The cars on the road meant people, and I could smell a town nearby. It would take me away from the most direct route home, but I needed to eat, and where there were people there was food. I stayed as far from the road as I could, which was, for some time, fairly easy—the area well to the side was flat and a shallow stream flowed through the rocks and the road followed along its banks. Then the soil seemed to moisten and the brush became thicker. I began encountering farms, which I skirted, ignoring the dogs who barked at me in outrage or disbelief.
It was dark when I came to streets with homes and shops. I smelled food cooking; the odors were tantalizing on the air, but I did not see a dog pack sitting outside any place I came to. I found some large bins with delicious, fragrant bits of edible meats in them, but they were too tall for me to climb up into.
I was soon attracted to a large building with many cars parked in front of it. Light poured out through large windows that lined up across the entire front of the building. Adult humans pushed carts filled with food and sometimes a child or two, unloading bags into cars and then pushing the carts away and abandoning them. When I approached I saw people going in and out of the building, and it seemed the doors opened without anyone touching them. And every time the big doors eased open, seductive aromas danced out onto the air.
The most enticing of these wonderful smells was chicken. There were chickens cooking in there.
People looked at me but did not call me as I went closer and closer to the big doors, drawn by the tantalizing fragrances. None of them seemed to want to put me on a leash and keep me from Lucas—mostly they completely ignored me. A little boy called “doggie” and held out his hand in my direction, and the scent of sweetness was strong on his fingers, but before I could go lick them his mother snatched his arm away.
None of the people mattered to me at that moment as much as the fact that just inside those doors was some chicken.
I sat for a while and drank in the waves of deliciousness every time the doors parted with a whoosh, but no one brought anything for a good dog who was doing Sit.
When a long time passed with no one coming out, I grew impatient and went closer to the glass doors to look in and see if I could locate the source of the chicken aromas.
The doors opened.
I stood on the threshold, unsure what to do. The doors seemed to be waiting for me, the way Lucas would hold the door whenever we got home from a walk. It was as if I was invited. And right inside, directly in front of me, was a metal display with shelves. Heat from lights above the shelves pushed the wonderful smell of roasting chicken out into the night air. I saw bags with cooking chickens in them, and they were there, right there!
I slunk into the brightly lit building, feeling guilty. I could already taste the chicken, could imagine chewing and swallowing, and licked my lips. I hesitantly crossed a slick floor, and then I was at the display. I stood on my rear legs, trembling, and reached for a bag. The warmth from the lights made me blink as I carefully took the bag with just my front teeth.
“Hey!” someone shouted.
I looked up and a man wearing white was coming around a corner. He seemed angry.
I dropped the chicken and it fell to the ground.
Food on the ground is always for a dog unless someone says no. “Scat!” the man yelled, which was not the same thing. I picked up the bag and turned away.
The doors were closed.
I wanted to get away from the man, who was bearing down on me. I darted forward, looking through the window for someone to come from outside and open the doors. “Stop! Dog!” the man in white shouted. I went to scratch the door and the doors opened! The night air poured in and I ran out, galloping away with my dinner in my jaws.
My instinct was to run and run, but I was too hungry to do more than escape to a puddle of darkness at the edge of the paved parking lot. I could have this meal all to myself—there was no Big Kitten to share it with. I tore into the bag and the warm, juicy chicken was so delicious I licked the plastic completely clean.
It felt good to have food in my stomach, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had seen on the shelf when I had been in the building: more bags with more chickens. Now that I knew where they were and how to get them, I wanted nothing more than to go back into the building.
I trotted up to the door. The man had been angry at me, but those chickens were just sitting there. When he yelled I felt like a bad dog, but those chickens seemed left out for me—how bad could I be if my actions led to chicken?
I approached the door. A woman came out, pushing a little cart, and only glanced at me. She didn’t think I was a bad dog.
When the doors eased shut I moved closer and they opened and I smelled the chickens and went inside as if Lucas had called me. I went straight to the steel shelves with the warm lights and the succulent odors.
“Gotcha!” a man yelled.
I turned and looked. It was the same man, and he stood between me and the door, his arms out as if to give me a hug.
I snatched a chicken, and took off running.
*
My fear came from the sure knowledge that the man in white was one of those who would keep me from Lucas. He was angry, and I remembered the man with the hat and the truck with the crates and the cries of pain and grief from all the dogs in the room where no one did No Barks. Angry men hurt dogs. This man might hurt me, might put me back in that horrible place.
I ran, but where could I go? Only humans can find ways in and out of buildings. The floor underneath my claws was slippery, and I scrabbled for purchase, seeing people stare at me as I galloped along rows and rows of shelves.
I still had the chicken. It was my chicken now. All I wanted to do was find a place to tear into the bag and eat it, but people were yelling, yelling at me. I had to get away!
“Get him! Catch the dog!” the man in white bellowed.
A boy with a broom in his hands ran at me so I turned, sliding, and frantically dashed down between tall shelves. A man with a cart called, “Here, boy,” and seemed friendly but I shot past him. All I could smell was the chicken in my jaws and all I could feel was my panic. Everyone thought I was a bad dog who needed to be punished.
“Here!” another man shouted as I came to the end of the passageway between shelves. He waved his arms at me and I skittered to a halt and I nearly fell before I gained traction and backed wildly away.
“Got you!” It was the man in the white clothes, right behind me, running hard. I bounded forward, toward the man waving his arms, then jinked to one side. His hand brushed the fur on my neck. The man in white tried to change direction and crashed into a cardboard shelf and little plastic containers rained down, bounding all over the floor. He slid, falling in a heap.