Nobody's Dog (4 page)

“Over there.” I motion out on the water.

The head bobs, and then I see it's got a snout. A seal.

The dog sniffs the air, staring at the seal too. He leans a little over the edge.

“Whoa, don't fall in,” I say. I put my hand on his back, the coarse fur on top. It's cool on my skin, but underneath, the soft fur is warm. I wish we could just stand there together, but after a minute he jumps down again. He felt so solid.

I look back at the way we've come. From here I can see all the way up the hill — the main street with lights along it and houses on both sides. Some have lights on but most
don't. I try to figure out where mine would be. I'm getting a little cold standing still, even with my hoodie on. I stick my hands in my pockets.

The dog trots back up the pier. I've never had so many questions for something that can't answer me. Where does he live? Is he a stray? He looks pretty well cared for and well-fed. Does he have nice owners who are looking for him right now? How is he going to find his way home?

We walk back up the hill, sort of in the direction of my house. My watch says 1:52. This dog must have super strength and never need to sleep. He walks with his tail flagging the air, and even though he's got almost no pee left, he still lifts his leg and lets a tiny dribble come out.

“Where to now?” I ask. I'm not ready to go home, but a place to sit and rest would be nice. And I could handle a sandwich or something. My stomach growls.

I sit on some steps leading to an apartment building.

A car drives by with really loud rap blaring and someone yells out of the window at us. A hoarse voice carries through the air above the thumping bass: “Hey, kid — does your mommy know you're not in bed?” It has the opposite effect on J than it would on me. J yells back, “Does your mother know you're a pathetic loser?” I yell even after they've turned the corner. It feels so good to fill my lungs with breath and spit out words like that.

The dog stops scratching his ear and looks at me. His eyes are orangey brown in the streetlight.

“That's how it's done,” I say to him. “See that? No more boring, invisible Jakob!”

“Hey!”

I jump up.

Someone's leaning out of an apartment window. A man
with no shirt on. “Keep it down, kid. Go home and act crazy there.”

I take a step to leave, but J comes roaring back. “It's a free world!” I yell.

He holds out his phone. “Oh yeah? There's cops around here who'll tell you different. Want me to call them?”

“Uh, no thanks!” I say, and sprint up the street, the dog at my heels. I think we both got a kick out of that.

I can't believe J just did that — and got away with it. I feel light, lighter than air. I never want to go home.

The dog takes a left onto Sixth Street and sniffs around in the bushes. He comes out chomping something, probably garbage from someone's patio, but it reminds me that I'm starving.

I head down the street in the direction of my house, and the dog comes too, but after a block he wants to cross the street.

“I'm this way,” I say, pointing. “I'm going to grab some food. You know food? Treats?”

His ears prick up. He knows treats.

I have to be careful around our house. Even though it's two in the morning, anyone could be looking out their windows. If it was me, I'd keep the dog away, go home and call it a lucky, awesome night, but J pushes the gate open and lets the dog into the backyard. The dog bounds around the dry grass, his tail flying, and I grab him in case Soleil's awake.

I start for the stairs. The dog sees where I'm going and tries to get up there first, but I hold him by the shoulders. He's got a lot of muscle under that coat. Reminds me that he's an animal, a wolf cousin. And I don't know him that well. He looks up at me.

“Your claws will make too much noise on the floor,” I whisper. “You can't come in — someone might hear you.”

I look around for something to tie him up with. Since he's not wearing a collar, I'll need something pretty long. In a bucket under the deck, I find the rope Aunt Laura uses as a laundry line. I tie it around his neck and then around the railing of the stairs. He pulls a little but it holds.

“Stay there for a minute. I'll be back.” I tiptoe up the stairs and unlock the door. The dog looks up at me with his fuzzy triangle ears pointing to the sky. He stays.

Inside I grab a granola bar and look for something to give him. I settle on cheese, since the only other thing is bacon, and it's raw and Aunt Laura would definitely be suspicious if uncooked bacon disappeared in the middle of the night. Maybe I'll buy a bag of dog treats and keep it in my room in case the dog comes back. I've already decided he will.

I sneak back outside and feed him his treat. He gobbles it down without even chewing it and sniffs for more. I eat my granola bar sitting on the first step with his eyes following my every move. He's almost as tall standing up as I am sitting down. He sniffs my hands for granola crumbs. His nose is cold and wet and his whiskers tickle my palm. The tips of his ears are like puppy fur. He lets me pet them for a moment. I get the feeling he doesn't let everyone do that.

Then a light comes on behind me in a window under the deck. My heart skids to a stop and I dive off the stairs, pulling the dog with me, out of view. Shielded by the pile of junk under the deck, I squint at the little square of window I can see between a watering can and a stack of wood. Soleil moves around the kitchen with a teapot. What is she doing up at this hour? I realize I'm gripping the laundry rope around the dog's neck and let it go a little. The dog tries to get
up and I whisper to him, “Just stay for a second — if she sees you we'll be dead!”

Soleil glances at something on the windowsill. She grabs the phone and dials. Finally she leaves the kitchen and I decide it's our time to make a move — who knows when she'll be back.

I squat beside the dog and untie him. “We've got to get out of here. You have to follow me, okay?”

The dog doesn't need any convincing. He leaps when I let him go and we race across the yard toward the gate, except he gets there way before I do, and just as I reach to pull the gate closed behind me, Soleil's door opens.

“Jakob?”

I freeze with my back to the voice, watching the dog, safe on the street, watching me. He waits to see if I'm coming. I motion for him to go, get out of here. There's no saving me now. I turn.

“Jakob, what are you doing?” It's not Soleil. Libby stands in the doorway in yellow pyjamas and a black sweater.

My mind races. Think: what am I doing?

She pushes the hair out of her face, looking half asleep. “I thought I saw something in the backyard. Why are you out here?”

“What are
you
doing up?” I say before I can stop J from speaking. But it buys me some thinking time.

She looks surprised. “I couldn't sleep. Mom's making tea and we're watching TV. What about you?”

J has the words ready just in time. “I saw something out here. I think it was a raccoon. I came out to see — it went through the gate.” I point, hoping the dog is long gone.

Libby pulls her sweater tighter and closes the door behind her. “Is that what it was?”

“Yup.” I close the gate, glancing to the street, and there's no sign of the dog.

Libby looks suspicious. “How could you see a raccoon in the back yard from your bedroom? Your window faces the street, like mine.”

I walk slowly toward the stairs, trying to look insulted. “I heard it. Didn't you? You think I'm lying?”

She leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms. “Uh huh.”

I have no idea what she'll say next. I just want to get upstairs and inside. “What do you know? I've heard raccoons before. I know what they sound like.”

Libby gives me a long stare. “You think I'm stupid.”

Maybe it would have been easier if Soleil had seen me. “No, I never said that.”

“You were doing something else, I know it. You were running away.”

I hold out my hands and at least I can be honest about this. “No way, Libby. I was not running away.” At least, not running far.

She doesn't look like she buys it.

“Look, I don't care if you believe me. I saw what I saw.”

She lifts her chin. “Heard, you mean.”

“Heard too. Man, you're like a bloodhound.” This is the most I've ever heard her say. I take another step and hope she's getting the hint to go back inside.

“Jakob?”

“Yeah?” I turn.

She's standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding the noose on the end of the laundry rope that minutes ago was around the dog's neck. She gathers it and throws it back into the bucket. “Goodnight.”

The next day I'm lying on a towel in the backyard after lunch, reading an X-Men comic for the twentieth time, when Soleil comes out of the suite. She's wearing a red dress and pointy shoes and her hair is wavy. She's got a weird work schedule I can't figure out, and considering she's a dog groomer, she has a weird uniform too. But I'm not complaining.

“Hey, J-man,” she says and hunches down beside me in the grass. “Whatcha reading?”

I flip the cover over so she can see.

“Hmm. Looks violent. Lots of blood and gore?”

I lean on my elbow. “Nah. It's kind of boring. I've read it a million times.”

“I bet you're a super-fast reader.”

I shrug, thinking she means because I have nothing better to do. “You got an audition?”

“Job interview,” she says. “I'm looking for something better than the dog groomer's. There's only so much shampoo and nail clipping one can take.” She smiles down at me.

“Where's Libby?”

Soleil's eyebrows go up. “Well, since you asked, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

I sit up, worried. “It is?”

“There's been some, uh, problems with Libby's summer camp.” She waves her hand. “Stuff I won't bore you with — but today is her last day there. I'm letting her stay home for a while.”

“I could have told you camps were trouble,” I say, though I'm curious what the “problems” are.

“Yeah, well it's not Libby, I can tell you that. Some people's kids …” She looks over the fence at something.

I wait, not sure what to say next.

“Anyway.” She shakes her head. “I already talked with Laura, but I wanted to ask you before I said anything to Libby. Could she hang out with you? Only for a little while, maybe a week or two at the most. It would help me out so much, J-man.”

No. No way. I will not babysit a kid who got kicked out of a lame art camp and who might have evidence against me. I stare at the grass, trying to think of a way to let her down.

“J-man, I'm really counting on you. Libby likes you, I can tell, and I'd rather not leave her alone. It's just until I get things sorted out with work.”

“I don't know,” I mumble.

“Look, I know it's not ideal, but I trust you. I know you're a responsible kid.”

“I don't babysit,” I say, lying back down on my stomach.

“That's fine — you don't need to babysit her, she's twelve. You're just hanging out.”

A thought comes into my head. I look up at Soleil. She's got a desperate look on her face.

“But say I was sort of babysitting. I'd be getting, you know, money.” The instant I say it, I feel bad, knowing she's looking for a job.

Soleil looks over the fence again. “You're right. Of course.”

“It's just, I mean —” I don't know what I mean. I wish she'd leave and I could go back to my comic like nothing happened.

“I can't afford a lot, Jakob, but how's thirty bucks for a week, starting tomorrow?”

I stop mumbling. I could have enough money to adopt a dog by the end of the summer. And I'll be showing more responsibility.

“Sure,” I say. “ I'll do it.”

A few hours later I find out how Libby feels about this new arrangement.

“This sucks, Mom!” I hear her shout downstairs. Their windows are open, like ours, because it's so hot. I had no idea Libby even had a loud setting.

Soleil says something I can't make out.

“But he doesn't like me. He thinks I'm a loser.”

“No, he doesn't. I'm sure he thinks you're wonderful.”

“Not wonderful, Mom. And I don't need to be babysat.”

“It's not babysitting,” Soleil says.

I lean out my window to hear better.

“Are you paying him?” Libby asks.

“That's not the point. You can't go back to camp and I can't leave you alone. That's the end of it.”

“
He
stays alone all day. Why can't I?”

“Doesn't it seem a little silly to have both of you alone but in the same house? Libby, there is no negotiation here.”

“I can't believe this.” A door slams. Her bedroom door.

“Lib.”

I can hear Soleil knocking on the door. “Lib, open up. I just don't want it to be like last time, okay? I'm trying to
protect you.”

I don't hear the door open and Soleil doesn't say anything else.

The shriek of my alarm makes me bolt out of sleep. Midnight. I slam the snooze button and look out the window. The dog's not there.

I stand with my head out of the window for twenty minutes, listening to every little sound on the street. A few cars drive by. A cat screeches behind someone's house. A waft of skunk hits my nose and makes me want to gag. Maybe the cat got
sprayed. You have to watch it around here with skunks.

Twenty-five minutes and the dog still hasn't shown up. I start to get the feeling he's not coming. Maybe he roams a different place every night. Maybe he got locked inside. Then a thought hits me: maybe he got picked up by the pound. I think about turning on my computer to look up the pound's number, but just then I see a shape moving on the other side of the street.

It's him.

My chest tightens as I hold my breath — a flash of memory runs across my brain so fast I can't chase it. This dog definitely triggers something. I scramble for my hoodie. J is back and ready to go.

The air is a little cooler than last night so I'm glad I brought a tuque. I sneak behind the neighbours' bushes so there's less chance to be seen. The dog waits on the sidewalk, his tail wagging. It's a bigger wag than last time and I take that to mean he remembers last night. It's almost like he's picked me — I'm the winner.

“Good to see you too,” I say, and squat down beside him. He comes close and sniffs my hand. I stroke his back, feel the layers of thick fur. He lets me pet him for a minute but then he trots away, like he's saying,
Come on, let's get out of here
.

Then I notice a collar around his neck. “Hey, wait,” I say. “Let me see that.”

The dog stops and watches me. His ears are up in listening position.

He stays and I grab the band, looking for a tag. There's a blue plastic circle with a name printed on it and a phone number:
Chilko 554-9850
.

Chilko. My hands freeze.

The dog tugs to get away and keeps going down the road, looking back to see if I'm coming. This is the dog from the blue stickie — I know it. How many dogs are named Chilko?

My mind races. He must live close — maybe even down the street. The owner on the phone said they just moved to town. I haven't noticed any moving vans or for sale signs around here.

But should I take him, knowing that he's escaped from his owner's yard? Of course, J says. He's here to roam. It's his owner's fault that he got out in the first place.

The dog — Chilko — is waiting by a driveway. Finally my feet wake up and I start walking. Then I start jogging. Chilko thinks it's a game and takes off at full speed ahead of me. I pull into a run and it feels good. Chilko paces me, almost smiling.

It's all laid out for us. Tonight we're going to search for the place I see every night in my head. Who knows — maybe Chilko's even the key to unlocking my memory. I won't wake up with that helpless, disappointed feeling because I'm out looking for real. And even though I still don't know what I'm looking for, if I look hard enough, I might just find it. We break into a sprint and launch off the curb into the empty street.

After a while, running gets sweaty and tiring, so we walk. Toward the water again, but the way we get there is new. Chilko wants to take some back alleys. We get off the main road and onto a gravel lane behind a bunch of houses. It's not illegal or trespassing, but I feel a little strange walking past people's old cars and garbage cans and stacks of newspapers. It's all the stuff you don't see from the front,
the personal stuff. J thinks it's pretty cool to check out people's secrets. Only here it's in the open, spread out like a garage sale. Chilko trots ahead, sniffing and peeing on telephone poles, trees, bushes and even car tires. I look into every yard to see if there are lights on in the houses. A few are, but no one looks out at us. I'm glad I wore my grey hoodie for camouflage.

Suddenly there's a scratching sound and a cat launches past me in the other direction. Chilko's seen it and charges back, his legs blurring underneath him. I had no idea he could run so fast. The cat shoots into a small hole in the side of a garage and Chilko gets there a second too late — and rams into the garage. The whole thing shudders. He looks a little startled, and walks away unsteadily. He glances at me proudly as he trots by, his tail high and waving.

After I'm done laughing, I look around to make sure no one's coming out to check on the noise, but everything's still. I follow Chilko out of the alley and onto Third Street.

As he checks out everything for new smells, I try to find Sirius. First I have to find Canis Major, the big dog, and after a few minutes, I think I have. My dad could always point them out way before I found them.
Years of obsession
, he said.
It's like rereading my favourite book
. The constellation doesn't look like a dog at all, but Dad said most of them don't really look like their names. You have to draw lines between the stars to get why they were called the hunter or big bear. And even then, it's hard to see the shape.

We cross another street, into an area I've never explored before. Chilko takes a left to follow a good smell. I call to him and he turns his head. But then he keeps going.

That's when a cop car pulls around the corner. I duck behind a hedge. The car moves in slow motion, riding
along the curb behind Chilko, and he doesn't notice, just keeps on sniffing. I hope the hedge hides me enough, then call him loudly, but the cop is getting out of the car and Chilko's seen him. He thinks the cop's friendly.

I hold my breath as the cop leans down and pets Chilko, gets a tail-wag. Then he grabs Chilko's collar and looks at the tag — pulls out his phone and starts dialling.

I don't think — just scramble out of the hedge and make as much noise as I can, waving my hands and calling Chilko's name. He strains at the cop's grip, and the cop is surprised enough to let go.

“Hey — is that your dog? Wait!” he yells, starting to run after Chilko. “Do you live here? Stop!”

I don't stop. Chilko reaches me and we sprint together down the sidewalk, turn the corner, not looking back. I hear the cop rev his engine and drive after us, but we take a left and double back into an alley. I scan the dumpsters and parked cars for a place to hide. Chilko runs ahead, loving the game. “In here,” I tell him, and we duck into a garage that stinks like pee and rotten food. My hand touches something sticky.

Tires crunch gravel as the cop car slowly drives past us. The guy's on the radio, answering a crackling voice. I press myself into the concrete and try not to think about the sticky stuff I'm covered in. Chilko shifts beside me, his ears forward. I reach for his shoulder in case I need to hold him back. Touching his fur makes everything a little less crazy.

Suddenly blue and red lights flash into the garage — blue-red, blue-red — and then the tires squeal and the cop car spins out of the alley, turning on its siren as it takes the corner. Chilko moans, then breaks into a howl as the siren fades.

“Bad timing,” I whisper, waving my hand in his face. “We're trying to hide here.”

He closes his mouth, swallowing the sound, then gets up to explore the garage.

I sit in my sticky spot for a few minutes, just trying to breathe normally as Chilko sniffs around the dumpsters.

I step out and look at my hand — brown goopy slime coats it. I can't bring myself to smell it, but from here it looks like nothing I want on my body. Got to find some grass to wipe it on.

When my hand is mostly clean, I straighten up and look around. The neighbourhood is quiet. I strain to listen for a far-off siren, anything. We're alone. We got away.

J rises up, filling my head with his roar. I jump in the air, making Chilko bounce on his feet, not sure what kind of game this is. We escaped a cop. It was
so close
. Grant won't believe me when I tell him. I'm too excited to think about a plan, so we walk farther from the alley and I try to take deep breaths. My hands shake so much I have to put them in my pockets. Chilko trots along like nothing happened. Just another adventure.

I replay the whole scene over and over and by the time I check the next street sign, I realize we're far from where I thought we were. Cygnet Street. The name sounds familiar but I don't know why. Big, dark houses. Lines of parked cars. I look up to find Sirius, and it's in the same spot, as if we haven't moved at all. The sky's so big that we basically haven't.

Something's nudging me about the street name. Cygnet. I close my eyes.
That's a constellation, Jakob
. My dad's voice pulls me back. I'm in the car, he's driving, Mom's in the passenger seat. We're going on Christmas vacation.
Cygnus
is the swan
, Dad said as he turned this corner, on this exact street.
It's easier to see in the summer. We can look for it when we go camping in July
. I wasn't really listening — I'd heard it all before. He said it had another name too, something about a cross. I stare at the street sign, then up in the sky. I don't even know what Cygnus looks like. I'll never find it just standing here.