Very early on the morning after the shotgun blast, when the nighttime creatures were going to sleep and the humans hadn’t awakened yet, Bone rolled off of our burlap bed, touched my nose with his, then slipped through the open door of the shed and out into the quiet. I stood in the doorway watching him and saw that he looked at me over his shoulder from time to time. He trotted along the row of bushes and paused at the garbage pile, but when he kept going, I knew he was leaving for good.

I turned and looked behind me at the shed. I looked at the nesting boxes sheltering Yellow Man and the other sleeping cats and kittens, at the wheelbarrow that had been my first nest, at the mice and their hiding places. I looked around at it all, glowing a bit in the rising sun. The shed was my home. It was everything I knew.

But Bone was leaving.

So I ran after him.

I was too young then to wonder what would happen at the shed that day without us. But now I think I know. Yellow Man would rise and stretch, creep out of his box, and sniff the air. He would wait for me, wait to rub his head under my chin, but our nest would be empty and I wouldn’t come tumbling back from the woods or the garbage heap, so finally he would prowl around outside alone. He would look for me off and on for many days and then he would forget about me.

The shed mice would forget about us almost immediately. They would register that Bone and I were gone, and then they would continue with their foraging and eating and running about as if we had never lived in the shed in the first place.

Matthias would never forget. I am fairly certain of that. I imagine that Matthias searched his yard for us for more days than Yellow Man did. He must have searched quietly, holding out his chicken and toys; searched the entire property, and then maybe even ventured off the property. And knowing what I have learned about emotions, I think he was probably sad for a very long time.

If I had imagined these things when I was a puppy, though — if I had imagined Yellow Man waiting and Matthias searching — I would still have run after Bone. The shed might have been my home, and Yellow Man and Matthias might have been my companions, but without Mother, Bone was my world. I could not be separated from him.

So I ran after my brother. I ran hard, yipping to let him know I was coming. Bone heard me, and waited for me to catch up. Then we trotted along shoulder to shoulder until I realized I was as far from the shed as I had ever been. Behind me I could see the Merrions’ house, its chimneys and roofs among the tallest tree branches, swallows swooping by the attic windows. We hurried on. The next time I looked behind me, I could see only the chimney tops. The third time I looked, the house was gone.

Bone and I made our way down a steep hill, stumbling through dense, dark woods. Then we walked along flatter terrain; walked and walked until I began to feel hungry, and I thought of the garbage pile, and of fat rodents. I was thirsty, too, and presently Bone and I came to a stream and stood at the edge and took long drinks. Then we waded in. We were hot and the water was cold, and we could see small dark shapes darting back and forth just below the surface. Bone stared at the fish for a moment, then pounced on one with a large splash. I pounced, too. We didn’t catch anything, but pouncing was fun. And it made Bone frisky. He turned and ran at me, chasing me up the stream as far as a small waterfall. At the waterfall we waded to the bank and continued through the woods.

We kept the sun first at our fronts, then at our backs, as it moved through the sky. By the time the day’s heat was fading and the shadows felt cooler, our stomachs were rumbling, so we hunted. Then we rested. And then abruptly Bone stood up and trotted off.

I followed him.

This time Bone and I walked and walked until the trees became fewer and we could see their separate shadows, and the shadows were long. Finally there were no more trees, and we were walking through a field, and then I heard a swishing noise that reminded me of the sound of cars on the road to the Merrions’ house.

Bone heard the noise, too, and he stopped. He froze in place and his ears stood up stiffly as he listened.

The noise meant cars, I was sure of it, even though the whooshes weren’t exactly the same as the ones at the Merrions’. They were louder and quicker. WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH.

I watched Bone. He began to walk again, more slowly. We saw an abandoned tractor in the field and made a wide circle around it. We saw a rabbit and Bone ran at it, but the rabbit disappeared.

WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH. Where were all those cars I could hear?

Bone, panting from his chase, stopped to catch his breath, and it was then that we saw the house. It was smaller than the Merrions’, and sat at the edge of the field, tidy and somehow friendly looking, but Bone and I turned away from it and walked in the other direction. We walked until the field came to an end and in front of us was a road, a highway. And there were the whooshes. One car after another zipped along the road. The cars went by so fast they looked blurry, and even when Bone and I retreated to the edge of the field, each car blew our ears back with a rush of hot wind as it sped by.

I squinted my eyes against the dust and the wind and turned around. We could creep through the field again, avoid the house, and return to the woods where we could hunt. I was partway along a row of tall, scratchy plants when I realized that Bone wasn’t with me. He was still standing at the side of the road. And he was sniffing the air. An odor came to my nose. I sniffed, too.

Chicken — just like Matthias would bring us. The odor was coming from across the road. I ran back to Bone, strained to see past the rushing cars, and when there was a little break in the traffic, I saw a paper bag lying on its side.

There was chicken in that bag, and Bone and I knew it. My mouth started to water and I drooled as I stood at the edge of the field, separated from the chicken by two lanes of cars.

Bone took a step forward, then another. I was right behind him, but when a truck whizzed by me, I jumped back, yelping. Bone glanced at me, then faced the traffic again. He looked as though he were getting ready to run — to bolt across the road and hope for the best — when suddenly one of the cars that had just sped by pulled to the side of the road and screeched to a stop. Other drivers honked their horns, but the people who had stopped, a woman and a man, ignored them. They jumped out of the car and ran to Bone and me. Bone still had his eyes on that bag of chicken, but I was watching the people, and I wanted to get away from them. I couldn’t leave Bone, though.

I let out a warning bark.

Too late. The man scooped Bone into his arms, and the woman scooped me into her arms.

“Look, they’re just puppies,” the woman exclaimed. “What are they doing way out here?”

The man looked sternly at Bone. “You guys could have gotten yourselves killed,” he said. “This is a dangerous highway.”

“Well, honey, they don’t know any better,” said the woman. “They’re little. They must have gotten lost.”

“Do they have any collars or tags?” asked the man, feeling around Bone’s neck.

Bone stiffened, jerked his head over his shoulder, and snapped at the man.

The man almost dropped him. “Hey!” he shouted. “You little brat! Don’t do that again.” He gave Bone a shake.

“George, I just told you, they don’t know any better,” said the woman. “Come on, let’s get back in the car. It’s not safe standing out here.”

I squirmed. The woman’s hands around my body were not gentle, as Matthias’s had been. She held me too tightly, and it was hard to breathe. I looked desperately at Bone, who was struggling and twisting and growling as the man, George, held him at arm’s length.

“They’re scrappy,” said the woman brightly.

“They’re a pain in the neck,” George replied. He tucked Bone under one arm while he opened the car door. “Stick them in the back, Marcy,” he said. “That way they won’t pee on us.” He paused. “What are we going to do with them, anyway?”

“Keep them! They’re cute. They’ll settle down. They’re probably just scared.”

This was true. Bone and I were petrified. We huddled on the floor of the car behind George and Marcy. I whimpered and whined, and the movement of the car made my stomach roll.

“Here we are!” Marcy said presently.

The car turned a corner and I threw up.

“Blasted creatures,” said George. “Now the car is going to stink to high heaven.”

“I’ll clean it up,” said Marcy. She peered over the seat at Bone and me. “Welcome to your new home.”