The growling from our three empty tummies woke us early the next morning. Red struggled to his feet and tried to stretch. Sleeping on the cold ground made him stiffer than ever.
“We’ve got to do something,” he whimpered. “We’re gonna starve to death if we don’t.”
Poky got up and shook his curved tail. “What can we do? I’m too little. Sweetie won’t even growl at a fly, much less bite one. You’re too old and scared.”
“Red’s not scared,” I protested. “He’s a brave dog.”
“He’s scared,” Poky repeated. “I smelled it.”
Red slouched. He looked down at the ground, and when he leaned forward, his long red ears covered his eyes.
“Poky’s right, Sweetie. I am scared. When I was young, I didn’t know enough to be scared. When I was older, I was strong and fast, and I’d chase dogs away from my yard. Even bigger dogs didn’t scare me. It was my yard, and I wasn’t afraid of anything. Now . . .” His tail slipped under his hip and curled around his tummy. “Now I’m afraid. I’m old and weak and sore. I know if I try to take on those coyotes, they’ll hurt me. I hurt enough already, just from being old. I don’t want to hurt any more. They might even kill me.”
As he talked, that strange but familiar smell came to my nose. It hurt, but at the same time it made me feel big and strong inside. I tilted my head and cocked one ear.
“Is that what fear smells like?” I asked.
Red shrugged. “When you’re afraid, you can’t smell fear.”
Poky sniffed at Red. “That’s the smell of fear!”
I plopped on my bottom. I sat down so quickly I forgot to move my tail out of the way. It crooked under me, and I had to shift my weight to get it out.
“I smelled it before. I tasted it. Only I didn’t know what it was.” I glanced at Poky. “Why didn’t I smell it on you the first night the coyotes came?”
Poky’s tummy growled. “I was mad. When they stole my food, then got my chewy bone, I was so mad I couldn’t even see straight. That was my favorite chewy bone. I was so mad I forgot to be scared.”
I looked down at my front paws, remembering.
“I smelled something very close to it from the big coyote, the leader, only it went away. I remember because it was like the smell on the burglar that night he came to my master’s house.” As I stared down at my paws, pictures and smells and tastes flooded the space between my ears. “I remember tasting the smell on my friend Scotty when he left for the pound—only somehow it was a little different from the smell of fear on the coyote and the burglar. And I remember my second master. The little little boy and his . . . his father and . . .”
I stopped as the sadness swept through me and made me jerk.
Red turned to me. The white hair above his eyes wiggled. “You said you’d tell me about your second master.” Red yawned. “Your little boy in Oklahoma?”
I had tried not to think about that. Having all the misery of putting up with the coyotes made me feel bad enough. Thinking about my last home would make it even worse. Talking would just bring the bad feelings back again. I didn’t want to tell them, but Red and Poky kept insisting.
“I was only there for three or four months,” I began. “My little boy was named Ben. He was real little—only about five or so in people years. With my big little boy in California, I could romp and play. We had a blast flirting with the big little girls on the beach. When we got home, my big little boy would wrestle with me. He’d roll on the ground and tumble over me, then he’d jump up and run. I’d chase him, and we’d romp and tumble some more.
“Things were different with my little little boy. I couldn’t romp and play with him ’cause he was too easy to knock over. I’d follow him around, and he’d hug my neck and pet me. I’d lick him—real careful ’cause my tongue would send him flopping backwards if I kissed him too hard. He used to try to ride on my back. It didn’t hurt much, since he was so little, but if I stood up, he’d fall off and start crying. I was always real gentle with him. I really loved him.”
I sighed and scratched a flea that nibbled at my empty tummy. “Ben’s mama had a dog—a poodle. Her name was Fu Fu. That poodle didn’t like Ben, she hated me, and she didn’t like the mama too much.” I licked my whiskers and flopped my ears. “Come to think of it, I don’t suppose Fu Fu even liked Fu Fu.
“Mostly she stayed in the house. But one day she had an accident on the carpet. The mama shoved her out the door into the yard where Ben and I were playing. I was polite and said hi to her, but she just stuck her little nose up in the air. Ben wanted to play with her. But she just walked off with her nose held high and snooty. Ben followed her.
“He chased her all around the yard. She growled and told him to quit. I tried to explain that all he wanted to do was play, but she didn’t care. ‘I hate kids!’ she growled. ‘Get the little stinker away from me or I’ll bite him.’ I didn’t believe her. I guess I should have.”
As I remembered that terrible day, a tear rolled from my eye. I wiped it away with a paw.
“Finally Ben cornered Fu Fu at the back of the yard. He kept trying to pet her and pick her up. I told him to stop. I tried to get him to play with me, instead. I tried to warn him, but . . .” I took a deep breath, sighed. “But he didn’t understand. When he tried to pick Fu Fu up, she bit his hand. He jumped back, and Fu Fu bit him on the leg. When Ben ran away, she chased him. She kept biting at him, and she got ahold of his leg again.
“That made me mad. I mean, she’d already chased him away. He was crying and hurt, but she just kept snapping and snarling and biting. I ran after them. I told her to leave my Ben alone, but she bit him again. He fell down and started crying really loud. I had to make her stop! I couldn’t let her hurt my little boy. So . . . so . . . I bit her.
“I didn’t mean to bite her hard. I just wanted to make her stop hurting my boy. But . . . well, she was little and I was big. When I picked her up, Fu Fu screamed. I threw her across the yard. She didn’t get up, at first. She just whined and squirmed around on the ground.
“Fu Fu finally got to her feet, but she could barely walk. She limped and cried as if I’d half killed her. I didn’t mean to bite her. I didn’t think I had really hurt her. I just wanted to get her away from my boy. But I was mad and . . . and . . . my Ben was still crying, and a little blood leaked from a hole on his leg where Fu Fu had nipped him. I nuzzled him with my nose. I kissed him with my tongue, but he kept crying. I was afraid he might be really hurt, so I picked him up and took him to the house, and . . . and then . . .”
I couldn’t finish. I was shaking all over.
“Let me guess,” Red snorted. “Ben’s father came out to see what all the crying was about. He saw Fu Fu lying in the yard and saw his boy dangling from your mouth.”
I nodded, feeling my tail begin to tuck itself under my tummy.
“When you tried to explain that you’d saved your boy from Fu Fu, the father wouldn’t listen, right?”
I nodded again and flattened my ears against my head. “I guess he thought I had attacked Fu Fu, then turned on Ben. I guess he didn’t know I was bringing Ben to his daddy. He must have thought I had bitten Ben, too.
“I’d never bite my boy. I loved him. I’d never do anything to hurt him. But that’s when I smelled it—the fear. I’d never smelled it before—that was the first time. It was a little different from the smell of that burglar and the smell from the coyotes, but very close. The smell jumped from the daddy so strong that I could taste it, even with Ben in my mouth. He took Ben away from me and kicked me. Right on the side of my head. That spot still hurts. I can feel it now, just as if it happened yesterday instead of a long time ago.”
I flopped down on the ground and covered my face with my ears and paws. I felt so rotten and sad that I almost made myself sick. My tail was tucked under me so tightly that I couldn’t even feel it. My nose, which was always cold and damp, felt as hot and dry as a bone that had been left in the sun. I wanted to curl up and die.