Mountain Dog (6 page)

who follows close behind me, paying his own special

human attention, with eyes and mind instead of a smart,

twitching nose.

At the end of our practice search, all three of us

know that we've done our best seeking

and hiding.

 

13

TONY THE BOY

LOSER

I would hide in the wilderness

forever if it meant avoiding

prison visits.

Mom's arms

are crisscrossed

by new tattoos

of paw prints.

As long as I can remember,

she's always had a few

dark blue designs

on her skin

but now there's a mark

for each fighting pit bull

that ever won a battle

and a teardrop

for each dog

that lost

its life.

Does she actually care

about the dogs that lost fights?

She used to call them losers,

the same name she gave me

each time

I tried

to turn away

from the sight

of blood.

I hate visiting the prison,

but each time Tío assures me

that I don't have to go, I always

decide to give Mom

one more chance.

I don't have much to say

when she chatters

on and on

about all her new

prison friends.

I don't even want her to know

Gracie's name.

Or Gabe's.

I come away from those visits

feeling like such a loser.

If I turned into a tattoo

on Mom's face,

I'd be

a teardrop.

 

14

GABE THE DOG

BOY TRAINING

How do I train a boy? I try to show him

how to be joyful just walking and running

and chasing

roundness

but each time Tony goes back down

to the flatlands

he comes home smelling

like sorrow.

 

15

TONY THE BOY

LONELY SMELLS

Prison visits are getting harder,

but helping Tío and Gabe solve

their search-and-rescue mysteries

has given me a new way to face

the mysterious side of math.

Compared with trying to figure out

how Mom's weird mind works,

school is almost easy.

Numbers aren't always scary anymore.

They don't have to remind me

of mean men betting

bad money

at dogfights.

I understand some types of problems,

if I go slow and count trees or rocks

instead of fangs

and claws.

Gabe tries to cure my worries

with demands. He needs attention.

I throw a tennis ball so many times

that my shoulder gets sore.

Then he wants to swim, dive, plunge,

paddle, drip, and shake.

All Labs love water.

Gabe swims like a dolphin.

I don't.

I'm terrified of depths. No one ever

taught me how to laugh when I splash,

so I sit on a creek bank while Gabe

plays in the water, begging me

to join him, begging me to leave

my safe shore.

Heart dry.

Mind dusty.

Over and over, I promise Gabe

that someday, somehow, I'll learn

how to swim with him so we can be

happy

together.

Back in the cabin, when the phone rings,

I'm secretly glad that it's a call-out

for a search. I know I shouldn't be glad

that a stranger is lost, but I need a chance

to show my uncle

that I can be trusted

to stay at base camp.

This time, the subject of the search

is a sad old man

who drove uphill,

far away from his room

in a nursing home.

He parked at a wilderness trailhead

and started walking away from his life.

A couple of Italian thru-hikers saw him

when he got out of his car,

so the driver's-side seat

is the place last seen.

Gabe is on a long leash, working

as a trailing dog. He sniffs the dusty

upholstery, inhaling the old man's

hospital scent, a mixture

of skin, soap, and medicine,

along with invisible clues

that only a dog's nose can detect—

adrenaline from excitement or fear,

and probably all sorts

of mysterious chemicals

produced by loneliness

and confusion.

Gabe matches the smell on the seat

to the only footprints

on this rugged trail

that were made by soft

bedroom slippers

instead of steel-toed

hiking boots.

I've learned to wait.

Hiding in the woods has made me

patient. Visiting Mom has helped me

want to help others—the people who

are willing to be helped.

I know I can be useful to Tío

by obeying his command to stay

at base camp, which, as usual,

is a sheriff's van and a table where B.B.

is in charge of deciding which

dog teams, horse teams, ATVs,

and ground pounders

will search the areas

not covered by Gabe.

Gracie chatters, but I hardly listen,

because I'm trying so hard

to imagine what it must be like

for Tío

out there

in the forest

where the old man

is lost.

Where does he find

his Rescue Beast courage?

When I'm his age, will I know

how to search?

I wait for hours.

By the time Gabe finds the old man,

he's hungry, dehydrated, weak,

and grateful.

He thought he wanted to die

alone in the woods, but now he's glad

to be alive and surrounded

by people who care.

I'm happy for him, but I'm also

happy for myself. In a small, quiet,

satisfying way, by hiding out in the woods

during training, I helped teach SAR dogs

how to save lives.

I also proved that I'm trustworthy.

Tío ruffles my hair with his hand,

and I grin when I imagine

that if Gabe could praise me,

he would probably shout,

Good human!

Instead, he rewards me

with a ball-chasing game

and the warm, brown

roundness

of his wise, happy

dog eyes.

 

16

GABE THE DOG

SNIFFING SCHOOL

I search for the sad-scented old man.

I find him.

I win!

Now Tony wants to learn all my search games, so I show him how my Leo teaches agility—

crawl through tunnels

climb up ladders

leap onto a seesaw

while

it

moves

balance on a long, narrow beam      don't fall but

if you do tumble    don't  be  afraid    to  try  again

and     again     and     again.

I can teach obedience, too:

Come! Sit! Stay! Down! Heel (always on the left).

I also share what I know about NO.

NO chasing squirrels.

NO chasing rabbits.

NO chasing deer.

NO chewing boots.

Finally, I teach Tony to see how I get along

with other dogs, and I'm not afraid to jump

right into a roaring, whirling HELO, the helicopter

that takes me to other mountains

for faraway search games …

and when I'm through teaching

all that I know

about work-play

it's time to show the boy

how we can both

lie down and curl up

and rest.

 

17

TONY THE BOY

INSECT MATH

There are so many ways

to get lost. Each search is a surprise.

One day, an experienced outdoorsman

goes hiking alone, and when he doesn't

come home, his wife calls 911,

and the sheriff calls Tío.

By the time Gabe finds him,

he's feverish, his legs broken

and infected from a fall.

The next week, a teenage girl

separates from her friends,

promising to meet them

at the far edge

of a rocky slope.

She's hiking with flip-flops

instead of boots.

A tank top and shorts.

No jacket, no warmth.

She suffers hours of terror

all night, and then a swift burst

of relief

when Gabe finally appears,

collar bell rattling,

orange vest glowing.…

Tío runs close behind Gabe,

offering the cold girl

a space blanket,

silvery and magical

like moonlight.

Panic. It's the topic of my next

online article. A lost person often

runs in circles, following the same

frantic pattern

over and over,

like an orbit around a planet

of hope.

Both Gracie and our teacher

love the article. They tell me

I've learned so much!

It's true. Gabe has helped me discover

new things each day. Dog truths.

People truths, too.

For instance,

there's this one

really great

prison visit,

the biggest surprise

of my new life,

because I never expected

to be able to smile

on the other side

of that heavy gate.

Mom looks cheerful,

and she acts

gentle.

Her hair is supershort.

She tells me she volunteered

to cut it and donate it to Wigs

for Kids with Cancer.

She's also started volunteering

to read books out loud

in a quiet room

with an easy chair

beside a red rose

in a blue vase.

She says that little room

is the only peaceful place

in the entire prison.

She describes the way her calm,

soothing voice

is recorded to make

listening books

for blind children.

She tells me that generous

volunteer projects

will help her get early parole,

and a new career helping people

instead of hurting dogs.

At first, I just feel amazed,

then hopeful, and finally,

so excited that I'm able to relax

and share a happy picnic with Mom

on the same sunny lawn

where women with incense

are singing.

That one good visit

feels like a joyful dream

until the next time, when

she doesn't even

show up and the social worker

warns me that Mom is fighting again,

insulting other prisoners,

hitting, hurting,

and getting

hurt.

I'm ferociously disappointed,

but I struggle fiercely

to concentrate on
now
instead of

the future
. I try to pay attention.

Even in math. Tío helps me

with the numbers. It's the first time

anyone has ever looked

at my homework.

When you put Tío and math

together, you end up

way out in the wild forest.

I learn how to estimate

the temperature of soil

at a 6-inch depth

by counting beats

per minute

in the song

of a cricket.

Fast insect music

means the earth is warm.

Slow bug songs come only

on long, cold cricket nights.

Tío also shows me how to count

the age of a giant sequoia tree's

charred stump. Rings of growth

from ancient times. Wide rings

for spring, narrow ones

for summer

or drought years.

We punch mapping coordinates

into a GPS gadget, but it only works

if you're out in the open, with a clear path

to a satellite orbiting in space. The GPS

won't work if you hold it in a dark,

shadowy forest

where modern science

can't find you.

All the outdoor math lessons

are helping, and I'm really hoping

to get good grades. The semester's

almost over, and I can hardly wait

for summer, even though

it's going to be weird.

I'll have to spend weekdays

with B.B. while Tío is away at work

in distant campgrounds.

Luckily, loud Gracie won't be around

to make me feel

small.

She'll be far away, in India, visiting

her parents and the elephants.

I imagine she'll spend half her time

making elephant Popsicles

and the rest just trying to figure out

ways to come back bragging

about traveling so much farther

than prison.

B.B. is excited. She tells me

she's planning activities for me.

Sports, crafts, swimming lessons,

and bear whispering.…

Bear whispering? Bear whispering!

If only summer wasn't still two whole

seven-day weeks away! Math tests

are making me 50 percent crazy.

No cricket music or tree rings,

just the speed of airplanes

and other really hard word problems

that send 99 percent of my mind

flying away

flying into daydreams

about reaching

summertime

and the end

of tests.

My final-exam grade is a C.

Average! For the first time

in my entire life,

I haven't