I ran, was gone from the scene in seconds, but I was confused about myself. I hadn’t been touched by a human in a thousand years. What was happening to me? How had I let that happen?

  FIVE

  In the Bison pen, I told them about the building under construction, and about the new rectangles full of gorgeous commotion. I did not tell them about being touched by a human boy, and the people shooing me.

  “You say there were giant rocks?” Freya asked. “And streams a thousand times bigger than they should be? And even some human children inside a rectangle?”

  “Not real human children,” I said. “A picture of a human child. Like the picture on your fence.” On the fence enclosing them, facing the humans, there has always been a picture of a Bison. It’s a simple picture, a silhouette. I see it every day. It is just a picture of Freya and the rest of them. It is exact, it looks just like them—their size and shape. But the picture I saw of the children in the rectangle was different—it was not exact. It was more than exact. It was like the world in a storm, real but overturned, real but exploded.

  “There was a storm, too?” Meredith asked. “Inside the rectangle?”

  “Not a real storm,” I said. I didn’t know how to describe it. “It was just the feeling of a storm.”

  “And the stars were inside the child?” Samuel asked, and turned to Freya. “I think this dog has eaten one too many pupusas.”

  I didn’t have answers. Somehow I hoped the Bison would know more than they did. Despite their limited mobility, their judgments are sound. They tell us when to worry and not worry, when to fight and when to wait. But often I forget that the Bison have not left their enclosure for hundreds of years. They were inside this fence when I was born. As long as I’ve lived, they have never left. Of the outside world all they know is what I tell them, what the Assistant Eyes tell me, and what they can see from the road that runs along their pen.

  “I’m going back tomorrow,” I told them. “And I’ll get a better look. I’ll be able to describe it better.”

  They asked me if I’d seen anything else of interest that day, and I told them only that the building going up near the rectangles was proceeding at a quick pace.

  Meredith sighed. “The buildings bring more people.”

  “More cars,” Samuel said.

  “It seems to me,” Freya said, “that you should be increasingly careful near these rectangles. They cause me some concern. And your great interest in them causes me concern, too. I wouldn’t want you to be taken in by some kind of dark magic, some kind of seizing light. Remember the deer.”

  There were deer in the park, but not too many. They were not good near the cars. In fact, they were strangely susceptible, oddly vulnerable, especially at night. There were few cars in the park at night, but with their bright lights—blinding moving moon-lights—they were visible a million miles away, and so easy to avoid. The deer, though, they were drawn to the lights, and caught by the lights, and killed by the lights. Every few months we found a deer in the road, struck dead, and it would baffle us all. Why did they get so close, when the lights and sounds and smells of the cars were so obvious?

  “We all have weaknesses,” Freya noted.

  “I don’t,” Samuel said.

  “We all have something that blinds us to threats,” Freya continued, ignoring him.

  I thought of the stories I’d heard about the Bison’s ancestors. Perhaps these were rumors, but I have heard that there were once so many Bison they covered the land so thickly you could barely see the grass underneath them. But then men came, and shot them, and shot them with ease, with the Bison failing to fight or even to run, until almost all were gone. Only these three were left.

  I said nothing to them about this. I have never brought up stories of their past, their ancestors’ lives. There’s nothing happy about those times, nothing tolerable even.

  “I’ll be careful,” I said.

  “Please be,” Freya said.

  That night I thought of the rectangles I’d seen, the madness within. My mind was so excitable, so scattered and bursting, that it took me a long time to find sleep. I had to do what I always do when my mind will not rest: I recite what I know to be true.

  God is the Sun.

  Clouds are her messengers.

  Rain is only rain.

  Until finally I was pulled under by the great soft hand of sleep.

  SIX

  The next day I went back.

  I went back to the rectangles, yes. It was part of my route, first of all. Of course it was. Of course it was. It was on the way. I had to check on the building they were building, being the Eyes and all, but I also thought, if the rectangles were still there, I would briefly check on them, too.

  So I ran like light, through the surrounding woods, and was sure I was not seen. I could not be seen by any human eye for I was faster than ever that day. In fact I passed a pair of starlings in the lower boughs of a live oak and they said, “You are so fast!”

  And I said, “You are so good at recognizing the obvious!”

  Ha ha hooooo!

  I said this but they did not hear me, for with every word I had traveled a thousand miles at indescribable speed. So the words, as I said them, were only distant memories to them, dust from planets long gone.

  And I went past the cathedral of flowers, and past the roller-skaters, past the Cape, who was dancing on wheels, and then, as I neared the new building and the rectangles, I slowed down, because my favorite rectangle was still there, and I slowed more, and soon I stopped, seized by it.

  It took me in. The swirl of it. The illogic of it. Why was there a child in those winds? Why were there stars in a daylight sky? And then I noticed the trees in the picture were golden, every part of them golden, as if they’d swallowed the Sun. Why? Who would have them this way, when in life they are not this way? And in the corner! In the corner of the rectangle, finally I saw a hundred or so grasping human hands, and these hands were all blue, when in life there are no blue hands that I have seen. Why would this picture be this way, I wondered. Why why why?

  And then I felt the movement of air near my neck.

  Then I felt a snake on my neck.

  Then I heard a click.

  I had been staring at the picture, wondering if maybe such a scene was possible, and would I ever see such a thing myself outside of a rectangle like this, when I felt a tickle around my neck. That was it. Just a tickle. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought it was a bug or inchworm or even duck feces—another thing about ducks—and I wanted to get closer to it, to try to understand it, and so I dropped to walking position and moved forward and then it happened. I felt a tug on my neck. I have never worn a leash but right away my mind said leash.

  I turned around and saw the legs of a man. They were covered by green pants, and the green pants were covered in mud. I craned my head upward and saw that the man was a young man, and he had attached a leash to me. It was a simple blue rope that he’d somehow clicked onto my neck, and he held the rope in a knot around his filthy hand. I looked up at the whole of him. He was not tall, not round. He was thin, angular. He had pale pink skin and bright blue eyes and the beginnings of a yellow-red beard and wore a kind of cowboy hat with a string around his chin that held it to his angular head. His vest was black and over it he wore a long blue coat with sashes dangling to the grass. I’d seen this man before. I couldn’t recall when or where but I knew he’d been identified as a Trouble Traveler. Those we never forget.

  “We’re gonna be a team, Splotchy,” he said to me. “That’s your new name, by the way.” And he tugged on the leash and oh oh oh, it was horrifying. To have this rope telling me where to go. I can’t explain the shock. I turned my head against it and felt a sharp pain in my neck, my shoulders. I dug my claws into the soil, to slow the turning of the planet, to stop this from happening. “Let’s go!” he yelled and yanked on the leash and my feet left the ground. He was stronger than he looked. He yanked, and I flew toward him and let out an involuntary yelp that filled me with shame. Then I landed and realized I was now leashed. He turned me away from the light and the pictures and into the darkness of the woods. Wherever he walked I had to follow.

  I was now kept. While looking at the picture, thinking of other worlds, I’d lost my freedom in this one.

  * * *

  —

  As we walked, I thought and planned. My mind was in a swirly state, though. I have swum in the gray ocean and more than twice was tossed in the cruelty of a crashing wave, rolling in the white, the shushing, the close-to-oblivion. My mind was like that now.

  He walked us through the woods nearest the sea. Pulling against the leash had been painful and I didn’t want that pain again unless I was sure it would come to something. I decided I needed to bide my time. Think, think, I told myself. I followed, examining the human for weaknesses. The leash was wrapped around his hand like a bandage, his bony fingers entwined with the rope and holding tight. It would not be enough to simply pull against him. He weighed more than me and the rope would not break.

  After a short walk we came to a large vehicle, with great black tires and a pipe at the back spewing black smoke. The man who held me knocked on the back of the vehicle and a door opened. “Look what I got!” he said, and again yanked the leash so my head rose to face the humans inside.

  At first I saw only one of them, another man, this one with bright yellow hair and hard green eyes. But then under him, a mound stirred and sat up and became a woman with stringy black hair. Her eyes opened wide when she saw me. “I’ve seen that dog before!” she said. “What’s his name?”

  “This is Splotchy,” the man who held my leash said. “I got him near the new museum. He was sitting there just looking at the art like some kind of connoisseur. He just stared and stared and so I snuck up on him. It was the easiest thing in the world.”

  “Hey Splotchy,” the stringy-haired woman said to me. “I’m Pamela.” She scratched me behind the ears, which felt so good my ankles tingled, but then other hands were touching me and the more hands touched me the more worried I got. “Twisty, you sure this isn’t someone’s dog?” Pamela asked.

  “You see any tags?” Twisty said. “He’s a stray.”

  Twisty gave the leash another tug, as if to show that I belonged to him. My head jerked, my neck throbbed. “I thought he’d come in handy when we make the journey south.”

  “We need a lot more money before we do that,” the yellow-haired man said.

  “We’ll get it,” Twisty said. “I was even thinking this little guy could help. Some family comes up to pet him, and you guys take a bag or wallet. Nice.”

  “Aw man,” Pamela said. “That is so twisted.”

  “That’s why we call him Twisty,” the yellow-haired man said, and giggled with an incongruous falsetto.

  Pamela took my snout in her hands. “Do you want to help us get some money, Splotchy? Do you want to be an accomplice?”

  I wanted neither, and shook my head free.

  “A few hours max, and then we go,” Twisty said.

  “Wait till we see what Rainbow says,” Pamela said. “For now, though, get inside and close the door, dummy.”

  Twisty gave me a kick in the hindquarters, a yank on the leash, and I was forced to jump into the vehicle. The doors closed with a reverberating thump.

  SEVEN

  Yes, I had a plan to escape. Give me credit. All I had to do was get seen by one of the Assistant Eyes. Any animal at all, really, or most of them anyway—we can’t count on the ducks; I’ve told you about the ducks—would help if they saw me leashed. Any of the other animals would know something was wrong. The task was to get noticed. But inside this vehicle it was dark, and I was far from any windows.

  I had seen cars for as long as I could see, but had never been inside one. I know many of my kind enjoy being inside these moving metal boxes, but I did not enjoy it. Whatever appeal it might have held was diminished by my status as a captive. It was not pleasant. It was small and smelly and full of foul humans who wished for me a life I had not chosen.

  I needed to be out in the open again, at which point I would be soon seen and soon rescued. We animals of the park have engineered other rescues in the past. Once a month some kid traps a mouse or frog, or a Parks Person snares a fox, and we have to make a plan. With the kids it’s easy—one of us startles the kid, scares them, distracts them, and their hands open and the captured goes free. The Parks People, it should be said, are generally smarter and more prepared for our disruptions.

  Still, though, I knew that Bertrand or Yolanda would soon know of my captivity. They were constantly circling the park and next time I was outside, or near the windshield of this vehicle, they would see me held in the fist of this man. Or any bird would see, any squirrel. Freya would be told. The rest of them would be told. Or they would realize there was trouble when I failed to report, and they would rally the rest, and that would be that. I was of value! I was the Eyes! My absence would be noticed!

  Just then, the front door of the vehicle opened, and a fourth person ducked inside, grinning with unhappy eyes. “My friends, I scored. But we gotta leave now.”

  “Rainbow, did you find something?” Pamela said, and crawled forward to him to kiss his cheek.

  “I did, Pam-Pam,” the man said. I took his name to be Rainbow, which made me laugh a little. Bearded and scarred, small-eyed and scowling, he looked quite unlike a bending prism of multi-colored light. Now his eyes fixed on me. “Where’d you get that?” he asked.

  “Found him,” Twisty said, and turned my leash around again in his fist. My head was brought closer to his knuckles.

  “Does he bark?” Rainbow asked, staring at me.

  “No,” Twisty said. “He’s cool.”

  “If he barks I’ll kill him.”

  “He won’t,” Twisty said, and looked at me intensely, as if I were contemplating barking and he meant to dissuade me. “Have some of this,” he said, and rummaged around till he found half a turkey sandwich. He thrust it into my snout and I resisted. I did not want his turkey sandwich, or any turkey sandwich.

  “The second he barks I’ll kick him in the stomach,” Rainbow said. “Then I’ll kill him.”

  “He won’t make a sound,” Twisty said, and turned the leash one more time in his white fist.

  The fact is, I was contemplating barking. Barking, I hoped, would bring Bertrand, or Angus, whose ears were exceptional, even while he slept. But I didn’t want to get kicked in the stomach, and I believed that was a real possibility. I had to think. I had to bide my time and use my bark at the best possible moment.

  The hierarchy here was confusing. I had been sure that Twisty was the leader of this band, but now this new man called Rainbow, who was shorter but wider than Twisty, was ordering everyone around and they were fumbling and tumbling to obey. They followed his orders without question. It looked like they’d done this kind of thing, this rapid exit, before.

  “How much did you get?” Pamela asked him.

  “Plenty. The park rangers, or whatever they have here, are probably looking for me, so we gotta move,” Rainbow said.

  “Where’d you get it?” Pamela asked, smiling with a rapturous kind of admiration.

  “Never you mind,” Rainbow said. He was obviously very proud of himself, so much so that his humility gave way. “Door was open, the cashbox was there, I took it and I split. Now we have to split.”

  “Out of the park,” Pamela said.

  “Precisely, my dear,” Rainbow said, and held her face in his two hands.

  EIGHT

  Now I knew the shape of things. I remembered the small silver box of money from that morning in the soccer park. Soon the park police, and the city police, would be looking through the park for the culprits. They might even close down the park exits. Twisty and Rainbow and Pamela needed to leave as soon as they could. Once in the city, they would be among twenty or thirty million other people in a million cars and trucks, would blend quickly into invisibility, and I would be with them, inside this rolling metal container, utterly unseeable.

  I looked around. The back of this vehicle, where I sat, was a vast boxy shape, full of random things. Two bicycles. A scooter. A horn of twisted gold, a musical instrument. And then I knew who these people were. These were robbers. These were thieves. They were truly Trouble Travelers, taking things that were not theirs, and running away with them. There were so many things inside this vehicle. A pair of tennis rackets! Someone’s purse, someone’s necklace, a stroller for a child! Oh I did not like these humans.

  And I knew if they got me out of the park, my chances for rescue would plummet. My friends were in the park. Only a few of the birds ventured farther. I knew I had to get free before we left the green, green park and landed on the gray, gray streets. The vehicle and all its stolen things was swiftly, loudly, rumbling through the park’s main road. I could see the gray of the city in the distance in front of us.

  I have to say I began to panic then. There were no openings. The windows were closed, the doors impenetrable. The only source of hope was a tiny hole in the floor, through which I could see the road rush. But it was too small, far too small for me. I would be lucky to pass a paw through it.

  Never before have I panicked, because my speed is a weapon against all worry, but now, leashed and caged in this moving metal box, I could not run, had few options, was surrounded by humans with their clever hands, and I began to despair.