They picked up Axel’s body and his blankets and carried him up to the road and put him in one of the big trucks with lights on the top.
When I first heard the vocal tones I did not understand what they were doing, but then I realized it was singing, just like Mom used to do when she was at the sink pouring water on the plates. Just a few people, and then more and more until it seemed all of the people were joined in chorus. I did not understand the words, of course, but I felt the pain and the regret and the sorrow in the voices.
We fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
Of United States Marine
When they were done singing the people had their heads bent and their arms on each other. The truck with Axel in it drove slowly away, and as it passed some would extend their hands and touch its sides.
Then everyone started getting back in their cars, murmuring to each other. One vehicle at a time, they began driving slowly away.
“Rick!” a man called. Spicy-boy snapped his head up. “I’ve got your bike. Let’s go.”
Spicy-boy looked at me, hesitating.
“Rick. Now!”
“You’ll be okay,” he whispered to me. “I just need to find somebody to take care of you.”
“Rick, dammit, move your butt!” the man yelled. Some people standing on the road stiffened in disapproval.
“Somebody watch the dog,” Spicy-boy called, dropping my leash and climbing hastily away. Several people turned to look at me, but no one came forward to pick up my leash.
After a moment, I padded over to where a few of Axel’s sacks and blankets remained strewn around on the riverbank. His scent was strong on the soft cloth, and I drank it in. I had been a good dog and I provided comfort to Axel, but he was gone. This was, I realized, the last time I would ever smell him. He had left and would never be coming back.
Things repeated, which was how a dog learned. In order to do Go Home, I’d had to leave my Lucas blanket behind, just as I would now have to leave the Axel blankets behind.
The sad grief inside me was familiar—I felt it whenever I despaired of ever seeing Lucas again. This was the same pain. I would never feel Axel’s hand on my head again, never sleep next to him, never be given a treat by him, held out between his fingers while he smiled at me.
I looked up to where the steadily shrinking knot of people still milled about. Tom was there—if anyone would take notice of me now, it would be Tom. I liked him and appreciated that he always seemed ready to give me a snack, but he was busy speaking to others. These were human matters that he was tending to, and while a dog was usually very important to people, in this situation, my presence did not merit anyone’s attention.
I turned away and no one said my name. I trotted along the riverbank, the cool shadows welcoming me in the settling gloom, following my senses.
Time to do Go Home.
I was making steady progress, my leash trailing behind me and transmitting a constant and somewhat irritating tremor up into my neck. It was slowing me down, and then it got worse when it snagged on a fallen tree. I was suddenly jerked up short, unable to go any farther. Frustrated, I whined, suddenly hating the leash. I tried pulling on it, but it did not yield. I circled the tree, but that did not help. I was stuck.
I seized the leash in my teeth and shook it, but that did nothing.
I looked around, suddenly aware of my surroundings. I had left town far behind. I was by a stream, sparse trees and brush providing cover, but as the moon rose I was starkly vulnerable out in the open. Far in the distance I could just make out the scent of coyotes. What if they could smell me? I thought how delighted they would be to find me hung up on a log, unable to defend myself, and felt a flash of fear.
Twisting and pulling until my collar chafed, I tried everything I could think of to shake off my leash. At one point I backed away from the tree, feeling my collar slip up my neck. Suddenly it was very uncomfortable, choking me. Desperately I ducked and shook my head, straining, and then without warning the collar popped off.
I immediately felt like a bad dog. The only time I had ever been without a collar was at the place of barking dogs in crates. People give dogs a collar so the dogs will know they belong to a person. The lightness around my neck now was an utterly unhappy feeling.
Well, whether or not I was a bad dog, I needed to keep going. I was closer to Lucas now; I could feel it—but I was still a long way away.
*
Though it had been a long, long time since I was on my journey, everything about my trek was familiar: the hills, the search for water, the lack of food. I smelled animals and startled a rabbit—they had grown no easier to catch. On the trail the scent of people was strong, but I avoided areas where I could hear them talking or moving, even as I became more and more hungry. Without a collar, I could not be sure how anyone would react when they saw me.
I did descend to a road and found some old hot dog pieces in a metal bin that I knocked over, but other than that I was not doing well feeding myself.
The offensive stench of coyote was always present on the air now—this was an area where the small, bad dogs roamed and hunted. I was wary and retreated instantly when I realized I was on a course to encounter them.
The day I ate the hot dog pieces I picked up their stink very strongly—at least three of them, close by. I immediately reversed direction, because as important as it was to advance toward Lucas, I needed to avoid the canine predators above all else.
Oddly, the odor of the three faded and then returned, so strong at one point that I turned and stared behind me down a long slope, expecting to see them emerge from behind some rocks. No, they were not right there, but they were close.
I was being hunted.
When the trail burst from some trees and fed into a large meadowed area, I felt nakedly exposed. They were behind me—retreating back into the trees would simply put me in danger. Far ahead, though, the meadow sloped steeply upward, and I could see a jumble of boulders pointing up toward the sky. My scent was flowing ahead with the breeze and nothing was flushed out—there were no coyotes up there at the top of the hill.
I remembered the last time I had faced this sort of threat. A good dog learns when things repeat. Having something behind me had frustrated their attack. If I could reach those large bounders, I would not be out in the open where a pack could bring me down. I would have a chance to battle for my life.
Though my legs were weak from the days without adequate food, I began running uphill, feeling the pack of predators pressing steadily ahead behind me.