Soldier Dogs #2

by Marcus Sutter

  “Easy, easy.” Joe laughed, pushing the dog back down. He brought the napkin out of his pocket, and Skipper began hopping and dancing so happily that Joe could hear his nails clicking on the ground.

  When Joe unwrapped the napkin and revealed the chicken, Skipper froze in a half crouch, as though ready for the attack. Big gobs of drool rolled down Skipper’s chop, and his head darted forward, but Joe said, “Hey! Wait!” and the dog froze, staring longingly at the chicken breast.

  Joe lowered it to the ground, stepped back, and said, “Okay, now.”

  Skipper darted forward and wolfed the chicken breast down! Within seconds, it was gone.

  “You’re pretty smart, huh?” said Joe. He knelt down and let Skipper lick the last of the chicken grease off of his fingers. “I wish I could keep you. It would be nice to have a friend like you around.”

  Suddenly, Skipper raised his head, his ears perking up. He stared out of the alley, past the trash cans and into the street.

  Joe felt the hair on his arms stand on end with this reaction. If Skipper was as smart as Joe thought, then he could tell someone was coming.

  “What is it, boy?” he asked. “You smell something? Is there someone nearby?”

  Skipper started barking loudly and jumped back into a crouched position.

  “Hush! Be quiet!” he whispered, worried Mama would hear. He wondered who could be getting such a rise out of the dog—until he saw two faces coming around the side of the neighbors’ house.

  “Hey, guys!” he said, waving. “Over here.”

  “Joe?” asked Kai, wiping his sun-bleached hair away from his eyes and squinting into the alley. He and Millie walked tentatively toward him. “What are you doing in the alley?”

  “The better question is, is that you barking?” Millie laughed. She walked with the beige navy-issue sack she used for collecting shells draped over her shoulder.

  They peeked over the trash cans and saw Skipper at Joe’s feet, and Millie gasped. “Oh my gosh, look at that beautiful doggy!” she said.

  Skipper wasn’t barking any longer, but Joe felt him standing stiff and ready at his side. “It’s okay, boy, it’s just my friends. Guys, this is Skipper. He followed me home.”

  “Why hello, Skipper,” said Millie, kneeling down next to the dog and offering her hand. Skipper sniffed it and then gave it a nuzzle, and she rubbed his chin. “Yeah, that’s a good girl. Hello.”

  “Wait, Skipper’s a girl?” asked Joe. “How do you know that?”

  Millie’s mouth formed a small smile, and she rolled her eyes. “Her . . . coat,” she said. “Labrador retrievers are always shaggier around the chest and shoulders when they’re female.”

  “I didn’t even know what kind of dog he, I mean, she was, honestly,” said Joe, bumping fists with Kai.

  “I think I know that dog,” said Kai, smiling and giving Skipper an ear scratch. “She hangs around the docks, right?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” said Joe. “Earlier today, a sailor told me that she swims for scraps down at the docks.”

  “Exactly,” said Kai. “She gets a little jumpy when the planes buzz overhead, but she’s a strong swimmer. And a strong smeller, by the sound of it. I’m impressed she smelled us that far away.”

  “Hey, speaking of smelling something all the way down the block,” said Millie, nodding at Joe’s bike, “how’d you do today?”

  “Not bad,” said Joe. He pulled the basket off of his bike and handed it to her.

  He and Kai had met Millie while Kai was teaching Joe to surf over at Waikiki Beach. Joe and Kai had noticed Millie selling shell necklaces from a card table out by the Elks Lodge, and Joe and Kai decided to come over and say hello. They were talking to her when a couple of sailors came up to buy shell necklaces for their sweethearts—from Kai! Millie told them it was her first sale, even though her necklaces were really nice. Kai said they didn’t just want a Hawaiian souvenir, they wanted an “experience,” including buying their necklace from a native Hawaiian. Kai hammed it up—using Hawaiian words, pointing out the different kinds of shells on the necklaces, even referencing famous sailors and ships he knew from growing up in the area. Millie was sold out of necklaces by the end of the day. So they decided to go into business together: Joe collected shells, Millie cleaned them and made the necklaces, and Kai sold them down on the beach. They split the money three ways.

  “Think these’ll work?” asked Joe.

  “These look great, actually,” said Millie. “Thanks, Joe.”

  “And here’s your cut,” said Kai, handing Joe two faded bills. Joe’s eyes bulged—two dollars! A fortune! He could buy his weight in candy. “You catch any waves while you were down there?”

  “Nah,” said Joe. “I was too busy looking for shells. Got hassled by a couple of sailors, though. That was fun.”

  “You should try being the one selling them,” said Kai, rolling his eyes. “Hey, hoa, do these shells have magical powers? Do you sell pineapple or coconuts too? They think everyone here who’s not a sailor is a professional tour guide.”

  “I bet— Hey!” They’d gotten distracted and hadn’t noticed Skipper moving in. She had her head in Joe’s bike basket and was tossing the shells around and sniffing for bits of fish.

  “Cut it out, Skipper, these aren’t for you,” said Millie, trying to shoo her.

  “Skipper, sit,” said Joe.

  Skipper stopped in midsniff, sat, and looked attentively at Joe.

  “Whoa!” said Kai, laughing. “How’d you do that? Did you teach her that?”

  “No,” said Joe, surprised. “Skipper, lie down!”

  Skipper lay down on the ground, paws folded in front of her.

  “Shake?” said Joe, extending a hand.

  Skipper sniffed Joe’s hand and licked it.

  “Two out of three ain’t bad,” said Millie. “She’s one smart puppy. Are you going to keep her?”

  “I don’t think I can,” said Joe, feeling down as he looked into Skipper’s big, soulful eyes. “With the new baby, we already have too many mouths to feed, and Mama’s worried about Pop onboard the West Virginia. I don’t want to cause her any trouble by having to care for a dog too.”

  “Does the West Virginia have a dog?” asked Kai.

  “What do you mean?” asked Joe. “It’s a battleship. They don’t allow dogs on battleships.”

  “Sure they do!” said Kai. “I’ve seen a couple of ships with dogs here over the years. And my dad told me a story about a ship in England that has a dog named Judy on board, and how a couple of American ships are following their lead. The sailors keep them around as mascots, and it helps buck up the ones who have been at sea for a while. Do you think your dad could get her on board?”

  At first Joe felt unsure—Pop was busy, and a dog might get him in trouble with sniffing around and getting up to no good. But then again, Skipper was a pretty good dog. She’d proven she was brave by standing up for Joe when those sailors hassled him, and she responded well to commands—she hadn’t even eaten the chicken Joe brought her until he told her to.

  And Skipper might make a lasting impression on the other officers, which could only be good for Pop. He was always sore that the military still didn’t consider black and white men equal, and he wished his higher-ups could see past his being black. (“Between you and me, some of them don’t think much differently than that Hitler,” he’d once told Joe.) Having a mascot might help him become a favorite around the ship and at least bridge the gap between him and the other sailors.

  As Joe was thinking, a whiff from the kitchen hit his nose—the cake!

  “Tomorrow is Pop’s birthday,” said Joe. “It could be a nice present.” But then he imagined him offering Skipper to Pop and pictured the look on Pop’s face at the idea of taking a dog to work. Joe frowned and shook his head. “But there’s no way he’d bring her on board. He’s too serious about his job. Tries to keep his head down, not cause trouble.”

  “Then we sneak her on boar
d,” said Millie. “Make it a surprise.”

  “How are we supposed to do that, genius?” asked Kai. “You have much experience stowing away on battleships?”

  “I don’t need it,” said Millie. “I have a guy on the inside.”

  “Danny?” asked Joe.

  “Danny,” said Millie with a smile.

  Millie began whispering her idea, and soon the three friends were hatching a plan.

  Chapter 3

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1941

  9:42 P.M.

  Skipper sniffed her coat and sighed again. All of her interesting smells were gone—the overflow from that hot dog stand Dumpster, the fish she’d rolled in under the dock, the dusty patch of road down by the park, all gone thanks to the boy-pup and his friends. They had sprayed her with a water tube, which had been fun at first when she was chasing the stream of water like it was a squirrel. But then they’d rubbed her down with a foul-smelling white bar, and she realized that they wanted to get rid of her smells.

  The other dogs down under the docks would never let her live it down if they knew how smell-less she was.

  Normally, she would have run away from the white bar and the water tube. But while the boy-pup Kai and the girl-pup Millie rubbed her down, the boy-pup Joe had put his hand on her neck and spoke to her, and it made her feel safe.

  There was something about the way he looked at her and the way he spoke to her that made Skipper not want to run away. He had a good smell and a strong voice, and he said “sit” and “lie down” in a kind way.

  Skipper snorted. She knew she should run away from Joe. The last master, the cruel and irresponsible Larry, had taught her that. He was so nice while Skipper had been a pup, and he had taught her the “sit” and the “lie down” and the “roll over.” But then Skipper got bigger and wanted to play, and then Larry was mean. He had hit her on the nose with the rolled paper and left her outside when the sky poured water. Then one day he’d been very kind again, and he had taken her for a car ride and let her run on a beach.

  She’d had a wonderful time chasing crabs and digging in the sand, but when she came back to the road, Larry was gone. She couldn’t find him anywhere, no matter how much she barked for him. That was how she’d ended up living on the beaches.

  Not that she minded much. The beach offered plenty of food and sun, and lots of water for swimming, which she loved. And there were always good smells by the dock, and the men in blue tossed her food when she showed them how strong a swimmer she was. But Skipper could always smell it before she saw it: the anger, the cruelty. She would shake the water off too close to a master in blue or grab some food off a seat, and she’d smell the anger taking over the human who’d just been nice to her.

  And then? Then, “Get out! Go away!”

  Then, newspapers and brooms! Kicks with hard boots! The men with the nets, closing in on her!

  It was safer to run away.

  But Joe smelled nice. True in his heart, like there was no anger in him. Like he would never say, “Go away!” He was the first human in a long time to look at Skipper like she was someone else, not just a fun thing for throwing food at. It made her not want to run away. She just had to be careful. You could never tell with humans.

  Footsteps reached her ear, heavy and slow. Then, a smell—like Joe, but bigger, older, salty with sweat and bitter with burned food. Joe’s master, she realized. Joe’s alpha. Something else, too—something sweet and fresh. Flowers, like at the park.

  Skipper crept to the mouth of the alley and peeked out.

  There he was, much bigger than Joe but with Joe’s eyes, his mouth at the corners, and that smell, trustworthy and strong. He wore a white shirt with marks of good smells on it, and he carried a bunch of flowers wrapped in paper in his hand.

  Skipper watched Joe’s father, making sure she stayed hidden in the shadows. As Joe’s father got to the steps, the door opened and let out all the wonderful smells of the kitchen, and out came the woman. Joe’s mother, thought Skipper.

  Joe’s father handed her the flowers, and she smiled. He asked something about “Joe” and “Joseph,” and the mother shook her head. Skipper knew Joe couldn’t see anyone now; she could hear him only a few walls away from her, snoring and mumbling in his sleep.

  Joe’s father and mother went into the house, and with the closing of the door their voices and the kitchen’s smells were quieted.

  Skipper put down her head and closed her eyes. For the first time in a while, she didn’t want to run at all. She wanted to be there for these people—to protect them and help them. Slowly, she sank into darkness, until she dreamed she was running on an endless beach chasing a giant crab with a soft shell and one broken leg . . .

  Chapter 4

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941

  5:17 A.M.

  A hand touched her, and Skipper rose with a start and cried out, scared she’d been caught unawares by the men with nets.

  But no, it was just the Joe pup. He put his finger to his lips and made the shh sound, and Skipper quieted down. It felt very early. Why was this pup up?

  Joe waved to her, and she crept out of the alley into the street. It was morning now, pale and clear, so quiet and still that every smell and sound stood out.

  “Skipper, come,” said Joe. He climbed onto his wheel machine and pedaled off. Skipper followed alongside him, easily keeping pace.

  While she ran, feeling the sleep blow away from her eyes, Skipper smelled the morning. It had to be very early, just before the sun came out. All around her were the smells and sounds of the town waking up—hot water pots bubbling, delicious-smelling garbage trucks rolling along, a loud bell in the distance, the repeating sound of water crashing onto sand . . .

  And something else. Skipper’s ears pricked up as she noticed the noise far off in the background, a buzz that she could barely recognize. It was a distant version of a noise she knew all too well, the call of the thing that made her want to run away more than any mean human . . .

  Flying machines.

  They were far off. They didn’t sound like the ones she was used to.

  And they were coming closer, very fast.

  Chapter 5

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941

  5:40 A.M.

  “You keep quiet, okay, girl?” said Joe as he slowed down outside Millie’s house in Pearl City. Skipper gave a little huff but stayed silent.

  As Joe got off his bike and wheeled it silently up to the driveway, he felt his stomach knot and his blood pound in his ears. He’d been excited since he crept into the kitchen that morning and found fresh-cut flowers in a vase on the kitchen table. That meant Pop had been home.

  Normally, Pop spent the night on the West Virginia so he could rise early for breakfast. But this morning, when Joe had put his ear to his parents’ bedroom door, he’d heard his father’s signature snore. If he hustled, he could get Skipper on board the West Virginia before Pop was awake, without anyone noticing.

  Millie’s house was bigger and nicer than Joe’s place, with carefully manicured bushes out front and colorful hibiscus flowers in the window boxes. A boxy dark-green army jeep sat in the driveway—Danny’s car, Joe knew from Millie. The car that would help him sneak Skipper on board.

  Joe crept up to the door carefully, hoping to get everything moving before a neighbor spotted him or Skipper barked.

  He raised his fist to knock on the door—

  And it quickly swung inward, making him jump back.

  “Good, you’re here,” said Danny, Millie’s older brother. He was gawky at eighteen, with skinny arms and legs wrapped in his blue naval uniform. His hair was mussed, and his eyes looked barely open and a little bloodshot, but at least he was here when Millie said he would be.

  “Sure am,” said Joe. “Thanks for doing this, Danny. It’s really nice of you.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said, hoisting a canvas rucksack over his shoulder and carefully closing the door behind him. “Where’s the dog?”


  “Over there,” said Joe. “Skipper, come!”

  Skipper broke her attentive seated position and bounded over to them. Danny got down and petted the side of her face while Skipper excitedly lapped at Joe’s hand.

  “Beautiful dog,” said Danny. “Guess I have seen her around the docks. When Mills told me she was a dock stray, I pictured one of those scraggly island dogs that you see running around. But she looks real nice now that you guys cleaned her up and everything.”

  “You think the guys on the West Virginia will like her?” asked Joe.

  “Oh, sure,” said Danny. “A dog running around is good for the heart. And anyway, everyone loves a Labrador.” He stood and nodded to the jeep. “All right, let’s get going. The ship’s going to be hopping soon. We want to get there while everyone’s still too groggy to notice us.”

  They climbed onto the seats of the jeep, with Skipper sitting on the floor at Joe’s feet. There were no doors and no top on the vehicle. When Danny started it up and it rumbled to life, Joe realized how easy it would be to fall out and gripped the edges of his seat tight. Danny didn’t seem to notice, and Skipper popped her head out of the door and let the wind blow her ears back.

  They took off toward the harbor, the loudest thing moving along the streets this early. As they drove through the quiet morning of Oahu, Danny said, “This is a sweet thing you’re doing for your old man. Lord knows a dog could help buck up spirits on the old Wee Vee, and no one deserves to have their spirits lifted more than your dad.”

  “You know my pop?” asked Joe.

  “Marcus? Yeah, sure,” said Danny. “We’ve shot the breeze a couple of times. Funny guy. It’s a shame, too, because he’d be a great soldier if the brass could just get their heads out of their keisters and realize that an American’s an American, no matter what color he is.”

  Joe nodded, feeling bad for Pop. His dad wanted to serve his country so badly, but black servicemen weren’t allowed in combat roles in the navy. Mama quietly said under her breath that it was a blessing, that Pop should be happy enough at home with them. The last thing she wanted was him leaving their family and going to war. But Joe had seen the way it pained Pop to be a man with a soldier’s bravery being unable to rise above third mess officer.