Waggit's Tale (14 page)

He decided to get up to investigate, and he approached the place from which he thought the smell was coming. Suddenly something grabbed the loose flesh at the back of his neck and whisked him off the ground. He was suspended in midair, his legs flailing around desperately, trying to get a grip on something.

“Got you,” yelled a voice triumphantly. “Got you, you little devil.”

Out of the corner of his eye Waggit could see the dreaded green material that was part of the uniform that the park rangers wore. He bared his fangs, frantically trying to get away. But his captor's grip was too strong, and holding the clawing animal at arm's length he quickly walked toward the road. Parked just around the corner was the truck that every park dog feared, the one that took you to the Great Unknown, from which no dog ever returned.

T
he truck lurched, bumped, and rattled its way through the city. Inside, one to a cage, were Waggit and three other terrified dogs. One of them, a small animal of very mixed breeding, whimpered constantly. There were no windows and the only light came from a small dome in the roof that shed an unfriendly, yellowish glow on the interior. For each of the creatures it was a nightmare come true.

It seemed as if they were driving forever. Waggit wondered if this would be where he would spend the
rest of his life. Maybe the Great Unknown was actually the back of the truck. Finally the vehicle braked sharply and came to a halt. Waggit heard the sounds of gates being rolled back. The truck started up again, moved forward a short distance, and then stopped once more.

The back doors were flung open, and standing there were four men, each wearing blue coveralls and thick, heavy leather gloves. Because Waggit had been the last dog captured he was the first one taken out. One of the men opened the metal cage and slipped a chain collar attached to a leash over Waggit's head. He then took him by the scruff of his neck and roughly pulled him out and dropped him on the ground.

Waggit looked around and saw a courtyard surrounded by gloomy old industrial buildings. He was pulled toward a door in the wall of one of them. It was strange to be back on a leash again after so many months without even a collar. He struggled, trying to get it off, but the more he pulled the tighter the chain got.

As the man opened the door a wave of noise hit Waggit, so loud it was almost physical, and he was led into a huge room filled with metal cages like those in
the truck, only bigger. In each was a dog, and almost every one was either barking or howling. He counted dozens of them as he was led past one sad face after another. The fear that he could feel coming from them made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was the scariest, most unhappy place that he had ever been.

They finally came to an empty cage with its door open, and the man shoved Waggit in, took off the chain, and then shut the door with a clang as he left. There was nothing inside except for a bowl with water in it; the only place to sleep was on the cold steel floor, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. To his right a skinny dog was standing on its hind legs, barking furiously and scratching at the wire, trying to get out. To his left was a medium-size, depressed-looking hound, whose droopy jowls had spread out on the floor where he lay.

“Who are you?” barked Waggit at the top of his voice, trying to be heard over the noise.

The hound didn't move except for his eyes, which rolled in Waggit's direction in a mournful stare. After several minutes the barking finally died down.

“No point in trying to make yourself heard over that din,” the hound said, still without lifting his head.

“I'm Waggit,” said Waggit. “Who are you?”

“The name's Bloomingdale, like the store,” said the dog.

Waggit didn't know what Bloomingdale's or indeed any store was, so he let this comment pass.

“Where did they get you?” he asked instead.

“About a block from my house,” Bloomingdale said.

“What do you mean?” asked Waggit.

“What part of ‘a block from my house' do you not understand?” he replied somewhat testily. “I was on my way back to my house when they picked me up.”

“You mean you lived in a house with Uprights?” Waggit said.

“Of course,” said Bloomingdale. “Where else would you live?”

“So why didn't they stop the Ruzelas from taking you?” Waggit was now confused.

“I was by myself,” explained Bloomingdale. “I found a way of opening the back door to get out. Between you and me,” he continued confidingly, “I need to get out of the house from time to time. They're a bit overprotective, and a dog needs some freedom.”

Had he been speaking a foreign language his words could not have been more mystifying to Waggit. All of
the dogs in the park had exactly the opposite experiences with human beings. The best treatment they had received was neglect; the worst was cruelty.

“And how about you?” inquired Bloomingdale. “How did you come to be in this mess?”

“I did something I should never have done,” replied Waggit, with an edge of bitterness in his voice. “I trusted an Upright.”

“Oh,” sighed Bloomingdale despairingly, “and he let you down?”

“She, actually,” said Waggit, “and she didn't just let me down, she tricked me.”

And with that the two animals fell silent, each thinking about the injustice and treachery in the world.

There were many things about being in the Great Unknown that were terrible—the fear of not knowing what was going to happen next; the boredom of hours spent doing nothing; the discomfort of the metal cages. But Waggit hated the lights most, because they were on all the time. As a park dog he had lived by nature's clock; it was either night or day. Here you couldn't tell which it was, except for the daily exercise period when he and about ten other dogs would be led into the yard and walked around on leashes.
Mealtimes were also a way of knowing that another day had passed, when a metal bowl containing some sloppy canned food would be pushed into the cage. Bloomingdale often didn't eat his, complaining about its quality, but for Waggit it was fine. He had eaten far worse during the winter, and for him having food on a regular basis was a novelty.

There were two other grim ways of knowing both that time was passing and that time was short. Once a day those dogs who had been there the longest would be led one by one out of the room and through a door at the far end. Nobody knew where they were going, but everyone knew that they never came back. Often the departing creatures would look over their shoulders as if to get one last glance at the life they were leaving. This always happened just after mealtime, and the dogs who were to leave that day knew it, because they would be passed over as the food was handed out. Everyone was in no doubt that one day they would be the ones who would get no food.

And every day more dogs were brought in. When this happened all the dogs would howl and bark to greet the newcomers. These were not sounds of joy, but of hopelessness, and each time that it happened it
so upset Waggit that he would shake with fear and loneliness. He longed to see Lowdown's cheery face, or even Gruff's grumpy one.

When a human being who was not one of the workers was led into the room, he or she would walk solemnly past each cage. The person would sometimes pause hesitantly in front of one of the dogs, frown and shake his or her head. Then suddenly there would be a cry from both the human and a dog, and the rest of the inmates would know that some lucky soul had been reunited with his owner. This would set off another round of barking and howling, but this time they were whoops of rejoicing. It gave them all hope. But not Waggit. To be rescued by your owner meant that you had to have one in the first place.

The worst day for him was the one on which Bloomingdale was given no food. Waggit had grown fond of the gloomy guy with his bleak view of the world, and when no bowl was placed in his cage they both looked at each other sorrowfully.

“Oh well,” said Bloomingdale. “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I don't understand,” said Waggit, “why your Uprights didn't come to get you. If they wanted to
protect you so badly, why wouldn't they look for you?”

“Who knows?” said Bloomingdale. “They were very private. Kept to themselves. Maybe it was too much bother, or maybe they didn't want to make a fuss. In the end the reason isn't important. The fact of the matter is that they didn't come, and now it looks like I've run out of time.”

There was nothing Waggit could say to this, and so the two just waited until the inevitable happened. Shortly after the food distribution one of the workers came up to Bloomingdale's cage, opened it, and slipped a chain collar around his neck. Bloomingdale gave Waggit one last, mournful look.

“So long, pal,” he said, “and good luck!”

And then, with his head held high, he walked briskly off to whatever fate awaited him on the other side of the door. Waggit felt as if someone with very cold fingers had squeezed his heart, and to lie there on the hard floor and look at the empty space next to him was almost more than he could bear. It was unfair. Bloomingdale was a good dog, a threat to no one. Beneath his gloomy exterior he cared for other dogs and, even after his experiences, held no bitterness toward humans. All he had wanted was a little freedom,
something that Waggit could certainly understand, and for this he was to be punished with—who knew what, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. Waggit also realized that it would soon be his day to get no food. He had come into the Great Unknown only a short time after Bloomingdale, so it couldn't be far off. He let out a long, sorrowful howl of despair.

But the worst day miraculously turned into the best. Not long after Bloomingdale's departure, Waggit's ears pricked up at the sound of a great commotion from the other side of the entry door. Suddenly it was flung open and in walked the woman from the park. One of the workers was trying to stop her.

“Ma'am, you can't come in!” he said. “You haven't filled out the necessary paperwork.”

“Oh, phooey on your paperwork. I've lost my dog and I intend to look for him in here,” she said, with the air of a woman who was determined to get her own way.

And she strode in, leaving the worker behind. He could only make a gesture of helplessness and follow her. She walked quickly up and down the first row of cages, and then turned toward Waggit's.

“That's him,” she said, pointing to Waggit. “That's my dog. Release him at once.”

“Are you sure that's the one?” asked the worker. “Because he's not barking in recognition, and come to think of it neither are any of the others. They always bark when somebody comes to claim one of them.”

“He's a very reserved dog,” said the woman, “never been one for showing much emotion.”

At first Waggit wondered who they were talking about, looking around to see which dog it was that she was claiming. Then he realized that it was him.

“Suit yourself,” said the worker. “I don't much care if he's your dog or not. He's out of here tomorrow, one way or the other, so you're saving us a bit of bother. But you still have to do the paperwork before I can release him to you.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, get me your stupid paperwork and let's be done with it,” she said.

The worker scurried off through the entry door to get the necessary forms. While he was gone the woman looked at Waggit and winked.

“Don't worry, kid,” she said. “We'll spring you from here in no time.”

The man returned with a clipboard and a pen, and
the woman scribbled a few words down and signed at the bottom of the form with a flourish. She also handed some money to the worker, who counted it and clipped it to the board. He produced a leash and collar, opened the door to the cage, and attached the collar to Waggit. Then he was led out and given into the care of the woman, and together they walked through the yard, out of the large metal front gates, and into freedom.

Outside at the curb was a yellow taxi that she had told to wait while she went inside. She flung open the door and lifted Waggit onto the backseat.

“You can't bring that dog in here,” objected the driver.

“It's okay,” said the woman, “he's a service dog.”

“Oh yeah,” said the driver, “and what kind of a service would that be?”

“It's a service that he performs for me,” she replied. “He keeps me calm enough to give taxi drivers large tips.”

She slammed the door, and the cab drove off with Waggit inside, on his way to his new life.

T
he cab pulled up in front of an apartment building. It was like those that Waggit had seen from the park, only not as grand. When they got out of the vehicle they went up to the front door, which the woman opened with a key and then led them both into a simple lobby. At the far end was a metal door with a button beside it. The woman pushed it and waited; Waggit assumed she was waiting for someone to let them in. After a few moments the door slid open and she stepped into a tiny, empty room with no windows.
Waggit didn't like the look of it, and he pulled against the leash to prevent himself from being dragged inside. He still didn't trust the woman and was sure that she had been in cahoots with the ranger who had captured him. He had left the Great Unknown with her because he really didn't have much choice. It seemed to him that even if she wasn't trustworthy it was a whole lot better than staying behind. He didn't like the little room, however, and imagined all sorts of terrible things that could happen there.

“Well, what do you know,” said the woman. “You've never been in an elevator before, have you? It's okay, there's nothing here to be frightened about.”

Although he couldn't understand her words, her voice sounded kind and caring, and part of him wanted to believe it. Hesitantly he stepped forward, and as he did the door started to close. The woman stopped it with a sharp slap of her hand, which made him jump. She crouched down to his level and looked him in the eyes.

“Come on,” she said in a calm, soft voice. “I won't let anything hurt you. I promise.”

Once again her tone and manner seemed genuine enough, and the barriers of his mistrust lowered a little.
Trembling all over, he went into the elevator. The door closed behind them, and then, as if confirming all his fears, it started to shake, and there was a terrible grinding noise as it began to move. Waggit was cursing himself for being a fool when the door opened again. They got out and turned to the right, walked past several doors, and then stopped at one, which she opened with a key, and they went inside.

She led him into a large, airy room with big windows that overlooked the back of another building. In one corner was a grand piano, which, of course, meant nothing to Waggit. Along one side of the room was a small, open kitchen, which did mean something to him because of all the food smells emanating from it. Scattered throughout the room were cushions, lots of brightly colored cushions, on the furniture, on the floor, even on the closed lid of the piano. It was a very bright and cheerful room. The woman bent down and removed the leash.

“Well, kid,” she said, “this is it. This is home. What do you think?”

As if to answer her question he started to walk around sniffing everything. There were a couple of interesting food spills, some areas that smelled of the
same perfume she had been wearing when he first met her in the park, and one or two places that had a musty, vaguely masculine aroma. When he exhausted all the possibilities he looked up at her, panted, and sat down.

“Does that mean it's okay?” she said. “We'll assume it does.” She thought for a moment, and then said, “I bet you're thirsty. Stress always makes me as dry as a bone.”

She went into the kitchen, found a rather chipped bowl, filled it with water, and put it down on the floor. Waggit circled it suspiciously, sniffed it a couple of times, and after deciding that it probably wasn't poisoned, drank enthusiastically.

“And talking of bones,” she continued, “what do you like to eat?”

The answer was almost anything, but being a dog he couldn't tell her that.

“I'll go to the supermarket later and see what I can find,” she said, “but in the meantime I think I might have something to tide you over.”

She went to the refrigerator, burrowed around in it for a few moments, and with a cry of “I thought so!” came back with a large piece of grilled chicken breast
in her hand. She put it on the kitchen floor, and Waggit pounced on it. He had been so upset about Bloomingdale that he hadn't eaten the food the worker had put in his cage that morning. Now he attacked the meat ravenously.

“Well,” said the woman, “I guess chicken's on the menu.”

When he had finished eating, he suddenly felt tired. It had been a distressing and confusing day, and now he was so weary that it overcame all the fear and suspicion he had. There was a thick, colorful rug in the middle of the room, and on this he turned around a couple of times and lay down. He could feel his eyelids getting heavy with drowsiness. The woman came over to him and gently stroked him behind the ears.

“That's right,” she said, “you lie down there.” She stretched out beside him. “You gave me a pretty good runaround before I found you,” she continued. “When you didn't turn up for a couple of days I thought you must've found someone else to feed you, but then a friend told me that the park rangers had been trapping stray dogs and taking them to the pound. The trouble was I didn't know which pound, and yours was the third one I went to. There are so many dogs it's heartbreaking,
and they're all so beautiful I wanted to take every one of them home. But you—I don't know what it is, but there's something about you; you're special, and I'm glad I found you.”

She might as well have saved her breath, for Waggit was fast asleep.

When he awoke it was with a start. For a moment he had no idea where he was, and his heart was pounding with anxiety. His first thought was that he had to get back to the team, but exactly how he wasn't sure. For the moment he was trapped in this room with the woman, and while it was much more comfortable than the Great Unknown, he still had no idea what would happen next. His memories of the first humans that he lived with were dim by now, but being in a room such as this was enough to make him uncomfortable. Having been abandoned once, he would never completely trust humans again.

“You're back in the land of the living I see,” said the woman when she noticed that he had woken up. He eyed her warily, his body tense, ready to run. She had been straightening up cushions and humming to music that was coming out of a machine on one of the bookshelves. Dogs have strange feelings about music. They
can't make it, can't sing or play instruments, but they find it very soothing, even though certain notes make them howl. This music, however, didn't have any of those notes. It was a sad sound made by a single stringed instrument and it calmed him down a little. She watched him cock his head toward the machine from which it came. “You should like that,” she said. “It's Bach.”

Instead of going to the supermarket for his food, she decided to go to a large pet store nearby. One of the benefits of this change of plan was that Waggit could go with her, because the store allowed “well-mannered pets” to accompany their owners inside. It was here that Waggit first encountered dogs under the control of humans. The woman and he were coming around the end of one aisle when they literally bumped into a golden retriever coming the other way.

“Oh, hi,” said Waggit. “How're you doing? My name's Waggit.”

“What a funny name,” said the golden. “My name's Daisy. Phew, you smell bad. Did you come from the pound?”

Waggit sniffed himself. There was a strange odor coming from his coat that he hadn't noticed before.

“I was in the Great Unknown,” he said to Daisy. “Is that the same as the pound?”

“I've never heard of such a pl—Oh, got to go. See you.” And with that her owner dragged her off.

As they were approaching the checkout line, Waggit spotted two tiny Yorkshire terriers in little plaid raincoats, even though it wasn't raining. He went over to greet them, dragging the woman with him. As he got close they started barking furiously with a high-pitched yapping sound. He had no idea why they were so angry; he only wanted to say hello and sniff them. Once again, the human at the other end of their leashes pulled them away. He couldn't understand why humans didn't want their dogs to communicate with each other. As soon as you got a conversation going they whisked you off.

Waggit's attention was now on the cart that the woman was pushing toward the cash registers. It was overflowing with food and treats, a round squishy bed, toys, brushes and combs, bowls, vitamins, chews, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and, yes, even a raincoat, only this one was yellow. It wasn't until the store delivered everything later that afternoon that he realized it was all for him. He had no idea that you needed
so many things for a civilized existence. Up until that moment his most prized possession had been a cardboard box, and he had to admit that the bed was a lot more comfortable. Surrounded by all this stuff, it occurred to him for the first time that she probably intended him to stay with her, at least for a while.

Early the following morning the woman attached his leash and took him to the elevator. He was still a little nervous about getting into it, and when the doors opened he pulled back a bit until he realized that at least he was going out this time, where there might be possibilities of escape. He had smelled the park yesterday, so he knew that it couldn't be far away.

The doors closed and they started down. They had only been inside for a few seconds when the elevator stopped again, and the doors opened one floor below. A brown and white terrier flew in, pulling a somewhat disheveled woman behind him. He almost banged into Waggit, who growled softly.

“Oh, sorry, didn't see you. How are you? My name's Jack, what's yours? What a great day. Is this not a great day? As soon as I woke up I knew it was going to be a great day. I can't wait to get out. Where are you going? I'm going to the store. We'll probably go to the
park later. Did you just move in? Welcome to the building. It's a great building. You'll love it here. Lots of dogs. You'll make friends in no time. Maybe we'll get them to take us out together. Whatd'ya think?”

He said all of this in one continuous stream that left Waggit gasping for breath, something that should have happened to the terrier, but didn't. Waggit didn't know how to reply or even where to begin. Not that it made the slightest bit of difference because now Jack's entire attention was on the door.

“Come on, stupid door, open up. Can you believe this door? Takes forever. Come on, come on, let's go.”

Finally the elevator came to a stop and the door opened.

“About time. Well, we're off,” he said, pulling his harried owner after him. “Great to meet you. Glad to have you on board. We'll get them to arrange a play date. See you later. Have a nice day.”

By the time that he had shouted out his final greeting the two of them were already across the lobby and halfway out of the front door, while Waggit and the woman had barely exited the elevator.

“That,” said the woman, “is Jack. He's a little hyper, but his owner's very nice.”

It was good to be outside, even on a leash. Waggit had spent so much of his life in the open that it felt more natural than the enclosed space of the apartment. He could also smell the scents left by the other dogs, and that made him feel more at ease. They walked across a wide avenue, then along a side street, and suddenly there it was—the park. His park! His tail wagged in anticipation of seeing it again. The two of them entered through a gate, crossed the drive, and were on the horse path. He realized that the direction they were taking would bring them within a short distance of the tunnel, and that maybe the team would see him. He wasn't quite sure what they could do to set him free, but at least they would know that he was alive. As they got closer he could smell them and he was tense with excitement, but the woman didn't know that this was where his former home was, and she was intent on walking by. He dug his claws into the gravel of the path to try to stop her, but she just dragged him along.

“Come on, kid,” she said, “there's nothing there. Let's go.”

With a heavy heart he followed her. He was so close and yet as far away as ever from being reunited with his team.

They walked for a while and then returned to the apartment. It was the third time he had gone up in the elevator, and it got a little less scary each time. Even the apartment was becoming familiar and seemed less confined. When she had taken off his leash she turned to him and said, “Breakfast?” It was a word that he didn't understand yet, but, when she poured some hard nuggets of kibble into his new metal bowl and then mixed it with brown, meaty stuff that she got out of a can, that he understood. The food she made for him was the best he had ever had in his life, and furthermore it seemed that it would be a regular event, unlike in the park, where mealtimes were haphazard at best. He emptied the bowl within seconds and then let out a gentle belch.

“Oh, very nice,” the woman said with a chuckle. “I see that you haven't let go of your park manners yet.”

Feeling warm and sleepy after his meal, Waggit went to the squishy bed for a nap. As he lay down the woman looked at him.

“What am I going to call you?” she asked. “I can't call you ‘kid' forever.”

He looked up at her and blinked, almost as if he was trying to think of a new name. Suddenly the
woman had a fit of inspiration and grinned broadly. “Parker!” she said. “I'm going to call you Parker. You are my little park boy after all. Is that okay with you?”

Waggit sighed and smacked his lips a couple of times.

“Not crazy about it?” said the woman, moving over to stroke his head. “Well, tough. I think it's cute, so that's your name from now on.”