All of the women laughed. JayB did not.

  “It’s twenty-five dollars, right?” the shorter woman asked.

  JayB was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he finally replied. “That’s right.”

  Soon we were back outside and, as far as I could tell, headed to the dog park, but now we had these two silly little dogs with us. They were both females and did not seem to understand why Odin paused at strategically located signposts and fireplugs. They sniffed curiously at our markings at first, then ceased doing that and simply trotted along to stay even with JayB. Some dogs just don’t understand what’s important.

  JayB was unhappy—I could smell it on him. Yet we were out for a walk with dogs—how could he be anything but elated?

  We made a turn and headed down a street we’d never walked before. JayB pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and stared at it, and then glanced down at me. “You know what? We’ll look back on this someday and laugh about it, I promise. I mean, talk about awkward first dates.… We’ll eat takeout or something at the dog park and it’ll be fine. Right, Clancy?”

  I had heard a word or two that I recognized and looked to his hand, but it did not go into his pocket to retrieve anything for me.

  We walked up some steps, and that’s when it struck me that I could smell Phoebe. She was inside the house in front of us. I wagged and panted with excitement. My person was capable of many wonderful things and this was just one example: he’d found Phoebe for me!

  When he pushed a button, I heard her bark from within, and Odin and I glanced at each other, sharing the knowledge that there was a dog in the house. I wondered if Odin knew it was Phoebe.

  The door opened and a man stood there, tall and shirtless. “Hey,” he greeted. “You JayB?”

  JayB didn’t speak for a moment, then nodded. The man held out a hand. “I’m Bedford. Nice to meet you.” He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Dominique! The dog walker’s here!”

  We dogs all went on alert because the man had yelled something and now had an air of expectancy. He turned back to JayB. “She said you guys didn’t talk about price. That’s Dominique … she doesn’t think about things like that.”

  “Oh,” JayB said. “Right. It was mostly … social.”

  “I’m thinking what, maybe twenty dollars an hour?”

  JayB was still standing motionless and I gazed up at him curiously. Then, I whipped my head around at the thundering steps of Phoebe. She squeezed past this new man (Bedford, I decided). I was heartened she came to me first, then sniffed Odin, and then lowered her nose to the little dogs. I was so happy my whole body was wagging, from my tail forward.

  “So, how long’ve you been a dog walker?” Bedford asked.

  JayB cleared his throat. “It’s twenty-five dollars for a couple of hours. That’s what I’ve been charging.”

  The man grinned. “Well, hey, I guess I just can’t get used to how cheap things are here. I moved out from the east coast. I like it, though.”

  I looked up as Dominique joined us. She put a hand on the man’s arm and held out a leash to JayB. “It’s good to see you again,” she greeted with a happy smile.

  “Yes. It’s good to see you, too.”

  For a moment, everyone stood there, and then JayB bent down and put the leash into Phoebe’s collar. “Okay then, I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’ll have your fee, in cash,” the man advised with a wink.

  “Okay,” JayB agreed, a little woodenly.

  He turned and descended the steps, and, of course, we all followed on our leashes. I wanted to feel concern for my person, who was radiating disappointment as he trudged along, but Phoebe’s irrepressible joy filled me with so much love that it was all I could think about.

  We made our way to the dog park and I played and played with Phoebe. The two little white dogs tried to keep up with us for a while, but eventually were content to sprawl next to Odin, who had decided he wasn’t going to run around today.

  Phoebe. Phoebe. That’s all I cared about.

  The next several days went the same. There were no little white dogs, but we would stop by Helen’s and pick up Odin, then proceed to Phoebe’s house. Usually, it was Dominique who answered the door, and Phoebe and I would immediately start wrestling. JayB would talk to Dominique, and they would both laugh. When that happened, JayB was happy.

  Then we’d head to the dog park, and then we’d take long walks around the neighborhood. Eventually, we reversed the process, stopping to drop off Phoebe, then going to Odin’s house, where Odin would crawl on his belly to Helen and then flop down for a tummy rub. The same trick, every time, but it never ceased to delight his person.

  As long as I was included in the turkey treats, who was I to question the arrangement?

  We spent our days outside, away from Kelsey. I saw Phoebe all the time. I’d never been so happy. This was how I wanted my life to be forever.

  Then, one dark, late night, I heard Odin.

  Dear Diary:

  A dog’s voice is easy to understand. I can hear a bark, or a howl, or a whine, and know exactly what that dog is feeling. Most of the time, the dog is happy. Dogs are happy because they get to be dogs.

  But sometimes a dog conveys something else. The rich tones of a dog’s vocalizations can communicate mourning, and grieving, a sadness so deep it hurts all the way to my bones. A dog’s wail lifting up into the night sky can speak clearly of these things.

  There is no sound more lonely.

  Love,

  Clancy

  Five

  It had been dark for a while. JayB was sleeping. I did not know where Kelsey was and did not care. But the sound that came to me, drifting on the night wind, was forlorn and unmistakable.

  Odin was howling. Howling a sad, grieving wail. It sounded like he had pressed himself through his dog door and was in the backyard, his nose to the sky.

  The howl went on, and on, and on.

  I was impatient with my person the next morning. He had not heard Odin during the night, and was therefore unaware of any urgency. I sat and watched anxiously while he stirred his coffee and stared blankly out into the backyard. When I nosed him, his hand dropped down and stroked my forehead, but otherwise he didn’t react. When I was finally on leash and we were heading down the street, I lifted my leg only to attend to my internal pressures—this was not the time to mark territory. I strained as we made our way up the sidewalk toward Odin’s house. At the door, the echoing bell that followed my person’s thumb on the button elicited a strained barking from my dog friend on the other side. Odin’s voice was hoarse and weak from having spent the night addressing the moon.

  I waited with increasing impatience as JayB fidgeted and finally rapped on the door. Then, with a glance at me, he pushed the door open. “Helen?” he called. With a scramble of nails across a wooden floor, Odin raced toward us and thrust his face frantically at JayB. “Hey, Odin,” my person greeted. “How are you doing, buddy? You okay? What’s wrong?”

  JayB pushed Odin back, frowning. Odin panted. He was quivering, his eyes wild. Saliva flecked his jaws. When he looked at me, he didn’t see me, and when I sniffed him, he acted as if my nose hadn’t touched him at all.

  “Helen!” JayB called more loudly. He cocked his head and listened. I watched Odin. JayB advanced cautiously into the house. He called several times and each time the three of us paused, listening for something.

  Then JayB looked down at Odin, his eyes widening in understanding. His shoulders slumped. “Oh no,” he murmured.

  We entered a room at the end of the hall. Helen was there, and she was not there. Her smells had changed. The tiny sounds a person makes while moving through the world had silenced. This was why Odin had cried all night. He panted now, watching JayB, hoping my person could do what humans always do, which is to fix something gone terribly wrong.

  There was, apparently, no fixing this. JayB spoke with his phone to his face, and then a bewildering succession of people came and went. Odin was mistrustful but obedient when JayB pulled us gently into an empty room. “Oh, Odin. Oh,” he crooned softly. Odin wasn’t wagging and his ears were down. He was still panting but he would lift his head and go silent at some noise within the house, straining to hear some sign of Helen out there with the other people. I kept by his side, sniffing him to let him know that he had a good friend.

  Later, JayB gently urged Odin to his feet and led us down the street, not to the dog park, but just along some bushes for me to do my business more properly. Odin was distracted and actually squatted instead of lifting his leg. As soon as he was finished, he wanted to go home. I knew, though, that he’d never really be able to go home again.

  That night, Odin stayed with us. The only break in his grief was when he saw Kelsey—with a deep-throated growl, he went after her hard and fast. She bolted and JayB shouted “No!” and I cringed from that word.

  After that, Odin lived with us, but he and Kelsey always had a closed door between them unless he was restrained by an indoor leash. “You’re a hunting dog,” JayB told him. “But I can’t let you hunt my cat, Odin.”

  Odin did not want to sleep on the bed, so JayB put a blanket by the front door, and that was where Odin remained whenever he was in the house.

  I understood what was happening for Odin. How can a dog trust a world when his person is no longer in it?

  Most days we started our mornings by walking up the street. Every single time, Odin tried to pull us up the driveway toward Helen’s house. And every single time, JayB would gently say, “No, Odin, she’s not there anymore. Come on, buddy, come on.”

  Sometimes those women who carried their dogs like squeaky toys—whose names were Cindy and Lindy, I learned—brought Millie and Tillie to our home. The first time this happened, the women cried and hugged JayB. They were very sad. I thought it probably was because of Helen.

  Most mornings we would go get Phoebe. I was sad for Odin but my mood evaporated the moment Dominique or Bedford brought the dog I loved to the door. Odin ignored her, so she was all mine. We had bonded, Phoebe and I, the way two dogs bond because they belong together.

  One day, I found a dirty ball along the sidewalk. I instantly had a brilliant idea for what to do with it: when Dominique sat on the steps with JayB to talk and laugh, I would put it in her lap. The ball would delight her so much that she’d want to come home with us so she could keep it.

  By the time we arrived at Phoebe’s house, I’d chewed that ball so much that it was soggy with my saliva. When Dominique came out and sat down, I pushed right past Phoebe and spat the ball into her dress, between her legs.

  She sprang up. “Yuck!”

  “Clancy!” JayB cried. “Dominique, I’m so sorry.”

  Phoebe jumped on the ball. I patiently waited for Dominique to draw the obvious connection between the ball, Phoebe, and living at our house.

  “It’s okay,” Dominique assured JayB. “I need to go change, though. I have an appointment.”

  For some reason, Dominique didn’t come with us that day, and when we returned, it was Bedford who greeted us. Dominique wasn’t waiting for us at our house, either, despite the ball I had shown her.

  People are so unpredictable.

  One morning we were all walking briskly toward the dog park—Millie and Tillie with us—when I heard a voice calling from behind. “Hey, JayB, wait up! JayB!” The full pack reacted to the voice, but JayB seemed unaware. If anything, he picked up his pace.

  “Wait up, buddy!” the voice called.

  I recognized it as belonging to the man who was Spartan’s person. Rodney. I did not want to smell Spartan, so I was happy to trot with my person.

  “Slow up!”

  Finally, my person stopped. “Hi, Rodney.”

  Rodney was a bit breathless. He was wearing shorts and no shirt, and he and Spartan were both panting. “Hey.” He put his hands on his knees. “You need to fix your phone or something, I’ve been texting you and you haven’t responded once.” He laughed. “It’s like you’re avoiding me or something. Anyway, I need to make use of your services.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a real problem with Spartan. We’ll be running and then he smells something and stops, wants to lift his leg. Practically yanks my arm out of the socket.”

  JayB nodded. “Right, that’s what dogs do. They like to smell things. It’s in the dog owner’s manual.”

  Rodney laughed again. “Yeah, ha. So, when I run, I’d like you to watch Spartan. Like, starting now. Okay, bro? Thanks.”

  JayB was quiet for a moment. “Rodney,” my person finally stated evenly, “I’m not actually a dog walker.”

  “Oh,” Rodney jeered. “So—let me count—one, two, three, four, five reasons why everybody knows you’re a dog walker. That means Spartan’s number six, okay? Keep track of what I owe and I’ll write you a check at the end, or maybe I could, like, build you a screened-in porch in trade.”

  “I already have a screened-in porch.”

  Rodney waved his hand. “Okay, whatever. Thanks.”

  JayB accepted Spartan’s leash, Rodney ran away, and now we had Spartan with us.

  It changed everything.

  Phoebe and Spartan sniffed each other with rigid backs, their tails stiff in the air. I assumed that she would find Spartan as loathsome as did I. He didn’t play, he didn’t bow, he didn’t even run, he just stood around. In fact, he didn’t behave like a dog at all—he was more like a cat.

  That was it! Spartan was a cat in a dog’s body.

  Things really started going wrong a little later, at the dog park. Off-leash, Spartan seemed to think his place was by Phoebe, who didn’t act at all disturbed by this strange canine with his collapsing face. Spartan was so unfriendly that when I approached him, he would give me the coldest of stares and even growl. Growling at me, Clancy, everyone’s favorite dog!

  I forgot this insult when JayB produced a plastic disc and let it fly with a graceful snap of his arm. It soared through the air and the three of us, Spartan, Phoebe, and I, joyously pursued it. I had previously learned that Phoebe was much faster than just about any dog on four legs. Her pursuit of a sailing disc inevitably meant that she would get to it first. She didn’t, however, know what to do with it when she reached it. I had learned long ago that the proper thing to do with a disc was, after mouthing it a little bit, return it to the person who threw it. Phoebe, however, thought the point of a disc was to capture it and then trot around with it held high in her jaws. I indulged her in this behavior because she was so precious to me. Eventually, she’d drop the disc and I’d spring on it and then race back to JayB, who would throw it again, repeating the cycle for all of us. I assumed that Phoebe was enjoying this as much as I was.

  Spartan was slower than either of us and so I had no worries that he would ever catch the disc. But then the worst possible thing happened, which was that Phoebe’s joyful, chewing run resulted in her dropping the toy in front of Spartan. He scooped it up triumphantly, but he didn’t prance like Phoebe did. He didn’t return it to the person who threw it, like any sensible dog would. He didn’t wag or act at all happy with his prize. He just stood there.

  Phoebe and I danced around impatiently. And then Spartan did something extraordinary. As Phoebe darted up close to him, he opened his mouth and let the disc fall. She snapped it up and dashed off gaily.

  Spartan had given Phoebe the toy.

  I frantically pursued Phoebe and finally she released the disc and I was able to snatch it. I returned it to JayB. Once again, the disc soared, but this time Phoebe, when she caught it, only batted it around playfully and Spartan got his jaws on it again.

  I was heartsick. Phoebe and Spartan were playing disc with each other. It was as if I wasn’t even there.

  Seeking reassurance, I ran back to my person, who extended a friendly but distracted hand. I put a paw on his leg, beseeching him to notice that there was no fun in the dog park anymore. I looked to Odin, whose sadness still weighed on him like wet fur after a bath. He didn’t seem to understand, either.

  We escorted Spartan to a house that smelled like him and also Rodney; I would come to learn that this was their home. Then we stood at Phoebe’s house so JayB and Dominique could talk.

  JayB spoke to me on the way home. “She’s perfect, Clancy. Except that she’s with Bedford. I don’t know what she sees in him … he doesn’t even own a shirt.”

  When Odin and I set off on our leashes the next day, JayB in the rear, I was unsure if it would be a Millie and Tillie day, or a Phoebe day, because we were leaving the house so much later in the day, for some reason. Humans decide dog schedules, but as far as I was concerned, life was better if every day was exactly the same. As usual, Odin dragged us toward Helen’s driveway.

  JayB sighed. “Okay, Odin, okay. I guess you have to see for yourself.” My person led us to the front door. JayB twisted the knob and pushed it open, straightening in surprise. “Oh! Well, that’s not good. It shouldn’t be unlocked.”

  Odin was trembling. JayB knelt and undid his leash. In a flash Odin was down the hall to the room where he had last seen his person.

  Odin would need some time on Helen’s bed with her scent in his nose. I elected to stay with JayB, who wandered aimlessly into the kitchen.

  I became conscious of someone behind us and turned to look. A woman had stepped through the doorway. She held something in her hand, pointing at my person. “Stop,” she ordered in a very loud and angry voice.

  JayB froze.

  “Don’t move,” she commanded, “I have a gun.”

  JayB held very still.

  “If you try to turn around,” the woman threatened sternly, “I will shoot you in the back.”

  Dear Diary:

  I guess Odin lives with us now. He is not happy. He was always a dog who preferred a nap over a run, or to watch a ball rolling past his nose instead of launching himself in frantic pursuit. But now his mood has turned somber. He isn’t eating much, and it is up to me to finish his dinners.