hold in its eagerness to lick his face. He laughed and ruffled its tangled coat.
The retriever’s friskiness and the frenzied wagging of its tail had an
unexpected effect on Travis. For a long time his mind had been a dark place,
filled with thoughts of death, culminating in today’s journey. But this animal’s
unadulterated joy in being alive was like a spotlight that pierced Travis’s
inner gloom and reminded him that life had a brighter side from which he had
long ago turned away.
“What was that all about back there?” he wondered aloud.
The dog stopped licking him, stopped wagging its matted tail. It regarded him
solemnly, and he was suddenly transfixed by the animal’s gentle, warm brown
eyes. Something in them was unusual, compelling. Travis was half-mesmerized, and
the dog seemed equally captivated. As a mild spring breeze rose from the south,
Travis searched the dog’s eyes for a clue to their special Power and appeal, but
he saw nothing extraordinary about them. Except. . . well, they seemed somehow
more expressive than a dog’s eyes usually were, more intelligent and aware.
Given the short attention span of any dog, the retriever’s unwavering stare was
damned unusual. As the seconds ticked past and as neither Travis nor the dog
broke the encounter, he felt
increasingly peculiar. A shiver rippled through him, occasioned not by fear but
by a sense that something uncanny was happening, that he was teetering on the
threshold of an awesome revelation.
Then the dog shook its head and licked Travis’s hand, and the spell was broken.
“Where’d you come from, boy?”
The dog cocked its head to the left.
“Who’s your owner?”
The dog cocked its head to the right.
“What should I do with you?”
As if in answer, the dog jumped over the truck’s tailgate, ran past Travis to
the driver’s door, and climbed into the pickup’s cab.
When Travis peered inside, the retriever was in the passenger’s seat, looking
straight ahead through the windshield. It turned to him and issued a soft woof,
as if impatient with his dawdling.
He got in behind the wheel, tucked the revolver under his seat. “Don’t believe I
can take care of you. Too much responsibility, fella. Doesn’t fit in with my
plans. Sorry about that.”
The dog regarded him beseechingly.
“You look hungry, boy.”
It woofed once, softly.
“Okay, maybe I can help you that much. I think there’s a Hershey’s bar in the
glove compartment . . . and there’s a McDonald’s not far from here, where
they’ve probably got a couple hamburgers with your name on them. But after that
. . . well, I’ll either have to let you loose again or take you to the pound.”
Even as Travis was speaking, the dog raised one foreleg and hit the
glove-compartment release button with a paw. The lid fell open.
“What the hell—”
The dog leaned forward, put its snout into the open box, and withdrew the candy
in its teeth, holding the bar so lightly that the wrapping was not punctured.
Travis blinked in surprise.
The retriever held forth the Hershey’s bar, as if requesting that Travis unwrap
the treat.
Startled, he took the candy and peeled off the paper.
The retriever watched, licking its lips.
Breaking the bar into pieces, Travis paid out the chocolate in morsels. The dog
took them gratefully and ate almost daintily.
Travis watched in confusion, not certain if what had happened was truly
extraordinary or had a reasonable explanation. Had the dog actually understood
him when he had said there was candy in the glove box? Or had it detected the
scent of chocolate? Surely the latter.
To the dog, he said, “But how did you know to press the button to pop the lid
open?”
It stared, licked its chops, and accepted another bit of candy.
He said, “Okay, okay, so maybe that’s a trick you’ve been taught. Though it’s
not the sort of thing anyone would ordinarily train a dog to do, is it? Roll
over, play dead, sing for your supper, even walk on your hind feet a little ways
. . . yeah, those’re things that dogs are trained to do . . . but they’re not