“Okay,” he muttered.
He got on one side of the dresser and pushed with all his strength. It skidded across the floor. I watched, puzzled, as he pushed the heavy piece of furniture in front of the door. Hadn’t he liked it where it was?
When the door was blocked, Ethan nodded, and I felt his fear die away. Whatever the threat had been, it seemed to have passed. Ethan pulled off his shoes and pants and flopped down on the bed. “Here, Bailey!” he called.
I jumped up and lay right beside him, and he hugged me tightly, both arms around me, the way he would do now and then in the doghouse. I licked his chin, which still tasted a little of chicken, and his ear. Then I settled down with my head across his chest, trying to be as comforting as I could.
We were together, after all. How could anything be wrong?
The next morning, we slept in and then had a fabulous breakfast. Ethan’s fear from the night before was totally gone. I ate toast crusts and licked scrambled eggs and finished Ethan’s milk for him. What a great day!
Ethan stayed in the kitchen after we played Clean the Plate, packing up more food and putting it into a bag, along with a bottle that he filled with water. He slid the whole thing into his backpack.
Were we going for a walk? A walk with food? I danced around the kitchen with excitement. Sometimes Ethan and I would go for long walks, and he’d bring sandwiches along for us to share. Lately, all of our walks seemed to take us down by the house where that girl, Hannah, lived. I could smell her scent on the mailbox. The boy would stand and look at her house, and then we’d turn around and walk home.
Whistling, the boy went out to take care of Flare, bringing her a bucket of dry seeds. I sniffed at them and licked a few, just to try them. They had no taste at all.
I was surprised when, after Flare had eaten, Ethan fetched a blanket and a shiny leather saddle and put them on the horse’s back. We’d done this a few times before, with Ethan climbing up to sit high on Flare’s back while I watched from the ground. But it had always been with Grandpa there, and always with the gate to Flare’s big yard firmly closed.
Today the boy opened the gate and then hoisted himself up onto the horse with a grin.
“Let’s go, Bailey!” he called down to me.
I followed grumpily. I didn’t like it that Flare was suddenly getting all of the boy’s attention. I was so far away from Ethan, too, forced to walk beside this huge creature that I thought was about as dumb as the ducks.
Soon we were in the woods, walking along a trail. I spotted a rabbit and took off after it. I would have caught it, too, if it hadn’t cheated by changing directions all of a sudden. I smelled more than one skunk, but of course I didn’t go in their direction. Those skunks weren’t worth my time.
We stopped at a small pool, and Ethan got off the horse. Both Flare and I took a drink, and Ethan ate sandwiches, tossing me the crusts.
“Isn’t this great, Bailey? Are you having a good time?”
I watched his hand. Was he asking me if I was ready for more sandwiches? Of course I was.
It was nice to be out in the woods, even if Flare did have to tag along. Ethan hadn’t brought the flip with him, so that was one good thing. And there were so many interesting smells, plus, of course, my boy. Ethan packed up the leftover sandwiches and got back up on Flare. We kept going.
We were so far from home by now that I could not smell any sign of it. I could tell that Ethan was getting tired from his voice and the way he sat on Flare. “Do we go this way? Or that way?” he asked after we’d been riding for a while. “Do you remember, Bailey? Do you know where we are?”
I looked up at him and wagged, and we kept walking. Ethan nudged Flare down a new trail.
I’d marked so much new territory that my leg was getting sore from being hoisted up into the air. And then Flare suddenly lifted her tail and let loose a huge gush of urine. What a stupid thing to do! Now her scent would wipe mine out, and nobody could smell me. Since I was the dog, that wasn’t right! The horse should have known better. I wandered up ahead to clear the smell from my nose.
I topped a small rise, and that’s when I saw the snake. It was coiled in a patch of sun, sticking its tongue out and in, out and in. I stopped, fascinated. I’d never seen one before.
“What is it, Bailey? What do you see?”
Whatever the boy was saying, it probably wasn’t Go bite the snake. I didn’t think it was the kind of thing I wanted to play with. Suppose it turned out to be like the skunk and had no idea how to play properly?
I ran back to the boy and Flare, keeping pace with them up the small hill. I wondered how Flare would react when she saw the snake curled up in front of her.
At first she didn’t see it, but as she got closer, the snake suddenly pulled back, lifting its slim, dark head. And that’s when Flare screamed.
I didn’t even know that a horse could make that sound! It startled me so much that I jumped into a bush and barked wildly. Flare’s front legs came off the ground, and she spun, kicking. The boy went flying off her back and hit the flat, packed dirt of the trail with a thump.
I ran to him at once. He sat up slowly, took a deep breath, and then jumped to his feet. He was okay! I danced happily around him, but he wasn’t interested in playing. “Flare!” he shouted.
The horse was already running at a full gallop down the trail the way we had come, her hooves pounding the dirt. The boy took off after her, and then I understood what needed to be done. I glanced back at the snake—it seemed to have disappeared—and then I chased Ethan, who was chasing Flare. Obviously this was a race, and Ethan and I had to win!
We didn’t, though. I tore past Ethan, trying to keep up with Flare, but she was too fast and I was getting too far away from my boy. I turned back to be with him. He’d stopped running and was standing still.
“Oh no!” he was saying as I reached him, but I could tell that the “no” wasn’t for me. “What are we going to do, Bailey?”
And the boy started crying.
13
These days, Ethan didn’t cry as much as he had when he was younger. So I got worried, seeing his tears now. I shoved my face into his hands, trying to get as close as I could, trying to comfort him. That was my job.
The best thing, I decided, would be for us to go home and eat some more chicken.
The boy sat down on the path and cried some more, while I leaned on him and licked at his salty tears. At last he stopped and looked blankly around at the trees.
“We’re lost, Bailey,” he said.
I wagged at the sound of my name. How about that chicken now?
The boy took off his backpack, reached in it for the bottle of water, and took a swallow. Then he packed it away and got to his feet.
“Well, okay,” he said. “Come on.”
Apparently our walk wasn’t over, because he picked a new path and set out in a different direction.
We went a long way, and at one point we even crossed over our own scent, so I knew we had come in a circle. The boy kept plodding along, slow but determined. I grew slower, too. I was so tired that when a squirrel darted across the path in front of us I didn’t even bother to chase it.
When the light began to fade from the sky, we sat down on a log. Ethan ate the last of the sandwiches, and this time he didn’t just give me the crusts; he let me have half a sandwich to myself, with tender turkey inside. Marvelous! I ate it in two gulps. Then he cupped his hand and dribbled water into it from the bottle for me to lap up.
“I’m really sorry, Bailey,” Ethan said.
Just before dark, the boy became interested in sticks. He began picking them up, carrying or dragging them to a tree that had fallen over. I hoped he might throw one or two, even though it would have been hard to dredge up the energy to chase them. But instead Ethan leaned all of the sticks against the wall of mud and gnarly roots that had been pulled up when the tree fell.
He piled pine needles on the ground underneath the sticks, and then found some b
ranches with needles still attached to heap on top of the lean-to. I watched with interest.
When it became too dark to see, he crawled under the sticks. “Here, Bailey! Come here!”
I crawled in beside him, on top of the pine needles. It reminded me of the doghouse. Why couldn’t we go back home and curl up in Grandpa’s chair? This seemed like a strange place to spend the evening.
The boy started to shiver. I eased myself as close to him as I could and put my head on top of him. This was the way I used to sleep with my brothers and sisters when we were cold.
“Good dog, Bailey,” he told me.
I wagged once, my tail thumping into the sticks that made a roof over us.
Soon Ethan stopped shivering, and his breathing got slower. I wasn’t perfectly comfortable, but I didn’t move. I knew that I needed to keep the boy as warm as possible.
We were up before the birds started to call. We both marked our territory—I was surprised, because I’d never seen the boy mark before!—and Ethan pulled the paper sack that had been full of sandwiches out of his backpack.
I stuck my nose inside it hopefully. It still smelled deliciously of bread and turkey, but it was empty. I licked it anyway.
“We’ll save it in case we need to make a fire,” Ethan told me. I figured he was probably saying We need more sandwiches, and I thumped my tail on the ground in agreement. We should go home. There would definitely be more sandwiches at home.
Our walk on this second day was not as much fun as the first day had been. Not even close.
The hunger in my belly grew to be a sharp pain, and after we’d walked for a while, the boy cried again, sniffling for about an hour. I could feel anxiety soaking through him, and I stayed close, sitting on his feet. Then he stopped crying and just sat still, staring at me with glassy eyes. I really didn’t like that. It didn’t feel right.
I was worried about my boy. We needed to go home—now.
I licked him in the face, getting him wet from his chin to his eyebrows. It seemed to wake him up a little, and he got to his feet.
“You’re right, Bailey. We can’t just sit here,” he agreed. “Come on.”
We came to a small stream, and I raced ahead to stick my nose in and lap and drink. The boy hurried up behind me and flopped down on his belly to do the same thing. The water helped dull the pain in my stomach, and it seemed to give the boy new energy. When we started off again, we followed the stream.
The water twisted and turned through the trees. Ahead, sunlight glimmered between their trunks, and Ethan looked up with interest. He moved a little faster, and we pushed under the heavy branches of a pine and into the clear light.
The stream ran through a grassy meadow. “That’s better, huh, Bailey?” Ethan said. But as we stepped out into the sun, something nipped my nose, and Ethan slapped at his cheek. “Mosquitoes!” he said.
Even so, we didn’t turn back. Ethan pulled the collar of his shirt tight around his neck, and we kept going. After a little while, the stream splashed down a tiny waterfall and led us back under the trees once again.
I saw Ethan’s shoulders slump.
That night the boy didn’t pick up sticks. He just piled up a heap of dead leaves beside a big rock and curled up, half on the leaves, half under them. He clung tight to me. I didn’t leave him, even though I could smell something dead nearby, something I might have been able to eat. The boy needed my warmth more than ever.
The cold black air settled down around us. I knew Ethan’s strength was fading away. He was tired, and terribly hungry, and he couldn’t go on much longer, not like this.
I had never been so afraid.
The next morning, it seemed to take a long time for the boy to get to his feet and start walking. When a branch slapped him in the face, he didn’t put up a hand to protect himself. He just sat down in a puddle of mud.
I smelled blood. The branch had cut Ethan’s cheek. I sniffed at it.
“Go away, Bailey!” he yelled.
I felt anger and fear and pain flaring inside him, but I didn’t back off. I stayed close, and I knew I had done the right thing when he buried his face in my neck and cried some more.
“We’re lost, Bailey. I’m so sorry,” the boy whispered.
I wagged at my name.
After some time, the boy got up again, pressing a hand on my back to give himself a boost. We followed the stream some more.
It led us into a bog, where the boy sank up to his calves with each step. Each foot made a sucking sound as he pulled it out. With four feet to take my weight, I didn’t sink as deeply, but I still felt the cool slick of the mud between my toes.
Bugs swarmed about our faces. I snapped at the air as they aimed for my eyes and ears. Ethan covered his face with his hands.
He stopped moving. The air left his lungs in a long, deep sigh.
Worried, I picked my way close to him. I put a paw on his leg
He was giving up. I could feel it.
I barked, a giant, deep, booming bark that came from somewhere deep inside me. It was so loud that it startled both of us. Even the bugs scattered for half a second before swarming back.
Ethan moved his hands a little way from his face. He blinked at me.
I barked again.
“Okay,” he said with a groan. He reached down to get his hands covered with mud, and slathered it over his face and neck. “Okay, you’re right, Bailey. Okay.”
Slowly, he pulled his left foot out of the mud and took a step, letting it sink again.
It took us half the day to cross that swamp. When we picked up the stream on the other side of the bog, it was deeper and wider, and the water moved faster. Soon another trickle joined it, and another.
Ethan and I gulped big mouthfuls of water at every pool. Once, Ethan didn’t get up after he’d knelt to drink.
I eyed him closely. I barked.
“No, it’s okay, boy,” he said softly, as if he didn’t have the energy to raise his voice. “Let’s just rest, huh, Bailey? Let’s rest a little. Then we’ll go on.”
He napped while I watched over him], keeping him warm, my head on his chest. I was tempted to go to sleep, too, but I knew that wasn’t the right thing to do.
Even as a puppy I’d been sure that there was an important job for me out in the world. Now I’d found it. I had to protect my boy. That mattered even more than comforting him when he was sad. I was supposed to watch over him, stay close by when he was in trouble. My purpose was to keep him safe.
After what seemed like a long time, I got worried enough to stick my nose in Ethan’s ear. Wasn’t he ever going to wake up? He snorted and his eyes fluttered open.
“You’re a good dog, Bailey,” he whispered, and forced himself to his feet.
I was almost too tired to wag.
It was late afternoon when the stream joined a river. The boy stood and looked blankly at the dark water for a while, then aimed downstream, trampling down grasses, pushing through thick groves of young trees.
Night was just starting to fall when I picked up a scent that wasn’t grass or mud or leaves or squirrels or deer or skunk. It was a smell I had not come across in days—the smell of other people.
Ethan was shuffling along, his feet scuffing through the dirt. I darted ahead of him, my nose to the ground.
“Come on, Bailey,” he mumbled. “Where you going?”
My nose found what I knew must be there—a dirt path worn into the ground, the smell of human feet thick on it. Following me, Ethan stumbled over the path. I think he didn’t even notice it.
I barked.
Ethan turned his head to look at me, and his gaze sharpened. “Hey!” he exclaimed.
I trotted on ahead. The path led us along the riverbank, and I kept my nose down. I could tell that the last person to walk on the path had gone this way, the way the river was flowing. The smell of human beings was becoming stronger. More people had been here, and not so long ago.
Ethan stopped, so I went back to him. He
was standing, staring, his mouth open.
“Wow,” he said.
Ahead of us, the path led to a bridge across the river.
As I watched, a figure broke free of the gloom, crossing the bridge, looking out over the railing. I could sense Ethan’s heart start to beat faster.
Suddenly, his excitement tipped over into fear. He eased himself backward until he stood against the trunk of a tree, under the shadow of its branches.
His mood reminded me of the way he had felt on our first night alone at home. It seemed there was a threat somewhere, even if I could not tell exactly where.
I shrank to his side. I pricked up my ears, alert for whatever might be a danger to my boy.
“Bailey!” Ethan whispered. “Be quiet!”
“Hey!” the man on the bridge shouted.
I felt the boy stiffen, getting ready to run away. I didn’t think he could really run, though. Whatever the threat was, we’d have to face it.
“Hey!” the man shouted again. “Are you Ethan?”
14
The man on the bridge gave us a car ride. Ethan got to sit in the front, and I had to be in the back, but I stuck my head over Ethan’s seat to rest my chin on his shoulder.
“We’ve been searching the whole state of Michigan for you, son,” the man said, and Ethan looked down. I could sense sadness in him, and shame, and even a little fear under his relief. I licked his ear to help.
The man drove us to a big building, and as soon as we stopped, Dad opened the car door and he and Mom hugged Ethan. Grandma and Grandpa were there, and everyone was happy, even though there were no dog treats of any kind. And it was definitely time for dog treats, or more sandwiches, or even just a great big heaping bowl of ordinary dog food.
The boy sat down in a chair with wheels, and a man started to push him toward the building. I raced to his side.
“Wait,” Ethan said, holding up a hand. He bent over to hug me tight. “I’ll be back soon, Bailey,” he whispered into my neck. “You’re a good dog. A good dog. The best!”