Say That Again (11 page)

So I went about trying to figure out how to spring him from his pen. I paced around it, testing each panel, scratching at the gate, biting at the latch. But Earl had built his fortress well. As far as I could see, it was impenetrable.

Still, I tried. And when I had exhausted all options, I went to work digging on the outside. If eventually we met, it would form a tunnel, and then the spotted pig and I would race to ... somewhere.

Somewhere far from here.

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—o00o—

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I
hadn’t counted on the dirt down deep being so impossibly hard. Or there being so many rocks.
Big
rocks.

When I finally lay down to rest, defeated, the night sky was lightening, a thin crescent of pink showing in the east. Of course, I had worked harder than the pig, but I didn’t hold it against him. Porkchop was young and not as strong and certainly not as smart as me.

I resumed my efforts. Just when I thought we were getting close, my claws hit another rock. I scratched around it and dug at the dirt with my nose, expecting another rock that I would need to extract with my mouth. What I discovered was a rock so big there was no hope of moving it. We could have burrowed around it, but that would take more time than we had. Soon Earl would be up, tromping out the door to his truck. The side of the pen where we’d dug was in clear view of the path he’d take.

Undaunted — ignorance is the haven of fools — Porkchop continued to push at the dirt with his snout. I watched in pity, my muzzle resting between my paws. Curious, the little pig came over to where I sat and pressed his flat nose between the bars. He sniffed at me, then snorted a breath.

In the kitchen, a light snapped on. Familiar noises came from inside: the water pump humming, footsteps pounding, a skillet being set on the stove. Through the small kitchen window, I saw Earl go back and forth, a cup of coffee in his hand.

Rain pattered softly upon the earth. I went up to the pig and inhaled his scent. His nose twitched. He wiggled his curlicue tail. I whimpered softly. It was the closest thing to saying ‘goodbye’ that I could manage.

Before Earl could burst the back door open, I turned and ran, pausing once at wood’s edge to take one last look at yet another friend who I’d known only too briefly.

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—o00o—

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I
t wasn’t the rain that wore me down. It was the wind and the cold.

The night had been reasonably warm, but by midmorning a stiff northern wind had changed the weather for the worse. Chilled to the bone, shivers rattled my thin frame. A night without sleep had taken its toll and so, needing rest, I sought shelter in a barn. Gaps yawned between the planks and water dripped through the roof in several places to pool in puddles. An old rusted tractor with flat tires sat in the middle of the cavernous space, like some slain dragon of long ago.

I found a spot behind a large feeding trough that was dry and out of the wind. Mud caked my belly and my fur was drenched through, but it only took a dozen breaths before I fell asleep.

Would that I had placed myself more strategically. Somewhere that I could have seen anyone coming. Somewhere from which I could have escaped.

The rope went around my neck as I still slept. I thought I was dreaming that Earl had slipped a chain on me again.

When I started awake and saw the shadow standing over me, I bolted backward. My rump hit a stool, on which sat an old metal tool box. It toppled to the ground, greasy wrenches and screwdrivers spilling out. I jumped sideways, toward the barn opening. The rope went taut about my neck, gagging me, and I knew for certain this was no dream.

My eyes followed the rope to its end. A man with a long red beard held it, his overalls smeared with oil. He studied me with dull eyes. My impression was one of kind indifference. But it was the rifle propped on his shoulder that threw me.

I pulled with all my strength, even as the rope bit into the raw places in my neck. With a jerk, he lowered the barrel of the rifle ... then set it against the trough.

Slowly, he reeled me in. I planted my legs stiffly, but he slid me across the dirt, inch by inch. He took my jowls in his calloused hands, tilted my head side to side to look into my eyes, my ears, and at my neck. Then he pried my mouth open. I twisted away and snapped my teeth shut, but he appeared to be done with his inspection. He was not, however, done with me.

He hooked a bearish arm around me and carried me inside his house, where I got the first bath of my life. I should have hated every minute of it. But in truth, I liked it. Liked the warm water washing the dirt from my fur and cleansing the fetid sores on my neck.

Gently, he dried me with towels, patting around my face and neck and massaging me vigorously over my back and tummy. Then he took a cotton ball and, dousing it with a clear liquid, dabbed it over my sores.

It stings!

I threw myself against the back of the tub, which only made him laugh. He dug his fingers in my mane and applied more of the firewater.

After that, he took me into the kitchen, where he took sausage links out of the refrigerator. He diced them up and cooked them in a pan, then sat down at the table and ate some from a plate. But the rest he left in the skillet. Which he put on the floor for me.

Trust is won in small gestures.

And what a fool I was to have thought that a handful of sausages meant that he pledged his loyalty to me. Because after that he took me on a ride in his truck.

And car rides for me have never, ever been good.

I puked up every last sausage bit. But he kept driving. If this day was going to end badly, I would at least leave evidence that I had been there.

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—o00o—

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T
his time, I was thrown in the kennel runs at the shelter, where the other adults were kept. Evelyn was not there when the farmer brought me in to the shelter. Instead, I met Aaron — and I loathed him instantly. He never looked into my eyes. His voice was flat, his movements sluggish, bordering on lazy. He did as little as possible, making a show of it when visitors came through, then sitting back down at his desk to watch TV and eat nonstop when he was alone.

When the young couple came in two days later, he waved them toward the runs on the far end, where mine was. They stopped at each kennel, the woman clutching her man whenever a dog barked loudly or jumped at the door, then grasping the chain link and making little kissy noises whenever the dog hung back. Disinterested, I slunk to the back of my kennel and curled up into a ball.

They stopped at my door and peered in.

“Is that the one he was talking about?” the young man said. His diamond-studded earrings flashed in the cold fluorescent light. Dark hair framed a hardened face. Swirling lines of color, a design of some kind, began at the sides of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his white T-shirt.

“Yeah, Mario, I think so. It’s the only Border Collie here.”

I am so not a Border Collie
, I wanted to say.

“Looks kinda scrawny.”

The girl, barely a woman, tilted her head observantly. Jet black ringlets bobbed with every movement. Her clothes were impossibly tight, surely not comfortable. Even less practical were the golden, spiked heels on which she balanced. “Just young. Maybe underfed.”

Older than my years. And starved.

“Sure you don’t want that silver-blue pit bull back there? That’s a rare color. We could make some stud money off of him. He’d make a good guard dog, too. Keep you safe when I’m not home.”

“I want a smart dog, like in that movie
Babe
. Not a Cujo.”

“I don’t know, Ariella. This one doesn’t look like much of a watchdog to me.”

“You said —”

“I know, I know. Just trying to help you reason things through, babe. You need to learn to make decisions with your head, not your heart. Smart choices.”

“You saying I’m dumb?”

“Christ, no, baby girl. I’d never do that. But I know dogs. And I just want the best for you.”

Pouting, Ariella tugged at the strings of his hoodie. “Whose birthday is it, anyway?”

Mario held his hands up in surrender.

She snuggled close, laying her head on his chest. “I know I can always count on you to take care of me.”

His hands went around her back, then slid down over her plump buttocks. He whispered something in her ear and she purred in response.

I tucked my muzzle beneath my paw and closed my eyes, hoping they’d get the message. Mario took a firm hold of her elbow and guided her away.

Relieved, I stretched out on the cool concrete. The urine smell was stronger here than in the puppy room, since Aaron was so slow to clean it up. Already my newly washed fur reeked of some other dog’s piss.

I was half asleep when the
click-click-click
of Ariella’s heels rang out. Stopping in front of my kennel, she fished around in an oversized black leather bag and brought out a long, pink, satiny leash. Then she took out a collar, glittering with jewels.

It was so not me.

Aaron flipped up the latch for her with a breathy grunt. He flicked a hand at me, indicating for her to go in. Behind him stood Mario, arms crossed, his dark flinty eyes staring me down, challenging me.

A person’s eyes, I was learning, told me everything. In a glance, I could sense the slow boil of anger that was Mario, the bland indifference that was Aaron, and the flighty fickleness of Ariella.

Ariella clipped the leash and collar together, then held them out to me. “What do you think, huh? Wanna come home with me, pretty boy?”

Not really
.

If she and Mario were a pair and living with her meant being glared at by him, then no. Absolutely not. I would rather stay here in this piss-soaked purgatory. At least Aaron wasn’t a bother. Nor did he look like he kicked puppies for sport.

I backed into the corner, pressed my face to the unyielding cement wall. She slipped the collar over my head and ran a hand down my neck. Her long nails raked at my chest. In spite of myself, I leaned into her touch. No one had ever scratched me there. Ever. I felt ... delirious.

Against my better judgment, I walked out of the kennel with Ariella. I sat in the backseat of Mario’s black sports car, my neck stretched forward to seek Ariella’s magic fingers. But she was busy combing through her purse, which contained a hundred items of fascination for her.

One arm dangling out his window, Mario drove home at breakneck speed, the music from the speakers booming so loudly it vibrated the car’s frame.

As car rides went, it turned out not to be any better than the others. With car rides, I had figured out, it was all about the destination.

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—o00o—

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M
y new home was nicer than any of the others had been, and whenever it was just Ariella and me, life was, well, not great, but good enough. She always remembered to feed me, my water dish seldom went dry, and there was a basket of toys and bones tucked in a corner of the living room. At first, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, or if I was even allowed to chew on them or carry them about. But Ariella encouraged me to take them and seemed content with my behavior when I was gnawing on a bone.

The first day I was with her, Ariella called me Brutus, after a cat she once owned. It was an insult, but what say did I have in the matter? The next morning she changed my name to Chip, but by afternoon I was Chester, and by evening Charlie. Within the first week, I had been called by no less than ten different names, none of them Echo.

In the end, she named me Buddy. As in, ‘Hey, Buddy.’ Mostly, I think it was because she couldn’t remember the last thing she’d decided to call me.

Whenever she wasn’t working, Ariella took me on walks. Always once a day, but sometimes twice. Although never for very long, because she
always
wore high heels. That was one human fashion trend I’d never fathom.

The only problem was that Ariella worked. A lot. And Mario didn’t like that. He complained about her hours, the chores that were not done, all the suppers she did not make for him. It was sad that what made Ariella so happy, only built resentment in Mario.

“Hey, babe.” Mario walked out of the bedroom, his eyes heavy with recent sleep. It was midmorning and Ariella and I had been up for hours. His boxer briefs hung loosely on his hips. His chest, hard with muscle, was clean shaven. He often spent hours in the spare bedroom, lifting weights and then looking at himself in the full length mirror on the closet door. Clearly, he was in love with himself. “Why don’t you stay home today? I have some things in mind I’d like to do to you. Things I
know
you like.”

“Can’t. I have to work.”

“Twelve hours every day? That job more important to you than I am?”

“My job pays well, Mario.” She braced her hands on her waist, defiant. “I can buy my own clothes and —”

Dark eyes flashing, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her against his chest. “I can buy you things, babe. Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

She struggled against his grip as she pushed a hand against his chest. “What can you buy me with a part-time job, huh? Your paycheck doesn’t even cover the rent.”

Something in him snapped. He shoved her against the kitchen counter. Before she could recover, he grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her.

“Let go! You’re hurting me.”

“You hurt me every day you walk out that door. You think it’s a game to make fun of my manhood. Not my fault I can’t find a fulltime job. You think I haven’t been trying?!”

I scurried behind the couch. Life, so far, had taught me to preserve myself. Yet something else was stirring within me: the need to protect those I cared about. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to do that. I was not brave. Bravery meant boldness, the ability to act without regard for one’s own welfare. If I protected Ariella, I would put myself in danger.

Then I thought about the pig, and how I had run from the Grunwalds’ house before Earl came out the door and found us. And I regretted that. I truly did.