Dog Diaries 07 - Stubby (2 page)

I waited on the curb as one of the army trucks pulled in. Out of the back piled a pack of—you guessed it—clean-cut soldier boys.

Hey, guys, this is your big opportunity!
I said, putting on my most adorable puppy-dog face.

Jeez, Louise! These guys walked right past me without a second look. Was I invisible or something? And then another soldier jumped down from the truck. He looked straight at me. “Hey, dog,” he said. “Who are you? The welcoming committee?”

You got that right, pal. Welcome to your life as a future pet owner!

He bent down and scratched me behind the ear.
Ooooh.
How did he know that was my sweet spot? Then his two buddies joined him, and off he went down the street.

Naturally, I followed. He and his buddies made their way to an eatery on Main. I didn’t go inside, of course. I knew better than that. I staked out the side door on the alley. I knew the owners would shoo me away from the front. But maybe I’d get lucky and he’d come out the side door for a breather. And if he did—
bam
—there I’d be.
Hey, buddy, can I interest you in a charming bull terrier mix? I’m five months old and housebroken.
I’ve been told that’s important to people. They don’t like dogs doing their business indoors. Not that I’d ever set paw inside of a house. But if I did, you can bet I wouldn’t lift my leg on their precious turf.

The side door swung open. Loud laughter and
music spilled out, along with the smell of meat sizzling on a griddle. I leapt to my feet.

Drat!

It was just a guy in an apron wheeling out a can of trash. He wasn’t any happier to see me than I was to see him. He waved his arms and chased me down the alley. Just in case I didn’t get the message, he grabbed a handful of gravel and threw it at me.

Yow—that smarted!

Scooting around the corner, I waited until the coast was clear, then crept back to my post.

The next time the door opened, I skittered back away, just in case it was Apron Man. But this time, it was my soldier boy! He leaned up against the side of the building, closed his eyes, and took a deep gulp of evening air. Then his eyes popped open…right on me! He didn’t even blink. It was like he
expected
to see me there.

“Hey there, fella,” he said. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

I cocked my head and went all gooey-eyed. The smell of him was sweet to me: fresh and scrubbed. His eyes were mild and gentle. All the same, I hung back. It’s never good to come on too eager. But then he went down on his haunches and thrust his hand toward me. What choice did I have? I trotted up and gave his fingers a friendly lick. Man, he tasted good!

I had eaten butter once when the dairy wagon tipped over. It was what sunshine would taste like if you could lap it up. That’s how this soldier boy tasted.

“You’re a friendly little guy, aren’t you?” He knelt down and started to scratch me along my spine.
Ahhhhh…
This was even better than behind my ear! Nobody had ever scratched my back
before. Up to then, I’d had to do it myself by rolling on the ground. This felt
so
much better. It made my lips stretch into a wide grin.

I was practically slobbering with bliss.

“You like that, boy, don’t you? You know what I think? I think you’re a stray,” he said.

I sniffed. I preferred
street dog,
but he could call me any old name he wanted to so long as he kept scratching me.

“I can tell nobody is feeding you. You’re built like an armored tank, but your ribs are showing.”

Nothing a couple bowls of dog food wouldn’t fix,
I thought with a sigh as I leaned into his hand.

Suddenly, the scratching stopped! He gave me one last pat, then rose to his feet.

Say! What was the big idea? We were just getting started.

He stretched. “Guess I better get back to my buddies.”

I watched with Sad Eyes as he went back inside. Before he shut the door, he turned and shot me a look almost as sad-eyed as mine. I wagged my stub. One wave, and he was gone.

Answering the call of nature, I went around the block to lift my leg on the striped pole outside the barbershop. I wound up having a few heated words through the window with the watchdog chained
up inside. The next thing I knew, I came back to find that the restaurant’s lights were out and my soldier boy had flown the coop.

But I was sure he’d be back.

At least, I hoped so.

I set up camp by the alley door. I left my post once a day to scrounge around for grub. But I never stayed away for long. When my young man came back, I was going to be there. I was going to lick his buttery fingers. I was going to get my ears rubbed and have my back scratched.

Where’ve you been?
Stinky asked when I saw her at the Dumpster behind the deli. I could tell she was torn. On the one paw, she was happy to see me. On the other, she’d gotten ahold of a half-eaten pork chop. Stinky wasn’t big on sharing. Whenever I came too close, she growled. Either the pork or Stinky—or both—smelled a bit off, so I was happy
to keep my distance. Besides, I had the soggy end of somebody’s salami sandwich, so I was fixed for eats.

I found him,
I said.

Found who?
she asked between mouthfuls of pork.

My master,
I said.
The nice young man of my dreams.

Oh, brother! Listen to you!
Stinky said.
You’re an even bigger sucker than I thought.

Give me another shot at him, and we’ll see who the sucker is,
I said as I finished my sandwich and trotted back to my post.

Two days later, my soldier boy returned to the eatery. This time, when he stepped into the alley for a breather, he had a present for me. A piece of sweet sausage, right off the griddle!

I scarfed up the sausage and licked the grease
off his fingers. For dessert, he gave me a good, hard back-scratching.

“I wish I could take you home with me,” he said.

I smiled. I liked the sound of that!

“But I’m miles from home.
And
in the army. 102nd Infantry Regiment, Twenty-sixth Yankee Division. The Brass says we’ll be shipping out anytime. And even if we don’t, I’m pretty sure the army doesn’t allow dogs in the barracks.”

I caught his drift. No Dogs Allowed was a rule I knew all too well. Restaurants, bars, hotels, stores—there wasn’t a place in town where dogs were allowed, unless they came in on a leash with their masters, and sometimes not even then.

But, hey, was I going to let a little thing like a rule stop me?

What do
you
think?

C
ONROY
’
S
D
OG

It didn’t take me long to figure out the habits of my soldier boy. He came to town on the noisiest night of the week—the one you folks call Saturday. Sometimes he went to the same eatery. Other times, I had to go out and hunt him up, him and his buddies. In those days, New Haven wasn’t such a big town that I couldn’t track them down. I’d pick up their scent and follow it until I found them walking around, singing or poking their noses in
shops. Sometimes they’d toss a football in the park, rolling around and wrestling like puppies playing tug-of-war. Wherever my soldier boy was on a Saturday night, I would find him. And once I had him, I would stick to him like glue.

His buddies thought it was a hoot. When they saw me headed down the street, they’d nudge my soldier boy and say, “Hey, Conroy. Here comes your dog.”

That was the name of my soldier: Conroy. And to them, that was who I was: Conroy’s Dog.

“I wish he
were
my dog,” Conroy said one night. “He’s a good boy.”

“Are you kidding? He’s ugly as spit,” one of his buddies said.

“Hey, he’s not ugly. This dog’s got character,” said Conroy.

I wondered what character was. Bug eyes and
sagging jowls and a body like an armored tank? If so, then I guess I had character in spades.

One Saturday, after they played football in the park, I followed Conroy and his buddies to where their truck was parked. I watched as they climbed into the back. It was too high for me to jump, and no one offered to give me a boost, so I just stood there. Moments later, the truck started up and began to rumble down the road.

If there was anything I hated, it was being left behind.

I barked,
Hey! Wait for me!

It was then or never. I ran after that truck as fast as my bandy legs would carry me.

Conroy peered out the back and made a shooing motion with his hands. “No! Stop! Go back, boy! You’ll get hurt!” he shouted at me.

But I had no intention of getting hurt. I stayed
clear of the whirring wheels. Still, after a while, my legs got tired and I couldn’t keep up. I slowed to a stop and stared after the truck with Sad Eyes. I imagined I could see Conroy’s sad eyes staring back as the truck disappeared down the road.

But I wasn’t really sad. In fact, I was feeling pretty cocky. Because now that I’d gotten a snoot full of that truck’s tires, I knew I’d be able to follow their scent to wherever they’d taken Conroy. But first, I needed to rest up and eat some grub. I pointed my snoot toward the deli and made tracks with the last of my strength. There, I bedded down in some old rags and snoozed until the first rays of the sun peeked over the rooftop of the Chinese joint across the alley.

My pals were lying around scratching at fleas when I broke the news.

I’m off to join my master,
I said between bites of
last night’s chop suey.
This dog is going places.

Say it ain’t so, Stubs!
said Stinky.

We’re gonna miss your ugly mug,
said Scruffy.

You can always come back if things don’t pan out,
said Stinky.
And are you planning on eating the rest of that chop suey? ’Cause if you aren’t…

I nosed the chop suey over to Stinky.

Help yourself,
I said.

With any luck, this would be the last meal on the street I’d ever have. I shook out my coat and got to my feet.
It’s been nice knowing you,
I said.

So long, Stubs, old buddy, old pal!
they called after me.

I set out after the scent of the truck tires. They were hard to miss. They smelled like rubber and nice young men. Dodging the wheels of automobiles, buses, trucks, and carts, I followed their trail uphill and down dale, past houses, buildings,
and more trees than I could lift a leg on. Finally, I came to a big set of metal gates. They were shut tight, and a guard marched back and forth in front of them.

He saw me and stopped. “Get lost, mutt. No dogs allowed on this army base.”

Army base!
That meant I had come to the right place. And now that I was there, I was not leaving. My nose told me that Conroy was somewhere beyond those gates. If I could get through them, I could find him. I didn’t want the guard to think I was just some flea-bitten moocher. I wanted him to get the idea that I had an owner on the base. (Which, as far as I was concerned, I did.) So I sat down on my haunches and put a Faithful Dog look on my face.

The guard wasn’t buying it. “You’re looking for trouble, sticking around here.”

I stood my ground. Sooner or later, Conroy was bound to come through those gates. And when he did, I’d give him the biggest, warmest greeting a fellow ever got.

The guard just shook his head. Then things got busy, and he pretty much forgot about me. Trucks and people came and went. The gates would open with a loud clang, and my hopes would rise. There’d be no sign of Conroy, and my hopes would fizzle. The gates would close with another loud clang.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
That’s how it went for the rest of the day. At night, the guard left and a new one took his place.

“What’s the story with the dog?” the new guard asked.

“Beats me,” said the old guard. “I turned around, and there he was.”