I heard vibrations within the house as someone approached. My tail was wagging so hard I couldn’t sit down; it pulled my whole body back and forth. The light blinked on overhead, and the wooden door made a familiar scratching sound before it eased open. The man I’d seen sitting in the chair stood on the threshold, frowning down at me through the glass.
I scratched again at the metal; I wanted him to let me in so I could run in and be with the boy.
“Hey,” he said, his voice muffled by the closed door. “Stop that.”
I heard the rebuke and tried to sit obediently, but my butt bounced right back up.
“What do you want?” he asked finally. I heard the question in his voice, wondered what he was asking me.
Then I realized I didn’t have to wait for him to make up his mind—with the inner door open, the dog door was free. I lowered my head and pushed through the plastic curtain, bursting into the house.
“Hey!” the old man shouted, surprised.
I was surprised, too. The second I was in the house, I clearly smelled the person blocking my way. I knew who he was: I would recognize that scent anywhere.
Unmistakably Ethan.
I’d found the boy.
{ THIRTY }
Though Ethan was standing, I tried to leap into his lap. I lunged up, straining to lick him, nuzzle him, climb on him. I couldn’t stop the sobs coming from my throat; I couldn’t keep my tail from flying.
“Hey!” he said, backing away and blinking. He tried to steady himself on his cane, and then he sat down heavily on the floor. I jumped on him, licking his face. He pushed my mouth away. “Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “Stop it. Okay.”
The feel of his hands on my face was the most wonderful sensation I’d ever encountered in my life. I half- closed my eyes with the pleasure of it. “Get back now; get back,” he said.
The boy laboriously climbed back to his feet. I pressed my face into his hand, and he briefly stroked me. “Okay. Goodness. Who are you?” He snapped on another light, peering at me. “Whoa, you’re a skinny one. Doesn’t anybody feed you? Huh? Are you lost or something?”
I could sit there all night and just listen to his voice and feel his gaze on me, but it wasn’t to be. “Well, look, you can’t come inside.” He opened the outer door and held it. “Out now, go on outside.”
It was a command I recognized, so, reluctantly, I went. He stood and looked at me through the glass. I sat expectantly. “You’re going to have to go home, dog,” he said. I wagged. I knew I was “go home,” I was finally, finally “go home,” on the Farm where I belonged, with Ethan, where I belonged.
He shut the door.
I waited obediently until the strain was just too much and then yipped a bark full of impatience and frustration. When there was no response, I yipped again, giving the metal door a good pawing as well.
I’d lost count of how many times I’d barked when the door opened again. Ethan was carrying a metal pan, succulent odors wafting off of it. “Here,” he muttered. “You hungry, buddy?”
As soon as he set the pan down I dove into the dinner, bolting the food.
“It’s mostly lasagna. I don’t have much in the way of dog food around here. You look like you’re not fussy, though.”
I wagged.
“You can’t live here, though. I can’t have a dog; I don’t have time for it. You’re going to have to go home.”
I wagged.
“Good lord, when was the last time you ate? Don’t eat so fast; you’ll make yourself sick.”
I wagged.
When I was done, Ethan bent slowly down to pick up the pan. I licked his face. “Yuck, you have really bad breath, you know that?” He wiped his sleeve on his face and stood back up. I watched him, ready to do anything he wanted. Go for a walk? Go for a car ride? Play with the stupid flip? “Okay then. You go on home; dog like you obviously isn’t a mutt. Somebody must be looking for you. Okay? Good night.”
Ethan shut the door.
I sat there for a few minutes. When I barked, the light over my head went off with a click.
I went around to the small grassy hill by the side of the house and looked into the living room. Ethan was moving slowly across the floor, leaning on his cane, turning off one light after another.
My boy was so old, I never would have recognized him. But now that I knew it was him, the gait was familiar, if more stiff, and the way he turned his head and peered out into the night before snapping off the final lamp, ears cocked as if listening for something, was pure Ethan.
I was confused over being an outside dog, but the food in my belly and the exhaustion in my limbs soon overtook me and I curled up on the spot, tucking my nose near my tail even though the night was warm. I was home.
When Ethan came outside the next morning I shook myself off and ran over to him, trying to restrain myself from showering so much affection on him. He stared at me. “Why are you still here, huh, boy? What are you doing here?”
I followed him into the barn, where he let a horse I’d never seen before out into the yard. Naturally, the dumb
