This Dog

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

Nikki lifts her head from her paws and listens. It’s time for Mother to come home. All the signs are there: the longer shadows and change in the daylight, the way the grass no longer smells hot, the degree of hunger in her belly, the increased traffic noise from the street, the evening bird songs and the whine of the mosquitoes as they begin their evening foraging. Before she hears the car on the driveway, Nikki feels the expectation build inside her as each sign confirms that yes, now is the time; Mother should be here soon. Nikki waits, listening, expecting. That’s all. She doesn’t imagine Mother driving her car, heading for home. She can’t easily picture what is not in front of her. She makes no plans to jump up, grab the nearest stick, or sock, or scrap of paper, and with her tail wagging frantically, offer it to Mother when she gets out of the car, even though this is exactly what she will do. She doesn’t know how she knows that it’s time for Mother to come home, but she is the dog and it’s her business to know. The orderly progression of the day, with events occurring according to schedule, is like the boundary line around her territory. It’s her job to tirelessly check and recheck that her territory is clearly defined and protected. Nikki hears the car slowing down on the road at the end of the long driveway. She hears it turn the corner and she can detect the lower frequency of second gear as the car comes slowly up the hill. Then she sees the car come down the driveway and stop; she hears the engine turning off and the grate of the emergency brake, and she stands up and stretches. She has been napping in the shade under the deck all afternoon. The car door opens and Nikki sees Mother. She feels a great leap of excitement and she casts about for a stick—any stick—and wriggles madly towards Mother. Mother kneels down and lifts Nikki’s front paws and puts them on her shoulders, the way she does every time she comes home. They are face to face, nose to nose, and Mother is making sounds of greeting, and scratching Nikki’s back right where it itches. Nikki is filled with happiness. The happiness is boundless, an endless landscape of happiness stretching to infinity. There is no Before and no After, only Now. In this moment—which is the only moment Nikki ever understands completely—there is only this happiness. Then they are going inside and the Kids are there, and there are more sounds of greeting. The cat

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

slinks around the corner into the kitchen; then the Master is coming through the door with his big voice, and the kitchen is filled with the smells and sounds of evening: conversation and the clanging of pots; oil heating up in the pan and wine poured into glasses; cheese and bread, onions and cat food, water running in the sink and the refrigerator door opening and closing. Nikki can smell everyone’s end-of-the-day odors—stale breath and sweat, hot feet and the lingering scents of all the places her people have been on this day. They are good smells that signal the start of the time when everyone will be at home, settling down, becoming quiet. Nikki feels best when everyone is near, where she can smell and hear them. The sound of their voices and their unique combination of smells are what define her pack. During the day, when everyone else but the cat is gone, Nikki often gets up on the bed, where the smell of Mother and the Master is strongest. She curls into a little ball and sinks her nose into the pillow and thinks about her people. Being a dog, Nikki doesn’t think in words or pictures. She thinks in scent memories; the familiar smells of her pack are the links to her memories and the feelings that those memories evoke. Her memories are simple. She has no analysis, no judgement, no remorse, no longing for anything to be different. She does not even have a sense of herself as a separate being. She is simply a piece of the whole, part of the pack. And that is right and good. After eating and cleaning up (Nikki and the cat help by licking the plates), the pack rests. Mother is still moving around the home, so Nikki finds a spot on the couch next to the Master. She turns around a couple of times and plops down with a sigh. She inhales the air around him and feels the same little thrill of fear and love that she always feels with the Master. He is big and has a deep, rumbly voice, and hair on his face. Nikki is sometimes afraid of him, but mostly she loves him and is happy when he loves her. Tonight she senses that the Master is happy, and so Nikki is happy, too. “Wherzyerbone? Gogetcherbone!” says the Master. Nikki picks out the word “bone” from among the other words, and she can tell by the sound of the Master’s voice that he’s being playful. Even though she doesn’t think in words, she recognizes many words and can associate them with the corresponding object or event. But the sound has to come from a human for Nikki to recognize it; it would be meaningless if, for instance, the word “bone” were to have somehow come from an egg. Right now, when she hears the word “bone,” she has a thought of how a partly-chewed rawhide bone smells and how it feels against her teeth when she chews it. She feels cozy for a moment, as

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

though she were already chewing the bone while lying on the couch next to the Master. She can also remember where in the house she left her current bone, and she has an urge to get off the couch and fetch it. But while Nikki thinks about a cozy chewing experience when she hears the word “bone,” she never conjures up the word on her own, any more than she would try to speak it. Besides “bone,” some of Nikki’s favorite words are “go, woods, and walk.” The word “dog” excites her: when she hears it, she runs to the window and barks. She also knows the words for each of her people: “Mom, Dad, Alexa, and Dylan,” but the name words don’t mean much to Nikki, as though the words are too small to contain everything about each person. Nikki’s names for her people are complex—a combination of smells, voice, gesture, shape, context, emotion, and memory. Nikki’s names for her people are unpronounceable.

In the morning, Nikki waits while Mother does her morning chores. The routine is familiar and Nikki keeps watch, getting into position while Mother makes lunches, anticipating the scrap of ham or cheese that Mother always gives her. She doesn’t beg; she always gets something. She watches the cat, who is also waiting for a treat. Nikki can sometimes get a little extra by stealing from the cat, who is slower to finish. When Mother goes into the bathroom, Nikki knows it’s almost time. She pays careful attention when Mother comes out to make sure that she’s wearing her walking-in-the-woods clothes and not her getting-in-the-car-to-go-away clothes. Nikki can tell the difference mostly by the smell. On this day, not only is Mother wearing the right clothes, but she also says, “Goforawalkinthewoods, Nikki?” This is a great day. The woods are all around the home, just beyond the invisible stinging fence. Nikki doesn’t know that she won’t get stung unless she’s wearing the special collar. She just knows that the stinging fence is there and that if she crosses over it she’ll get stung, and that’s good enough for Nikki. She likes having a fence. She likes knowing where she is supposed to be. Mother carries her across the fence (Nikki thinks this is the only way to cross without getting stung) and they’re off into the woods. Nikki runs ahead, zig-zagging across the path. She stops and sniffs the place where she was surprised by the turtle on another day before this day. Then she runs on ahead to the little stream. She smells frogs and mushrooms She doesn’t care about mushrooms,

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

but frogs are interesting. A tiny leaf-colored frog jumps madly across the tangle of tree roots next to the stream. Nikki watches, amused, her floppy ears cocked forward, her bright eyes alert. Nikki takes a drink, then splashes across the stream and runs straight up the ridge on the other side. She turns and looks to see if Mother is still behind her. She roots under a pile of wet leaves and smells the worms. Then she’s off again, racing after a chipmunk. Farther along the stream, deep in the woods, the stone ridge soars to twice its height and drops precipitously off on one side. The other side of the ridge is strewn with giant boulders; there are crevices among the rocks where Nikki smells skunks and foxes. On this day, there is a new smell, a person smell. It’s not a person she recognizes. She runs toward the smell, turning her head from side to side to find the source. In Nikki’s experience, people are nice; some people are very nice, petting and playing with her and making her silly with joy. For Nikki, every new person is a new opportunity for joy. The person smell that now fills her nose is getting stronger, and she follows the scent, clambering over the rocks. Many thousands of years ago a glacier had dragged these boulders for hundreds of miles and deposited them in such a way that the space between them now forms a little cave, halfway up the side of the cliff. Nikki climbs carefully over the rocks. They are slippery with dew; some are canted steeply to one side and there are gaps between others. Nikki jumps across the gaps. Her claws make grooves in the mossy patches as she scrambles up and over the ancient rock pile. This is some distance from her usual route and after a while she can hear Mother calling “Nikki! Nikki!” from the far along the main path. Like every dog, she loves the sound of her name, and she teeters a moment, undecided, compelled to return to Mother and the path. But the person smell is too inviting. In fact, Nikki feels very drawn to this person, even though he’s a stranger. The scent is strong enough now that she can tell it’s a man. She is curious. She climbs to the top of an enormous slab of granite and there, a few feet below her, is the cave. It is just roomy enough for a man to sit comfortably, and, if he were so inclined, to gaze out across the little valley and into the woods. There in the cave sits a man, gazing into the woods. Nikki gives a little start. The man looks up and smiles. “Greetings, Dog,” he says. He is a small man, with brown skin and black eyes. He is neither young nor old; he has no hair on his head and no shoes on his feet. He is wearing a tee-shirt and

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

a pair of shorts, and a necklace of knotted string. What Nikki notices, though, has nothing to do with hair or skin or clothes or string. What Nikki notices is that she not only understands the man’s words, but in her mind, she is forming a response... in words. She thinks, “This Dog greets you, The Man.” He nods and pats the rock beside him, inviting her to join him. Nikki jumps down from the rock, pushes her nose into the man’s outstretched hand, like a handshake, then sits down beside him. She gazes out across the little valley into the woods. The words emerge slowly. “This Dog smells The Man. Climbs rocks,” she thinks. “I know. I watched you,” he says. His voice is gentle, his tone conversational. Nikki feels calm and safe, sitting here with this man on this rock. The morning sun slants through a break in the leafy canopy and warms the entrance of the cave. She thinks, “This Dog likes The Man.” He reaches over and scratches around her ears. In the distance, there is a sound like a bird calling. With her sharp ears, Nikki recognizes Mother’s voice. “This Dog hears Mother.” The man gives her one last pat and says, “You should go, then. But you don’t need to go over the rocks—there’s a little path down on the other side. Here, I’ll show you.” He gets up and walks the few steps to the edge of the rock shelf and points to a spot just beyond the next boulder. Like most dogs, Nikki has never understood pointing, always looking at the finger and not the object. But now she looks in the direction that the man is indicating and sees the path. She starts toward it. “See you tomorrow,” the man says. “What is tomorrow, The Man?” Nikki turns to look at him. “It’s the day after this day.” For the first time in her life, Nikki thinks about the day after this day. Tomorrow has no smell; tomorrow doesn’t make a sound; tomorrow is only an idea. Nikki has never thought about tomorrow. Like every other creature, she has never questioned whether there will be a day after this day. Every day is this day, and that’s all that matters. Until now. Now Nikki knows the word. As she goes along the path, down the rocks, back to where Mother is standing and calling for her, Nikki thinks about tomorrow. But by the time she reaches Mother (who sounds scared and angry and loving all at the same

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

time—”Wherewereyou? Iwassoooworried!”), the words have faded from Nikki’s mind. She smells the dog cookies in the pocket of Mother’s shorts and she sits, obediently and expectantly, her wagging tail making arcs in the leaf litter. Mother gives her a cookie and they set off back along the stream, towards home. Back at home, Nikki rests while Mother takes a shower and gets dressed. Nikki hears the water running and in a while, she can smell the shampoo and perfume that Mother uses. Those are the smells of Mother about to leave the house, by herself. But when Mother comes out, picks up her briefcase and purse, and pulls out her keys, Nikki ignores the portent of the shampoo and perfume. With a dog’s abiding and eternal hope, she jumps up and makes herself ready for a possible ride in the car. Mother looks at Nikki and smiles. “Youstayhereandguardthehouse, Nikki.” It’s the sound Mother always makes when she leaves alone. Nikki is disappointed. Resigned, she goes and flops down in the shaft of sunlight by the window, and closes her eyes. The sunlight is warm. The disappointment is already gone. Nikki goes to sleep.

In the morning, Mother takes Nikki for a walk in the woods. Nikki sniffs the spot where the turtles were, looks for frogs at the edge of the stream, takes a drink, runs across the stream and up the ridge, chases a squirrel, and, at the base of the cliff, she smells The Man. Nikki stops still, remembering. She goes around the huge pile of rocks with her nose to the ground, until she finds the little hidden path that leads up to the cave. She trots up the path and emerges onto the rock shelf. The Man is sitting with his back to the cave, gazing out across the valley to the woods beyond. “Greetings, Dog,” he says. “This Dog greets you, The Man,” Nikki answers. The words have suddenly come back to her mind. She pushes her nose into The Man’s hand and then remembers something else. “Tomorrow This Dog finds The Man,” she thinks. The Man laughs. “This day is not tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day after this day. Always.” Nikki is puzzled. She now understands that there will be a day after this day. She settles down with the idea and turns it over in her mind, in the way that she chews on a bone. Then she has a new thought; one that she can barely hold onto, it is so big. “Is there a tomorrow after tomorrow?” she asks The Man.

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

“Yes. And another one after that, too,” he says. “How many tomorrows are there?” Nikki asks. “Nobody knows,” he says. The idea of more than one day after this day is disturbing. Nikki feels anxious. “But the thing is,” The Man says, “it doesn’t really matter how many tomorrows there are.” He puts his hand on her head and strokes her ears, gazing off into the woods. “This day, right now, is what matters.” “This Dog knows that,” Nikki thinks. Then she hears Mother calling for her and she turns to go. “See you tomorrow,” The Man says. “Tomorrow,” Nikki replies, understanding. This time the words stay with Nikki all the way down the hidden rock path and along the main path to where Mother is standing, looking for her. She runs up to Mother and wags her tail, thinking “This day matters.” Then a squirrel darts out from behind a tree and the words vanish as Nikki rockets off after the squirrel.

On most days, Mother takes Nikki to the woods before she leaves for the day. The mornings are hot and the air is still. The mosquitoes buzz and the flies hover. Sweat bees burrow into the fur on Nikki’s neck, and she runs crazily through the woods, maddened by the insects. Then she finds the hidden path to the cave, and she sees The Man, and the words come back to her again. She tells him about the things she’s seen that day, and he tells her the words for them. Many words, she knows already, like squirrel and woods. The Man tells her the words for frog and tree and rain and leaf. The words stay with Nikki for longer and longer each day, lasting even all the way back home. Like anyone learning a new language, she is able to understand the meaning of a sentence without knowing all the words. Now, when Mother leaves for the day and says, “You stay here and guard the house,” Nikki understands that she has been given a job to do. Being the family dog, Nikki likes having a job and doing it well. She no longer feels disappointed by these words. In fact, Nikki feels proud, and when Mother leaves, she proudly settles down to guard the house for the day. On some days, Mother and the kids take Nikki for a ride in the car. They go to the beach and Nikki runs with all her might across the sand, trying to catch the seagulls, who flap lazily away, stay-

This Dog | A Fable by Anne Marcotty page 

ing just out of reach. She splashes through the little waves and laps at the salt water, coughing. Nikki is filled with excitement. She lunges at a clump of seaweed and turns over a shell with her paw; she watches a crab scuttle across the debris; she barks and barks at the waves, at the seagulls, and at the huge sky. In the reeds, Nikki finds an old fish. The smell is enormous. It makes her a little dizzy with excitement. Nikki has the urge to dive into the smell, and become part of it. She rolls on the old fish, first with one shoulder and then with the other, working that fantastic smell into her fur. With her tail and head high and her nose full of the glorious stink, Nikki runs back to Mother and the kids. When they get into the car, Mother seems upset. Mother says some words that Nikki doesn’t understand, but she can tell that Mother is angry. When Mother is angry, even the smell of an old fish can’t cheer Nikki up. Back at home, Mother doesn’t let Nikki in the house. Nikki sits outside and tries not to move. She wants to disappear. The fish stink fills her nose while misery fills her heart. Soon, the kids come outside with a bucket of water and some old towels. Nikki can smell the soap and she shudders wretchedly. She tries to sneak away while making herself as small as possible, but The Girl catches her by the collar and leads her to the side of the house. Then The Boy and The Girl slosh the soapy water over her shoulders. Again and again they douse her. They are laughing and throwing soapy suds at each other. It sounds like they’re having a happy time, but for Nikki, who stands with her head down and her tail between her legs, it’s a time of utter misery. Then the bath is over, the fish stink is gone, and Nikki is drying off in the sun. Mother comes outside. She walks over to Nikki and rubs her neck and ears, puts her nose into Nikki’s fur, and says words that sound happy. The misery falls from Nikki’s heart and she feels as cheerful as a puppy.

Late one night, there is a thunderstorm. Nikki can feel it long before she can even hear it. The pressure of the atmosphere makes her feel squirmy and worried. When she hears the first thunder, many miles away, she goes into the room where Mother and The Master are sleeping. She gets up on the bed and tries to make a space in between them. Thunder booms again and this time Mother and The Master wake up. Nikki starts to feel panicked. She she feels the storm coming closer and she can’t get comfortable. Mother moves over, making a space for Nikki and says, “Shhhh,” in a soothing way.

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But Nikki can’t lie still. She trembles and fusses. Even the cat has come up on the bed for safety. The storm passes over and then dies away. Nikki stops trembling and goes to sleep, wedged in between Mother and The Master. Before morning, she gets up and goes back to her own bed. The air doesn’t feel so heavy now and the breeze coming through the open window smells sweet. Nikki sleeps peacefully. In the morning, the woods sparkle with rain drops and the stream nearly overflows the little log bridge that Mother uses to cross. The water tastes sharp and delicious. Hundreds of mushrooms have come up overnight and the birds in the tree canopy are busy in the scrubbed, bright air. Nikki finds the hidden path and even as she starts up toward the cave, the words come to her in a rush. As soon as she sees The Man, she thinks, “This Dog greets you, The Man. This day matters.” “I agree,” he says, holding out his hand to her. Nikki ponders for a moment and then thinks, “The night before this day, This Dog hears a big noise. In the sky.” “I heard it, too. It was a big noise. It’s called thunder,” he says. “Thunder. This Dog... is afraid.” “Well, it can be a pretty big noise. It’s understandable that you’d be afraid of thunder.” “Why does the sky thunder?” Nikki asks. “It’s a sudden release of energy that’s built up in the atmosphere because of the mixing of hot air from the earth and cooler air from above. The bright light that flashes—it’s called lightning—is the electrical energy coming to earth. So much energy has to make a big noise,” The Man replies. “This Dog worries that the sky is angry,” she says. “And when someone is angry, you’re frightened.” It’s not a question but a statement, as though The Man knows exactly how she feels. Nikki starts to tremble, remembering the thunder and the angry sky. The Man looks at her and says, gently, “There is no thunder now.” “But there was thunder on the night before this day,” Nikki says, starting to feel panicky. “Does that matter?” he asks. Nikki looks at The Man. She wants him to know how big the thunder is and how it still fills her memory. “Does it really matter that there was thunder last night? What did you do when it happened? You found the safest place in the house, close to your people, and you waited until it was gone,

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right? Then the storm passed and you and your people and your cat all fell asleep, all safe and sound. Right?” Nikki doesn’t answer. She is thinking about how it felt to be wedged in between Mother and The Master, to hear their breathing and their soft words, to stop shaking and fall asleep. The Man continues. “Is there thunder now? No. Now is what matters.” Nikki stops trembling. Then she hears the sound of of Mother’s voice. “Mother is calling. This Dog goes now,” she says, and jumps up. Mother sounds angry. Nikki knows she has spent too long at the cave this time. She runs down the now familiar hidden path and onto the main path. Mother is angry, Nikki can tell. She can almost feel it in her chest, and at first she wants to run away and disappear. She slows down, not wanting to come close enough to Mother to be able to feel how angry she is. Then she thinks about The Man’s words. She goes and puts her nose into Mother’s hand. She thinks, “Be happy. This Dog is here now.” Mother can’t hear the dog’s words, of course, but Nikki looks into Mother’s face and then trots ahead of her along the path, just as though Mother did actually hear her. Every so often she looks back over her shoulder and she can feel that Mother isn’t so angry any more.

The mornings get cooler. The bees are gone and the frogs find a cozy place to settle down in the mud. The leaves turn red and yellow. Nikki doesn’t see the changes as much as she smells them. Leaves on the ground smell different than leaves on the trees. The Man now wears long pants and a sweatshirt and socks and shoes when Nikki goes to visit him at the cave. One day, he says, “Tomorrow I’ll be gone. This is the last day that I will come to the cave.” Nikki looks up, alarmed. “But why does The Man go away?” she asks. She is suddenly very sad. He shrugs and says, “It’s time to go, that’s all.” Then he pats her head and says, “Don’t be sad. You’ll still come to the woods. You’ll chase the squirrels and splash in the stream; you’ll smell the worms and run in the snow. And you’ll feel every single day that this is exactly what you want to do.” And that’s what Nikki does. Every day, when Mother carries her across the stinging fence into the woods, Nikki can hardly contain her joy. Every day it’s the same, yet every day is new, like it’s always the first time. When Nikki eats her dinner, it is the most delicious food she’s ever tasted. And when

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she curls up with The Kids in the evening and chews her cozy bone, she feels that there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. The words that The Man taught her begin to fade from Nikki’s memory. She still knows the important ones: bone, walk, woods, squirrel, dog. But the other words have gone away, along with her memory of The Man. She doesn’t even look for the hidden path any more. Some things Nikki does remember, however. Even though she doesn’t know exactly what the words mean any more, she now feels proud to stay home and guard the house. And she will always remember that this day, right now, is what matters. But that’s something that This Dog has always known, anyway.