Bailey's Story (10 page)

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 branches 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!”

Then he let go, and Grandpa held my collar as the man pushed Ethan inside the building. I pulled and twisted against the hand holding me back. I needed to go to my boy! We'd been together every night in the woods, and in the swamp, and in the car after the man had picked us up. We should stay together now!

Just before the man pushed the boy through the doors, Ethan turned and waved at me. “He's okay now, Bailey,” Grandpa told me, and his voice was deeper and more hoarse than usual. “He's going to be okay.”

I felt calm from Grandpa, and Ethan didn't seem to be scared anymore, so I relaxed a little. It still would have been better to go with the boy, but when Grandpa tugged me gently toward his car, I went with him.

Grandpa let me be a front-seat dog. And then something even better happened. We stopped at place where a young woman reached in through the window to hand Grandpa a delicious-smelling bag. Salt. Grease. Meat! My tongue came out and I drooled a little on the seat.

Grandpa didn't mind. He fed me dinner right there in the car, unwrapping hot sandwiches one after the other and giving them to me. He ate one, too.

“Don't tell Grandma about this,” he said.

When we got home, I was so surprised to see Flare standing in her yard, just like always, that I barked at her. “Enough, Bailey!” Grandpa said, pulling the car to a stop. He took me inside the house.

The boy didn't come home that night.

Now that my belly was full of those sandwiches, I was so tired I could have flopped down on the carpet and slept without moving. But I didn't do that. Where was Ethan? What if he needed me? I paced the hall on my sore paws, until Dad yelled, “Lie down, Bailey!”

I paused. I knew what “lie down” meant, but it felt wrong to rest without the boy.

Still, if Dad said …

I walked up and down the hall a few more times and then went out to the porch. I climbed wearily up onto Ethan's bed and slept there, with my head on his pillow, where his scent was strongest.

The next day, a car drove up the driveway and Ethan got out with Mom. I raced out of the door and danced around him. He rubbed my ears, but he was not as happy as I was.