We watched as the people climbed onto their machines, which began making a rumbling roar. Then, with a lurch, they drove off, dragging the man from the snow behind them in the sled. Dutch let out a cry and gave pursuit, his forlorn panic driving him in a stumbling run through the snow. “Dutch! Here, boy!” Bread-man yelled after him. The machines stopped and Bread-man put on his long shoes and glided down to them. Dutch circled the machines anxiously, putting a foot on the sled where his person was lying.
I observed this happening without moving. Bread-man had not called me Bella. He did not know me. But he knew Dutch. Dutch would be fine with him. I inhaled through my nose—though I could not smell Big Kitten, I knew she was out there somewhere. We would find each other. More importantly, I could pick up the scent of home, and could feel the pull of Lucas.
It was time to Go Home.
Bread-man was looking up at me. He lifted his hand to his mouth and whistled, a shrill shriek almost exactly like Lucas could make. I was startled: how did he know how to do that? “Come on, girl!”
I hesitated. Bread-man was slapping his thighs in a gesture I knew meant “Come.” And I recognized “girl,” it was something Lucas said to me often. Should I run to him?
I knew, deep down, that he might be one of those who would keep me from my person, but I could sense his kindness, and it had been so long since I had heard a human voice, had someone tell me I was a good dog, that the urge to run to him was overpowering. I ran to him.
Then Bread-man unslung the sack from his shoulders and I wondered if he had another piece of bread. He did! I sat obediently while he tossed me a morsel, fixated on the remaining treats in his hand. Dutch was still completely occupied with the man on the sled, so I would have all the food to myself.
When Bread-man reached for me again he had something else in his hand. I gobbled the treat from his mitten while he used a bare hand to attach something to my collar. It was, I realized with a sinking feeling, a rope. I was on a leash.
I did not want to be on a leash.
The woman held Dutch’s collar while a second rope came out of the pack. Bread-man tied it to Dutch’s collar, handing over one of my treats, which Dutch swallowed without seeming to care. It was a waste to give food to an apathetic dog when I was right there being attentive.
“Thanks,” Bread-man said.
“Good luck!” the woman called back. And with that, the machines roared away.
Dutch was instantly frantic, his ears back, mouth drooling, eyes showing white rims. He lunged, straining against his rope and Bread-man nearly fell over. “Stop! Hold on! Dutch! Sit! Stay!”
I sat and did Stay because I was a good dog who could smell there were still some bread treats left in the pack.
Dutch whined and twisted and pulled, while Bread-man spoke soothingly. “It’s okay, Dutch. You’re okay, Dutch.”
When Dutch finally looked at Bread-man his eyes were empty of all but despair.
“Okay, come on, girl,” the man said. I could smell the noisy machines even as they turned and disappeared over a rise, their combined thunder fading abruptly on the air.
Bread-man held sticks in each hand that were long enough to touch the ground. He still wore his enormous shoes. He shrugged into the straps on his sack. I looked at Dutch, whose leash was pulled tight to keep him exactly even with me. I did not know what we were doing, and neither did Dutch, who was trying to be a good dog and was quivering with the effort. What he wanted to do, I knew, was run after that sled.
“Okay, let’s try this, but go slowly. You ready? Okay. Let’s go!”
I was startled when, with a tug on my rope and a whispery sound, Bread-man was suddenly gliding past us on his long shoes. Dutch and I both lurched into movement. I tried to stay close enough to the bread-man to keep the leash loose but Dutch bolted, galloping.
“Hey!” Bread-man shouted. He twisted and fell heavily to the snow. I went to him, wagging, thinking that if we were going to stop, it might be time for more bread. Dutch yanked and pulled at the end of his leash. “Dutch! No! Stop!”
After some digging in the snow, Bread-man struggled to his feet. He looked at us. I wagged. Dutch whined. “This is going to be harder than I thought. Just don’t pull so hard, okay? I haven’t been skiing that long. Ready? Let’s go. Go!”
Uncertainly, I started forging ahead. Were we going for a walk? The snow here was still oddly packed, making for good purchase. Dutch took off again. “Dutch! Slow!” the man yelled. Dutch lowered his head and I could see he felt like a bad dog.
“Hey!” Bread-man said after a moment. “This is working!”
When we came to an uphill slope the snow abruptly went back to being deep and heavy, tough going for all three of us. My leash and Dutch’s were yanked as the man used his poles to hit the ground, and he was breathing heavily.
Soon I smelled Bread-man’s friend approaching. “Gavin!” the friend called, hidden by a small hill.
Bread-man raised his head. “Taylor! Over here!”
Bread-man stopped, bent over and panting, and the other man, the tall one, topped the rise and glided down to us. He also was breathing harshly.
“What happened?” Tall-man asked after a moment of just inhaling and exhaling.
“He went down with mountain rescue,” Bread-man answered.
“Is he going to be okay, you think?”
“No idea. He didn’t regain consciousness the whole time. They said it was a good thing his heart didn’t stop. We saved his life, Taylor.”
Tall-man shook his head. “What was he thinking? There were avalanche warnings everywhere!”
“I know. He had to have snowshoed right under the boundary rope.”
“We may have interfered with an important Darwinian process,” Tall-man said speculatively. He smiled. His teeth flashed against his skin, which was very dark. Then he looked down at me. I wagged. “So. I guess I can’t help but notice that you’ve got two enormous dogs with you.”
“Yeah, they said to call animal control.”
“And the reason why they didn’t call animal control is…”
“They had to take the guy down where he can be airlifted to the hospital.” Bread-man shrugged.
“So the part you don’t want to tell me is…”
“I still have dog food from when Nick came to visit.”
“Huh.” Tall-man nodded. “So we give them some food and then?”
“Come on. We’ll drive them in to Grand Junction with us tomorrow, figure out what to do then.”
“Why does ‘figure out what to do’ sound suspiciously like ‘take care of these dogs in our home’?” Tall-man wanted to know.
“Well, what happens if the guy dies? I don’t want to just drop them off at the shelter until we know they’re going to be okay.”
The tall-man rubbed his face with a mitten. “There’s like two tons of dog here.”
Bread-man laughed.
Tall-man removed his mitten and bent down to pet Dutch, who anxiously licked the proffered hand. “So this one is Bernese mountain dog and what, bear? Grizzly bear?”
“His name is Dutch.”
“Uh-huh.” Tall-man reached for me and I sniffed Dutch’s scent on his fingers, picking up the dog’s distress. I knew what Dutch wanted more than anything was to get off leash and run after his person. It’s what a lost dog needs to do. “And this one is bullmastiff plus, I don’t know, cow. She’s the size of a damn cow, Gavin.”