The Good Dog

  McKinley peered down to the floor. When the voice spoke another time he realized it was coming from the talking thing. But now the thing began to chirp. He decided to ignore it.

  Stealthfully, McKinley dropped down from the top of the cold box onto the food-mixing place, where the shiny bowl sat.

  It was covered by a plate with a loop on the top. McKinley grasped the loop in his mouth and lifted. It came up with ease. Twisting about, he dropped it—crash—onto the counter.

  McKinley peered into the bowl. A hunk of meat was soaking in shallow, sour-smelling water. But then, as McKinley knew, people did strange things with their food.

  He leaned into the bowl, grasped the meat firmly with his teeth, and lifted it out. He was just about to leap down from the mixing place when he thought about keeping neat. Humans liked that. What he was doing was bad enough. So he dropped the meat to the floor—splat—then picked the plate up with his teeth and returned it to the top of the bowl.

  Only then did he leap down to the floor.

  Hurriedly, McKinley licked the floor clean. Though the water tasted bitter, he didn’t care. He snatched up the meat with his teeth and headed for the front door. There was nothing he could do about the talking thing.

  He was just approaching the door when it swung open.

  There was Jack. “McKinley!” he cried. “What are you doing with that meat?”

  Springing forward, McKinley dashed past the boy, out the door, and down the way, the meat clenched tightly in his teeth.

  “McKinley! Come back here, you bad dog. Come back!”

  17

  Without a pause, McKinley ran to Strawberry Park, up into the hills, and to the tumbled pine. There he found Aspen stretched out before the exposed tree roots, head on her forepaws. Lupin was nowhere in sight.

  McKinley growled to announce his arrival. Aspen looked up and around as he—wagging his tail for her—stepped into the clearing.

  “Where’d you get that?” Aspen barked.

  McKinley dropped the meat onto the ground. “Don’t ask. Where’s Lupin?”

  Aspen nodded toward the exposed roots. “She’s very weak. She was thirsty, too, but when I offered to get her some water, she refused. Insisted upon crawling out and dragging herself to the creek. The effort exhausted her. I don’t think she could do it again.”

  McKinley went to the hole and looked down. Lupin lay four feet below, curled up in a ball, tail over her face. The smell of blood and sickness was strong.

  McKinley barked a few times. “Lupin! It’s me, McKinley. I’ve brought you some food.”

  Ears flicking, the wolf lifted her head a few inches only to growl softly and lower her head again.

  “No, really,” McKinley whined. “It’s what you asked for. Food.”

  Lupin managed to snarl, “No dog food,” without moving.

  McKinley stared at her for a moment, then turned to where the meat lay, picked it up, and carried it to the edge of the hole.

  “Lupin, it’s real meat. I took it from my humans. Smell it for yourself.” He held the meat with his teeth over the hole.

  The wolf raised her head and sniffed. Her eyes were only partially open, and dull. Her nose looked dry.

  Lupin growled again. “It smells strange.”

  “My humans were soaking it in something. But it’s still meat. And it’s fresh.”

  With a groan, Lupin labored to her feet. But when she made an attempt to lift herself out of the hole, she fell back.

  Aspen put her mouth next to McKinley’s ear. “I don’t think she can do it.”

  McKinley peered down at Lupin. “Then we’ll have to get her out. If we don’t, she’ll die in there. Lupin, I’m coming down!”

  He leaped into the hole. The stench of the wolf’s wound was almost unbearable. At one shoulder the fur had been torn away. The exposed skin was filthy, clotted with dried blood, oozing a horrible -smelling wetness. But McKinley saw that Lupin could not get at it to keep the wound clean. He shook his head in dismay. “You must get out of here, Lupin. Try pulling yourself up. I’ll push you from below.”

  Lupin turned to look at him. “Dog—”

  “Lupin,” McKinley snapped, “you’ve got to move.”

  Snarling, Lupin slowly came to her feet.

  There was little room for both of them, but McKinley managed to wedge his head under the wolf’s rear and began to push up. The wolf was enormously heavy. She seemed to be making no effort to help herself.

  Aspen peered down from above. “Can you help her?”

  McKinley looked up. “She’s deadweight.”

  To Lupin, he barked, “Don’t give up! If you stay down here, you’ll die. Is that what you want? What’s the point of being free if you’re dead?”

  Lupin lowered her head and drew back her lips to reveal her teeth in a show of anger. But then her mouth slackened. Her eyes closed. Turning, she lifted her head toward the opening of the hole.

  Aspen was still looking down.

  McKinley yelped, “I’ll push. You pull!”

  “I understand.”

  “Lupin,” he bayed, “come on!” He ducked his head under her and began to shove upward again.

  Lupin struggled to stand on her hind feet. Then she used her still good leg to raise and steady herself.

  Panting from exertion, McKinley shoved with all his strength. “That’s it. That’s it!”

  He saw the wolf hook her good paw over the top of the hole and pull. After a nervous moment, Aspen reached down, gripped the ruff of Lupin’s neck in her teeth, and began to haul up—just enough for McKinley to quickly shift his position. Now he was using his whole broad back to help the wolf claw upward—drawing dirt into the hole—while Aspen pulled. The higher Lupin went, the more McKinley arched his back.

  Aspen gave one final yank, and the panting wolf flopped over the edge of the hole. But her hindquarters still dangled down.

  Standing up, McKinley used his head to push harder as Aspen worked to drag the wolf away from the hole.

  With a final grunt Lupin rolled completely out.

  Leaping, scratching, and scrambling, McKinley managed to get himself out of the hole. Once up, he shook himself free of dirt.

  He and Aspen examined Lupin. She lay stretched on the ground in a heap, breathing hard. Her eyes were closed.

  McKinley placed the meat before her nose. The wolf—eyes still closed—lifted her nose an inch and sniffed. Opening her mouth, she made a feeble snap at the meat but missed.

  McKinley looked around at Aspen.

  “I think I know what to do,” she whimpered. Placing one paw on the meat, she bit off a chunk and began to chew it.

  “Aspen, it’s for her!” McKinley snapped.

  Aspen continued to chew. When she had softened the meat into a pulp, she spat it out onto the ground in front of Lupin’s nose.

  The wolf sniffed at the chewed meat. First she licked it, then she extended her open mouth. But she was too weak to draw the food in. While McKinley watched, Aspen nosed the food directly into the wolf’s mouth.

  After a moment Lupin began to chew and then swallow quickly.

  McKinley looked over at Aspen. “How’d you know to do that?”

  She wagged her tail. “It’s what wolves do for their pups. And we’re all partly wolves—right?”

  McKinley made no response.

  But as Lupin fed, he sniffed her wound. It was so dirty, he couldn’t tell how serious it was. He began to lick at it, then pull away the torn flesh gently, spitting out the foul bits and using his rough tongue to clean the remaining filth.

  Lupin lay still, only now and again whimpering softly.

  18

  Twice, McKinley went for water. The creek was a small one, more a soggy mess of leaves and twigs with a few pools than a free-flowing brook. But at one of the pools McKinley lapped up water, filled his mouth, and carried it back to Lupin. With some coaxing, Aspen got the wolf to lift her head so McKinley could dump the water directly into her mout
h.

  When the wolf had consumed all the meat and taken some more drink, she rested. Now and again she looked up, staring first at Aspen, then at McKinley. Though her eyes had brightened, she did not speak. Nor wag her tail. Finally, she curled up into a ball and fell into a deep sleep.

  The sky was growing dark.

  McKinley turned to Aspen. “What do you think?”

  “She’s a little better. But not by much.”

  McKinley knew their humans would be wondering where they were.

  Aspen sighed. “Do you think we can leave her?”

  McKinley growled. “I’m sure people are going to come hunt for her. If she stays here she’ll be awfully easy to find. And it’s getting colder. I think we’re in for some snow.”

  “What do you want to do, then?”

  McKinley stood up, facing first one direction then another. Suddenly he wagged his tail.

  “Have an idea?”

  “Do you think we could get her to move?”

  “Not far.”

  “I’ll be right back!” McKinley began to run down the hill.

  He burst out of the woods and galloped across the field, slowing only when he approached the little house. Though the place looked deserted, as it usually did, McKinley wanted to be certain. Tilting his ears forward, he listened and sniffed deeply. Nothing. To make doubly sure, he barked, but no response came.

  Turning, he scampered up the way that ran before the house and after a short run leaped off it. It was here that the creek, which curved close, was fed by a trickle running down off the hills. Maybe, McKinley thought, it’s the same water as Lupin’s.

  McKinley jumped into the creek. The cold water reached his knees. Confident that he was leaving no scent, except on the way he had bounded over, he splashed forward.

  When the creek turned behind the little house, McKinley jumped, landing on a flat surface of many wooden boards. Excitedly, he ran up and down in search of a means to get inside the house. There was a door, but it was closed. He couldn’t budge it. But near the door he saw a small window covered by some thin, torn cloth. It looked to be too high for him. McKinley whined with frustration.

  Pacing around, he discovered a small, fourlegged platform. He nudged it under the window, jumped up, and stood on his hind legs. The window was now in reach. Gripping the cloth with his teeth, McKinley pulled at it and it came away easily. The window, he saw, was a sliding one that opened from side to side.

  Barking with excitement, McKinley used his nose like a wedge and moved the window open. That done, he jumped off the platform and trotted as far from the opening as possible. Then he ran . . . and leaped. His aim was perfect. Front legs curled under his body, head extended, nose pointing, he flew right into the little house.

  There was something blocking him on the other side of the window. It went over with a crash, but McKinley managed to land safely. He scrambled to his feet, gave himself a shake, and looked around.

  He had landed in a room containing two small, soft sitting places that faced each other. On one wall was a large window, covered over with some hanging stuff. Against another wall stood the long, narrow snow sliders that humans use, big shoes close by. There was a closed front door. But the human smells were stale, old. People had not been here for a long while.

  McKinley trotted around a corner. There he saw the kind of layered box that people crammed things into, an open space full of hanging body coverings, and a large, soft sleeping place.

  Satisfied with what he’d found, McKinley ran back into the first room, then down a hallway, passing a water room before reaching a small food surface. The cold box was open but not cold. There was no food inside.

  Still, he was sure the house was the perfect place to hide Lupin—if he could get her inside. That was the problem. In her weakness, she could not make the jump he’d made to get in.

  McKinley studied the front door. Different from doors he knew, he could see no way of opening it. He looked at the rear door, the one that led to the large wooden surface. What he saw was a door handle just like the one in Jack’s house.

  He approached it, stood on his rear legs while holding himself erect with his front paws, gripped the knob in his jaws, and twisted. When the doorknob turned, he pulled back, and the door opened.

  Barking with delight, McKinley slipped out. Barely pausing, he plunged back into the creek, retraced his steps, and headed up into the hills.

  He crashed into the clearing, barking. “How’s Lupin doing?”

  Aspen wagged her tail. “Better, I think. She’s got some wetness on her nose. And she seems to be sleeping soundly.” She sniffed. “Where have you been? I can’t place it.”

  “I found a hideout for her. You know that little house on Fox Haven Way? Right below us?”

  “Yes.”

  “In there.”

  Aspen growled. “Are you serious?”

  “Aspen, think about it. It’s empty. No humans are around. They won’t use the place until snow comes. And they would never think of looking for a wolf in one of their own houses.”

  “How would she get in?”

  “I can’t open the front door. But I left a back one open.”

  Aspen gazed at McKinley, then turned to the sleeping wolf and sighed. “I suppose we could try.”

  His tail lowered out of respect, McKinley approached Lupin. He barked once, then twice.

  Lupin opened her eyes and looked up at him, but made no sound.

  McKinley drew closer. “Lupin, you can’t stay here. There’s a good chance the humans will come looking for you. But you’re too weak to run, so you need to hide. I found a great place.”

  The wolf growled. “Where?”

  Suddenly nervous, McKinley yawned. “It’s downhill and just out of these woods. In a small . . . human house.”

  Lupin wrinkled her nose and growled again, making a deeper sound than before. “Dog, you are such a fool. Do you know how I got my limp?”

  “No.”

  “Humans.” She lifted her crooked leg. “I’ve been shot twice, now.”

  “Lupin, listen to me. You’re hurt. You can’t move fast. Not yet. If people come, they’ll find you. You won’t be able to defend yourself.”

  The wolf was silent.

  McKinley allowed himself a small growl. “Lupin, if you stay here, you’ll die.”

  After a moment the wolf turned toward McKinley. “If I can’t stay here, I’ll go back to my own wilderness.” She labored to her feet. Her body swayed. And when she took a tentative step, her legs trembled.

  McKinley whimpered. “You see, you’re not strong enough now to make it.”

  Lupin looked around at Aspen. “What do you think?”

  Aspen wagged her tail. “I think McKinley is right.”

  Lupin shook her massive head and sighed. “Very well. I’ll go.”

  19

  Lupin limped slowly in McKinley’s tracks.

  Aspen barked, “Isn’t the house the other way, McKinley?”

  He lifted his head. “I’m going to follow the water downhill. We don’t want to leave a trail.”

  He led them to the trickling stream where he had fetched water for Lupin. As soon as they reached it, the wolf lapped some up.

  McKinley continued to lead, though it was Lupin who set the pace. Now and again McKinley turned back to look at the wolf in the fading light. Her head low, tail drooping, she was clearly in pain. Though she made no complaint, she often paused to moisten her mouth.

  When the three reached the edge of the trees, they halted. A wind was rising.

  Lupin lifted her nose and sniffed. “Humans.”

  Aspen drew closer to the wolf. “Around here you can always smell people. But I don’t think anyone is close.”

  “I despise humans,” Lupin growled.

  McKinley looked about. “They’re not all bad.”

  “Then why must I hide?” Lupin snapped.

  “To tell the truth, Lupin, it’s not the humans I’m worried abou
t. It’s the dogs.”

  The wolf turned her head. “What do you mean?”

  Aspen answered her. “Remember, it was a dog who led that human with the long gun to you.”

  Lupin was silent for a moment. Then she snarled, “It’s because you dogs allow yourselves to become slaves to humans that such things happen.”

  McKinley decided not to respond. “Wait here. I need to be sure no one’s around.”

  He trotted out from beneath the trees into the field. The moon, obscured by thickening clouds, cast a dull glow on the high, dry grass. No stars were visible. McKinley sniffed. Snow was certainly coming.

  Returning to where Aspen and Lupin waited, he barked, “We can go on.”

  They splashed quietly along until they reached the cabin.

  “Here we are,” McKinley barked.

  Lupin squinted at the building and wrinkled her nose with loathing. “Do you expect me to go in there?” she growled angrily.

  “Lupin, you can’t stay outside,” McKinley reminded her. “But if people come, they’ll never think to look here. It’s the safest place.”

  “What about dogs?”

  “We’ve been walking in water. No scent.”

  Lupin continued to gaze at the house. “I’ve never been in a . . . house before.”

  Aspen cocked her head. “It won’t be so bad.”

  “How do you expect me to get into it?”

  McKinley gazed at the wolf. “There’s a back door. I left it open.”

  Lupin turned toward him. “What’s a door?”

  “It’s a flat board that swings and lets you into houses but keeps the weather out.”

  Lupin shook her head, nothing more.

  With much shoving and pulling, Aspen and McKinley eased Lupin onto the wooden surface behind the house.

  McKinley nudged the back door open wider. He and Aspen went inside. Lupin hung back in the dark. “It stinks of people,” she growled.

  Aspen stuck her head out of the door and licked the wolf’s nose. “Lupin, you’ll be safe. And warm.”

  The wolf, her head low, tail bristling, sniffing in an agitated manner, moved cautiously forward. Once inside, she turned to look back at the door.