The Travels of Zoe, the Wonder Dog
The story so far:
James Dunning worked for the Record for more than 20 years. When his job was eliminated, he and his wife were forced to move in with her mother, who is allergic to dogs. James had no choice but to leave his mostly blind lhasa apso, Zoe, at the shelter. He didn’t have the heart to do it in the daytime, so he brought Zoe there before dawn and tied her to the entry gate.
By Carrie Jacobson
Zoe listens as the car pulls away. She knows the sound, she’s heard it all her life. But usually, she’s inside when the car leaves. Now, she’s outside, but she’s in her little bed, and she has her leash and collar on, and so she curls up and falls asleep.
The night grows cold around her, and the chill awakens her. She hears noises she doesn’t know. A bird calls. Tree frogs make their noises. Something rustles in the bushes and Zoe is up now, and growling.
She’s been nearly blind for so long that she doesn’t even think about it any more. Day and night look pretty much the same. She can see big shapes, and she can see movement, and she can usually tell light spaces from dark ones. In these years, though, her hearing has sharpened, and her sense of smell has become acute, and now, she knows, there’s something out there.
She growls again, a low, throaty, vicious growl. Her chest swells and her muscles tighten. But what can she do, really, if something happens? She’s a blind 12-pound dog tied to a fence. If something comes at her, if something wants to hurt her, she doesn’t have a chance.
It begins to rain then, a cold, drenching rain that comes with the wind. It splatters on the rain, and on the concrete, and on the little dog tied to the fend. Zoe’s growl turns to a whimper. She listens hard, but whatever was rustling seems to have stopped, and so she curls into a tight ball and falls asleep again.
Hours later, she awakens with a start. The rain has stopped, and the clouds have cleared, and something is watching her.
The smallest of growls escapes her throat. She knows she should be quiet, but she’s scared. The hair on her neck stands up, and she stares into the darkness, and sniffs the air, pulling it into her lungs. She smells pine needles and dirt, and something that she thinks is a big animal. She smells rain. She smells things she’s never smelled before. She homes in on the big animal. Maybe it’s a coyote, or a fox. It has a strong smell.
Something rustles in the bushes, and she growls again, though she knows she should keep quiet. Something is staring at her. She can feel it. She can almost see an outline, something lighter than the woods. Something walking across the clearing. A smell getting stronger and stronger.
Zoe is trembling now, and growling, and pulling at the leash that’s tied to the fence. Pulling and pulling, but it doesn’t want to come loose. She can’t get free from the leash or the collar or the fence, and whatever it is, it’s coming closer, and she can smell it now, a rank stink, like it’s rolled in something dead.
She’s whining now, and growling, too, and shaking with terror. The thing eyes her and makes a huge, awful growling noise, and reaches one enormous paw toward her –
And out of nowhere comes a barking, baying, snarling bolt of red dog. It launches itself at the monster, biting and growling, gnashing out with its teeth, and the coyote – for that’s what it was – backs up and backs up again and then turns and runs into the woods.
The huge red dog stands there then, panting, and then looks at Zoe, and for a moment, Zoe is sure that this is the end. But then the dog wags her big, feathery tail, and Zoe knows she’s been saved.
Carrie can be reached at carrie@zestoforange.com
Tags: Carrie Jacobson
