Gavin grinned. He hugged Taylor. Then he knelt down and hugged Dutch, too.
“That was horrible,” he said softly. “But we’re going to be your family now, Dutch. I promise.”
We took another car ride. Dutch didn’t put his nose out of the window, not once all the way back to Gavin and Taylor’s house.
19
Gavin gave us both special attention and many treats and hugs for the next several days, and I could feel the sadness seeping out of Dutch a little at a time. I kept waiting for my chance to do Go Home, but it did not come.
Days went by. Lots of days.
Sometimes there would be Snow Do Your Business, and Dutch and I would go out and pee in the soft whiteness. Snow Do Your Business always reminded me of Big Kitten, gliding gracefully on top while I blundered along, sinking with every step. Then everything would melt and the ground would be wet.
A few times Dutch did Chase-Me around the yard, abandoning his sadness for a time and just being a dog.
Then the days became warmer. The grass grew fresh and green under our paws, so we peed on that.
One day when I could not sniff any coldness in the air, Gavin and Taylor packed a lot of things into the car. Then they put Dutch and me in the back seat as well.
Car ride! Were we going back to see Dutch’s person again? That was a confusing idea, because it seemed as if Gavin and Taylor were both Dutch’s people now.
They were not my people, although I liked them well enough. They were simply the sort who prevented a good dog from doing Go Home, even if they were well intentioned. And they had not seen Big Kitten, so they did not know I was a Mother Cat.
The windows in the car were open just a little. I sniffed out of one, and Dutch sniffed out of the other. It was amazing to thrust my snout out of a moving car … like having a thousand smells packed into my nose all at once.
Then I stood up on the back seat, my entire body quivering with excitement, because one of those smells was familiar.
The car had just driven over a small hill, and the smell came to me: Go Home.
It had been a while since I had smelled Go Home like this—not since Big Kitten and I were a pack in the forest. I felt its pull. If the window had been open I would have leaped out of the car and run to Lucas.
“What’s she smelling?” Gavin asked, looking back at me from the front seat where he was sitting with Taylor.
“Who knows? Raccoon, maybe deer. Fox. Skunk. Coyote. The state forest is full of them.”
“I hope not a skunk.”
Gavin and Taylor both laughed. Dutch wagged. I stood with my nose pressed hard to the window, breathing in Go Home, as the car drove higher and higher into the mountains.
When the car stopped, we were at a small house surrounded by trees. There was a yard, too, fenced all around, but instead of cut grass there were plants and sticks just like the rest of the forest. Gavin and Taylor took us there while they carried things from the car to the house.
Dutch lifted his leg all along the plants in the backyard. I held up my nose to the breeze and searched for Big Kitten. I could locate many animals on the wind, but not her. The next morning, Gavin and Taylor gave us both some of their bacon at breakfast. Bacon! Then they laced on big, thick boots. “Want to go for a hike?” Gavin asked us.
They attached our leashes and led us out onto a trail. This place seemed familiar. I could smell that I had never been here before, but it was very like the wilderness I had traveled through with Big Kitten—tall trees, stretches of dry grass, rocks poking through the soil.
“Let the dogs run,” Gavin suggested to Taylor.
“If we see a forest ranger, we’ll get a fine for letting them go off leash.”
“It’s worth it.”
Taylor knelt down and unsnapped my leash, stuffing it into the sack on his back. Gavin did the same with Dutch.
It had been a long time since I’d been out in the open without my leash. At first it felt so strange that I stayed close to Gavin and Taylor as they walked.
After a while, though, Dutch caught some sort of scent and loped ahead. I didn’t know what he had found, but I trotted to keep up with him.
“Don’t go far!” Gavin called.
Dutch and I both took off, galloping down the trail. I smelled a rabbit and wondered if Dutch had ever seen one. I remembered Big Kitten helping me catch rabbit meat.
I remembered being on a long, hilly trail like this one.
I remembered Go Home. I remembered Lucas.
Dutch and I tore around a curve in the path. Thick trees blocked us from the sight of Gavin and Taylor.
“Dutch! Bella!” I heard Taylor’s voice behind us.
Dutch pulled up short immediately. I stopped, too, but not to go back to the men.
Dutch and I nosed each other, panting. I wagged my tail. I liked Dutch. I liked Gavin and Taylor, too. We had been a pack together. But they were not Lucas, and now it was time for me to move on.
“Bella! Dutch! Come on!” This time it was Gavin calling.
Dutch moved toward the sound. I didn’t. He stopped and looked at me, and he seemed confused. He did not understand why I wasn’t heading back along the trail. Why would I run away from a wonderful life with the two men who had found us?
Dutch could not ignore Gavin and Taylor. They were his people now. But Lucas was my person, and it was finally time that I went back to him. At last I could do Go Home.
Dutch left me and ran back along the trail the way we had come, to be with his family.
I continued on in the other direction.
* * *
For a long time, I was aware of Dutch. I could smell his scent behind me as I followed the trail.
I knew he would be happy with Gavin and Taylor, and they would be all right, too, with Dutch in their family. If it had not been for Dutch, I might not have been able to leave. But I felt good, knowing that Gavin and Taylor had a dog to take care of them.
Much sooner than I expected, I was tired and thirsty. I curled up in a protected spot by a huge log and lay down, yawning.
It wasn’t easy to sleep. I had forgotten all the animal smells and noises that came with darkness. A fox’s scream jolted me awake a few times. I thought about Lucas, about Gavin and Taylor and Big Kitten and Uncle José and Aunt Loretta, and I missed all of them. I could imagine Lucas touching my fur, and my nose filled with his scent, as if he were really there.
I felt very alone.
I traveled along the path for the next few days, since it was doing me the favor of pointing directly at Go Home. I waded through mossy streams and made my way through thick strands of trees and crossed a vast stretch of yellow grass. All the trees there had a black coating on their trunks that smelled of charred wood, like the wood that Gavin and Taylor would sometimes burn in the hole in their wall. Most of these trees had no leaves at all, just bare branches pointing to the sky.
The faint, wild smell of the small bad dogs came to me here. Not the same ones that had trapped Big Kitten in the tree—a different pack. Larger. Not too far away.
I went in the opposite direction.
Hunger grew in my belly, and it could not be ignored. I smelled a large lake and went toward it, but I had to cross a busy road to get there.
I felt like a bad dog, crouched in the grass by the roadside as cars and trucks roared past. Good dogs did not run across roads. I knew that.
But good dogs needed food. If I followed this road, I could smell that it would lead me to a town.
Towns had people. People had food. That was the way I went.
It was dark when I came to streets with houses and shops. I smelled food cooking, and the odors made saliva rush into my mouth, but I could not see a dog pack waiting outside a door anywhere I looked. No humans came to offer pieces of meat.
I found a few cans that had food hidden inside them, but these were too tall for me to climb into.
I wandered the streets, but I could not find what I needed. At last a large build
ing caught my attention. Light poured out through wide windows, and people were entering and leaving though big glass doors.
Many of the humans who were leaving were pushing metal carts. Metal carts full of bags. Bags full of food!
The doors into this building were something I had not seen before. Usually people had to touch a door and turn a knob before a dog could go in or out. These doors did not seem to work like that. When people walked up, the doors slid open without anyone touching a thing!
And every time they opened up, the most amazing smell wafted out. Chicken! Someone was cooking chickens in there!
Cautiously, I snuck closer and closer to the doors. None of the cart people stopped me or called to me or tried to put a leash on me. Mostly they ignored me.
“Doggie!” one little boy called. He was riding in a cart and reached down to me. His fingers smelled marvelous and sweet, but before I could go closer to lick them, his mother pushed the cart briskly away.
Someone chuckled. A man. He was sitting on the ground beside the doors, holding a piece of cardboard in his hands.
I had not noticed him before, because my nose had been so busy with the smell of chicken. I studied him carefully. He did not smell like he had any food. He smelled of dirt and sweat and smoke.
“Hey, dog,” he said.
The hair on his face and head was long and tangled. He had plastic sacks piled up next to him on one side and an old suitcase on the other.
I sat down and watched him. Sometimes people who came out of the big building tossed things to him—small, round bits of metal. They were not anything to eat, so I did not see why he’d want them.
One man stopped and handed the sitting man something wrapped in plastic. “Want a sandwich?” he asked. “Too much mayo for me.”
The man sitting on the floor nodded. He took the sandwich in his hand. “Thanks,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. The other man waved and went on his way.
My body had sprung to attention. That sandwich was much more interesting than little bits of metal.
On the hand that was not holding the sandwich, the sitting man wore a glove with no fingers. He stretched that hand out to me.
“Here, puppy,” he said gently. “Want some?”
20
I hesitated at the offer of food. The man was sitting calmly with his hand out to me. He was not standing up with his arms ready to grab, and he did not have a leash in his hand, so he did not seem like a person who would try to keep me from doing Go Home.
Plus, he had a sandwich.
I moved slowly toward him, wagging. I did Sit to show him I was a good dog who needed something to eat.
The man seemed to recognize a good Sit when he saw it. He gave me a piece of soft bread and salty meat. I snapped it up. We shared the rest of the sandwich, a bite for him, a bite for me.
Then he scratched my neck and tugged gently at my collar. “What’s your name? Can’t see the tag,” he muttered.
He pulled the collar off over my head. “Bella, huh?” he asked me. I wagged for my name. Most people who knew my name also gave me treats.
“What are you doing out by yourself? Are you lost, Bella?
I heard the question in his voice and nosed at his hand. Yes, I would like more sandwich.
“I’ve been lost,” the man said quietly.
I nosed at his hand again.
“Want to be my dog, Bella? I could use a dog. You’re not fierce, but you look fierce. You could fool people, I bet. Nobody would mess with me if I had a dog like you.”
The man did not seem to have any more sandwich. I looked toward the big, bright building again. A woman was walking briskly in, and the doors swept open for her and shut behind her.
“But that wouldn’t be right,” the man said softly, looking at me. “You belong to someone. You’ve got a home, huh? Lucky dog. Better go home.”
I looked back toward the man in surprise. That was what I was trying to do!
He reached toward my head with the collar, but I backed away. His words had made me feel restless. Go Home meant that I should run. I needed to run.
Plus, I needed chicken.
I moved toward the glass doors. They opened. It was almost like the way Lucas would hold the door for me after we got back from a walk. It was as if I was invited.
And inside the door, right in front of me, there was a rack of metal shelves. Lights on the shelves shone down on chickens wrapped in bags. Heat wafted off the shelf, bringing that smell, the delicious, amazing, wonderful smell, right to my nose.
It was like the chickens had me on a leash and were pulling me to them.
I slunk forward, into the store. Dogs were not supposed to take things on shelves. I knew that. Food on shelves and tables and counters was for people. Food in bowls and on the ground was for dogs.
But I could already taste the chicken, could imagine chewing and swallowing. I licked my lips.
Now I was right at the shelves. Right in front of the chickens.
I stood up on my back legs, trembling. I stretched my neck and reached my muzzle forward. Carefully, I took one bag of chicken with just my front teeth.
“Hey!” someone shouted.
I looked up with the bag in my mouth. A man with a white coat on was coming around from behind the shelves. He seemed angry.
I let go of the bag of chicken and it fell to the ground.
Food on the ground is for dogs!
I dropped down to all four feet, snatched up the bag, and turned around. Time to leave this nice building now.
But behind me, the glass doors were closed.
The angry man in the white coat was getting closer. I needed to get away from him. I darted forward. “Stop! Dog!” the man in white shouted.
He was one of those people who wanted to keep me from Lucas. I could tell. So I ran, gripping my bag tightly in my mouth. But which way could I go? Only humans can tell how to get in and out of buildings.
The floor was slippery under my feet. I galloped along rows and rows of shelves, scrabbling around corners. When I tried to slow down, I just skidded on slick tiles.
The pounding feet of the man in pursuit frightened me. Up ahead, a younger man was standing on a ladder, stacking boxes on the top shelf. I squirmed past him. He wobbled and crashed to the floor, scattering his boxes everywhere!
People stared at me as I raced past. A few tried to grab me or the chicken. But it was my chicken now!
All I wanted was to find a quiet place for me and my dinner, but people were yelling. Yelling at me! I had to get away!
“Get him! Catch the dog!” the man in white bellowed from behind me.
A boy with a broom in his hands ran at me, so I turned, sliding, and dashed down a new row of shelves. A man with a cart called, “Here, boy,” and seemed friendly, but I did not stop for him.
All I could smell was the bag in my jaws, and all I could feel was my panic. Everyone inside this building thought I was a bad dog!
“Hey!” another man shouted as I came to the end of the aisle. He waved his arms at me, and I skittered to a halt and nearly fell before I could back wildly away.
“Got you!” It was the man in the white coat, right behind me!
I bounded forward, right toward the other man who was still waving his arms. I dove around his feet. His hand brushed the fur on my neck, but there was no collar for him to grab.
Behind me, the man in the white coat thumped into a cardboard shelf. Little plastic containers fell out, bouncing across the floor. He slid, crashing to the tiles in a heap.
I smelled the outdoors and raced off in a new direction.
But when I reached the place where that smell came from, I was not outside after all! I found myself in a part of the building that carried the smell of outside—dirt and plants and flowers—but was still inside. I spun in a circle, confused, still gripping my bag of chicken tightly.
Nobody seemed to be angry here, although there were people staring at me. So I dropped the bag to the floor
, ripped it open, and bolted down several bites of chicken. It tasted just as amazing as I’d hoped.
Then I heard running footsteps. The angry men, including the one in a white coat and the boy with the broom, had caught up with me. I grabbed the bag and darted to one side.
The boy thumped into a table. A whole pile of oranges rained down on the floor with soft, dull thuds. They rolled like balls, but I did not pause to chase them. I took off in a new direction, toward where I could smell fish and meat and cold air pouring from the walls.
“Get the dog!” the men yelled from behind me.
I raced past cold air full of meat smells, then past delicious bread and cheese. This place was like a giant kitchen, full of food that dogs would love to eat. I would have liked to slow down and sniff every shelf, but nobody here seemed to like dogs at all, and the angry men were close behind me.
Now I was back to a familiar place. The rack full of chickens was right ahead of me.
I rushed past it. A woman with a sack in her arms was strolling toward the glass doors, and they slid open for her.
“No!” somebody howled.
I knew that word, but it was clearly not about me. I was doing the only thing I could possibly do—getting out of this place as soon as I could!—so nobody should be shouting no at me.
The woman with the sack in her arms, though, stopped and turned, so perhaps the no was about her. I raced right past her, brushing her legs, and out into the night.
The sitting man was still by the wall, laughing as I tore past. “Go, Bella!” he shouted after me.
I heard my name, but I didn’t stop. I loped into the darkness, putting the wonderful food building behind me, and headed down a street with houses and yards.
After I had gone a few blocks, I paused, panting. I heard a dog challenge me from behind a fence, so I knew I was in a safe place now, a place that liked dogs. I dropped the chicken to the ground and settled down on my belly to crunch through the rest of my dinner.
* * *
When I awoke, I felt warm sun on my back. I had noticed the days growing hotter and hotter, but this was the warmest I had felt yet.
Bella's Story Page 10
