Two sunrises later, the Colonel still hasn’t moved from his bed. Which means no one has touched me or let me out to do my business. I’m lonely and full and my pack seems to have forgotten I exist. Loneliness tastes like water from the cold toilet bowl, which is exactly where I’ve been drinking.
And I’m scared I’ll forget my commands. We haven’t practiced with Alex in many days. I worry that Alex is out there squawking words like time and test and fail. I’ve dragged my leash around the house, quizzing myself on what I’ve learned: Block! To move between the Colonel and the stranger. Eyes! To look into the Colonel’s eyes. Stay!
Do I want to stay?
And I’m confused. A pack is supposed to protect each other, not hurt each other. I’m part of this pack, aren’t I?
This pack is as unpredictable as an ocean wave. Unpredictable pulls you in too far, until you choke and gag.
Let the Colonel sleep.
But that means I’ve been sneaking behind the couch to go. The couch is thick and curvy and covered in fake flowers and next to an always-open window. If I squeeze I can fit between it and the wall. The Abeyta family hasn’t found my hidden bathroom yet. Which is surprising. Anna is very clean—she follows me around with a scary tall mop sometimes—so I worry about what she might do when she finds my restroom.
The whole bathroom thing is cocked-head confusing to me. The baby—Analise—they let crawl around with dung in her pants all the time. It’s quite disgusting, actually. Especially considering how tidy Anna is in every other way. Tidiness is sky-blue respectable. Toting your dung along with you in plastic pants is certainly not.
I limp out from behind the couch. My paw pad feels better, but it’s not been easy to keep it clean. I don’t know why Anna and Micah didn’t fix this cut. They’re not supposed to touch me, of course, and they don’t. I don’t even think they noticed it that night. And after that night, they’ve been talking and moving pillow soft. They seem to have forgotten the night happened at all. How do humans do that? Forget so much so fast?
I’ve been licking my cut constantly. The skin is runny-egg raw and oozing. I hope I don’t get a bothersome infection. I hope I don’t get caught sneaking out from behind this couch. I hope I don’t get replaced with a different dog.
I hope I do.
Anna is feeding Analise in a rocking chair near the kitchen. She’s singing. Her voice sounds high and soft and warm, like mother’s milk. It reminds me of my three pups, and the warmth and joy of feeding them. I shake my head to clear the memory.
Micah dribbles his basketball into the room—punch, punch, punch. He stops when he hears Anna’s song. His face curves upward. He sings along with her:
Duérmete mi niña, duérmete mi amor
duérmete pedazo de mi corazón.
Esta niña linda que nació de noche
quiere que la lleven a pasear en coche.
Esta niña linda que nació de día
quiere que la lleven a la dulcería.
Duérmete mi niña, duérmete mi amor
duérmete pedazo de mi corazón.
I once saw this person who drew on the sidewalk with chalk. He’d take his thumb and smear the colors together, creating a new, smoother, deeper color. Anna and Micah singing together sound like that—soft, airy, fresh, light.
Anna finishes feeding the baby and adjusts her clothes. “Impromptu dance party!” she shouts. She flicks a button on a nearby radio and music blasts out like a car horn. Anna holds Analise, and those two plus Micah leap around and chirrup like a silly herd of grasshoppers. They bounce and smile and hiccup giggles. Their faces twinkle like stars. I can’t help but smile and wag my tail, watching them. They have decided pillow time has passed.
Then I hear it: tick-tick-tick-SWISH. And smell it: fish scales.
Smaug, I call out before he rounds the corner.
It is I, he replies. He is careful to stay just out of Anna’s sight, the sneak. Sneakiness tastes like hot dogs stolen off a cart.
I squat, lowering myself to look directly into his creepy rolly eyes. Where were you the other night when Micah needed you?
The lizard’s tail scratches across the floor—crack! The tip doesn’t even look like it was injured, it just looks shorter. I did not sense the need, he says.
Seriously? I shake my head, then my whole body, because heavens, this lizard gets under my skin. Like a bloodthirsty tick. The night of the screaming? The yelling? The crying? The blood? My paw pinches at that last part. How could you not sense that? Aren’t you Micah’s protector?
The lizard twitches, licks his eyeball, peeks around the corner at Micah. Canine, he says. Your gifts are not my gifts. Earlier I told you: I am a healer, not a protector. I can fix damage. But a healer is not needed if there is no damage to begin with. THAT part is your job.
I feel like he’s trying to trick me, like he’s pretended to throw a stick when it’s actually tucked behind his back. You want me to do your job for you? Lazy lizard.
Smaug smiles, showcasing black bug bits stuck in his yellow teeth. Ah, but it is what every true healer wants: to have no purpose at all.
Thick boots pound down the hall, like fists on wood. Smaug sneaks around the corner, back into Micah’s room.
Colonel Victor appears. His face shadows tell a lie. They tell the story of someone who hasn’t slept in days, even though I know he’s been in bed for many hours. I’m confused by him.
So are Anna and Micah. Their music stops like squeaking brakes on a car. The silence that follows is fog thick.
The Colonel grabs his pills, swallows a few. He sighs leaves on trees. He ruffles the fur on Micah’s head, winks at Anna and the baby, and pounds back into his room.
Anna and Micah hug, and I can feel their yellow warmth from here. I understand something now. With Anna and Micah, being around Colonel Victor is like walking across a sewer grate: a cold metal balancing act. One wrong step and your paw slips and you get trapped. So you must walk carefully.
Micah opens the back door and leaves it standing wide. His eyes flick at me quick as cold rain. I can’t tell if he’s inviting me to use the bathroom outside, or if he’s inviting me to run away. So I don’t move. Micah lifts one shoulder, lets it fall. He pounds his basketball outside and is gone.
Anna picks up a rag and scrubs at a nonexistent spot on the wall. Analise toddles toward me. I brace myself for the fur pulling that will follow, but it’s better than toilet-drinking loneliness.
Hurt is a funny thing in a pack. It’s contagious, like a runny-egg infection. One person hurts, and the whole pack carries the burden.