The warm dry breeze that swept in from the desert felt good on my cold nose. It tingled the little hairs inside my ears and made them twitch and wiggle. My left paw dangled over the edge of my floor. I draped my right paw over it and rested my chin.
I watched.
The sun was nothing but a huge orange sliver above the wooden fence around the backyard. It was pretty, but I forced myself to quit thinking about it. I had to watch. That was my job—and I couldn’t afford to mess up again. This was my third chance—probably my last.
In a moment the sun would disappear and the only thing left would be a bright glow. Higher in the sky were mixtures of yellow and gold. Streaks of clouds were darker. Low in the sky, they were blue. Above, the blue changed to a deep purple. I wished the fence wasn’t there. I wished—just once—I could see all of the sunset.
Far off in the desert a coyote howled. It was a lonely sound. It made me feel lonely, too.
I watched.
But behind my eyes, visions came. Memories flooded my mind. I missed my mama. She had been so big and wise. I missed my little boy. He had been fun and full of laughter. I missed my big boy. He was rough-and-tumble, and I could play with him and not have to worry about him crying. How I longed to be with them.
Not that I didn’t love my new master. He was nice. His laugh rolled and tumbled through the air like thunder rumbling before a storm. But he was just too old to play. His wife didn’t play with me, either. They fed me well. They petted me and scratched behind my ears. But there was no romp or play in either of them. That was what made me lonely, especially on nights like this, when they weren’t home.
I watched.
After a time, the deep purple color filled the sky. The smell of night came and all was quiet, and the quiet made me feel even more alone.
Things could have been worse, I guess. That’s why it was so important for me to watch. That’s why I had to do a good job. I had to be careful.
• • •
Scotty had warned me. Scotty was a Scottie. He had lived in the yard next to mine back when I lived in California. There had been a chain-link fence between our houses, and not only could we visit but we could actually see each other. Scotty told me that he was a digger.
“It’s a bad habit,” he’d explained. “I just can’t quit digging. It’s kind of like some masters have a habit of smoking cigarettes, and no matter how hard they try, they just can’t break the habit. I’m like that, too. Only I don’t smoke, I dig.”
Scotty was on his third master when I met him. Two days after our last visit Scotty dug up the guy’s rosebushes, and sure enough—straight to the pound.
That’s it, man. About three masters is all a guy gets, then off to the pound.
• • •
Despite the warm breeze from the desert, the memory of Scotty sent a chill up my back. The Shaffers were my third masters.
A sound jerked me from my sad memories. I watched.
For a time there was nothing. Then a black stocking cap appeared above the back fence. It hesitated there a moment, then rose. I watched.
A man’s face was under the hat. Nervous eyes scanned my yard. A wisp of the fall breeze brought a scent to my nose. Something about it was almost familiar, but it was a smell I didn’t know, an odor that I couldn’t taste or understand. The man looked all around. Then there was another clunk as his shoe found the wood rail and he climbed over the fence.
I watched.
Wonder why he didn’t use the gate, I thought as he jumped from the top of the fence. When he landed, he looked all around again. He had on a black cap and a black shirt and black pants. The only part I could really see of him was his face. His eyes and forehead scrunched up when he looked toward my doghouse. The way he acted, the way he smelled—it brought a feeling from deep inside me. His actions made the hair bristle in a sharp ridge down my back. He inched forward. Watching him made my lip curl. My teeth felt dry. He stood very still for a moment, then edged toward the house.
I watched.
I guess he hadn’t seen me where I rested inside my house. When he got close he suddenly froze, dead in his tracks. He started to shake all over.
“Nice doggy.” His voice quivered when he whispered to me. “Nice puppy.”
The smell was much stronger now. I still couldn’t hear or see or understand it. I forced my lips closed so my teeth wouldn’t show. I made the hair relax on my back. My tail made a thumping sound against the wooden floor of my house. He seemed to relax. Then, never taking his eyes off me, he moved toward the Shaffers’ house.
I watched.
But when he disappeared around the side of my house, I climbed out. I peeked around the corner of the doghouse and saw him kneeling down at the back door. He took a tool out of his pocket and started wiggling the doorknob. I could hear a jingling sound, but I really couldn’t see what he was doing. I moved closer to watch.
The man worked and worked. Finally he glanced around. When he saw me standing right next to him, a little squeal came from his throat. He jumped so hard he landed on his bottom beside the back door.
“Nice doggy.” His voice shook as hard as he did. “Don’t bite me.” He put his hands up in front of his face. “Nice doggy.”
The strange odor was very strong. It came from the man in the stocking cap. The smell sort of hurt my nose, but at the same time it made me feel big and strong inside. It was weird!
“I won’t bite you,” I assured him. “I’m nice. I learned my lesson with my last master. I’ll never bite anything or anybody ever again.”
But, like most people, I guess he just didn’t understand Dog. He kept his hands up and kept shaking for a long, long time. At last, when I kept wagging my tail and smiling at him, he crawled back to his knees and jiggled the doorknob some more.
I watched.
He opened the door and went into the Shaffers’ house. I could hear him rattling around inside. Every now and then I could see the glow from the little light he held in his hand. After a while he came out the door.
I watched.
He carried a big sack to the back fence and lifted it over. Then, still shaking and smiling at me, he came back to the house.
I watched as he carried another bag to the back fence, then another. When he climbed over the last time, he waved at me.