I smelled the outdoors and scampered in that direction, but when I got there I was not outside; I was in a part of the building that only carried the aroma of outside: dirt and plants and flowers. Fruits I recognized from when Lucas would eat them gave off their strong fragrances—oranges and apples. There were no angry people here, so I dropped the chicken, ripped open the bag, and bolted down some of it. Humans were such wonderful creatures that they could hunt chickens and cook them and set them out in warm bags!
I heard running footsteps. The angry men, including the one in white clothes and the boy with the broom, were sprinting for me. I seized my dinner and darted to one side and the boy slammed into a table and a whole pile of oranges cascaded down on the floor with soft, dull impacts. They rolled like balls but I did not pause. I took off toward where there were fishes and meats, cold air pouring from the walls.
“Get him!” someone yelled. There were now even more people hunting me.
I turned up past fragrant breads and cheeses. There was so much food here! This was the most amazing place I had ever been, except for the attitudes of the people toward dogs. I would have loved to sniff every shelf, but I could hear the angry men closing in on me.
I was back to a familiar place—the shelves of delicious chickens were directly in front of me. I rushed past it. A woman carrying a sack in her arms was strolling away and I heard a whoosh as the doors parted for her and the night breeze wafted in.
“No!” someone howled.
I knew that word but felt it clearly did not apply to me under these circumstances. The woman, though, stopped and turned, so perhaps the “No!” was about her behavior. I ran right past her, just brushing against her legs. “Wow!” she said.
“Stop the dog!” commanded the now-familiar voice of the man in white.
“Doggie?” the woman tentatively called after me.
I was still afraid. I loped into the darkness, deliberately putting the wonderful food building directly behind me. I found a street with a few houses on it, but kept going. Finally, when I heard a dog challenge me from a backyard, I knew I was in a safe place, a place that liked dogs. I stopped, panting, and eased down onto my belly and crunched through the rest of my dinner.
*
When I awoke a light layer of snow was falling. A cramp seized my stomach and I did Do Your Business in a painful, violent fashion. Afterward I scooted my butt along the snow and felt somewhat better.
I was still processing the feeling that I had somehow been a very bad dog. When I thought about the man in white the fear came back to me easily, and I was anxious and a little sick. I padded silently through the snow, wary of people, worried someone would want to hurt me, or catch me and take me away.
Cooking food floated seductively on the air currents, magnetically drawing me forward. For a time I sat at a back door, waiting for someone to come out with something delicious—I could smell bacon, and thought that for a good dog doing Sit a piece or two might be available, but no one noticed me. Possibly I needed a dog pack with me to receive such kind attention.
I spent the day moving cautiously between houses, sniffing hopefully at plastic bins with food smells wafting from them, but not finding any with an open lid. The sun melted the snow, and the streets were wet and the houses dripping in a patter that filled the air with sound and the clean, cold smell of water. Several times I touched noses with friendly dogs behind fences and other times I ignored dogs who took fierce offense at my presence.
I did not eat until late in the day, when I passed a garage door that was raised just enough for me to squeeze under. A mostly empty bag of dog food yawned open in the corner and I buried my head in it, ignoring the outraged yowling of two dogs on the other side of a door.
Eating dog food reminded me of Lucas. I recalled the excitement that came with him setting the dish on the floor in front of me, how grateful I was, how full of love I was for the man who was giving me dinner with his hand. Homesickness gripped me as powerfully as the cramps I had awakened with that morning, and I knew I would soon be leaving this town to get back on the trail.
I was learning, though, that I needed to eat whenever the opportunity presented itself. It might be many days before my next meal. When darkness fell I went to the street with the most food smells. The night was bringing a cold with it, and I remembered being in the hills with Big Kitten. I would have to hunt like her to feed myself. But I would do whatever I needed to do to be a Go Home dog.
A man was sitting on the sidewalk on blankets in a pool of light falling from a lamp overhead. “Hey, dog,” he called softly as I made to avoid him.
My first instinct was to flee. I paused, though, hearing something in the voice that sounded friendly.
The man smelled of dirt and beef and sweat. The hair on his face and head was long and tangled. He had plastic sacks piled up next to him on one side and a suitcase like Taylor’s on the other. His wore a glove with no fingers, which he extended in my direction. “Here, puppy,” he said gently.
I hesitated. He sounded nice, and because he was lying there with his legs extended and his back to the building behind him instead of standing with his arms out or a leash in his hands, did not seem like the sort of person who would try to keep me from doing Go Home.
He dug into a small box and extended a piece of beef in my direction and I went to him, wagging. The beef treat had cheese on it! I gobbled it quickly and did Sit.
“Good dog,” he praised. He apparently recognized a good Sit when he saw it. He dug into his box and came up with another chunk of meat. He ran his hand over my fur and briefly held my collar, squinting at it. “Bella,” he said.
I wagged. Most people who knew my name would give me treats. The people in the building with the chickens had not known me, which might explain why they were so angry.
“What are you doing out by yourself? Are you lost, Bella?”
I heard the question in his voice and looked pointedly at the box by his side. Yes, I would be happy to have more beef with cheese.
“I’ve been lost,” the man stated softly after a moment. He reached into one of his sacks, digging around. I watched attentively.
“Hey, here, would you like these?” He fed me a handful of nuts and while I was chewing them he played with my collar some more. When I was finished I realized I now had a stretchy cord tied to my collar. Alarmed, I tried to move away from the man, but was not able to go far before the rope flexed taut.
The man and I gazed at each other. A small whimper escaped my lips.
I had made a terrible mistake.