Brown Paper Box

Brown Paper Box

Part 3

He was a good boy. He knew he was. He had been told all the time, which made this silence so much more painful. What had he done to deserve this? Sitting at the curb, he closed his eyes and remembered the times he was scratched behind the ears and told, “Hey, Buddy, you’re a good boy, you know that?” He had. He had known. Now the fur behind his ears was matted and dirty, with biting burrs digging into his tender skin.

For as long as he could remember, they had always been there for him, and he for them. What happened?

He opened his eyes, wanting to be alert. He felt it was 3 in the afternoon, and it was time for him to wait. With great patience, he sat still on the sidewalk, looking down the street in the direction in which the school bus would arrive. Every day, during the cold and cool times, before it got hot, he would wait here and walk home with his best friends, his reasons for living - the pups - but a long while ago, before the hot season, they had stopped coming.

Their scent had faded long before, but he didn’t give up. He didn’t need to follow their scent anymore. He knew the way without using his nose, but he had loved smelling the scents they had left behind each day. Those aromas filled his mind with freshly cut grass, the scent of other dogs and sometimes cats, the hot tar of the road, the familiar smells of home. So, every day at 3:15 he waited, just as eager and hopeful as the first time, for his pups to come home.

Once again, the bus didn’t make the turn and stop where he was waiting. He stayed another hour, then turned slowly and trotted off down the street. Always when they didn’t come home, he checked the park, but again they weren’t there. No one was there, and no one had been there in a long time. The merry-go-round that made the pups scream with joy didn’t move at all and smelled old. The swings that made the pups fly high into the air were still. No one sat on the seats. One time, one of the pups had held him in her lap and made the swing move. It was like being in the car with his head hanging out the window, only better. He had bitten at the air, trying to catch it, but never could get ahold of anything.

He nosed around the park some more, stopping at the sandbox. He could smell the odor of cat droppings buried in the sand. He looked around excitedly. It would be good to find it and eat it. There was nothing to see, though. The scent had been fresh, but the cat hadn’t stuck around. He lifted his leg and shot a stream of warm urine onto the sand.

He sniffed the air. The scent of people was gone or faded to nearly gone.

Dejected, he returned to the house and nosed open his door. The food his people left for him was all gone. So was the food in the bag. He had felt like a bad dog when he started tearing open the bag, but the people hadn’t come home to feed him, and he was hungry. He felt guilty for days, but it couldn’t be helped. He drank water out of the toilet until it was gone, and then relied on rain puddles after that.

A lot of houses had the little doors for dogs, and after a while, when the hunger got too painful, he went around the neighborhood and systematically fed himself from where he could. He always returned home, though, hoping his people would be there. They never were. Maybe they had somehow learned he had been a bad dog.

No. He was a good dog. He knew it because they had told him. He waited every day for his people, but they left him anyway, and he didn’t know why. He felt like lying down and going to sleep, never to awaken. His heart hurt and he was lonely. All he knew to do was to wait and hope that one day they would come home, ruffle his ratty fur, and let him lie at their feet. Maybe tomorrow the big yellow bus would come.

He curled into a tight ball in the empty house and slept.

The noise woke him up. It was the sound of someone walking. Excited, he leaped to his feet and ran out the door. His people were coming home! He raced around the corner, towards the sound of feet walking, and skidded to a stop. It wasn’t his people. It was a people, someone else’s people maybe, but not his. Frightened now, he turned and ran back home. He hadn’t seen a people in so long, and he wasn’t sure what he should do. He could hear a voice calling to him, but he stayed hidden under in the house.

After a time, he skulked out from under the bed and sniffed the air. It was good to smell people again. It didn’t smell scary or mean. The smells didn’t sizzle with anger or harsh words, like some of the people did. It did smell alone, though. He decided to follow.

Boy followed behind, sometimes having to catch up when the people got on the bike and rode too fast for him to follow. He watched from the bushes at night as she ate her food and went to sleep. He had discovered that she wasn’t just a people, she was a Mom! Moms were great. After the pups went to sleep, the Mom would let him sit next to her on the couch and she’d rub his belly. He wanted the pups more than anything, but Mom was okay, too. He wished he wasn’t so scared, so she would rub his belly.

The Mom also had lots of food. Boy never got close but waited for Mom to leave, and then ran in to lick the cans left behind. They were all good, but just tasting the food made his hunger even worse. He needed to eat the yummy insides. After licking the cans, he’d go find a house with one of the small doors and eat from there. The food was old and dusty, but there was nothing else. After filling his belly, he’d sniff out Mom’s scent again and follow.

He thought about going back to wait for the pups, but he had waited a long time. They weren’t coming back. Maybe he was bad after all. Maybe this Mom wouldn’t want him either. He couldn’t help himself, though. He needed to be around someone else. He had been so lonely.

One day Mom went into a house that smelled sweet and reminded him of his pups. He remembered the pups sneaking him little bites of the sweet stuff that was so good. He was very much a bad boy for eating it, but the pups were bad, too, so it was okay.

Boy got closer to the door. The sweet smell got stronger, and before he could help himself, he scratched at the door, hoping it would push open and he could sneak a taste of the goodness.

The Mom came out, though, and scared him back to the bushes. He really wanted to eat, but he still wasn’t sure about this people, and he didn’t want them to throw rocks at him and make him go away and “stay”.

He slept that night in the bushes, nose pointed at the sweetness door.

The next morning, the Mom packed up and left the sweet house. He waited until she was gone and crept in to look around. Maybe she left some behind and he could taste it. There was another scent, though. A stronger scent of meat. He found another can lying by the door and carefully licked out the insides, mindful of the time he hurt his tongue on the sharp bitey edge.

He left the store and followed the people smell down the street.

As he came over a rise, Boy stopped in his tracks. On the other side, the Mom was standing by her bike. She was looking at him. Boy cowered back and looked for a place to hide. The people spoke to him.

“It’s ok, fella. I won’t hurt you. Aren’t you just the cutest thing? I bet you’re a good boy.”

She knew his name! The Mom knew him! He knew he had never sniffed her before, but she knew his name, and he was a good boy! Torn between wanting to go get his ears scratched and fear of being rebuffed, he slinked on his belly and whimpered. He couldn’t decide if he should go towards herOn or find bushes to hide in.

“Don’t be scared. I’m your friend.” The Mom put something down on the ground and walked backward, away from him and that suspicious brown paper box that had him curious.

Boy watched until she was a safe distance away, then inched forward to see what she had left on the ground. The box looked like the kind of box his food and toys came in. Did Mom give him a toy? Was the box for him, or would she get mad if he looked inside? He sniffed it carefully and scratched at the paper.

He could smell the food inside. The Mom was feeding him! Even though he had eaten from an old bag of food he found in a house, this was a hunger for flavor. He wanted to taste more of the good food, the stuff in the cans. Excited now, he ripped open the suspicious package with his teeth. It opened easily.

Inside the box was more food than he had seen in a long time. Boy buried his head in the box, eating as fast as he could. He stopped only when the Mom laughed, causing him to look up sharply and get ready to bolt. She wasn’t coming closer, though, so he went back to eating.

His belly was full, and he felt uncomfortable, but he hadn’t been so happy in a long time. Taking a couple of last-minute licks at the box, he slowly walked to a patch of lawn shaded by a big tree and laid down. He had intentionally moved closer to the people, but still far enough away to make a run for it if he had to. He half-closed his eyes and dozed in a food coma.

He was aware when the Mom moved closer. She did that a lot, but only a little bit at a time. Finally, she was sitting next to him on the lawn, and he was too comfortable to move away. She had given him food and hadn’t yelled at him or thrown rocks, so he decided it was ok to let her stay. She laid back next to him, speaking soft, soothing words. Her hand patted him on the head and rubbed his ear, and he fell asleep to her saying, “Such a good boy” as she rubbed his belly.

Mom.