for us to lick. Mother stayed where she was, but Fast was as beguiled as I was, and stood next to me, his tail wagging.
“You are so cute. You hungry, babies? You hungry?”
We were parked in front of a long, flat dwelling, sparse desert grasses poking up between the truck’s tires. “Hey, Bobby!” one of the men yelled.
The response to his shout was astonishing. From behind the house came a chorus of loud barks, so many I couldn’t count the sources. Fast rose up on his back legs and put his paws on the side of the cage, as if that would somehow help him see better.
The racket continued as another man emerged from around the side of the house. He was brown and weathered, walking with a slight limp. The way the two other men stood grinning at him carried an air of expectation. When he saw us, he stopped in his tracks, his shoulders slumping.
“Oh no, senora. Not more dogs. We have too many now.” He radiated resignation and regret, but there was nothing angry in what I felt coming off him.
The woman turned and approached him. “We have two puppies, and their mother. They are maybe three months old. One of them got away, and one of them died.”
“Oh no.”
“The mother was feral, poor thing. She’s terrified.”
“You know what they told you the last time. We have too many dogs and they will not give us a license.”
“I don’t care.”
“But senora, we have no room.”
“Now Bobby, you know that’s not true. And what can we do, let them live as wild animals? They’re dogs, Bobby, little puppies, you see?” The woman turned back to the cage, and I wagged my tail to show her I had been paying rapt, if uncomprehending, attention.
“Yeah, Bobby, what’s another three more?” one of the grinning men asked.
“One of these days there will be no money to pay you; it will all go to dog food,” the man called Bobby replied. The men just shrugged, grinning.
“Carlos, I want you to take some fresh hamburger and go back out there to that creek. See if you can find the one that got away,” the woman said.
The man nodded, laughing at Bobby’s expression. I understood that the woman was in charge of this family of humans, and gave her another lick on the hand so she would like me best.
“Oh, you’re a good dog, a good dog,” she told me. I jumped up and down, my tail wagging so hard it whipped Fast in the face, who irritably blinked it off.
The one called Carlos smelled of spicy meat and exotic oils that I couldn’t identify. He reached in with a pole, snagging Mother, and Fast and I followed willingly as she was led around the side of the house to a large fence. The barking here was deafening, and I felt a slight flicker of fear—just what were we getting into?
Bobby’s scent had a citrus quality, oranges, as well as dirt, leather, and dogs. He opened the gate a little, blocking the way with his body. “Get back! Get back now; get back! Go on!” he urged. The barking lessened just a little, and when Bobby pulled the gate all the way open and Carlos thrust Mother forward it ceased completely.
I was so astounded by what greeted me, I didn’t even feel the foot in my back as Bobby pushed me inside the enclosure.
Dogs.
There were dogs everywhere. Several were as large as or even larger than Mother, and some were smaller, and all were milling freely around in a large enclosure, a huge yard surrounded by a high wooden fence. I scampered forward toward a knot of friendly-looking dogs not much older than myself, halting just as I got to them to pretend to be fascinated by something on the ground. The three dogs in front of me were all light colored and all females, so I seductively peed on a mound of dirt before joining them to sniff politely at their rear ends.
I was so happy at this turn of events I felt like barking, but Mother and Fast were not having as easy a time of it. Mother, in fact, was hunting along the perimeter of the fence, seeking a way out, her nose pressed to the ground. Fast had approached a group of males and now stood stiffly with them, his tail quivering, while each took a turn lifting a leg against a fence post.
One of the males moved to stand squarely in Fast’s path while another circled back to sniff him aggressively from the rear, and that’s when my poor brother folded. His butt sagged, and as he turned to face the male behind him his tail curved and slid up between his legs. I wasn’t at all surprised when, seconds later, he was on his back, squirming with a certain desperate playfulness. I guessed he was no longer the boss.
While all this was happening, another male, muscular and tall, his ears hanging long on the sides of his head, stood absolutely still in the center of the yard, watching Mother run around in desperate circumnavigation. Something told me that of all the dogs in the yard, this was the one to be careful of, and, sure enough, when he broke from his rigid stance and padded over toward the fence the dogs surrounding Fast stopped messing around and raised their heads alertly.
A dozen yards from the fence, the lone male broke into a full run, bearing down on Mom, who stopped, cringing. The male braced her with his shoulders, blocking her, his tail straight as an arrow. She let herself be sniffed up and down the length of her body, still crouched against the fence.
It was my impulse, and I am sure it was also Fast’s, to rush to her aid, but I somehow knew this would be wrong. This was the Top Dog, this male, a thick-boned mastiff with a brown face and dark, rheumy eyes. Mother’s submission was simply the natural order.
After his careful examination, Top Dog aimed an economical stream of urine against the fence, which Mother dutifully examined, and then he trotted off, paying her no more attention. Mother herself seemed deflated, and slid off unnoticed to hide behind a pile of railroad ties.
In due course, the pack of males came over to check me over as well, but I crouched low and licked them all in the face, letting them know in no uncertain terms that they’d have zero problems with me—it was my brother who
