There was a small dog riding in the back in a wire crate. She was a female who stared at me, but I was a good dog and did No Barks even when the dog took offense at me and yipped sharply.
The man with the hat got out of his truck, hauling up his pants as he did so. Mom halted, and I could tell she was feeling more and more alarmed. I stared at the hat-man, wondering if he was a threat. I would protect Mom because Lucas would want me to.
“I’m impounding the dog,” the man called out as he shut his front door. The way he said “dog” sounded like I was being a bad dog, though I was still doing No Barks.
“No, you’re not,” Mom responded evenly.
“Public property. It’s my job. You give me any trouble and I’ll call for backup and you’ll be arrested. It’s the law.” The hat-man reached into his truck and pulled out a long stick with a loop of rope at the end of it. I regarded it curiously as he approached. What kind of toy was that?
“You can’t take Bella. She’s a service animal.”
“Not according to the law, she ain’t.” Hat-man paused, and I could sense he was worried, maybe even more worried than Mom. Whatever was happening was causing everyone to be anxious. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then I suggest you don’t start any.”
“Let me do my job or you’ll go to jail.”
Mom knelt next to me, putting a hand on my face. I licked her palm. I could faintly taste some butter. She unsnapped my collar. “Bella! Go Home!”
I was startled: I only did Go Home with Lucas and did not realize Mom knew the game, too.
“Go Home!” she repeated loudly.
This was as far away from my spot at home as I had ever been, but I knew what to do. I ran.
Behind me I could hear the small dog in the crate barking, and even as the truck faded from my nostrils I was able to track it by her barks and knew it was moving, turning behind me. I dashed across yards, loving the wild feeling of my full-out galloping legs and the utter freedom. Dogs barked at me but I ignored them. I had a job to do.
When I got to the front porch I curled up in my spot by the bushes, panting. I had been a good dog.
I heard a truck pull up and instantly detected the mix of animal odors coupled with that of the one small dog, who had stopped yapping. I heard a door slam and raised my head curiously.
The hat-man stood next to the truck. He patted his pants. “Hey! Bella! Come!”
I was confused—this was not how to play Go Home. But then the man tossed something at his feet and I smelled meat. Yes! I had done Go Home and now I was being rewarded. That was how this worked. I bolted from the porch, gobbling up the treat from the sidewalk.
“Bella!”
It was Mom. She was turning the corner all the way at the end of the street, and was racing toward me. This was also a change; neither Lucas nor Mom ever ran calling when I finished hiding.
I wondered if I should run to her and tensed, and just as I did so I felt a collar of rope slip over my neck and then suddenly I was on the worst leash imaginable, stiff and unyielding. I twisted against it. “No, Bella,” the hat-man told me.
“Bella!” Mom cried again, her voice filled with anguish and despair.
The man lifted me up with one arm, holding onto the stiff leash. He shoved me into a crate next to the one containing the little dog, who cowered away from me, no longer willing to challenge me now that I was this close to her. He shut the door of the crate. What were we doing? Mom needed me! I whined. When the truck rumbled and pulled into the street I was frightened and confused. I did not understand.
I was in the crate and knew to do No Barks. The truck drove away and Mom was still running, but as we turned the corner I saw her sink to her knees with her hands to her face.
*
Hat-man drove his truck to a building that was powerfully redolent with cats and dogs and other animals. I could faintly hear dogs giving voice to what I felt, which was a devastating fear.
One at a time, Hat-man led the little dog and then me into the building at the end of the stiff leash. When I entered the barking was much louder and the odors much stronger. I could track where the little dog had gone, but I was led into a different room, one with big, sad, barking dogs in crates with high walls. I did not want to be here. I wanted to be with Lucas.
My collar was removed and I was put in a crate myself. It was very big compared to any other I had seen. There was a soft bed for me, and a bowl of water. I drank from it, wanting to do something normal and familiar.
The din from the other dogs was incessant, and I was pulled by it, yearning to join my voice with theirs. But I did not because I knew I needed to do No Barks. I needed to do Sit. I needed to be the very best dog I could possibly be so that Lucas would come get me and let me out.
I wasn’t there long before a younger woman came to get me. She had one of those stiff leashes—I could not understand why they would want such a thing. It prevented a good dog from licking and pawing.
She took me to a room that reeked of chemicals. The hat-man was there, as well as a nice woman who touched me softly, the way the vet often did. The nice woman pressed something up against my chest. “I don’t think you can call her a pit, Chuck.” I wagged my tail a little, hoping when this was over Lucas would come get me.
“Me and Glenn and Alberto all say she’s a pit bull. Signed and sealed,” Hat-man replied.
“Alberto is on vacation,” the nice woman snapped. She seemed irritated.
“I texted him a photo and he faxed in his affidavit.”
“This is BS,” she muttered.
“No, see, I been telling you this is how it works. Every time we bring in a pit bull you want to have the same argument.”
“Because it’s wrong! The three of you certify more dogs as pits than the rest of the ACOs combined.”
“Because we been here long enough to see what happens when some kid gets bit by one!” Hat-man said harshly.
The woman gave a weary sigh. “This dog isn’t going to bite anybody. Look, I can put my hand in her mouth.”
Her fingers tasted of soap and chemicals and dog.
“I’m doing my job. You do yours. Get the chip in her so if we pick her up again in Denver we’ll know she’s a two-strike-you’re-out dog.”
“I know what to do, Chuck,” she responded in clipped tones. “And I’m going to file an objection as soon as we’re done here.”
“Another one? I’m pissing my pants,” Hat-man sneered.
Eventually I was returned to the same crate. I could not remember ever being so miserable. The fear and despair and anxiety coming off the other dogs affected me until I was panting and pacing. All I could think about was Lucas. Lucas would come to get me. Lucas would take me home. I would be a good dog.
Every time the door opened it was someone else, someone not Lucas. Some of the dogs would charge to the door of their crates to be near these people, wagging and pawing at the wire and whining, and some would shy away in fright. I wagged but did not otherwise react. Usually someone left with a dog, or brought in a dog.