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SNOW KNIFED SHADOW’S ears until he shook his head to kill the tickle. He had lost his balance, fallen, and now struggled to stand in the chest-high drifts. His head turned from side to side until sniffs located his boy. Steven hadn’t made much headway. In two bounds Shadow rejoined Steven.
Steven raised his feet high to clear the snow. His shoes squeaked with each step. Their progress slowed to a puppy pace, and Shadow curbed the urge to leap ahead. After all, dogs with four paws traveled much faster than people with only two.
Shadow wanted to be inside the warm car. He liked the daily car rides at the end of park playtime. But Shadow’s time sense jittered his hurry-up urge. It was late. Would the car wait? The old woman wasn’t here, either. What other rules got changed?
Maybe the old woman would be in the car. Or his boy’s mother. She’d make the car wait. The thought felt right. It was a good-dog’s job to trust adult people. They knew things dogs couldn’t know, even if they did miss out on all the good smells. Shadow relaxed.
Sometimes Steven’s mother rolled down the window so just the tip of his nose could sift through wind-borne sniffs. Cars moved much faster than dogs. But they never left their smelly pathway, and the smells always came from distant places far from the car territory. He’d like to follow those smells to their start, and drink deep of the scent until he knew everything about them.
He and Steven traveled the same path as always. Houses—not their own but strangers’ homes—stood along both sides of the road. No sound came from the houses. No smoke steamed out rooftops. No bundled figures passed by with smiles or offers to pet a good-dog’s head. Today he and his boy were alone in a world of white.
On other days, cars raced back and forth next to them with strong smells and scary noises. Treat-lady made it clear that good-dogs don’t trespass into car territory. Shadow didn’t want to argue. He didn’t think Steven could best a car, either, so Shadow always stood between his boy and the road. Cars were creatures of habit and never left their territory.
But today the empty road looked lonely. Snow erased its borders, but Shadow could smell the difference. Only a bit further, over there by the pole where other dogs left pee-smell, that’s where they always met the car.
No car waited. No amount of nose-pokes hurried his boy along, so maybe the car came and left. Or maybe it got lost with all the white in the air. Cars didn’t have noses to find their way. He hoped cars could see to find their way through the white stuff. If they couldn’t see, would cars swerve onto the footpath where dogs and boys walked? He whined but the wind whipped the sound away. His boy couldn’t leap away as fast as a dog. Shadow viewed the car territory with new suspicion. Still deserted. No danger for now.
Steven fell again. This time he disappeared. The white stuff got deeper and deeper, soft as cat fur but cold when it swarmed through the wind. Shadow woofed and watched for Steven’s angry explosion of thrashed arms to swim himself upright. But this time Steven didn’t scream and flail. He just lay there. Silent.
Shadow didn’t like it when Steven screamed. It hurt his ears. But it hurt his heart worse. Steven screamed when adults didn’t understand, and Shadow wanted to scream lots of times for the same reason. But his boy’s silence made Shadow’s tummy feel strange, and prickled his skin with worry.
He plowed to Steven’s side. Snow fell so thick and drifted so deep Shadow had to sniff hard to locate his boy’s nest. He sneezed. Nothing smelled right unless he stuck his face deep under to reach the ground. And that made his eyes smart.
The snow wasn’t fun anymore.
Shadow struggled upright, pushed ahead another two feet until he could stare down at his boy. Steven’s lips trembled. Shadow hesitated. But he couldn’t help himself, and slurped his boy’s cheek.
Icy. Salty. He licked again, but stood ready to dodge Steven’s slap, or brace against being pushed away.
But his boy just sat there. Cereal breath puffed from Steven’s slack mouth, and his nose ran. Steven’s lips shuddered again, and his teeth clicked. Shadow cocked his head. Did Steven have treats? No, he didn’t chew, he just breathed heavy. But his tongue didn’t hang out the way good-dogs pant. His slight body trembled.
Steven must be awfully cold.
He wondered why Steven insisted on two-footed walks when all fours did the job so much better in the deep white stuff. How sad that Steven had no fur to keep him warm. His own black coat helped, but the cold bit into his toes, ears and nose.
His boy could grab fur and pull himself upright out of the white stuff. They’d practiced that trick before. He learned quickly, like a good-dog should. He told himself, “good-boy” because Steven wouldn’t. His tail wagged at the thought.
He waited some more, but Steven didn’t move. He just stared up at Shadow. His eyes half closed.
Maybe he’d decided to walk on all fours. At the thought, Shadow grinned, his ears flattened and his tail wagged. Wouldn’t that be fine? He backed up to give Steven room.
Steven finally lifted an arm but his bare hand slid against Shadow’s fur. The stiff fingers couldn’t move very well. Shadow reached around and risked another lick but instead of gripping his coat, Steven dropped his hand. And he folded himself the way Teddy, his bear-toy turned floppy after a good shake. Steven drew up his legs, and hid his face against them, with his arms wrapped close. His body shuddered.
Shadow’s worried whine went unanswered. He stretched forward to nose poke Steven, and danced sideways to dodge the slapping hand that didn’t come. So he whined again. He barked. Still ignored, Shadow stuck his nose under Steven’s arm and levered.
“No, no, no, no, go away, go away, no touch.” Steven wailed, flinched and unwound long enough to flap hands at Shadow. Icy fingers struck his nose, and he yelped and backed away. He watched Steven curl up and cocoon himself inside the snowy hole.
Shadow shook himself, and the nose sting faded. This was wrong. He barked again and again, deep determined woofs mixed with uncertain yelps that dissolved into a bewildered howl.
Steven shrugged into a tighter ball. He covered his ears with his hands. Wind gusts dusted white over the top of his boy. But Steven didn’t move.
Shadow considered his options. Houses stared back, eyeless windows without a blink of motion. He looked the other way. The car territory remained empty. He raised his muzzle, tasted the air for anything warm. Cocked his head, but the wind teased and swirled both smells and sounds into a directionless jumble. He whimpered.
With a final sigh, Shadow turned back to his boy, and huffed warm breath against Steven’s neck. He didn’t nose poke this time. When Steven shifted, Shadow placed one careful paw at a time into the snow nest, and snugged his body as close to his boy as possible.
Steven didn’t have fur but Shadow had lots of fur. The cold bit into tender boy-parts and dog-parts when they were by themselves. But together they’d be warm.
Until the car came. A car always came. All Shadow had to do was wait. Cars were warm. And warm was good.
His boy’s body relaxed. Shadow curled closer so his tail covered both his own head and his boy’s white-blue fingers. He felt a tiny thrill when his boy didn’t shrink away. They breathed together.
