Bailey's Story (4 page)

A day came when we played Dog Door a lot. That night, I realized that my legs had grown long enough for me to hop up on Ethan's bed all by myself. That was a good thing, because the nights were starting to get cooler. I liked the fact that, anytime I wanted, I could get up on that bed and curl up right next to my boy's warmth.

The boy loved me. I loved him. From the second we woke up until the moment we fell asleep, we were together.

And then everything changed.

*   *   *

The morning after the day we had played Dog Door so much, the boy was up early, not long after sunrise. Mom was running in and out of various rooms. Everybody seemed excited. I stayed right at Ethan's heels, excited, too. What were we going to be doing together?

“Take care of Bailey!” Mom called at one point. Smokey the cat glanced down at me from where he was sitting on the counter. It was so unfair that he could get up there where all the good food smells were, and I couldn't. I gave my new chew toy a good shake just to show him that I didn't care.

“Bailey!” the boy called out, and I heard a funny thumping noise. So I went to investigate. He was dragging my dog bed down the stairs. Why was he doing that? Did he need my help? He carried the bed out to the garage, and I followed him.

“Dog door,” the boy said to me.

I sniffed his pockets. I couldn't smell any biscuits. What would be the point of playing Dog Door without biscuits? I turned away and started to lift my leg on a bicycle instead.

“Bailey!” There was impatience in the boy's voice, and I remembered how funny all the people in my family seemed to get about perfectly normal things like marking territory with a little urine. I lowered my leg and turned to look at him.

“You sleep here, okay, Bailey?” Ethan said. “You be a good dog. If you need to go to the bathroom, you go out the dog door, okay? Dog door, Bailey. I have to go to school now. Okay? I love you, Bailey.”

Ethan gave me a hug and a good scratch under the collar. I licked his ear and his nose. When he headed back inside the house, of course I followed him. But at the door that led into the kitchen, he stopped and shook his head.

“No, Bailey, you stay in the garage until I get home. Dog door, okay, Bailey? You be a good dog.”

And he shut the door in my face!

My boy actually did that! He walked through the door and shut it, so that I was on one side of it and he was on the other. And what were all those words he'd said to me? “Stay”? “Dog door”? “Good dog”? How were those connected? Was there something he wanted me to do so that he could give me a biscuit? Which one was Stay, again?

And where had my boy gone? Why would he go anywhere without me?

None of this made any sense at all! I sniffed around the garage. The smells were interesting, different from the ones inside the house, but I wasn't in the mood to explore. I wanted my boy! I barked. The door to the house stayed shut tight. I scratched it. Still nothing.

I heard some children yelling from the front of the house and ran to the big garage door, hoping it would lift up. Sometimes it did that, and then Dad or Mom drove a car in or out. But that didn't happen this time. The big door stayed firmly down.

A loud truck of some kind swept up the voices of the children and carried them away. A few minutes later I heard Mom's car drive off. And then the world, which had been so full of life and fun and noise, became quiet. Horribly quiet.

I barked for a while. Surely someone would hear me and realize that I had been shut in the garage and come to get me out!

Nobody did, though. My barking didn't make anything happen at all.

I sniffed around the door to the house. I could smell Smokey on the other side of it, and I was sure he was happy that he was there and I was here.

I scratched the door. I chewed on some old shoes I found in a corner. I ripped up my dog bed. I found a black plastic bag, tied shut, full of clothing. I got my teeth into that, too, ripped it open, and scattered the clothes around the garage. I peed in one corner and pooped in another. I tipped over a big metal container that smelled wonderful, and inside it I found a few pieces of chicken and some spaghetti and half a waffle. I took care of all that, and I licked out a can of fish that smelled like Smokey's breath. I ate some paper. I knocked over my water dish and chewed on it.

There was nothing to do.

When were the people coming back? Where was my boy? Now that I'd found the boy and figured out that my job was to be near him, how could he go away and leave me? When I'd gotten myself out of the big yard and gone into the world, looking for what I needed, I'd never imagined this.

Would I be alone forever?

 

5

After the longest day of my entire life, I heard Mom's car pull into the driveway. Her car door slammed, and I heard running feet pound through the house.

“Bailey!” the boy shouted, and the door to the garage flew open.

I tackled Ethan, overjoyed. He was back! He'd come to save me! We fell onto the floor of the kitchen together. But he pushed me away while I was busy licking his face and snuffling up all the unfamiliar smells on his clothing. He got to his feet again and looked into the garage.

“Oh, Bailey,” he said, sounding sad.

Why on earth was he sad when we were finally together again? It was so exciting! I tore past him and skittered into the house, leaping over the furniture. I spotted Smokey and chased him up the stairs, barking when he dove under Mom and Dad's bed. I dashed back down the stairs to Ethan again, my tail beating the air.

Mom was standing next to Ethan now, and they were both looking through the door into the garage.

“Bailey! Quiet down!” Mom called sternly.

“Bad dog, Bailey,” the boy said crossly.

I was astounded. Bad dog?
Me?
They had accidentally locked me in the garage and forgotten about me and left me there
all day,
but I was willing to forgive them. Why were they scowling like that and shaking their fingers at
me
?

Moments later I was back in the garage, helping the boy as he picked up everything I'd played with and put most of it into the tall metal trash container that I had knocked over. Mom came out and picked up the clothes, sorting through them, putting some into the trash and taking some back inside the house. But no one praised me for finding out where those clothes had been hiding.

Why were they in such grumpy moods? I couldn't be grumpy at all. I stayed close to Ethan and kept my tail flashing back and forth. I gave him a lick whenever I could.

“Dog door,” the boy said crossly. But he seemed to have forgotten how to play the game, because he didn't push me out and he didn't give me any treats. I was beginning to think that “dog door” meant the same thing as “bad dog.” What a disappointment! I was quite sure I hadn't been a bad dog at all. I hoped Mom and Ethan would cheer up soon.

It had been a very upsetting day, but I was willing to put the whole thing behind me. It seemed that the humans didn't feel the same way, though, because as soon as Dad came home, there was a lot of talking and even a little yelling, and I could feel that Dad was angry at me. I snuck into the living room to stay out of his way. Smokey sat on a windowsill and sneered at me.

Dad and the boy left right after dinner. Mom sat at the table and stared at papers. She didn't move even when I came up to her and put a nice wet ball right in her lap, inviting her to play. “Oh, yuck, Bailey,” she said.

When the boy and Dad came home, Ethan called me into the garage and showed me a big wooden box. I sniffed it, smelling new wood and fresh paint. Not my favorite smells.

It seemed that Ethan had come up with a new trick to show me. “Doghouse!” he called, and he climbed inside the house. Of course I climbed in right after him. There was a thin pad on the floor for us to lie on. The space was hot and tight with the two of us in there, but I didn't really mind. I'd been apart from my boy so long; it was good to be close to him now. I licked his hair.

“Doghouse, Bailey. This is your doghouse,” he said.

Then he crawled back out and got some dog biscuits, which of course made the whole game even better. “Doghouse” apparently meant “crawl into the doghouse with Ethan and eat a biscuit.” We practiced Dog Door, too, properly this time, with Ethan pushing on my rear end until I went through the door and handing me a biscuit afterward.

While we did all this, Dad moved around the garage, putting things up on high shelves and tying a rope over the top of the big metal container.

When the boy got tired of tricks, we went inside and wrestled for a while. “Time for bed,” Mom said.

“Oh, Mom, please? Can I stay up?”

“We both have school tomorrow, Ethan. Time for you to say good night to Bailey.”

Mom and Dad and Ethan were always making words like this at each other, and I rarely paid too much attention. This time I did lift up my head when I heard my name. All of a sudden, the boy seemed sad. His shoulders slumped.

“Okay, Bailey,” he said, but there was no happiness in his voice. I looked up at him and tilted my head, puzzled. “Time for bed.”

I trotted over to the foot of the stairs. But for some reason, Ethan walked over to the garage door. Maybe he wanted to play Doghouse once more before we settled down? That was okay with me, as long as there'd be a biscuit involved.

Once I'd followed Ethan out into the garage, I figured I'd been right. “Doghouse,” he said, but his voice was glum. I walked over to the doghouse and then paused and looked back at Ethan. Wasn't he getting in with me? Had he forgotten how to play?

Ethan actually walked back inside the house and shut the door on me
again
!

I barked, trying to get his attention, trying to make him see he'd made another mistake. Or
was
it a mistake? Did they really think I'd been a bad dog? They couldn't! Was it because I'd peed and pooped in the garage? But no one had been here to let me out! Was it because I'd chewed up my dog bed? But I never slept in the thing, anyway. It was just for show.

Did they really expect me to stay out here in the garage all night long?
By myself?

It couldn't be!

I couldn't stand the thought of the boy lying in bed without me, all alone. The idea was so sad it made me want to chew shoes.

I began to whimper. Softly at first, and then louder. And louder. Surely someone in the family would hear me. They'd understand that I needed to be with my boy!

A long time went by. No one came.

My cries grew louder.

After forever, the door to the house eased open a crack. “Bailey,” the boy whispered. “Shhh, Bailey, it's okay.”

I almost barked with relief, but I got the sense from Ethan that I shouldn't. I kept quiet, but I nuzzled and licked his knees and legs frantically as he slipped through the door, carrying a blanket and a pillow. “Okay, doghouse, doghouse,” he told me in a low voice. And we were playing the right way now, because he crawled in, too. I crammed in after him. I didn't even care that he didn't have a biscuit.

Ethan wiggled around until he had half the blanket underneath him and half over his legs. It was certainly snug in there; the boy's feet stuck out of the door, and my back legs did, too. I didn't care. It meant I was closer to my boy. With a sigh, I put my head on his chest. He stroked my ears.

“Good dog, Bailey,” he murmured.

So that strange and bewildering day had a nice ending after all. I closed my eyes, and the boy and I went to sleep together.

A little while later, I was woken up by a quiet click coming from the door to the house. It was the sound of the latch opening. I opened my eyes and peered out of the doghouse to see Mom and Dad standing in the rectangle of light that led into the kitchen. I wagged my tail softly a few times to greet them, but I didn't move my head. I didn't want to wake up the boy.

Finally, Dad came out. Gently, he tugged Ethan and the blanket out of the doghouse. Naturally, I came, too. Ethan stirred a little and then slumped back into sleep as his father picked him up.

Mom gestured to me. “Shh, Bailey,” she whispered. Dad carried Ethan up to bed, and Mom and I followed. No one tried to stop me as I hopped right up on the bed with Ethan.

I settled down with Ethan's chest for a pillow. Without opening his eyes, he put a sleepy arm around me.

 

6

But the next day, as if nobody had learned anything, I was back out in the garage
again
! What was the matter with these people?

This time there was far less to do. I did manage to get the pad off the floor of the doghouse and shred it up pretty well. I knocked over the metal trash container, but I couldn't get the lid off. Too bad; I could smell some scraps of last night's macaroni and cheese in there.

There was nothing on the floor of the garage that I could chew. I couldn't reach the stuff that Dad had put on the shelves last night.