “Easy there,” he says, pulling his hand back. “My name’s Chance.”

  “I don’t know my name.”

  “No collar, no tags. I don’t even know what to call you,” he says.

  I look down, disappointed.

  “Too bad we can’t talk to each other,” Chance says.

  I whimper out of frustration. Chance reaches out to comfort me, but I jerk back again.

  “You don’t like to be touched, do you?”

  My reactions are confusing me. I want to be touched, but I don’t trust anyone.

  “I get it,” Chance says. “It’s tough when you don’t have a home. And it’s probably scary out on the streets, right?”

  He stands, and something on the back of my neck gets his attention. “You have this thing—it looks like a burn mark—on the back of your neck.”

  “That’s why my head’s been killing me,” I say.

  Chance frowns in disgust. “Who would do this to a dog?”

  It’s a good question. Who did this to me, and how can I find them?

  “I have to get home,” Chance says. “I wish I could help you, but my situation is messed up. If I get in trouble—Anyway, it’s complicated.”

  He stands, hands on his hips as he looks down at me.

  “Tell you what. I’ll come back tomorrow with some food. If you’re still around.”

  “I’d like that,” I say, but even as the words come out of my mouth, I realize it’s not going to happen. There’s no way I’m going to stay in the area with Ruben and the warehouse people nearby. I don’t know where I’m going next, but I know I’m not staying here.

  “Okay, then,” Chance says. He takes a step, then hesitates, talking to himself. “Don’t be stupid, Chance. You’re not allowed to have any pets.”

  He turns and starts to walk away.

  A high-pitched engine noise echoes off the alley walls around us. We both look up at the same time as a mysterious blue van glides slowly across the entrance to the alley, its windows blacked out.

  Something about this van is familiar. The fur on my back stands up, warning me of danger. Instinctively I move deeper into the shadows.

  “Do you know them?” Chance whispers. He follows my lead, pushing himself up against the wall next to me.

  “I have a bad feeling,” I say.

  The back doors of the van come into view. The words Animal Control are painted in white letters across the rear.

  “What’s Animal Control doing out on a Saturday night?” Chance asks.

  A spotlight snaps on from the top of the van, and a bright white beam shoots down the alley, scanning from side to side.

  “Run!” Chance shouts.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  I sprint down the street with Chance right behind me, the two of us staying just ahead of the spotlight as we race out the back of the alley.

  We hit the main street and keep running, side by side, until we’ve crossed several intersections and we’re sure the Animal Control van isn’t following us.

  IT’S GETTING LATE.

  I walk with Chance for a while, judging it safer to have a person next to me than to be alone on the streets at night.

  I need to find a safe place to bed down. Maybe with a good night’s sleep, I’ll remember enough to be able to plan my next move tomorrow.

  The neighborhood changes from warehouses and stores to small homes. We walk down a street of dilapidated houses packed together with barely any space between them.

  In the window of one of the houses, a little girl is jumping up and down on a bed, waving her arms, while her mother pleads with her to stop. I watch the silent pantomime, the mother’s mouth moving, the girl singing, the mother’s frustration turning to laughter as she joins her daughter in song.

  “You miss your home, don’t you?” Chance asks.

  His voice startles me, and I look away from the window, confused. How can I miss a home I don’t even remember?

  “I guess dogs have feelings, too,” Chance says. He bites his lip, thinking hard. “Maybe I can sneak you into my house for one night. We can look for your real home tomorrow before that Animal Control van finds you.”

  I like that Chance doesn’t treat me like I’m stupid, even though he has no way of knowing how smart I am.

  “Do you want to come home with me?” Chance asks. “Not forever, but just for now?”

  Just for now.

  My instinct warned me not to trust people. I didn’t listen earlier, and I ended up with Ruben. But as I look at Chance biting nervously at his lower lip, my instinct tells me something different.

  Trust him, it says.

  I wag my tail to let Chance know I’m willing. Just for now.

  “I guess that’s a yes,”
he says with a laugh. “If we’re going to be hanging out, I think I need to name you.”

  “Name me?”

  “I’ll call you Wild. That’s how you looked when you scared those dudes away. Like a wild animal. But you’re not really wild, are you? You’re a good dog.”

  I don’t know what kind of dog I am, but I can’t remember my own name. Besides, Wild sounds kind of cool.

  “Wild. It’ll be our little joke.”

  I yip quietly to let Chance know I approve.

  He smiles and reaches out to pet me, but I pull back, staying just out of reach.

  “I get it,” Chance says. “No more touching. I promise.”

  CHANCE LEADS ME THROUGH THE SHADOWS ON THE SIDE OF A HOUSE.

  This house is bigger than the ones around it, but similarly run-down, surrounded by a yard that’s unkempt and overgrown with weeds. We walk between rows of bushes until we come around to the back door.

  “Why are you sneaking into your own house?” I ask.

  He shushes me with a finger to his lips. Then he quietly opens the door and motions for me to follow him inside. We run through a musty living room full of old, worn-out furniture, then we scurry past a room where a few boys lounge, and scamper upstairs.

  Chance opens the door to a bedroom, guides me inside, then quickly closes it behind us.

  “This is my room,” he says.

  I look around the small bedroom, trying to find out more about him, but there’s nothing personal in here. There are no posters, no books, no photos, not even a tablet to watch movies on.

  “It’s called a group home. I’m only here for a little longer.”

  “A group home? I’ve never heard of that.”

  Instinct takes over, and I sniff my way around the small bedroom, inhaling the scent of desperate children who have lived here before. I see their faces like faded pictures, their expressions angry, afraid, lost. I whimper, overwhelmed by the emotion lingering in this place.

  “What’s wrong, Wild?”

  Chance looks at me with concern. I shake my head, flopping my ears and jowls to disperse the scent.

  “You probably smell a lot of different people. Kids move in and out of this place all the time. I’m looking forward to the ‘out’ part of the equation. I’m going to see my mom on Thursday. That’s why I have to play by the rules.”

  He opens the closet door. “I think we should put you in here,” he says. “Just in case someone comes in.”

  I back away, thinking about being locked in Ruben’s truck earlier. I won’t allow myself to be trapped again.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of,” Chance says. “It’s just an old closet.”

  Chance walks inside and turns on a light. He picks up a bunch of dirty clothes to clear some space.

  “I’ve never had a dog before, but I think dogs like to sleep on something soft, right?”

  He takes a blanket off the shelf and lays it on the floor for me to use as a bed.

  I stand outside the closet, watching him arrange it for me. He can sense my hesitation, so he steps out and moves away, inviting me to check it out.

  I stare at the entrance, reluctant to go inside.

  “I get it,” he says. “I have an idea.”

  He takes a wooden hanger and puts it on the floor where the closet door meets the wall. Then he shows me how it won’t click shut with the hanger in the way.

  “This way you won’t get locked in.”

  I edge forward, sniffing my way into the closet.

  “I’m sorry you have to stay in here, but if my house-mother—”

  There’s a hard knock at the door, and Chance jumps to shut the closet door, leaving a small gap.

  “Please don’t make any noise, Wild.”

  A second later, I hear the bedroom door open.

  “Lights out,” a woman says sternly.

  I sense her energy fill the room, angry and unstable, and it makes me agitated. I press my eye to the crack and watch her. She has a face like a bulldog, and a big black hairdo that resembles an army helmet.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chance says.

  The woman surveys the room, suspicious. “What kind of trouble are you getting into up here?”

  “No trouble.”

  “What happened to your eye?”

  Chance quickly covers his face, trying to hide the black-and-blue mark where he was punched earlier.

  “I guess I fell,” he says.

  “Again?” the woman asks. “What will social services say if I return you with bruises all over your body?”

  I want to bark at her to make her shut up, but I don’t want to get Chance in trouble.

  “You’re out of here in five days,” the woman says. “Try not to walk into any more walls.”

  She goes out and closes the door behind her.

  I push open the closet, and Chance frowns.

  “That’s the housemother,” he whispers. “I call her the Wicked Witch of West LA.”

  He walks to the bedroom door. “I’ll get something to clean you up. Back in a minute.”

  Chance goes out and leaves me alone in his bedroom.

  I sniff at the blanket on the closet floor. It smells like the room, a combination of sweat and fear from the children who have lived here.

  I don’t like the smell, so I sniff my way across the room, following Chance’s scent to his bed. I hop up where the scent is stronger. Chance’s smell is comforting to me, and I move around on the mattress and feel it bounce beneath me. I jump up and down a few times, enjoying the feeling of going airborne with little effort.

  I land on Chance’s pillow, and the softness sends a ripple of pleasure through me. The exhaustion of the day pulls at me, and I yawn and stretch.

  I probably shouldn’t do this, but I take Chance’s pillow between my teeth, hop down from the bed, and carry it into the closet with me.

  I settle down on the pillow with my head between my front paws. I try to stay awake until Chance gets back, but I can’t. Before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep.

  I DREAM OF THE BLOND SOLDIER.

  He wears a blue military uniform and calls to me from across the room. It’s the same dream I had earlier, only with more detail this time. The soldier makes hand signals as if he’s giving me commands. When he turns, I see the initials AC on the sleeve of his uniform, and I’m overcome with an intense feeling.

  Hatred.

  I run toward him, and he shouts for me to stop, but I speed up and attack, diving for his midsection, jaws snapping.

  “Wake up, Wild!”

  I open my eyes to find a boy I don’t recognize facing me. I’m still in the dream, teeth bared, growling.

  “It’s Chance! Remember?”

  The boy seems to know me, but I don’t remember him. I see a human being, and the dream has me wanting to hurt humans, make them feel pain like I’ve felt. I open my mouth to attack—

  “Stop!”

  I freeze with my jaws open, wanting to bite but fighting the impulse as my brain catches up to my body.

  I blink and shake my head. The boy’s face slowly comes into focus.

  “Chance, I’m sorry.”

  He’s standing in the closet door, shaking with fear.

  “Did I hurt you?” I ask.

  The look on his face says it all. He’s not hurt; he’s terrified.

  I yelp and put my head between my front paws, pressing my face to the ground in apology. I almost hurt this boy who’s done nothing but help me.

  “You’re back,” he says, obviously relieved. “You didn’t seem like yourself for a second, Wild. You were like a whole different dog.”

  I’m afraid he might be right. There’s a different dog inside me. A dog who rages and knows the taste of blood.

  A bad dog.

  “It was probably just a nightmare,” Chance says.

  I’m not so sure. I’ve had memories of the blond soldier a few times now. None of them good.

  “I have bad dreams, too,” Chance
says. “They’re scary, but they’re not real.”

  I want to believe him, but I’m not convinced.

  He opens the door wide, inviting me to stretch my legs. He looks behind me to the floor.

  “Hey, you stole my pillow.”

  I lower my head and whimper.

  “No big deal,” he says. “You can borrow it until we get a bed for you.”

  He sits on the edge of the mattress and unplugs his cell phone from its charger. He stares at the screen.

  “Like I said, I keep it on in case my mom needs to talk. We have a scheduled call every Sunday, but I worry about her, you know?”

  I feel really bad for Chance. I can see he’s doing his best to deal with a difficult situation.

  “She isn’t a bad person, Wild. She’s an addict. The drugs make you do things you wouldn’t do if you were thinking straight. That’s what she told me.”

  I come forward to smell him better.

  “She’s been clean for ninety days, so now we can have a hearing and the court might let us live together again.”

  Chance slides down to the floor at the foot of the bed. He points to the room around us.

  “This place sucks, Wild. I have to get out of here.”

  He puts the phone back on the dresser.

  “I wish you could understand me,” he says.

  “I wish you could understand me, too.”

  He yawns and climbs into bed.

  “At least you’re a good listener,” he says with a laugh. “Maybe all dogs are. I don’t know exactly, because I’ve never had one before.”

  He yawns again, then he rolls over and turns off the lamp. The room is lit by the glow of his cell phone.

  “We’re going to find your home tomorrow. I have an idea where to start.”

  His voice trails off, replaced by the sound of snoring.

  A part of me wants to get closer to him. It’s a different kind of instinct, a softer one. For some reason, I don’t trust that feeling.

  For now, it’s better to stay away, to protect myself.

  After the nightmare I had, maybe I need to protect Chance, too.

  I retreat into the closet and turn a couple of times to spread my scent before I’m ready to settle down.

  I fall asleep, listening to Chance breathing, hoping the blond soldier does not visit me again in my dreams.