They did not stop. I started panting in the afternoon after licking up the last of the water in my bowl. The river now gave up the enticing fragrance of the refreshing, life-giving liquid, right there, just out of reach. I yearned to romp along the shore and to jump in the water. I wanted to swim in it, to roll in it, to play in it all day. Big Kitten could watch from the shore as I dove in and opened my mouth underwater as if trying to reach a sinking kitty.
This was the sort of dilemma only a human could solve. I needed a person to come help me. Why wouldn’t anyone stop?
My mouth was so dry it ached. An involuntary tremble shook my limbs, and I lunged repeatedly, helplessly, at the leash, feeling the stream right there, unable to get to it. Axel’s body barely budged as I tugged.
I was becoming sick; I could feel it rising in me, overwhelming my body, which was turning hot and then cold, leaving me weak and shivering. I yipped and cried, missing Lucas more in that moment than I had since I last saw him.
The sun was close to setting when I smelled some people coming—boys, their young voices calling to each other. When I saw them on the road I realized they were on bicycles. I barked at them, desperately pleading for them to stop and help me.
They rode right past.
Twenty-five
Frustrated, I barked and barked and barked after the boys, my throat aching from the effort.
Then I heard the bicycles coming back. I stopped barking. “See?” one boy demanded.
There were four of them. They stopped on the road, sitting on their bikes.
“Why would anyone tie up a dog here?” one boy wanted to know.
“He looks hungry,” another observed.
“He’s panting, maybe he’s rabid.”
I did Sit. I wagged. I yipped. I leaned toward them, at the farthest tolerances of my leash, my front legs off the ground, begging.
The boys got off their bicycles and wheeled them into the grass and set them down. The one in front smelled a lot like spicy food. He was thin and tall with dark hair. “You okay, boy?” The other boys stayed up by the road but this one cautiously made his way down to me. I wagged furiously. “He looks friendly!” he called back over his shoulder. He approached with his hand outstretched. When his fingers were barely within reach I licked them, tasting the rich onions and spices on his skin. He petted me, and I jumped up on him with my forepaws, so relieved to have a person find me because now I would have food and water.
“Hey, toss my water bottle down here!” the boy said. The other boys had crept forward but one of them broke away, went back to the bikes, and threw something to the one closest to me, who caught it. I smelled the water before he poured it in my dish, and lapped desperately at it, wanting to immerse my whole head. My tail was wagging and I drank and drank and drank.
“It’s like his rope got caught on some junk.” All the boys had joined me now and were standing between me and the road. I wagged and sniffed their outstretched hands, none of which were as spicy as the one belonging to the tall boy with the black hair.
One boy lightly picked up my leash and tugged, following it down toward the river.
“Ahh!” the boy screamed.
The boys all scrambled away from me, back up toward their bikes. “What is it?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh my God!”
“What? What did you see?”
“There’s a body.”
“A what?”
“There’s a dead guy lying there!”
The boys stood far out of my reach, panting. I did Sit, a good dog who needed some food to go with the water I’d been given.
“No,” one boy said finally.
“No way.”
“Seriously? Seriously, a body?”
The boys were quiet for a moment. I watched them expectantly.
“How do you know he’s dead?” the boy with spicy hands demanded finally.
“He’s that homeless guy. The vet.”
“So?” Spicy-boy said.
“My dad said the homeless guy moved with his dog to a place by the river. You know, the soldier guy who is always screaming on the street?”
“Okay, but how do you know he’s dead?”
There was another silence. “Hey, mister?” Spicy-boy called tentatively. “Mister?” The boy came forward and put his hand on my head. I could feel his fear and excitement. He eased down to where what used to be Axel lay in his blankets. He tugged the leash, the motions slapping at my collar.
“He’s dead,” Spicy-boy stated flatly.
“Whoa.”
“Jesus.”
The boys seemed agitated, and none of them made any move to come any closer to where Spicy-boy stood next to me.
“Okay, it’s going to be dark in a couple of hours, what do we do?” the boy farthest away wanted to know.
“I’ll stay here to make sure nobody tampers with the evidence,” Spicy-boy said gravely. “You guys go call 911.”
*
Spicy-boy stayed with me while the other boys rode off. He made a wide circle around Axel’s blankets and found the bag of dog food and poured it into my food bowl. I gratefully bolted down my dinner.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to me after I’d eaten. He stroked my head. “I’m so sorry about your owner.”
I was still thirsty, but the situation hadn’t changed—I was attached to the leash, which led down to the stiff, heavy body. I gave Spicy-boy an expectant look, but he didn’t provide any more water.
It was very quiet, so still I could hear the hiss and gurgle of the river flowing past. Gradually I became aware of Spicy-boy’s rising fear—as the sun lowered in the sky, he seemed more and more anxious about being here with me and dead Axel. I knew what I needed to do. My thirst momentarily forgotten, I went to Spicy-boy and leaned against him to provide comfort. He ran his fingers through my fur and I felt him relax, though ever so slightly.
“Good dog,” he told me.
Soon some men arrived, plus one woman, in big vehicles that had flashing lights on top. They came down to look in Axel’s blankets. One of them slipped my leash loose and handed it to Spicy-boy, who accepted it gravely. He took me down to the river and I drank deeply. I had been right: people always knew what to do.
Before long Tom arrived and there were flashing lights on his roof, too. He came down and joined the circle of people.
“Overdose, if I had to guess. Won’t know until we get him back,” the woman told him.
“God.”
They were quiet. Tom knelt down. “Oh, Axel,” he murmured mournfully. I felt the grief pour off of him. He put a hand to his face, weeping. One of the other men put an arm on his shoulders. “God,” Tom repeated. He raised his face to the sky. “What a waste. What a tragedy.”
“He was a great man,” the other man murmured.
“Was.” Tom shook his head in disbelief. “Yes. And look how he wound up.”
Other cars were arriving. They stopped and people got out and stood in the fading light, lined up on the road along the river. They were mostly quiet. Many of them seemed very sad. I saw men and women wiping their eyes.
“Okay, let’s get him out of here,” the woman declared.