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Four sleeps and two more baths. That was how much time went by before Grayson allowed me back in the house. Even then, he confined me to the kitchen. I stayed behind the gate, despite the fact I could have gone over it easily now if I’d wanted to. I didn’t want to be relegated to the crate, or worse—banished to the stall again. While I respected the horses, they were their own pack, not mine.
During the week following what Grayson came to refer to as ‘The Great Skunking,’ it did nothing but rain. Every day. Every night. For hours on end. Even when rain didn’t fall from the clouds, it dripped from the tree leaves, which were now changing colors and starting to fall to the ground. It filled the ditches and made the creek run over its banks. The ground was soggy. The air, Grayson’s bedding, and even my fur were damp. The sky was so gray it was hard to tell when daytime ended and night began. The sun had gone into hiding, taking its light and warmth with it.
We didn’t go outside to run. Grayson liked being wet even less than I did. So we stayed inside. Doing nothing. Which, for a day, was fine. But a day stretched into two, then three, then four... until I lost count.
Whenever it was time for Grayson to do his chores outside, he’d suit up in a rain jacket and pants and go to the front door—without me.
After several times of this, I grew agitated and rushed to the gate. I’d been sequestered in the kitchen ever since The Great Skunking. He only joined me when it was time for meals or he needed a drink. Otherwise, I was all by myself. The solitude was almost unbearable. I hadn’t realized until then all the interesting things humans did. Simply watching them and trying to make sense of it was highly entertaining.
Take me, I barked. Take me with you!
“Sooner, stop,” he commanded tersely as he zipped up his jacket. “No bark.”
I barked some more. I’m bored. Bored, bored, bored!
I didn’t like being ignored. Didn’t like being left out of the excitement. Grayson needed me to look after him. He needed my company. What if another wild animal came onto the property? What if a stranger showed up? What if he fell and got hurt? Or just needed to talk?
“I said no! Now stop.” He flipped his hood up, then pulled the drawstring tight. “You’d get muddy if you went out to the barn. Besides, every time you get wet, you stink again. Doc Hunter said that could go on for months. So I’m trying to keep you as dry as possible, so maybe, eventually, you can sleep in the bedroom again.”
Bedroom! I barked. Yes, bedroom. Tonight?
Scowling, he slammed the door behind him. How rude.
Hey! You forgot me! Take me with you! Come. Back. Here. Now.
I barked and barked and barked and barked. He had to have heard me. Because he eventually did come back. Although he didn’t look happy.
He unzipped his jacket. Pulled off his boots. Stepped out of his pants. Never breaking his glare at me.
“I heard you the entire time I was out in the barn,” he said. “I got the message, loud and clear.”
I wagged my hind end. Flashed my most charismatic grin. Sneezed adoringly and dipped my chest in a bow.
Play? I woofed softly.
He stood there, fists clenched, nostrils flaring.
This was going to take some convincing. All this rain was putting Grayson in a foul mood.
I spun around, searching for a ball, a squeaky, even a leash we could play tug with. Anything to lift his spirits. But he’d collected all the toys earlier in the day and stuffed them in a basket, which he put in the living room, saying, “You’re wearing them all out, Sooner. And I’m tired of tripping over them every time I come in here.”
I had nothing to offer him. No toys. No sticks. Not even a rock he could toss for me. Nothing, except—
A dish towel hung temptingly from a drawer pull. After grabbing it, I ran back to the gate. Even though he always discouraged it, I put my feet up on top of the gate so he could see I had something for him.
His brow furrowed. I wasn’t sure what that meant. When he didn’t move from where he stood, I went in search of something else. This time, I took a plastic bottle from the recycling bin. When I clamped my teeth on it, it made a wonderful crinkling sound. I returned to the gate, raised myself up, and crunched the bottle. Loudly. Several times.
The furrow disappeared from his brow. He regarded me curiously.
How could he not like the bottle? All this time, he was throwing away perfectly good toys I could’ve chewed on or we could’ve played fetch with. Clearly, he wasn’t getting my point.
Running out of options, I lowered myself, searched again. Then I saw it—brightly colored and perfectly round.
I ran to the far end of the kitchen, balanced on my hind legs, and, without setting my feet on the counter, took an orange from the fruit basket.
Before I got to the gate, Grayson burst out laughing.
“Hold on.” He went into the living room where he rummaged around in the toy basket. Then he brought my tennis ball. The one with the fraying fuzz and the bald spot and the grass stains.
And for a gloriously long time, we played ball in the kitchen. He rolled it under the table legs and chairs. Bounced it off the cabinets. Landed it in the recycling bin. We played the ‘Wait’ game where I couldn’t take it until he said ‘Okay!’ and the ‘Find it’ game where he placed it under one of three upside-down plastic bowls, shuffled them around, and told me to find the ball. They were easy games, but I always teased him, pretending not to want to wait or taking my time to show where the ball was. I had to let him think he was winning sometimes, for his own benefit. Otherwise, he might get discouraged and not want to play anymore.
When the games grew wearisome for us both, I showed him my tricks. He caught on more easily this time, but he sometimes gave each move a different name than I was accustomed to. Once he repeated them a few times, I responded to his unfamiliar words. ‘Say your prayers’ became ‘You should be ashamed,’ and ‘Circle left’ or ‘Circle right’ became ‘Spin’. Grayson didn’t care which way I turned, just that I did. It wasn’t that Grayson couldn’t learn, it was just that he was different from Brandy.
We understood each other now—well enough, anyway—and that made everything better.
—o00o—
––––––––
One day, after he’d afforded me more freedom to move about the house again, the clouds cleared and the sun rose strong and bold. There was still a chill in the air, but it was the crisp cold of autumn and not yet the biting cold of winter.
When I heard the jingle from the snap of my leash, my excitement was nearly uncontrollable. I jumped up and down in place in front of Grayson. I’d learned, quite abruptly one day, not to jump on him when he jerked his knee reflexively upward to block me.
“Whoa there, you crazy kangaroo.” He laughed. “I know you know what the leash means, but I can’t get it on you if you won’t be still. Now, sit!”
I sat as he snapped my leash on. When we got outside, I expected to follow our usual path and started that way, but he tugged me toward the car and put me in the back. I didn’t quite understand. Grayson had his running clothes and shoes on. He never wore both at the same time unless that was what we were going to do. Maybe we were going to the feed store to see Tucker, or to get donuts from Gertie, or stopping at Becca’s restaurant so I could lick the jelly from Claire’s chin and so Grayson could eat some apple pie and sneak me a few French fries. None of those things were equal to running, but they were exciting, too.
At any rate, the rain had stopped and we were going somewhere. Being stuck inside with Grayson hadn’t turned out as awful as it could’ve been, but I needed to be outside to stretch my legs.
Grayson drove on roads I had never seen. There were houses and hills and barns and wooded places unfamiliar to me. That in itself was intriguing. I stayed alert, barking at a field of cows as we passed to make Grayson aware of the huge beasts. It was my job to keep them at bay and ensure Grayson was safe. It was always good for a dog to sound as fearsome and big as possible—that way if we met any dangerous creatures or strangers who might do our people harm, they would be warned of our intent to protect at all costs. My duty as a dog was to guard my person. One of many duties, but perhaps the most important. I would always keep him safe and be his source of comfort.
The car slowed, turned. We were pulling into a... a park?
Yes! A park, a park, a park!
Woods surrounded wide grassy areas and trails led into and through them. Brandy had taken me to parks many times. Sometimes we would practice our obedience exercises with ‘distractions’. Squirrels were an unfair diversion. They were annoying and should always be dealt with immediately. At other times, we just took long walks through the woods. She would put me on a longer leash, and always kept me on it to be considerate of other dogs and because, well, squirrels. I couldn’t be held accountable for my disobedience if one of those pesky rodents zigzagged across my path, dashed up a tree, and then clung there upside down, taunting me with its obnoxious chatter.
After Grayson let me out of the car, I scanned the area. Birds flitted from tree to ground and back again, but no squirrels dared show themselves. Perhaps some other dog had come before me and justifiably dispatched of the nuisances.
Grayson took an impossibly long time tying his shoes. I watched intently, not because I was interested in what he was doing, but because I couldn’t help but wonder why humans bothered with them at all. Were their feet not made for running, just like mine? I’d seen young children running barefoot in the park, but after a certain age, the practice seemed to be discouraged.
Finally, Grayson started jogging toward one of the paths. I paid close attention to his pace, adjusting my position as he labored up a short hill and then sped up slightly on the downward side of it. The trees closed in around us, the woods dense on either side. The path, however, was wide and while fairly smooth, the occasional root or rock had to be avoided. Grayson stepped carefully at first, but in time, his stride evened out as he learned to navigate obstacles with ease.
A fallen tree blocked the path ahead. Grayson slowed only slightly, gathering himself at the last moment as he told me, “Over!” In unison, we jumped over the log, both landing deftly on the other side before continuing.
Lower and lower the path went, the sound of rushing water growing gradually louder. The scent of greenery and damp earth mingled with the decay of fallen leaves and rotting wood. Here and there, I smelled traces of rabbits and birds, raccoons, and yes, squirrels. I heard some of the creatures rustling through the underbrush or scrabbling amongst the limbs high above, but I kept my eyes on the path and the swing of Grayson’s feet next to mine.
I glanced up at Grayson’s face as we ran, seeing a happiness that hadn’t been there when I first met him. When had he changed? I couldn’t be sure, but it had been a gradual thing.
We ran in perfect sync, our paces matched, his stride becoming faster and smoother. We were a matched pair. Partners. A team. It made me happy because it made him happy.
For a time, we went along a shallow river. Sunlight glinted on its surface. The path eventually opened to meet the river at a broad pebbly shore. Water swirled in eddies around scattered rocks, lapping at the ragged banks.
Grayson bent over to catch his breath. Thirsty, I pulled toward the water.
A lone runner dashed along the path, gliding lightly, arms churning in an unbroken rhythm. His dark shoulder-length mane flowed behind him. He never turned his head to look at Grayson and me down by the water. Just stared ahead at the path before him, secure in his zone. Moments later, he was a fading blur of motion.
“Go on.” Grayson unclipped my leash. “Get a drink. Cool your feet off.”
Wading out into the cool water, I took a deep drink. When I’d had my fill, I turned back to Grayson. He had a stick in his hand.
Throw it! Throw it! I begged.
“Fetch, Sooner!” He tossed it into the water, not far from me.
The stick arced low and landed in a shallow area with a plop, then bobbed at the surface. Bounding to it, I clamped my mouth on it before the current could carry it away. Over and over, he threw the stick. Again and again, I brought it back. I was no dummy. This was his way of tiring me out in hopes of being better able to keep up with me on the uphill return of our run.
It wasn’t until an entire crew of runners appeared on the path in the direction we’d been heading that he stopped throwing the stick. He patted his leg. “Sooner, come.”
I trotted obediently to him, then let him clip my leash back on.
The runners, five of them, slowed as their leader veered off the path and swung toward us.
“Hey, cool dog,” the leader said. Like the rest of them, he was lean and long-legged, not quite a man, no longer a boy. His skin was a golden brown, his hair black and sleek. He studied Grayson. “Does he run with you?”
Grayson nodded. “She. Yes, she does.”
“Ah, sorry. Couldn’t tell with all the fur. That’s cool.”
“Today’s our first three-miler.” Grayson patted my head. “Dog’s doing great, but I needed a break.”
“Yeah, man. We hear you,” another one said. He and the boy-man beside him laughed. “Coach sent us out for ten. Ought to be a taper week, but seems like we’re training right through this race.”
“Taper?” Grayson perked. “Is it post-season already? Big meet coming up?”
“Naw, not this week,” their leader said. His eyes were so brown they were almost black. He walked closer, crouched, and extended his hand. I sniffed his fingers, which smelled of sweat and dirt. He smiled at me. I could tell he was a good person. “Just league. Should be a breeze, but Somerset has a couple of beasts.”
“When’s state?” Grayson asked.
“Beginning of next month,” the leader said.
“You’re assuming we’ll get there?” one of them said from the rear of the group.
The boy beside him elbowed his ribs. “We’re doing it for Tervo, remember?”
“Right. For Tervo.”
A cloud fell over them all. Their leader dropped his gaze to the ground somberly. I licked his fingers, trying to provide comfort, but he seemed not to notice.
Finally, Grayson broke the silence. “So, you’ve got a shot at state, do you? What kind of times are your top five running?”
The leader shrugged, stood. “We have seven under eighteen.”
“You’re full of it, Cruz,” the boy in the rear said, stepping forward. “Say it like it is.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then nodded a hello at Grayson. “Cruz here runs high fifteens without anyone on his tail. Me and Dusty are in the low sixteens. Got three other guys can do seventeens, easy. Keen’s gonna crack eighteen any time now. Then there’s Mateo.” He nodded toward the path ahead on which the lone runner had gone minutes before. “He has superpowers.”
Several of them nodded.
“Won’t matter if we can’t put it all together on the same day,” another said.
Grayson had an excited air about him. “State’s coming up, huh? Maybe I’ll come and watch.”
“You got a kid at the high school?” Cruz asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why come? Nobody comes to watch some skinny dudes traipse through the woods. I mean, we’ve got the best record of any sports team in the school, yet we get no recognition. Zero. Folks think we run just ‘cause we’re afraid of getting flattened in football.”
“We are,” a shorter boy off to the side joked. They all laughed.
“At least those big galoots can’t catch us,” another added.
Cruz nodded. “Yeah, they just corner us in the locker room, then beat the snot out of us when no one’s watching.”
“It was that way in my day, too,” Grayson said. “I used to be... I am a runner. I went to state when I was your age.”
“Oh yeah? Cool.” Cruz lifted his chin. “How’d you do?”
Grayson opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a breath or two. He glanced down at his shoes, splattered with mud, then off into the tangle of trees. “I won.”
“State? You won the state meet?”
“It was a long time ago.” Grayson shrugged. “Another life, practically.”
The boys drew in closer, regarding Grayson with admiration. They asked his name, barraging him with other questions as they took turns petting me.
“Did you get scholarship offers? A full ride?”
“Where’d you go to college?”
“How many miles a week did you run in high school?”
“Seventy, eighty miles? A hundred? More?”
He gave short answers, as if he were uncomfortable with the attention. But he answered them all, until—
“Did you run all four years at Bowerman? Was your team good?”
His face drooped. He looked back up the path the way we’d come. For the longest time, I thought he was done, that he was going to say goodbye and leave. I didn’t want to go right away. As much as I wanted to run more, I was also enjoying the attention. Living on the farm now, I didn’t get to meet many people except when we went into town on errands.
“I had an accident,” Grayson said flatly, “just before the start of my senior year. Got hurt pretty bad. Haven’t run since, until a few weeks ago. Another one of my teammates...” Reeling me in closer, he stepped back from the group. “I should probably go. Nice meeting you guys. Just... be careful out on the roads. Some drivers don’t pay attention.”
“Sure, man. Thanks,” Cruz said. He turned to his teammates. “So how far ahead do you think Mateo was this time? That guy’s a freak of nature.”
“You just wish you were him,” someone in the back said. Then in unison, they all turned and took off running.
As Grayson and I started back the uphill path, one of the boys called over his shoulder, “Hey, if you come to the state meet, look us up!”
Grayson lifted a hand in a wave. Picking up our pace, we pressed up the hill along the winding path through the woods. The sound of the boys’ footsteps on packed dirt carried briefly before fading away as they continued along the river. We went faster, Grayson leaning into the incline and lifting his knees as he dodged roots and rocks. Excited, I pulled ahead. It became a race. The faster I went, the faster he went, until only the tautness of the leash held me back. Not once did he correct me.
Ahead lay the fallen log. Grayson, I could tell, was tiring. He slowed to step over it, rather than jump it. I vaulted atop the log, then jumped down as he swung his legs over. He landed with one foot, then brought the other forward. But instead of resuming his pace, his foot hit a shallow hole. His knee buckled. He stumbled, twisted sideways, and landed on his hip.
Before I could check to see if he was okay, Grayson staggered to his feet and lurched onward. His gait was uneven. He grimaced in pain. Yet, he said nothing, just kept going. Slower than before, but for some reason unwilling to stop.
When we reached the car, Grayson bent and clutched his knees, his breath coming in labored gasps. He dropped to the ground, covered his face with shaking hands, and wept.
“Why him? Why... him? Justin had everything to live for. Why was I given a second chance?”
I didn’t like it when my person was hurting inside. It made me hurt, too.
Slowly, carefully, I crawled to him, rooted under his arm to slide my muzzle close to his face. Licking the tears from his face, I whimpered, I love you. More than the sun and the moon and the stars.
Grayson’s arm encircled me. “I love you, too, you crazy dog. Guess I don’t have ‘nothing’ after all. Because I have you. For now, anyway. That should count for something, right?”
We sat together like that for a good long while—him stroking the fur along my spine, me licking the snot and tears from his salty face.
“It’s time I made a phone call,” he said. “Someone’s been waiting to see you.”
Then we got in the car and drove home. Grayson didn’t say a word the whole way. He just kept glancing in the mirror at me like I was something special. Like he couldn’t live without me.