This set the pattern for how we shared the meals people put out for me in the bins. Only rarely did I find something large enough to bring back intact, such as the time when I found a dead fawn by the side of the road, its body limp and still warm. Big Kitten somehow sensed my struggle to drag it back and joined me, surprising me by lifting the kill nearly off the ground with her jaws.
We were making progress toward Lucas, but slowly. The trails were frustratingly crooked and twisty, and often during the day I would hear humans and then the two of us would hide. Big Kitten would not want to go for a car ride any more than I.
I often smelled dogs, and didn’t think Big Kitten would want to meet them, either. I longed to greet them, but they were always with their people, just as I would someday be with Lucas.
When I sensed dogs and no humans, though, the fur on my neck rose. There was something wrong with their scent, some underlying, feral component on the air, alarming me. I could smell that they had never had a bath and had not eaten any dog food recently. I could also tell they were tracking us, and they were getting closer. Big Kitten did not seem aware—she wanted to sleep, as usual, but followed me because we were a pack.
We were in a flat area with rocks and a few small trees when I realized what was following us. I had encountered this type of creature before: they were coyotes—the small, bad dogs I had seen while hiking with Lucas. There were four of them, a female and three young males, and they weren’t pursuing us out of curiosity—they were hunting us.
I stopped and Big Kitten became aware of them as they slinked across the open ground. Her eyes turned dark, and her lips parted, revealing her teeth. She was now nearly as large as I was, but I knew instinctively that a pack of four was more powerful than two larger creatures.
We needed to run, but we couldn’t. Behind us a steep wall of rock jutted out of the earth’s surface, a wall we could not possibly climb. The few trees in front of the ridge were not wide enough to hide behind.
I let out a low growl. This would be a fight.
The coyotes spread out, coming forward slowly, looking sly and cautious. There was no mistaking their intentions—they were going to kill us and eat us. I growled again, facing the danger.
Fourteen
I was seized by a fury I did not understand, an instinctive rage coming from deep inside. My mind filled with what seemed like memories of things that had never happened, of vicious battles with these creatures. They were my enemy and I was driven to kill them, to tear into them with my teeth and close my jaws on their necks.
Yet even as this searing hatred rampaged through me, I could sense Big Kitten’s terror, radiating from her skin and her breath, her tense muscles, her taut face. She was going to run—it was evident in her bunched leg muscles.
But running would not work. This was a pack, and a pack would pursue. The ridge behind us was unclimbable, so her dash would take her along the rock wall in one direction or the other and the coyotes would cut her off.
Yet she did run, darting along the base of the ridge. The four predators reacted by turning as one to give chase. The coyotes were still some distance away but moving swiftly, on course to intersect.
Feeling helpless, I dashed after my fleeing companion. When they caught her, she would not long be alone.
But they were rapidly closing in, and then they were there, almost right on top of her. Big Kitten bounded out from underneath them, off the ground to a tree in a soaring, astonishing leap, nimbly snagged it and scrabbled up its trunk, her claws making an audible scraping sound as they bit into the wood.
The coyotes chaotically halted, looking wary and perplexed. I took advantage of their confusion to advance closer to Big Kitten’s tree, thinking to make a stand there, to protect her. Their tongues lolled as they stared up into the branches. They hung well back of the base as if worried my companion might leap on them from above. They had thick tails and pointed ears and cold, ugly faces. They registered my movements and turned to stare at me in a single, coordinated swivel of their heads, their eyes sly as they assessed me. I was a lone dog, and they were a pack.
I neared the tree trunk and could smell Big Kitten above me. I knew she was afraid but I was not. I wanted this fight.
The three males slunk toward me, cutting off my path to the tree, until they were close enough that I could reach them in just a few leaps, but then they danced back. The female remained at the tree, gazing craftily at Big Kitten.
The males seemed intimidated, yet they were hunting me, and I knew their feigned cowardice was designed to lure me to them so they could set on me from all sides.
I was backed up against the rocks. My growling turned to barking, my rage forcing itself into my voice. When I lunged they all fell away, but one darted sideways. I turned to face this threat and another came from the other side while the one in front darted tantalizingly close to my jaws before backpedaling.
I did not know what they were doing, why they were coming around from either side instead of attacking head-on, but I ached to give pursuit to the one who was so near. Yet I felt protective of Big Kitten. I did not want to leave her cowering up in the tree, from which she would eventually have to descend. Lucas would want me to save her.
I would have to take on the males first, then the stalking female.
The coyotes were silent but I was barking fiercely, my lips drawn back and my teeth clicking at the slightest motion in my direction. They seemed stymied by the rock wall to my rear.
One darted in from one side and I turned and slashed at it with my fangs, catching only air, and then I spun and went right at the small male who had instantly come from the other side and nipped at my tail. This time I drew blood with my front teeth and the predator screamed, falling away.
I stood defiant, still barking my fury, while the three coyotes paced in front of me.
Then I smelled something that could change the equation: people. The coyotes seemed unaware, but I could smell people coming.
I saw that the coyote I had bitten now hung well back, sunk low to the ground, tail and ears down, but the other two were still in the hunt. They charged at me and when I snapped at the closest one I nipped off a bit of his fur, and as he jumped back the other one leapt forward, fangs clicking by my ear.
Suddenly all four coyotes froze, twisting their heads around. They obviously could smell the humans now, and hear their voices. “Hey!” a man yelled.
When several men broke from the trees, sprinting toward us across the flat ground, the coyotes wheeled and ran away, their bloodlust forgotten. The female was the last to leave and I bounded after her, giving chase for only a few steps: I still felt I could not abandon Big Kitten. I returned to her tree.
The men were breathing hard and were slowing down as they approached. They had big sacks on their backs like Lucas wore when we did Go for a Hike. “Is she hurt?” I heard one of them pant. As he said this, he slowed his pace. He had on a brightly colored shirt that he wiped his sweaty face on.