Passport to Adventure

Coyote Wind

He trotted through the darkening woods, head high to the ferns, stopping every so often to listen for them or to try to catch their scent. The wind had shifted and taken on a chill. He could smell the rain, though it was still many miles off. The sun had dropped behind the ridge and down here in the forested valley twilight was fast approaching. He must hurry along if he wanted to catch up to them tonight.

At first he had wandered aimlessly. But when he topped the first ridge he had closed his eyes and listened. He had heard the conversations of coyotes and had remembered the dreams. And it had given him purpose.

When the man had failed to wake that morning, the dog knew what was wrong, though he did not yet want to admit it to himself. He might have sensed it deep in the night, when the warmth the man provided was not what it should have been. Still, he stayed in the tent until well past daybreak, until necessity made him nose open the loosely zippered tent flaps. He'd lingered around the campsite through the morning and into the early afternoon, when the sun, in its brief hours of heat on this autumn day, had baked the tent, releasing the musty smell of worn canvas. He chanced another pensive look inside and caught a scent he'd never smelled before, yet knew by instinct. He knew then that he was back on his own.

He'd stayed awhile longer, unsure of what to do. There was food at the campsite, but it was locked inside the truck. Finally, driven by hunger and thirst and a need to do something, he left.

He had been on his own before. He would scavenge as he had then and perhaps he would find another man. Or perhaps not. There were others he was now seeking. He still had not eaten and had not found a drink since the creek by the campsite. He would need to find water soon, or continue his journey in the morning. He stopped and sniffed for water but could detect none.

The water here smelled different from that at home. Back in the city there was the smell of the sea. It had been there that he had found the man. Walking along the shore, he had come upon an ancient-looking, dark-skinned man, smelling of fish bait and tobacco and the bacon he'd had for breakfast. When the man wasn't looking, the dog had tried to pluck a fish from the man's bucket. The man turned around, but instead of chasing him off, had laughed.

"Hee-hee boy, what'cha doin' gallivanting around like Huckleberry Finn? That your name, boy, Huck?"

And the name stuck. The dog had never cared much for it. To him it sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball. But it was a name of the man's choosing and he had given Huck the home he'd never had. That home seemed far away now as Huck heard the faint trickle of water and headed that way.

The man's house was in a part of town the dog had never been in before. There were unkempt yards and scrawlings on the walls and the children there were sullen and unlike those he'd seen playing in the neighborhoods he'd roamed in the past. There were no children in the man's house, though the inside was neat and homey. Still, from the beginning, theirs was a bond not of love or loyalty but of mutual benefit. The man provided shelter and warmth and the dog kept him company.

As Huck spent that winter not on the streets but by a warm fireplace, the man would read aloud from books that smelled older than he was, tales of times long forgotten. Other times he would play music on his clarinet, lonely, melancholy songs that would make Huck's heart heavy. Sometimes the man would take pictures down from the mantle and try to talk about the people in them. His voice would sound different then.

"My Mabel, she done passed on three years now, 'bout a year after our son, Isaiah, died. I 'spect I'll be joining 'em real soon."

At those times the man would drink from a bottle something that looked like water but smelled of overripe juniper berries. He'd get real quiet then and water would come to his eyes. Early the next morning, when it was still dark outside, he would load Huck into the truck and they would drive to the mountains for a few days of camping and fishing.