Chapter 3

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1941

9:42 P.M.

Skipper sniffed her coat and sighed again. All of her interesting smells were gone—the overflow from that hot dog stand Dumpster, the fish she’d rolled in under the dock, the dusty patch of road down by the park, all gone thanks to the boy-pup and his friends. They had sprayed her with a water tube, which had been fun at first when she was chasing the stream of water like it was a squirrel. But then they’d rubbed her down with a foul-smelling white bar, and she realized that they wanted to get rid of her smells.

The other dogs down under the docks would never let her live it down if they knew how smell-less she was.

Normally, she would have run away from the white bar and the water tube. But while the boy-pup Kai and the girl-pup Millie rubbed her down, the boy-pup Joe had put his hand on her neck and spoke to her, and it made her feel safe.

There was something about the way he looked at her and the way he spoke to her that made Skipper not want to run away. He had a good smell and a strong voice, and he said “sit” and “lie down” in a kind way.

Skipper snorted. She knew she should run away from Joe. The last master, the cruel and irresponsible Larry, had taught her that. He was so nice while Skipper had been a pup, and he had taught her the “sit” and the “lie down” and the “roll over.” But then Skipper got bigger and wanted to play, and then Larry was mean. He had hit her on the nose with the rolled paper and left her outside when the sky poured water. Then one day he’d been very kind again, and he had taken her for a car ride and let her run on a beach.

She’d had a wonderful time chasing crabs and digging in the sand, but when she came back to the road, Larry was gone. She couldn’t find him anywhere, no matter how much she barked for him. That was how she’d ended up living on the beaches.

Not that she minded much. The beach offered plenty of food and sun, and lots of water for swimming, which she loved. And there were always good smells by the dock, and the men in blue tossed her food when she showed them how strong a swimmer she was. But Skipper could always smell it before she saw it: the anger, the cruelty. She would shake the water off too close to a master in blue or grab some food off a seat, and she’d smell the anger taking over the human who’d just been nice to her.

And then? Then, “Get out! Go away!”

Then, newspapers and brooms! Kicks with hard boots! The men with the nets, closing in on her!

It was safer to run away.

But Joe smelled nice. True in his heart, like there was no anger in him. Like he would never say, “Go away!” He was the first human in a long time to look at Skipper like she was someone else, not just a fun thing for throwing food at. It made her not want to run away. She just had to be careful. You could never tell with humans.

Footsteps reached her ear, heavy and slow. Then, a smell—like Joe, but bigger, older, salty with sweat and bitter with burned food. Joe’s master, she realized. Joe’s alpha. Something else, too—something sweet and fresh. Flowers, like at the park.

Skipper crept to the mouth of the alley and peeked out.

There he was, much bigger than Joe but with Joe’s eyes, his mouth at the corners, and that smell, trustworthy and strong. He wore a white shirt with marks of good smells on it, and he carried a bunch of flowers wrapped in paper in his hand.

Skipper watched Joe’s father, making sure she stayed hidden in the shadows. As Joe’s father got to the steps, the door opened and let out all the wonderful smells of the kitchen, and out came the woman. Joe’s mother, thought Skipper.

Joe’s father handed her the flowers, and she smiled. He asked something about “Joe” and “Joseph,” and the mother shook her head. Skipper knew Joe couldn’t see anyone now; she could hear him only a few walls away from her, snoring and mumbling in his sleep.

Joe’s father and mother went into the house, and with the closing of the door their voices and the kitchen’s smells were quieted.

Skipper put down her head and closed her eyes. For the first time in a while, she didn’t want to run at all. She wanted to be there for these people—to protect them and help them. Slowly, she sank into darkness, until she dreamed she was running on an endless beach chasing a giant crab with a soft shell and one broken leg . . .