If a coyote or a fox had killed him, they would have eaten him. But what sort of dog would do this to a pup?
Mickey’s haunches were low as he pawed at the ground near the lifeless bundle.
“I don’t like this, Lucky. What happened in this place?”
Lucky turned to his friend in acknowledgment. He couldn’t imagine what had led to this pup and the Mother-Dog’s death, and why the other Fierce Dogs had abandoned their camp, leaving the three other pups alone. But they could worry about that later.
“We have a duty to the dead dogs,” Lucky whispered. “Even if they came from such a ferocious Pack, they deserve to be offered to the Earth-Dog.”
The female pup called out to them. “Can you help him?”
The other two pups hung back. The small one kept his head low, his tail drooping; the larger one’s eyes were narrowed, lips twitching as they curled over his vicious teeth, as though he was swallowing his own rage.
Lucky wished he could have shielded the pups from more sad news. But he could do nothing. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he whimpered. “Was he your brother?”
“No!” yipped the larger male, his voice sharp. Lucky waited for him to say more but he just stood there on his sturdy little legs, glaring.
“Lucky, we should get out of here. . . .” Mickey whined.
The Farm Dog was right. Something strange—and awful—had happened in this Dog-Garden.
Crows swooped down to the high trees surrounding the camp. The Sun-Dog had started his slow descent along the horizon. Lucky returned to the shallow grave, digging until it was large enough for the Mother-Dog.
Mickey dug a much smaller hole alongside it for the dead pup. He took the limp body by the scruff and gently dragged him to the hole, laying him down carefully. Then he helped Lucky carry the Mother-Dog out from beneath the wooden boards. They gripped the heavy black collar at her neck and tugged with their teeth. She was incredibly heavy—Lucky could hardly believe that a dog could weigh that much. The hole they had dug was only just deep enough.
The three pups whined and yelped as Lucky and Mickey covered the dead pup’s grave with soil, then attempted to do the same for the Mother-Dog. Lucky could hardly bear the sound of the pups’ grief, and tried to swallow his sadness.
He and Mickey weren’t able to move enough dirt to cover the Mother-Dog completely. Lucky stood for a moment, wondering what to do. Then he ran to the side of the camp to gather a mouthful of grass and leaves. He returned to the Mother-Dog, tossing his head to throw it over her body on top of the pile. He did this a couple of times until the dead Mother-Dog was reasonably well covered.
Lucky turned to the three pups. “The Earth-Dog will look after your mother now,” he said solemnly.
“I don’t want Earth-Dog to have her,” whimpered the smallest male pup in a tiny voice.
The female leaned over and licked him on the ears. Lucky turned to peer into the long grass, wishing there was something he could do to ease their grief.
Mickey whined. Lucky turned back to him and spoke in a low voice so the pups couldn’t hear. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Everything’s wrong,” Mickey replied. His dark eyes scanned the sky. “The Sun-Dog is going to his lair. Are we really going to enter the forest with these three when it is dark?”
Lucky wished that he had another idea. But Mickey was right.
The forest at night is dangerous enough for a couple of adult dogs—how will we manage with three young pups to look after?
Lucky took a deep breath, and tried to keep the fear out of his bark. “The Forest-Dog will protect us. It isn’t dark yet, and if we move quickly, we can cover a lot of ground before no-sun.”
Forest-Dog! Please don’t let these little pups come to any harm! he added silently. They’ve already suffered so much.
His eye caught the shape of the big house, eerie in the long shadows; then he turned to peer through the surrounding thickets and trees. They had a long journey ahead of them, and not much light.
The sooner they left this place of death, the better.
CHAPTER TEN
Twigs and leaves crunched under Lucky’s paws as he led the others through the darkening forest. They had covered only the length of four rabbit-chases since leaving the Dog-Garden, and Lucky’s flanks trembled as he thought about how much farther he and Mickey would have managed to walk if they were traveling alone. The pups were painfully slow, scrambling and struggling over each arching root or fallen branch. Their smaller legs tired out more quickly and they regularly stopped to fill their tiny chests with air. But they kept going bravely, encouraging one another with little yips.
“That’s it,” said the female, addressing her litter-brothers. “Great progress!”
“Think how far we’ve already gone,” the larger male agreed.
Lucky was impressed by the pups’ resilience. I felt so bad about being forced out of the Pack. But if these pups can find the strength to keep going, after all they’ve been through, I can do the same. I can stop feeling sorry for myself.
Their little tails shot up proudly but Lucky wasn’t sure they would be able to walk much more. He spoke quietly to Mickey. “I think we should take turns carrying them, while the third pup walks between us.”
Mickey looked warily at the stout, glossy-furred pups. “I think so too, but . . . they’re Fierce Dogs. They seem proud. Do you think they’ll let us?”
Lucky wasn’t sure either. He turned to the pups. “You’re doing really well,” he told them. “But it’s a bit uphill now. Would you let us take turns carrying you for a while?”
He watched the pups blink at one another. They stood stiff-legged and the female gave a hostile whine.
“Me and Lucky like to tease each other about who’s the best at climbing uphill,” Mickey said. “If we can each carry one of you it’ll be good training for us.”
“That’s right!” Lucky blinked gratefully at Mickey, then looked at the pups. Has he convinced them?
Tentatively Lucky approached the larger, more suspicious male. The pup tensed but did not complain as Lucky sniffed his glossy coat, which hung in rolls around his neck, as if it belonged to a much larger dog. The pup stood still, trusting Lucky’s delicate grip, as Mickey lifted up the other male and the plucky female walked between them. They struggled on through the forest, Lucky taking the lead with the heavier pup.
The pups don’t seem to be as angry as the grown Fierce Dogs, thought Lucky. Maybe that anger is something the longpaws have to teach them. That means these pups are no different from any other young dogs; they just need to be properly looked after.
A little while later, Lucky heard the grumble of the smaller male’s stomach. I don’t even know what these pups eat! he realized. He remembered the crumbs of dried meat he had seen in the bowl on the porch. They could probably manage a mouse or a nice, juicy rat. His eyes scanned the forest, ears pricked for the sound of scurrying rodents as well as signs of danger.
Progress was difficult. Lucky and Mickey had to stop often and rest. Each time they resumed walking, they would swap pups, to make sure none of the little Fierce Dogs got too tired. Even so, their pace was slowing.
The large male was now walking between Lucky and Mickey. He paused at a broken branch on the forest floor, taking a deep breath before jumping over it. On the other side, he landed chaotically, losing his paws and rolling over to right himself. Lucky felt a twinge of pity—that must have taken more energy than the little dog was accustomed to using. He looked up between the branches to where the Sun-Dog was bounding a hasty retreat to his camp. Soon it would be no-sun.
“Let’s stop for now,” said Lucky, putting the female pup he had been carrying on the ground. Mickey gladly set down the smaller male and they all began to stretch and wash themselves.
Lucky approached the trunk of a gnarled old tree, sniffing and finding that the earth around it was dry and clean. They could curl up here in relative comfort.
“We aren’t
going to stay here, are we?” asked the larger male pup, gazing up at the sky. “What if it rains?”
Lucky turned his nose to the air. “I don’t smell rain. We’ll be fine. I don’t want to keep walking in darkness unless we absolutely have to.”
The pup scowled but didn’t say any more. Lucky watched as he started to wash his short tail.
Lucky was about to say something about continuing their walk in the morning when he heard a rustling. Ears pricked up, he stalked toward a nearby hedge. Ignoring the sounds of Mickey and the pups as they stirred nearby, Lucky focused on the hedge. He saw a glimpse of a velvety coat.
They would eat tonight after all!
Lucky and Mickey crouched down next to the pups, tearing the vole that Lucky had caught into small chunks. The pups watched, wide-eyed, their tails thrashing in excitement and anticipation. Lucky could taste the warm, tender meat and it was all he could do not to swallow the pieces down.
I had the last rabbit all to myself, he reminded himself sternly. This is for the pups!
First he lowered his head and offered a chunk of the vole to the smallest pup, who eagerly licked Lucky’s muzzle and gobbled up the meat, crunching and gulping it down contentedly. Following Lucky’s lead, Mickey offered some vole to the female, who took it from his jaws, her tail thrashing.
Lucky returned to the vole and took another careful bite, chewing it between his back teeth. The juice ran down his throat, and he could feel his belly opening to accept the delicious food—but, again, he resisted the urge to swallow it down. He approached the larger male, who bound toward him with his tongue lolling. The pup’s suspiciousness seemed to have disappeared as he licked Lucky’s muzzle, receiving the chunk of meat gratefully.
The pup turned to his smaller litter-brother. “It’s your turn,” he told him.
Lucky was touched by how supportive the pups were of one another, and how gently they received the food. As the smallest pup stepped forward, his short tail wagging, Lucky felt a twinge of pain in his chest.
These pups need us. . . . He peered at the surrounding trees. Thank you, Forest-Dog, for delivering this meal, and for saving their lives.
The little pup yelped happily, his body wiggling, rump moving this way and that as he licked Lucky’s muzzle.
The pups finished the vole and curled up together contentedly, washing their paws. Mickey stood over them, stooping to lick their ears. He seemed much more at ease with them now. Lucky looked out into the forest. Even the crows had stopped cawing—it was almost no-sun, and the air thrummed with insects. He turned back to Mickey and the pups.
“There’s something very important that we need to do,” he announced solemnly. Mickey looked worried, until Lucky let his tongue loll playfully for just a moment. The Farm Dog relaxed, wagging his tail. Lucky went on: “We’ll keep moving at sunup, but we really can’t do that unless we find pup names for all of you.”
The puppies looked at one another, then back to Lucky.
“When you’re older, you’ll get your real names, but you should have pup names for now. . . .” He turned to the smaller male, remembering how the little dog’s rump had moved back and forth with happiness when Lucky had fed him a chunk of vole. “I think we’ll call you ‘Wiggle.’”
The pup responded by turning a tight circle, tottering on tiny legs. “Wiggle!” he echoed.
Lucky turned to the plucky female. “And you . . .”
Mickey piped up. “How about ‘Lick’?”
“Yes, that’s a good name,” Lucky agreed.
The female’s short black tail thrashed as she raised her muzzle to lick Mickey’s nose. I think she likes her new name, Lucky thought happily.
He turned to the larger male. “As for you . . .”
The pup glared back challengingly, suspicious and guarded once more. “I don’t need a ‘pup name,’” he grunted.
Lucky thought for a moment. “We’ll call you ‘Grunt.’ Yes, that’s perfect.”
Mickey barked his agreement and the other pups yelped happily, but the larger pup stayed still, his expression blank.
Lucky felt an odd sense of relief at having named the pups. He had come to care for them, even in this short time. It hadn’t felt right when they were nameless. They were Lucky’s responsibility now. He had rescued them because it had seemed like the right thing to do, to bring them back to the Wild Pack, but now . . .
Now I care.
With this contented thought, Lucky settled down near the three pups, back-to-back with Mickey.
Lick and Grunt slept soundly but Wiggle was shifting and fidgeting. Lucky leaned over and licked his ears.
The pup gazed up at him. “I can’t sleep,” he whimpered.
Lucky’s heart twisted with pity. He thought of his days in the Pup-Pack. When he couldn’t sleep, his Mother-Dog had drawn him close and he’d relaxed against the beat of her heart.
“Rest your head on my chest,” Lucky murmured.
Wiggle shuffled close to him, burying his small dark head against Lucky. In moments he was breathing deeply, his eyes shut and his lips parted. Lucky closed his eyes too, but his ears stayed alert, listening to the sounds of the forest.
A howl echoed in the distance. Instantly Lucky sprang to his paws, eyes wide as he sniffed the cool night air. The pups yipped in alarm and Lucky was quick to silence them.
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Whatever made that noise is far away. But we need to be very quiet and not draw its attention.”
“What is it?” Mickey asked. Lucky could just make out the Farm Dog’s shape in the darkness.
“I’m not sure,” Lucky told him. “It sounded like a dog, but not quite . . .”
Mickey gave a nervous whine. “A wolf?” he asked.
Lucky had heard wolves before, and he shuddered at the memory. “I hope not.”
There was another long howl, which was joined by more voices. They seemed to be closer than the first howl. The hairs prickled along Lucky’s neck and his heart thumped in his chest.
“There are lots of them!” whined Mickey.
“We’ll be okay, but we must get moving.” He nudged the pups with his snout and they scrambled to their paws, dazed and scared. “Mickey, you stay to one side of the pups, and I’ll be on the other.” He sniffed the air but could not pick up a scent.
“Have they smelled us?” asked Lick.
“No, I don’t think so,” Lucky murmured. “They don’t know we’re here.”
“You’re not going to leave us, are you, Lucky?” Wiggle whimpered.
“We’re going to be by your sides the whole time,” Lucky promised. “There’s nothing to fear. Just stay quiet and keep moving—we’ll soon find somewhere safe to rest.” Lucky hoped he sounded reassuring, even though he was telling them a lie. The creatures they had heard sounded large and dangerous.
No dog spoke after that. They walked silently through the forest, the pups scrambling over fallen leaves, twigs, and thorns. Lucky knew it was hard for them, but he wanted to keep all his senses sharp and it would be easier to do that if he was not carrying a pup.
He could smell a sharp odor in the air—it smelled a little like wolf-stink, and also fox, but something told him these creatures were neither.
And a cold fear told him that whatever they were, they had caught the dogs’ scent. He could hear leaves crunching beneath paws, could smell the sharp odor getting closer.
“Wait!” Mickey yelped, as he stalked low behind the pups.
Lucky turned to him quickly. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Wiggle. He’s falling behind.”
“He’s really tired,” yipped Lick. “He’s not used to walking this fast, or this far.” Lucky guessed that none of the pups were, but the female’s eyes flashed with proud resilience, and Grunt jutted his pointy snout out alongside her.
Lucky was ashamed that he had not noticed. Now he could hear the smallest pup’s labored panting. Mickey and Lick were right—Wiggle was tired.
“He
re,” he said gently. “I’ll carry you for a while. Mickey, you will need to be my eyes and ears.” The black-and-white dog dipped his head in acknowledgment, a shadow of dark fur against branches. Then Lucky scooped up Wiggle gently between his jaws. They all froze as they heard a strange voice.
“This way!” The voice was nasal and brassy. Lucky felt his whole body turn to stone.
“Smells dogsie-pets, smells them close.”
“Cubs! Smells cubs!”
Lucky’s heart lurched and he almost dropped Wiggle in shock. He knew what they were now—a Pack of these beasts had once entered the city, snarling and growling. Only longpaws carrying sticks had been enough to chase them away.
Coyotes! Those fierce, sneaky creatures that feast on frail animals. They’re swift and spiteful too. They must have picked up the smell of pups. They think they’re onto an easy meal.
“Stay quiet,” he told the others. Then he lifted his snout into the air as he tried to untangle the coyotes’ scents. Six of them, at least. More than enough to isolate and overwhelm Lucky and Mickey—and more than enough to steal a pup.
I cannot let these pups end up like Fuzz, Lucky thought with a pang of anguish.
“We need to pick up the pace,” he urged.
“I smell them too,” Mickey whispered. “Do you think we can outrun—”
Lucky gave a quick shake of his head to silence the Farm Dog. He didn’t want to say the word coyote in front of the pups; it would only scare them. Mickey blinked once, to show his understanding. Lick and Grunt pranced forward, scrambling over the jumble of debris on the forest floor. They passed through a tunnel of narrow-trunked trees at the top of a low hill before dipping toward denser foliage.
If we can get downwind of them in the deep forest we may be able to lose them.
They made good progress, and Lucky thought his plan was going to work. But then he heard Lick panting and whimpering behind him. He looked back and saw that she was struggling over the rough ground. Her latest surge of energy seemed to have run dry. Even Grunt was showing signs of weariness, his short tail hanging low as he trudged on determinedly.