Moon may have been little, but she was brave — brave and bold and adventurous like Bone. Once she knew where the garbage cans were, she visited them regularly. She was more inclined to raid the garbage than to hunt. On our first morning together I left our den and began poking around in the brush for small animals. I expected Moon to join me, but tail held high, she headed in the direction of the houses. She looked at me over her shoulder several times, so after a moment I took my nose out of the brush, even though I was positive I could smell a mouse in there, and I followed her.

At the edge of the woods I sat on my haunches and surveyed the backs of the houses as I usually did before approaching the garbage cans.

Not Moon. She marched boldly across one of the yards, reminding me of Mine, not bothering to listen for voices or to look around for other dogs. She had just reached the nearest can and I was wondering what she was going to do, since the lid looked fastened securely and Moon wasn’t big enough to knock the pail over, when — BANG.

At the back of the house a door had opened, then slammed shut, and a woman carrying two large bags of garbage high-stepped across the wet grass in her bedroom slippers. She stopped suddenly when she saw Moon and dropped the bags onto the lawn. “Hey, doggie,” she said. “What are you doing here? Who do you belong to?”

Moon was gone in a flash. She zipped toward the woods and as she did, I retreated, not wanting to be seen by the woman. I was ready to return to my hunting — to the brush, and the mouse I knew was in there. But after a moment, I realized Moon wasn’t behind me, so I turned and stole back to the edge of the woods.

There was Moon, sitting beneath a tree, watching the woman who was watching her. As soon as the woman had put the bags in the pails and disappeared inside her house, Moon ventured out of the woods again, but this time she went to the house next door. I could see two garbage cans there, each with its lid on. Moon paused between them and looked up. She stood on her hind legs and placed her front paws against one of the cans. Then she nosed the lid with her snout, and with a clatter the lid fell to the pavement.

I had been sitting on my haunches, but now I leapt onto all four feet. I was ready to turn and run into the woods again, but instead found myself running toward Moon. When I reached the garbage can, I pulled it over easily, and Moon and I surveyed the bounty. Someone had thrown away half a ham. We pounced and were devouring it noisily when I heard a voice say, “There it is! Oh, look. There are two dogs now.”

I yelped, then jumped backward, growling.

Behind me were two women, one of them from the house next door. “The little one is the one I saw before,” she was saying. “I don’t know where the big one came from.”

“What should we do?” asked the other woman. “Call the pound?”

“I suppose so.”

But Moon and I were halfway back to the woods by then. And when we did reach the woods, I saw that Moon was carrying the rest of the ham in her mouth.

 

After that, Moon checked the garbage cans frequently, but she never again found anything as wonderful as the ham. And we discovered that the lids on the cans were now apt to be fastened extra tightly, and that some people began placing bricks on the lids.

I returned to my hunting and had good luck again. Moon, though, was not a talented hunter. I shared my kills with her, but hunting for two was much more work than hunting just for myself, and Moon and I were often hungry. One day I noticed Moon sitting at the edge of the busy road, watching the traffic and the mall beyond. I thought of Bone waking at night in our shed and listening to the coyotes in the hills, and I wasn’t surprised when on the next day Moon emerged from our den and began walking through the woods, not toward the mall, not toward the houses, but along the creek bed in the direction of the rising sun. I knew she wasn’t going to come back.

So I left the den, too. I felt little attachment to it, wanted only the company of Moon. This was different from following Bone, though. When I was a puppy I had followed Bone away from our home because I was frightened. Now I was following Moon because I was brave. I had lived on my own for a long time, I had done lots of things on my own — scary things, things I did not want to do. I knew I could be Squirrel Alone. But I didn’t have to be. So I bravely left the woods, my home for many changes of the moon, and followed my new friend.

On that first day we walked until the woods ended and the creek emptied into a small pond. Beyond the pond stood a house. Not far beyond that house was another. And another and another. These houses were smaller than the Merrions’ but larger than Marcy and George’s, and they were set far apart, surrounded by gardens, large trees, and woods. The morning had dawned sunny with a clear blue sky, but as Moon and I had traveled along the creek bed, the day had darkened and the air had grown first damp, then misty. Now as Moon and I sat looking at the house by the pond, the fog drifted around us like smoke, hiding trees and bits of the house, then revealing them again, so that for a while I saw the yard only in pieces.

It was early summer. The leaves on the trees were still new, and until this morning the air had been warm, even hot. But now Moon and I were chilly. I stood up and shook myself off. I was hungry, but more than anything, I wanted to be warm and dry. Through the blowing fog I thought I could see a shed. It stood across the pond from the house. I trotted toward it, Moon at my heels.

We found the shed, but no way into it. It was sturdily built and the door was closed tightly.

Moon and I, shivering now, skirted the edges of the yard, tromped through a garden, and found another shed. No way in.

Just as the air became so heavy with moisture that the mist turned into a driving rain, I spotted a large structure. I know now that it was a barn, but I didn’t know what it was then. The barn was dark; no lighted windows like we saw in the houses. And there were several open doors. Moon and I ran toward the barn, the rain biting into our skin. I came to a fast stop at one of the open doors.

So many odors with so much to tell me. Moon and I stood still, our noses in the air. I smelled grain, I smelled mice, I smelled cats, I smelled hay. I smelled people, but only faintly. What I smelled most strongly was an animal odor I couldn’t quite identify. It turned out to be horses, which I had seen once or twice on the road near the Merrions’ house.

Moon and I crept into the barn and nosed around until we found a warm, dry spot near a door in case we had to leave quickly. We settled as far from the other barn animals as we could get, and spent the night there. When we awoke in the morning, the sun had returned and the air was warm again. Moon and I scrounged for food, then went on our way.

 

Moon and I traveled together for many days, following streams or roads, but making sure to stay well away from the roads so that people in cars couldn’t see us. We walked through woods and pastures. When we came to a town or a farm, we looked for food and for dry places in which to sleep. Sometimes we stayed in one spot for several days, but mostly we were on the move, trotting along shoulder to shoulder, my friend Moon and I.