Strays of a kind

She crouched in the curling grass, her senses keen bent on the rabbit ahead. It fidgeted over by some flowers, its button-nose twitching playfully. She crouched lower. The rabbit sniffed the flowers and twitched and inched out of view, partially covered in the dry yellow grass. She shifted to her left, stealthily. She watched the rabbit with intrigue. It buried its head in its paws and looked up once, as if sensing danger. It looked around anxiously, its nose twitching, paws still.

Nelly?

It was her master’s call. She had been summoned back to the house. The rabbit stared in her direction now, almost at her, and she wondered if it had seen. She did not move and stayed hidden behind the mulberry plant. It was a dead staring contest.

Nelly.

Her master sounded less genial than last time. She watched the rabbit a few moments longer with dispassion, lifted herself from the dirt and turned her tail. The rabbit had won this time. She trotted back to the house.

He stood on the porch, his forehead deeply set in the crevices of thoughts. He stared out at the ancient sun setting beyond the rolling hills across the lake. A sad glow shone in the dark water. Even that faded into the murky depths. There were no clouds in the sky above. It was turning a deep blue. Shadows stretched behind them.

"It’s raining tonight," he shared with her and stood by the door, waiting with an arm on the screen. She trotted up the property, past the brooding old car, past the flat tire and up the stairs and into the house. He closed the door behind her.

He limped uneasily across the wooden floor, a thump and a heavier one in its wake. It traced a rhythm so familiar to her, almost as the heartbeat of a child is to its mother. There were two sounds to which she warmed and two only: her master’s voice and that lulling rhythm of his limp. It let her know where he was. He stopped by the far corner.

She skulked over to her own bed and settled down, her snout on her paws, staring at her master as he bunched wood from the corner and tossed it into the cold mouth of the hearth and started a fire. Its warmth began creeping along the floor. Her master settled in a chair by it and laid his head back on the rest without a sound.

She watched her master with warmth in her eyes and raised herself and went by his side. There, she settled down again near his feet. Her eyes were on the fire and the debate between its numerous tongues. They danced and shook. The shadows in the cabin played along.

His hand stroked her hair. Firm, long strokes. He was not ungentle, but his calloused hands were mild for their habit. He was tender with her, every stroke evincing a dialogue of a thousand words, which neither he nor she could speak in their own languages. It was the presence, the attachment of two souls who had no roots, which resounded infinitely within the walls of these cabins.

Outside, the rain started up, first as a light patter on the rooftop, then as a coarser sheet upon the entire area.

With its constant lull upon the windows, watching the fire fluctuate, she went asleep.

-

She awoke to a distant sense, not quite sure what it was, but knowing ill intention. She raised her head from the floor and growled. Faint footsteps and twig cracks caught her attention. She bounded to her feet and stood there, growling louder. She barked. Her master did not wake up. She barked again, and growled.

Suddenly, there was a blaring racket and bright light flooded the cabin from all windows. She yelped at first; then regained courage. Her master had blabbered awake and reached for the gun near the fireplace. She was at the door, scratching, ramming, trying to attack whatever it was that had assailed their home and stolen their peace. There was a rhythmic thud behind her and the door in front suddenly wrenched open. She was released.

There was laughter outside. As she barked into the loud lights, blindly, trying to keep harm at bay, wherever that was, she heard her master’s shouts behind her.

“Damn kids!” There was laughter, more laughter. Howling in the night. “Get off my property!” He let off a round of pellets into the night above and the shot of the gun was followed by an urgent exchange of alarm. The flooding lights disappeared. She glimpsed several glows diminish in the dark from the headlights. They were like dying fireflies. She liked chasing fireflies. Through the trees and grass, they made zipping trails behind them, taunted her further into the woods. That was fun. She liked chasing them. These weren’t fireflies. They were something else.

Then, the guttural roar of countless motorcycles erupted and the vehicles turned about, and fired away from whence they had come.

Her master grumbled and swore profusely under his breath. He kicked at a stool on the porch and it went tumbling to the caked ground below. “I know where you all live!” Her master screamed to an absent audience. Their receding red lights were dots now, coasting down the dirt road back to the main town. “Damn kids, damn bikes…” He muttered, returning inside wearily. He went to his cot, and lay there sullenly. He faced the wall, to hide his tears, and went to sleep. She came back in as well, nudging the door closed with her snout. She crept over to him noiselessly and lay near his bed and slept.

-

The next day was bright. The woods were quiet and naturally illumined, with the sun glancing through the spaces in leaves and branches. It fell to the ground in innumerable shafts of dusty golden. She bounded from the house happily, rushing, jumping, then turning to see her master shut the door behind him. He walked down the stairs and to the other side first, where she waited, her tail wagging back and forth.

The door required some effort to pry open and once it had been, she leapt up and sat there, like a good-natured child. He slammed it shut and walked to the first side, opening it. She looked outside her window and panted. She panted and her tongue rose and fell. It felt good. In the heat, it felt nice. She felt cool in the summer, when the air was swarming with heat and she could sweat like this. It was downright fun.

The vehicle rocked, tipping from side to side as her master got himself in seat. It was difficult for him, with his lame foot, but he managed. He was able to drive by himself. He didn’t need any help. The engine grumbled to life and he pulled out of the property onto the dirt road. It led into town. It went to the main part of town, where she liked going. It was a nice change of environment, an excursion, an escapade. She stuck her head out the window, over the rolled-down glass, and let her tongue loose. It dropped to her chin and she let it cool in the wind. The wind, the nice wind that rolled by their car, whipping her hair and brushing the car amorously.

They reached town in ten minutes, a rather short drive. It felt much shorter to her than it did to her master, who extracted the key and shoved it into his pocket and got out roughly. He opened her door and turned her loose too. She leapt to the ground with speed and landed with agile grace, then trotted across the parking lot to watch the several television screens at the electronics store. She watched them tirelessly, a spectacle that drew much interest from passers-by, and she grew dizzied by the shows they ran. She watched them play football, just a sight of blurred colors and noises to her, but enticing and exciting, nonetheless. Her master was away, buying needful things.

He returned a while later and they both passed the street to a local diner. It was sometime around lunch, so she figured he must be getting hungry. She was getting rather hungry too. She had eaten sometime before six last night and now the seeds of appetite had sprouted in her belly. She fondly recalled the rabbit from the day before and wondered what it would taste like. Still, she only wondered and would never actually harm the rabbit. It was only a rabbit, after all.
They reached a place where her master stopped. It was appropriate. He opened the door for her and she slinked through: ladies first. He followed her in. The bell lightly tinkled as it closed. She found a seat by the window of the street and pounced on her side. He slumped into the other space, across from her. She sat there, hungrily, smelling sundry aromas in the air and drooled. Her saliva dripped on the table and formed a tiny puddle. She watched a waitress with a large pan walk by indifferently, concentrating on the task at hand: delivering the cold drinks to the table by the end of the row. On the counter surface lay waiting a tray of two hamburger dishes that were steaming hot, with a side of crisp, golden fries, and she spent all her power in stopping herself from pouncing on it at once like a hungry madman.
A lady, like her, walked over with a pen and notepad in her hand. She was wearing a checkered apron on a white dress to her knees. Her hair was tied up in a bun, her face plastered with makeup, and she was chewing on something and conversing loudly with another woman at another table.
“Yeah, Steve asked me…He said he wanted to go this weekend. Isn’t that bangin’?”
“Sure is,” the other woman replied. “If you’re lucky, you might be bangin’ too.”
The waitress laughed loudly, like a neighing horse. “Shut up, Janelle…”
Her master cleared his throat, which seemed to bring the woman back to her attention. Her smile lingered on her face, despite master’s inefficiency of returning it, but slipped as soon as she saw the hound sitting across from him.
“Oh,” she stated and her bubblegum popped. “We don’t allow dogs in here.”
“Why not?” her master asked, a shade indignantly. “She won’t make a fuss. She’ll be quiet as a mouse, look at her.”
“We just don’t allow them in here, sir. It’s policy. There’s a sign by the door,” she said.
“I didn’t see any sign,” her master said.
“It’s there, look closely. I can’t let her in here,” she retorted. “Unless you’re blind, and she’s your guard dog – which from the looks of it, you’re not.”
She panted, watching her master casually. The man went grim and dense, and decided that this was not appropriate any more. He left his seat awkwardly, limping as he stood.
“Come on, Nelly, let’s go. Forget this place,” he said. Nelly obeyed without a problem. She descended to the tiled floor and trotted out on her master’s tail, returning all the stares of other folks unguardedly.
They climbed into the station wagon, hungry as ever, and he started the car and told her, “One last stop,” and backed from the lot.
They drove down the street quietly. She observed the world roll by, like the times she had never had; the times her master had never had. They were both orphans. One soul found on the streets by another, strays destined to cross paths. When he had been twenty-eight, he had gone off to fight, on some distant shore, where the men, though foreign, had much in common with him. Both sides misled, both sides broken. He had returned, some time into action, when a stray bullet had lodged itself in his ankle and forced him to return. He had come back, to a world strangely aloof, distant and unresponsive. He had managed, gotten by somehow on that cabin by the lake. That’s all she knew. That was what he had told him, maybe not entirely through words.
He had met her, once, a cold starving puppy back then. He had warmed suddenly to her. A calloused pair of hands had found tenderness in cradling her. They had taken her from the rain and starvation into the warmth of his home and sustained her. She had grown, not to parents of her own, but with her master. She did not know of any other life. The one she had right now was perfect enough.
Now, the rolled down the street quietly. They did not speak, but there was nothing to be said. She watched the world outside, panting happily.
That was when she saw the balloon, red, floating. A child held it in his hand, trotting down the street cheerfully. Her attention was caught by the balloon only, however. If there was one weakness she had, it was for balloons. If there was one other thing to which her heart so warmly sweetened, it was a red balloon.
She started from her door, from the half-open window, scratching at the glass and barking joyfully. Her master looked at her and scowled.
“Stop! No, stop.” He said. “Stop, get down. Down. Down.” She listened. “Never do that again, not when the car’s moving. Don’t you even think about it. We’ll get a nice balloon later.” She looked at him mistrustfully, but he nodded and swore, “I promise,” so she barked concurringly. He grunted. The car slowed to a stop. He took the key from the ignition and left the car. “Don’t you move,” he warned her. She barked, playfully irreverent. But he knew she would not and limped away, inside the store.
She looked around, mildly, as the time passed. She panted to herself. The car was getting hot. She squeezed her head out the window to get fresh air. Oh yes, it was getting quite hot. She observed the small single-lane street and barked to random people. They waved back. She was satisfied.
That was when she saw it. The boy. The balloon. The red, floating balloon.
As if a mental switch had been flicked, she scrambled to get it. She went mad for it. She wanted it. It was so nice. She squeezed out of the window, even further, so that her forelimbs protruded. She could get out! She tried harder, and squeezed, and pushed until most of her belly was out. She felt her heart race, the balloon was hers, she could get it now! Only if the boy didn’t move too far away, so she barked at him, warning him to stay there, that she was coming. Her legs were tricky, the last part, but she managed. She leapt onto the asphalt and darted toward the child and the red, holy balloon.
She was so caught up, so excited that she failed to take heed of a hurtling car. As she crossed the street recklessly, she felt herself being pummeled in the side by a large moving object and yelped and then, she seemed to hear the blare of its horn. The tires screeched. It was all distant, too remote. She fell with a thud on the gravel and slid in the dust. There were screams and gasps around her, several people hurried to where she lay. She didn’t recognize them, none of them. Where was he? She wondered where her master was.
Then, she heard it: she heard those rhythmic footfalls, those comforting thumps, rough and hurried on the concrete. She wasn’t seeing, she couldn’t see, but she was aware. The sun was blinding hot above her and she saw a large shape, a dark shadow bend over, blocking the light. She didn’t see, but she knew who it was.
“Nelly…” Her master wept, huskily, to himself. “Nelly…” His tears fell on him, like soft warm kisses on her cheek. The world was fading, a moment ago it had been spinning, but now it faded. “Stay with me,” she heard, but couldn’t follow. Her master receded, into some other light, a white bright light and the pain in her side was gone. The last thing she felt – what really was a kiss on the side of her cheek – faded into darkness as well.


{WC:2749}