The Good Dog (14 page)

McKinley, understanding
mad,
looked around. When he saw the pup didn't look mad, he trotted on.

Suddenly, as though from a great distance, he heard a long, drawn-out howl, a howl free and triumphant. McKinley stopped and turned uphill. A shiver ran down his back.

Jack stopped, too. “McKinley,” he cried. “That's the wolf! Did you hear it? He did get away! Dang, that's so beautiful, isn't it? Hey, boy, don't you wish you could howl like that?”

McKinley stared up into the falling snow. The cold flakes touched his warm eyes and made them tear up.

•  •  •

After making sure the boy got to his gathering place, McKinley headed home. Snow was still falling lightly when he reached his newly cleared way. A snowplow was just turning the corner.

As he neared his house, Duchess came scrambling out of the bushes. “McKinley!” she barked.

McKinley stopped.

“Where's Lupin?”

McKinley looked briefly over his shoulder. “She's safe and pretty much away.”

“I was so worried,” Duchess whined, sounding apologetic. “But I didn't know where to go. You never told me where she was. So I hid. What's happened?”

When the story was done, Duchess barked excitedly. “I'm leaving, McKinley. I'm going to join Lupin's wolf pack.”

“Good girl. Do you know where to find her?”

“Up in the Zirkel Wilderness,” she said. “It's a huge area, but I think I'll be able to sniff her out.”

McKinley sat. “If you still want my advice, go
now. And go through town. That way you won't meet any of those hunters. Or Pycraft. Lupin should be moving slowly. With your speed, you should catch up with her easily.”

“Thanks.” Duchess started off. After a few paces she stopped and turned back. “McKinley, what's going to happen to you?”

McKinley barked. “Me? I'll be fine.”

“Are you sure? This morning, early, before Redburn went off looking for the wolf, he set up a meeting of the pack. See, I was hiding in some bushes over by Cat Litter Way. I heard Luna tell Star about that meeting. I guess Redburn's claiming that he's head dog now.”

“Is he?”

“That's why he called that meeting for tonight. On Howl Hill. Regular time.”

McKinley barked, “Guess he thought he was going to catch Lupin. Hey, I'm not letting it worry me. Any dog in the pack is free to call a meeting.”

“McKinley . . . well, you don't need suggestions from me. And I better go. Thanks . . .” The greyhound
lifted a paw, then, without waiting for a wag of McKinley's tail, she raced down the way.

McKinley watched her go, tail drooping. “A pack meeting,” he whimpered. With a shake of his head he turned toward his door and opened it.

It was still morning, but he was exhausted. He had taken care of everything: Lupin, Duchess, the boy. Now he had only a couple of more things to do: go to that meeting Redburn had called and deliver Lupin's message to the pack.

M
cKinley stood still, enjoying the warmth and familiar smells inside his house.

The female was in the kitchen staring at some pieces of paper and eating.

When McKinley came in, she looked around. “McKinley! You bad dog. You were supposed to stay in all day. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The man came into the room. He seemed ready to leave. “Look who's not been here. And filthy, too!”

McKinley, worried by the words
bad, stay,
and
filthy,
and wanting to reassure them, drew
close to the female, sat up, and put a paw on her lap.

She fondled it—even as she kept it from marking her body covering. “Oh, well,” she said, “he's probably forgotten what he's done.”

“Might have been pot roast to us, but it was just food to him.” The man laughed and rubbed McKinley behind his ears.

Happy to have cheered them up, McKinley gave a bark of pleasure, then checked his food bowl. It was full. He ate, then padded down to the pup's room, leaped onto the sleeping place and, with his head on Jack's lump of softness, fell asleep.

•  •  •

A bark from Aspen woke him.

Startled, McKinley opened his eyes. She was standing right next to his sleeping place. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Where's Lupin?”

“I left her way past the markers. She was limping but heading home. She's tough, McKinley. She'll
make it. What did you do to keep Redburn away?”

McKinley told how he had tricked the setter and how Jack had saved him from being shot. “And, in the end, Duchess decided to go after Lupin.”

“Good for her!” Aspen barked. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine.” McKinley suddenly sat up. “Hey, how did you get in here?”

Aspen wagged her tail. “It's midday. All your people are gone. I let myself in. McKinley, you're lucky your pup was there.”

“I know.” McKinley flopped down again. “Aspen, Redburn has called a pack meeting.”

“When's it happening?”

“Tonight. Out on Howl Hill.”

“What's it about?”

“He thinks he deserves to be head dog.”

“McKinley, the pack would never choose Redburn.”

McKinley rested his head on his front paws. “You know what? Sometimes I wish they would. That way, you'd get your wish.”

“What's that?”

“Didn't you tell me I should stop taking care of everyone?”

Aspen sighed. “You better get some more sleep.”

McKinley looked up, licked her nose, and wagged his tail. “I will.” With that, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

•  •  •

When he woke, Jack was beside him, lying on his stomach, head propped in his hands.

McKinley, wagging his tail, looked at the boy.

Jack rumpled McKinley's ears. “Guess what, McKinley? The wolf got away. I went downtown after school. That's all people are talking about. So if that's what you were trying to do, you sure did it.”

McKinley gazed at the pup, then licked his face.

Jack laughed. “Just as well, I guess. I have to admit, with all this snow it wouldn't have been smart for me to have gone off with him. You going to tell me you made the snow happen, too?”

McKinley wagged his tail.

“Hey” said Jack, “you know what? I'm starving. Want something to eat?”

McKinley, watching the pup head for the food place, thought of how much he wanted to thank him for saving his life. But a lick on the face wouldn't be enough this time.

F
or the rest of the afternoon, McKinley slept. And when, that early evening, his humans gathered to watch the glow box, he was content to curl up and sleep some more.

When McKinley finally woke—fully rested—the house was dark, and the people had all gone to sleep.

He went to a window and looked out, checking the position of the moon. It was time.

He padded into Jack's room. He leaped onto the soft sleeping place and licked the boy's face.

Jack, slow to wake, mumbled, “McKinley, you dope, it's Saturday. I don't have to go to school.”

McKinley persisted.

“What is it, boy?” Jack asked. “What's the matter?”

Taking a gentle grip on the pup's hand, McKinley pulled.

The sleepy boy sat up, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at his small buzz box. “Dang, McKinley! Are you nuts? It's two o'clock in the morning. What's the matter? Is something wrong?”

McKinley gave a soft yelp, wagged his tail, went to the door, then came back to the soft sleeping place.

“What are you trying to tell me, boy? Has something happened? Is there a fire? Is the wolf back? Are Mom and Dad okay?”

McKinley picked up Jack's shoes and dropped them at the boy's feet. Then he dragged over the things the pup put on his body.

Jack stared at him. “You want me to get dressed, boy? Is that it?”

McKinley looked up at the pup's face, wagged his tail vigorously, and whined with impatience.

“Okay, McKinley. But I'm telling you, this better be important. It really better be.”

As soon as Jack was ready, McKinley led him to the front door and then opened it.

“So neat that Mom taught you to do that,” Jack said with a grin.

McKinley wagged his tail, stepped outside, looked back at the boy, and whined.

“Have you gone crazy, McKinley?” Jack said in a hushed voice. “You wanting me to go out in the middle of the night? What is bugging you?”

McKinley growled, frisked away, and looked back.

“Okay, I get it: You want me to come with you.” The pup fetched more body covering as well as something for his head and hands.

As Jack came back outside, he said, “McKinley, you are one weird dog. You just better know what you're doing.”

McKinley led the pup through the quiet town. The sky was clear, speckled with stars and the bright light of the glowing moon, which cast a glow over everything. The air was cold but calm.

“Hey, McKinley,” Jack said as they walked along.
“I forgot to tell you. Guess what happened to Mr. Pycraft?”

McKinley, hearing the word
Pycraft,
stopped and looked up at his pup.

“My dad told me he didn't even have a license for his gun. And that dog of his, Duchess, guess what? She ran away again.”

McKinley, understanding
Pycraft, gun,
and
Duchess,
studied Jack's face.

“So we did a good thing, buddy. A good thing!”

McKinley, content with the word
good,
moved on.

As they continued through town, dogs began to emerge from their houses. Most came alone. But there were pairs and a few trios. There were pups, big-footed and frolicsome, who had to be reminded—sometimes with a nod or a nip—that this was a solemn occasion. There were young dogs, sleek and alert, ears pricked forward, as though ready for anything—even a bit of a fight. There were old dogs, grizzled and watery-eyed, who plodded along slowly, heads bobbing with every step. They were all walking
softly in the same direction McKinley and Jack were headed.

When the dogs saw McKinley, some nodded, but there was no attempt at communication. For the most part, eyes were cast down.

McKinley wondered how many of them had heard directly from Redburn.

“McKinley,” Jack asked in a nervous, low voice, “what's going on? How come all these dogs are out? There must be hundreds. Where are we going?”

McKinley looked reassuringly up at the boy and wagged his tail, but kept quiet.

The procession moved across the river bridge, then passed the place where people rode horses and bulls. It circled around the fields where—in the hot season—the pups hit balls with sticks. Next they passed the building where people with snow-sliders gathered. Finally, they reached the area the dogs called Howl Hill. Here a noisy machine pulled people to the top of the hill, from which they rushed down or jumped in the air on snow-sliders.

As they approached, Jack leaned over and said, “McKinley, that sign says, ‘No Dogs in Ski Areas.' ”

Paying no attention, McKinley kept going.

Jack, looking around warily at the growing numbers of gathering dogs, stayed close, now and again reaching down and touching McKinley's head.

When they reached the foot of the hill, McKinley sat down in the midst of the other dogs. Jack, at his side, sat, too. Not long after, Aspen joined them.

“Hey, Aspen,” Jack cried, “how you doing, girl? Hey, McKinley, even your girlfriend's here.”

McKinley turned, and he and Aspen touched noses.

She whimpered. “What do you think will happen?”

McKinley shook his head.

M
cKinley took in the scene around him: The snowy slope illuminated by moonlight; all of the town's dogs waiting quietly at the bottom. He saw them steal looks at him. Occasionally a growl erupted, even a snarl. Mostly, however, tails were wagging. There was only an infrequent bark. But ears were tilted forward; tongues lolled from open mouths. Here and there a leg scratched earnestly.

“Are these all the dogs in town, McKinley?” Jack whispered. “Do you guys do this a lot?” he asked.

McKinley, wishing to reassure the pup, simply
licked his face. Then he turned back to study the pack again, trying to gauge their mood. He knew them all, could have named each one. There was Gibby. And there was Barkley. Jacque, Brittany, and Hunter were sitting calmly. Star, too. Max, Pepper, Tubbs, and Duke had begun fooling around. Jayvee was scratching her ever-present fleas. Buster was asleep.

But McKinley was also searching the pack for Redburn and his friends, Boots and Jaws. When he caught sight of them, the three were huddled together in the middle of the crowd. But even as McKinley watched, Redburn broke away and started to climb the hill, his two friends staying close to his heels.

Redburn stopped halfway up the hill, faced the dogs below, and sat.

Jack leaned over to McKinley. “That's Redburn, isn't it?” he asked. “The Sullivans' dog. I heard he was hunting the wolf. Is he the dogs' boss?”

McKinley kept his eyes on the big setter.

Redburn stood. As always, his fur looked perfectly
burnished. He held his head high, his tail extended. His leg feathers fluttered gracefully. McKinley had to admit he looked good.

Ears pitched forward, eyes wide open and bright, Redburn pointed his nose at the moon, opened his mouth, and barked. “I, Redburn, hereby call to order a full meeting of the Steamboat pack, as is the right of every dog.”

The mass of dogs arrayed below lifted their heads and returned Redburn's cry with a chorus of howling, yowling, and baying. “We are here! We are here! We Steamboat dogs are here,” they returned. “Let the meeting begin.”

“McKinley,” Jack whispered nervously, “what's happening? What are they saying?”