Ryan

The house was dark and still when Ryan woke.

He blinked a couple of times and pondered whether or not to get up off the floor.

He rolled over to think about it and rested his chin on his left forepaw, scanning, taking in the dark, silent living room. Robert lay in his bed nearby, on his back, front paws curled to his chest, hind paws extended, looking for all the world like he was jumping over a log, upside down. His chest heaved shallowly and he had a serious look on his face. An upside down serious look that could not be taken very seriously. An overgrown puppy, even in his sleep.

Pondering his next move, Ryan breathed easily, much more easily than those last few labored breaths he drew right before he fell asleep. He breathed in and then let out an easy sigh. Just a bit to his left was the faint smell of a baked chicken leg someone had dropped on the carpet a few months back. Ryan reached his neck out toward the ghost of the smell and sniffed twice. Robert would search out that same spot several times a day and smell it intensely, hoping for that chicken leg to somehow reappear.

Yep, an overgrown puppy.

It had been a rough day followed by an even rougher night.

In the morning, Ryan faltered when he tried to pick himself up off the floor and walk to the back door to be let out. His owner helped by holding his body up until his legs were under him. As wobbly legs tried to move him, Owner told him to take his time.

Right. As if he had a choice in the matter.

By the time it was time to come back in for breakfast, the legs were bit better but it was still quite an effort to walk back into the house. He stumbled a couple of times on the way. Once inside, Ryan felt exhausted. Too exhausted, in fact, to eat. Instead, he found a soft spot on a rug to lie down and rest. His body landed with a thud.

At mid-day, Owner picked up Ryan off the floor and carried him out into the back yard.

In the evening, Owner again picked up Ryan and carried him out the back door. He patiently endured the jostling as Owner lumbered down the two steps from the back porch. Owner’s cheek rubbing against the top of his head eased the discomfort of being carried. When they reached Ryan’s favorite corner of the yard, near the row of honeysuckle bushes where the rabbits could often be found, they stopped. Ryan patiently complied as Owner held up his back side so he could poop.

By that point, Ryan did not struggle or resist. It was hard enough work just breathing. He simply let himself be picked up, carried, and be set down.

As before, after being carried back into the house, food just did not interest him. And as before, he dropped down without ceremony.

Quietly, Owner had laid Ryan in his bed. After an initial period of fussing by Owner and the rest of the family, he was finally left alone, although someone was constantly in the room until, finally, everyone went up to bed.

Mercifully, Robert sensed that Ryan did not want to play or to have a bone dropped on him or to interact in any way, really. Robert merely padded over to Ryan and gently touched noses before retreating to his own bed.

But now, in the middle of the night, the rough day was behind him and he felt much better. Better enough to look back and smile at his owner trying to sound like a dog woofing every time he said the word “rough.” Better enough to listen to the quiet chirping of crickets outside in the moonlight. Better enough to stand up and walk.

He slowly stood up, front legs first, followed by his ever reluctant hind legs. They managed this time to lift up and support his nearly worthless hips, for once without the usual dull ache that followed him everywhere.

He stepped out of his bed.

He stretched.

He silently stepped past Robert and turned into the front hallway.

Ahead of him, the front door was ajar. He walked up to it and put his snout into the just large enough opening. He threw his head sideways.

The door silently opened half way.

Next, Ryan put his forehead on the storm door, which was closed but not latched. It gave way easily and in a second he was gingerly stepping down the front porch stairs.

A gentle breeze greeted Ryan with a thousand memorable smells that washed over him. The rhythmic clack of his nails echoed in the quiet night as he slowly trotted to the end of stone sidewalk leading down to the street.

Out onto the street he turned right and continued his trot past the next door neighbor’s house.

Two houses beyond that, by the side of the street, a rabbit intently devoured grass in the moonlight.

Ryan slowed his pace. His head dropped and he changed his gait, gently lowering the back of each paw to keep his nails from announcing his approach.

He paused to sniff the rabbit from a distance.

Then he cautiously proceeded.

He tried to time each step to when the rabbit would bend down for another mouthful of grass, remaining motionless between the irregularly timed bobs of the rabbit’s head.

His progress was excruciatingly slow, but Ryan had learned patience over the years.

The closer he drew to the rabbit, the more he quivered between steps.

Incredibly, the rabbit seemed not to notice him.

His breathing quickened as the distance between them shrank.

His nostrils fanned the earthy scent of the rabbit into his finely-tuned snout.

The rabbit’s own nose twitched but she did not make a move to run away.

Ryan took another step.

Waited..

Another step.

Another.

Ryan was within a half step of the rabbit.

She buried her face in the grass for some clover hidden beneath the tall, unmowed blades.

Ryan seized his opportunity. He deftly bent forward, touching the tip of his snout just behind the rabbit’s shoulders.

He did it!

He did it!

He did it!

After all these years of sneaking up on rabbits, only to have them hop away, seemingly at the last second, he finally touched one!

The rabbit moved a half hop away and looked at him, still munching on the clover. She appeared to be only slightly perturbed at Ryan.

He leaned forward and touched his snout behind her ear, then tried to dig his snout further down into her furry neck.

She let him nuzzle her, but only for a second. His snout was too big and too wet.

She took a couple of hops away from him and then turned toward him as she rubbed her front paw behind her ear.

Ryan thought she smiled at him. His ears perked up and his tail wagged.

She finished her chewing and hopped into some bushes.

Ryan watched her as she disappeared into the shrubbery. Then he triumphantly stepped back onto the cool pavement of the street and resumed his trot.

Above, a few scattered clouds languidly moved past the moon.

A gentle breeze urged him on.

The faint scent of dog treats beckoned him to the other side of the street as he passed Frank’s house. He veered toward the end of Frank’s driveway and sure enough, there they were!

They must have dropped from Frank’s pocket when Frank went in for the night.

Ryan liked Frank. He liked Frank because he didn’t have to beat Frank over the head for a handout. You simply sat in front of him as closely as you could. Frank would look down, chuckle, dutifully put his hand in his pocket, and give you the morsels, one at a time. Then he would tell you “That’s it.”

Then you could grunt to him to tell him that there were, in fact, more and he would reach into his pocket again and pull out another few. You could do this two or three times before Frank would pull out his pocket and tell you, with an elaborated display of exasperation “That’s it! They’re all gone.”

A small mound of them on the street like this was much more fun and much more to the point.

After the treats, the breeze, again, beckoned him on.

Ryan ambled past more of the neighborhood.

He crisscrossed the street, stopping to sniff and pee at his usual stops.

Pretty soon, he came to the tee in the street. Straight ahead would continue taking him around the neighborhood. Turn to leave.

Before he even had a chance to decide which way to go, though, the familiar smell of Bonnie’s treats drew his nose down to the pavement. A small scattering of the little nibbles Bonnie liked to give him spread out on the street before him. Ryan liked Bonnie. With her, there was none of the pretending there was with Frank. Bonnie always gave Ryan two treats whenever they met. There was no need for negotiation or prodding. A small bunch of the treats must have fallen from her pocket when she returned to the neighborhood that evening. He deftly picked each one off the asphalt and swallowed it after a few quick crunches between his back teeth.

After he ate the last nugget, he quickly scanned around him for more until he was satisfied that there were none. Then, without hesitation, Ryan turned onto the short street that he and Owner so often took out of the neighborhood.

Owner always told him to look both ways as they crossed the street at the end of the neighborhood. Owner would turn his head in an exaggerated fashion. Ryan puzzled over that as a puppy but as season gave way to season he came to understand. Owner’s hearing and sense of smell were not all that good, abysmal, really, and that is what he needed to do in order to know if any cars were coming. Ryan learned to wait for Owner to go through his head turning ritual and say “Okay, let’s go.” before trotting across the street.

Occasionally, Ryan would have to gallop swiftly ahead to get them across in time if a car that Owner did not hear came fast over the hill on the street at the edge of the neighborhood. But they always made it.

Once outside the neighborhood, Ryan had many streets and sidewalks, and roads, and paths to choose from.

He started down a familiar street. That led to another familiar street, followed by another.

When he reached a certain street corner, he stopped. Owner and he had always walked straight when they came to this corner. He had occasionally glanced down the street as he and Owner walked on past it. The street went down a hill and bent out of sight. This night, Ryan turned onto the street, ambled down the hill and around the bend to see where it led.

The street led to an unfamiliar street, which led to another, which led to yet another.

At the end of this last street was a wooded park.

Ryan slowly approached the sign beside the entrance to the park to sniff its base. First one post, then the other, chronicled a list of dogs unknown to Ryan. He lifted his leg and added his own name to the list.

A gentle puff of breeze urged him into the inviting path which led deep into the park.

As he walked through the woods, Ryan was soothed by the soft rustle of the leaves being blown along the side of the path. The gentle breeze from behind him also pushed away the few clouds overhead allowing the moon to light his way.

Further along the path, the air started to turn moist and the unmistakable sound of flowing water compelled Ryan’s pace to quicken. It seemed like an eternity since he had last gone for a swim. His trot turned into a gallop.

The sun was beginning to push its way up over the horizon to light up the forest.

Soon, the path bore to the right and opened to a slight embankment. The grass gave way to sand. Before him, a wide stream flowed lazily.

He ran into the water.

After his initial splash, Ryan was soon up to his chest in the stream. The bottom of the stream was soft but firm and he was able to move into the deeper water unhindered. A few steps later, his paws no longer touched the bottom. He pushed himself forward effortlessly. The water felt wonderful. The current moved slowly. So slowly, that it was almost no current at all. He swam a loop in the middle of the river. He swam upstream. He swam downstream. He swam another loop, then another, then another. All the while, his big, wide paws moved him with utter grace and confidence.

He swam to the other side.

As he stepped out of the river, onto the distant shore, Ryan felt refreshed and not all that tired. He was born for crossing rivers.

He shook the water from his coat with a mighty shake.

He had left a forest before crossing the river but this side had a meadow that gradually sloped up and over a rise. He started for the rise. Still soaked, he shook again. Wet, but slightly less so, he continued forward.

The sandy shore of the river led to short grass, which gradually gave way to the long grass of the meadow. Sounds of activity over the rise piqued Ryan’s curiosity. He cantered forward up the gentle slope.

As he trotted up the hill, Ryan saw the points of two ears work their way above the top of the rise. The dark brown, pointy ears were separated by a shock of a cream colored mane that flopped down, nearly covering the eyes of an old trail horse. Instead of being frightened by the huge beast as it lumbered over the crest of the rise, Ryan was drawn toward it. Even from a distance, Ryan could smell that this was the horse that met him at a certain rusty old gate, a side entrance to a horse farm, years back. The horse stepped slowly, deliberately toward Ryan, even as it did back then, a lifetime ago.

When they were close enough, they touched snouts. The horse snorted a gentle welcome. He shook his head from side to side and his mane danced in the air. Ryan wagged back in that universal sign of eternal friendship.

The horse slowly turned around and began to walk back over the crest of the hill. Ryan trotted beside him.

When they reached the top of the hill, Ryan stopped, stunned. In the broad dip between the hill he was on and the next, higher, hill, Ryan saw a huge pack of dogs. Dogs of all sorts. Pure-breds, mutts, dogs of all shapes and sizes. Some were running, some were chewing on bones or sticks, some were scratching. One was on his back, squirming, rubbing the top of his head and his shoulders into some disgusting smell he found in the grass, probably poop from the rabbit that was being chased by another dog.

In the middle of this huge, wonderful pack of dogs, Ryan spotted one dog, sitting, quietly watching Ryan.

Ryan’s heart thundered and he took off in a frenzied all-out dash for the dog in the center of the pack, ears flapping wildly as he ran.

It was RUSTY!

Ryan dodged some of the dogs and leapt over others. Small ones jumped out of his way. Quickly, he reached Rusty.

Ryan whimpered. His tail thrashed. He rubbed the top of his head into Rusty’s chest.

Rusty gently nuzzled Ryan between his big, floppy ears.

When Ryan was a puppy, Rusty had always been there. Then, one day, the old dog just wasn’t there any more and for all these years since, Ryan had watched and waited, painfully, for him.

Sometimes, Ryan would catch the scent of Rusty on an old collar or something and think that Rusty would soon return, but he never did.

And now, finally, here he was.

Ryan pulled his snout out of Rusty’s chest and started to lick Rusty’s cheek.

Rusty playfully turned his head out of reach with a smile. He gingerly stood, turned, and started to find his way through the pack toward the far hill.

Ryan immediately went with him.

Together, they started a long walk together, side by side.