By the time Fuzz caught up with them, the sun was fully in the sky. “Shep-dog!” he screeched. “Trouble! Evil-dog-of-horrible-deeds has bad paw. Small-snout and smush-muzzle stopped in alley.”
Shep and Callie raced after Fuzz through roadways lined with mounds of wreckage from the storm. Daisy barked to them from the mouth of an alley next to a board-covered store.
“It’s bad,” she snorted. “The fur-brained pup wouldn’t let me leave him.” She waved her snout toward a large, metal box overflowing with garbage. Shep found Zeus growling with Oscar beside it.
“This will help,” Oscar barked. “Just let me put it on your paw!” He held a plastic bag in his jaws.
“It’s too small,” Zeus growled. He held his paw up against his chest, as if he were guarding it. The remains of the bandage were streaked with red and the wound itself oozed a yellowish goo.
Shep looked at Fuzz. “Tell the others to make for the beach,” he woofed. “We’ll meet them there.” He turned to Daisy and Callie. “You go with Fuzz,” he snuffled. “Join Ginny’s team and keep them out of trouble.”
Daisy’s ears pricked up. “Alpha, we can’t just leave the pup with that dog.”
“Just go,” grumbled Oscar. “I’ll think of a way to fix Zeus, then we’ll follow your scent.” The pup kept his eyes on the pavement.
Shep licked Oscar’s head. “I’m staying, pup.”
Oscar looked up at him, a small grin on his jowls. “Well, only if you want to.”
“I’m staying, too,” yipped Callie.
Shep’s ears pricked. Maybe Callie was beginning to see what he meant about being his partner?
“I could stay,” snorted Daisy, “if it would help.” She snuck a glance at Oscar.
“You go with Fuzz to tell the others,” yipped Shep. “No need for the whole pack to stay on the streets any longer than necessary.”
Daisy licked her nose in agreement but did not wag her tail. She looked down at Oscar. After several heartbeats, she snorted, “Stay out of trouble.” Then she trotted out of the alley, barking for Fuzz to follow.
“I don’t know what you think you can do,” Zeus snarled. “The paw’s done for. I can’t walk.”
“Then we’ll find another way to move your sorry rump,” barked Callie.
Zeus’s jowls curled at her yips. “I don’t want your help.”
“Shut your snout before we start listening to you,” Shep woofed. He turned to Callie. “Zeus needs a shoe, what humans wear on their feet.”
Callie looked at Zeus’s paw, her head tilted in thought. “No,” she barked. “I don’t think he can walk on that, even with a shoe.” She trotted down the alley and began sticking her snout into the various piles of trash. “Oscar!” she bayed. “Get over here and help me sniff for wheels!”
The pup scampered down the alley after Callie’s curled tail.
“Why are you helping me?” Zeus growled, squinting at Shep.
“I’m not helping you,” Shep snapped. “I’m helping Oscar, and he’s got it stuck in his jaw that he’s got to help you, so just shut your snout and be grateful.”
“Why is that pup hanging on me like some leech I picked up in a sewer?” Zeus dropped to his haunches, then slid across the slimy stone to lie down.
“That pup thinks he can make up for betraying his friends by helping you get back to your master,” Shep growled. “If not for him, I would have left you to be eaten by a water lizard back in that Park.”
“I see you’re not interested in forgiveness.” Zeus licked his paw and flinched as his tongue hit the wound.
“You don’t want to be forgiven,” Shep snapped. “You have to be sorry — really sorry — to want forgiveness. You’re not sorry, not for anything.”
Zeus looked up and for a heartbeat, Shep saw in his eyes something of the old liveliness, the old friend that had run with him through the Park. Shep saw a great sadness, as if that old Zeus was trapped inside this new Zeus, desperate to get out. And then it was gone: Zeus’s eyes were again as hard as stone.
“I guess I’m not,” he growled. He dropped his head on his paws and stared at the wall.
There was a loud crash and a heap of garbage far down the alley collapsed in a wave of stench. Shep ran toward the pile, sure he was going to have to dig Callie and the pup out. When he got there, he found them tugging on a slimy rope tied to the thick, plastic handle of something caught under the trash.
“Help pull!” Callie barked from between gritted teeth.
Shep snapped his jaws around the rope and tugged back. The trash gave way and out burst a red plastic wagon. The wagon’s body had thick, short walls and it rolled on hard, fat black wheels. His boy had had one like it, a dirty old thing that he used to drag his sticks and Balls to the Park to play games with the other boys.
“You want to put Zeus in this?” Shep woofed, dubious.
“You have a better idea?” Callie asked, panting. “My girl had one of these, and she tried to drag me around in it sometimes. It’s not comfortable — I always hopped out as soon as I could — but it’ll work to move that stubborn, ungrateful, nasty, vile killer you and Oscar insist we help.”
“Me? I’m only doing this for Oscar.” Shep heard his bark break like a whiny pup’s.
“Sure you are,” Callie woofed, grinning. “And I’m digging through trash to help Zeus.”
They rolled the wagon down the alley toward Zeus, who flicked his horn-ears back like he was going to argue with them. But when Callie barked her idea, Zeus willingly loaded himself into the thing. He had to scrunch into an uncomfortable-looking knot, but somehow the boxer managed to fit into the tiny wagon.
“Let’s roll!” yipped Oscar, thrilled at having solved a problem.
Shep looked at Callie.
“You don’t think I’m going to pull him, do you?” she yipped.
Shep sighed. “No, I guess not,” he barked. He took the mucky rope between his jaws and threw his weight against the wagon. With a groan — from both Shep and the wagon’s wheels — the thing rolled forward.
Shep rolled Zeus away from the main road, not wanting to attract attention. No human needed to tell him that it was a little unusual to see a dog dragging another dog in a wagon. He kept to the side roads, which were lined with small human dens.
He figured that they were close to the beach, for these dens showed signs of damage from the wave. Swirling brown stains rippled across their fronts and the plants were brown and dying.
“I don’t think this was the wave,” woofed Callie, sniffing the side of a den. “The walls would have been smashed, like the ones we saw near the boat. This all must have been caused by some other flooding.”
“Maybe from the storm itself?” woofed Oscar. “It rained a lot.”
“It didn’t rain salt,” yipped Zeus.
Shep shot him a nasty look. No need to piddle on the pup’s ideas.
After lugging the wagon for countless blocks, Shep was dying of thirst. “I need a break,” he woofed, dropping the rope handle. He glanced up and winced at the hot sun burning over his back.
Callie waved her tail. She scented the air. “Smells like there’s fresh water this way.”
Leaving the wagon in the gutter, Shep padded toward her.
“What about me?” woofed Zeus, ears pricked. “I need a drink, too.”
“You’ll have to wait until we find a fresh puddle in the road,” snapped Callie.
“I’ll bring you back some water!” yipped Oscar. “Don’t worry, Zeus.” He leapt in the air, trying to give Zeus a lick.
All the dogs looked at the pup like he had grown a second tail. Why Oscar thought meeting Zeus’s every need would help the pack forgive him was beyond Shep’s comprehension. But the pup really had his teeth in the idea; nothing Shep had woofed so far had gotten him to drop it.
Callie’s scent led them behind one of the human dens. Next to the back door sat a large plastic bowl full of water, as if the people had known a couple of thirsty dogs
were going to stop by for a slurp.
“Did the humans see us coming?” woofed Shep, suddenly cautious.
Callie sniffed at the bowl. “Smells like it’s been here for most of the sun.”
Shep scanned the den more carefully. The building itself was intact, but its blue sides bore the brownish streaks that showed where the floodwaters had licked them. The back door of the house had a small hole cut in it at the bottom that was covered with a thick flap of plastic.
“Is that a special hole so animals can get into the house?” Oscar yipped.
“Maybe so one can get out,” Callie woofed, head cocked. “Maybe this family had a dog.”
Shep glanced around the edge of the lawn but didn’t see any sort of fence. “I’m not sure,” he woofed.
Oscar trotted right up to the bowl and took a slurp. “Tastes fresh,” he woofed. “It must have rained here.”
Callie pawed the ground; dust rose around her claws. “I don’t think it rained.”
The plastic flap in the door moved and a black nose poked out. “Who’s there?” a dog woofed.
Oscar startled and tumbled into the bowl of water. “Wild dog!” he yelped, splashing. “Run!”
Shep flicked his tail at Callie, telling her to get behind him. She shuffled a stretch back as Shep took a defensive posture.
The flap lifted completely and out stepped a neat-looking yapper with short, curly brown hair and long ears. “Well, now you’ve done it, pup,” the yapper woofed to Oscar, who flopped in the water bowl. Then he scented Shep and Callie. He looked at them and waved his tail. “Hello!” he woofed. “I’m Murphy the cocker spaniel. You don’t smell like you’re from around here.”
Callie trotted out from behind Shep. “No, we’re not,” she yipped.
“Callie!” Shep barked. “Get back here!”
Callie kept walking. “He’s not a wild dog,” she woofed, then asked Murphy, “You’re not a wild dog, are you?”
Murphy sat. “Nope,” he yipped. “Can’t say that I am.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Shep growled.
“I live here,” he said. “My master and mistress stuck out the storm in the house. We only left when the water began sloshing in.”
“And then did they go to the shelter?” yipped Callie excitedly, her tail wagging. “Can you take us to the shelter?”
Murphy cocked his head at her. “Shelter?” he woofed. “We didn’t go to any shelter. We drove to another house that my family often visits, far away from the ocean.” The spaniel gave his ear a scratch. “Did you go to a shelter?”
Shep sat and stared at his paws. This dog’s family hadn’t abandoned him; this dog’s family took him with them, somewhere far away. Why didn’t Shep’s family take him with them? Why did the white-shirted man tell them, “No dogs allowed”?
“No,” answered Callie. “Our families left us in our dens. We’ve been surviving on our own for the last moon-cycle.”
“It’s been two moons,” Shep grunted, his bark flat.
Murphy’s ears pricked up. “On your own?” he woofed, obviously shocked. “But how?”
Oscar tumbled out of the water dish with a splash. “Through working as a pack and helping each other and fighting for our very lives, that’s how,” he barked. He puffed out his chest and strutted toward the spaniel.
Murphy’s jaw hung open. “Well, I’ll be neutered.” He looked at each of them, then licked his jowls. “I imagine you dogs are hungry. Let me see if I can get you some kibble.” He turned around and popped through the plastic flap-door.
Callie looked at Shep with wide and glittering eyes. “Kibble,” she snuffled, slobber drizzling from her jowls.
The door opened and out stepped a woman. Shep hadn’t looked at — simply looked at as opposed to evaluated — a human in so long (Did all humans’ eyes sparkle? All mouths wrinkle at the corners when they smiled?); for heartbeats, he was mesmerized by her presence.
Murphy barked and leapt at her ankles. She smelled surprised but smiled and said something in a friendly voice. She went back into the den and returned with a huge bag of kibble — just regular kibble, what Shep had eaten every sun for the last cycle, but now, after these moons of starvation and struggle, he swooned at the sight of the bag.
“Hey, dogs!” the woman said in a kind voice. She dropped to her knees and placed the bag beside her. She reached inside the house and brought out a large metal bowl. She placed it on the ground in front of her and then filled it from the kibble bag.
Callie stumbled forward, mesmerized. She looked up at the woman and wagged her tail. “Can I have a bite?” she whimpered.
“Sure,” barked Murphy. “It’s all for you!”
The woman reached a hand out, gently, cautiously. Callie sniffed it, then gave it a quick lick before shoving her snout into the food.
“Good dog,” the woman said, then kept mumbling in a soft voice. She stroked Callie’s head and ruffled her ears.
Oscar, unable to resist, dove not at the kibble, but at the woman’s knee. “Pet me!” he cried. “Pet me!” He rolled on the ground and leapt again onto her leg.
The woman laughed, then picked up Oscar. The pup wriggled, tail ecstatic, and kissed the woman’s cheek. She snuggled him against her chest, murmuring sweetly to him. Oscar looked happier than Shep had ever seen him.
Shep felt frozen in his sit. What if he scared this woman by accident? He tried to remember what Pumpkin had said about being friendly. Something about lying down? Wagging my tail?
The woman placed Oscar on the ground, then turned to Shep. She said something in her soft voice and waved her hands, inviting him to come closer.
Shep licked his jowls and ducked his head. He stood and took a small step forward.
“I’m friendly,” he woofed as gently as possible.
The woman seemed to understand. She held her hand out for him to sniff, which he did. He waved his tail tentatively, then gave her fingers a quick lick.
“Good boy,” she said.
Shep’s heart broke at the words. He padded forward, tail waving, and licked her face over and over. The woman wrapped her arms around him. She scratched his scruff and behind his ears. Shep felt a warmth run through him, like his lifeblood had turned to liquid moonstuff. He licked the woman’s face, savoring the taste of her skin, human skin. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.
He must have come on too strong, because the woman fell back and needed one of her arms to support herself. She pushed Shep off her, but gently, and she was still smiling. He stepped away, hoping he hadn’t hurt her.
She pointed to the bowl of food. “Eat,” she said. She tousled his ears. He hadn’t scared her off.
The three dogs ate until they couldn’t choke down another mouthful. The woman watched them for a while, every few heartbeats stroking one of them on the head, then went back inside. Shep heard her voice; it was so nice to hear a regular human voice. After they’d filled their bellies, they drank as much water as they could fit between the kibbles.
“We should go back,” Callie woofed, though her voice betrayed that she’d like to stay in this yard forever.
“How will we get some of this back to Zeus?” Oscar yipped.
“Oh, don’t go,” woofed Murphy. “I haven’t played with another dog in so long.” He ran to one end of the yard and pulled a well-chewed rope toy from under a bush. “Any of you up for a tug?” he woofed from between clenched jowls.
Shep had to admit that he was tempted, but they couldn’t leave Zeus alone in a cart for the whole sun — at least, Oscar wouldn’t let them. “Sorry, Murphy,” he barked. “We left a dog behind.” Shep scooped some kibbles into his mouth and held them there with his tongue. “Thanks,” he grunted through locked jaws.
Callie gave Murphy a lick on the snout. “Thank you so much,” she yipped. “Please, thank your human for us, too.” Her tail wagged with that old enthusiasm.
Oscar slurped water into his snout, then began loping back toward
where they’d left Zeus.
A man stepped out from the side of the house into the yard. He was dressed in normal body coverings, but he held a long stick in his hands — a stick with a loop of rope at its end.
A dog catcher.
The woman had been too good to be true — she’d called the dog catchers on them. Shep couldn’t let the dog catcher take Callie back, not when they were so close to getting to the beach.
But the man didn’t step toward Callie — he was heading directly for Shep. So the woman did think I’m a dangerous dog. Shep had pushed his affection too far. This betrayal — the woman’s? his own? — hurt him someplace deep inside.
A part of Shep gave up — he could not move. He braced for the man’s attack, then smelled Callie’s fear. But she didn’t fear being caught; she was afraid that Shep would hurt the man. She was afraid for the human. Was this what she thought of him? That he was a fighter and nothing more?
Shep gathered his strength. Whatever Callie’s opinion of him was, he had to make sure she remained free to return to her family. He’d made her a promise.
“Head for the wagon!” Shep barked. “I’ll meet you there!” He burst across the lawn, away from where they’d come, away from Zeus. He’d give Callie and Oscar a shot at escape and hope he could outrun the man.
Spitting the kibbles from his mouth, Shep sucked in a deep breath. He heard the man behind him and slowed his pace so the human could keep up. Shep couldn’t let him quit the chase and go back for Callie and the pup.
Shep ran alongside a fence through muddy dirt and dead flowers, then rushed out onto a street. Panting on the pavement, he waited for the human to appear from behind the wooden planks of the fence, then tore down the roadway. Shep saw a hedge three stretches ahead and just as he reached it, he wheeled on his paws and ducked behind its cover. He put all his strength into his legs, pounding across the grass. The human’s scent was far behind him and Shep prayed — to the Great Wolf, to whomever — that the man hadn’t doubled back on him.
Shep avoided the woman’s den — he would not go back there, not even to escape the dog catcher. He dashed across two lawns, hugging the sides of the dens as he passed, then bolted over the street. He rested in the shade of a dense bush on the corner. There was no sign of the dog catcher.