Animalia: Canine NaNoWriMo Day 16

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Canine NaNoWriMo Day 16

Rocco's House began a story for National Novel Writing Month about a little dog named Petey searching for his lost master. Each day there's a new chapter on a different blog. By now we have all sorts of people and animals wandering the woods, falling down, and struggling through a snowstorm, sort of a Midwinter Night's Dream. You can start the story at Rocco's where you'll find all the previous links. Yesterday's chapter is by Tenacious Little Terrier and tomorrow is Ku by Ku. Miro will be back on Monday the 18th.

Chapter 16

The coyotes’ eerie yips seemed to come from everywhere. I crouched low into the gathering snow, thankful for once for my small size. I cocked one ear and then the other—my human always called them my radar receivers-- to locate the direction of the noise. Slowly I crept through the snow to the shelter of a cedar tree where I pressed myself into a space between its massive roots.

Two coyotes zoomed by, right over the place where I’d been. They paid no attention to any lingering scent from me and it was obvious why. One carried a limp chicken, its head dangling sideways. They were so close that I could almost smell the blood that flecked the hen’s feathers. Chickens—farm—people. Maybe the people would be out searching for their stolen chicken. Maybe they could help!

Hidden somewhere in the branches high above me an owl hooted, saying—what? “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” What’s that about? Who’s Dorothy? Is she another owl or a coyote? I’ve never been to Kansas in the first place. This is the Pacific Northwest.

I couldn’t help myself. No self-respecting terrier-type can keep quiet when his fur is up. I barked, despite the risk of revealing my whereabouts to predators. Bring ‘em on; I can take ‘em. “What are you talking about?” I shouted.

My question sailed up into the muffling branches and was answered with a laugh that sounded very much like a soft who, who, who. Snow shook down all around me. Though he didn’t make a sound, I knew the owl had moved. I made sure I was pressed against the tree trunk. If he tried to come down and grab me, he’d be met with sharp teeth. I looked up to see a ghostly white face peering down at me.

“I am a barn owl and you do not look like a mouse; therefore you are not food. Your tail is too short and your face is too long for you to be a cat.” The face bent closer, looking like some weird flattened human. “You are not wild. By process of elimination, I deduce that you must be a small dog, a Dorothy-dog and you are no longer in Kansas.”

I got so frustrated at this that I barked myself out of my hiding place, turned in a circle, and hopped three times. But one word stuck in my head. Barn. “Where is this barn?” I asked.

The owl turned his head, looking east. Yes! Just where I needed to go. A barn meant people were somewhere nearby, maybe people who could help. “Can you lead me to your barn?”

The owl studied me for a moment, shrugged and took off. Surely there was more help to be found. Unless the people thought I was the one who had stolen their chicken.

But I had to try. I leapt forward and was suddenly jerked back so hard that my eyes bulged. The collar, the horrible jingly collar the evil psychic lady had put on me, was caught in the tree bark.

Meanwhile in the ravine, the unconscious man was growing cold despite his Eddie Bauer down jacket and gloves. The woman who had tumbled down in her attempt to rescue him snuggled close to keep both of them warm. The storm had blown itself out and the sky was clearing, giving enough light for her to make out his features. He was--well, ok, he wasn't handsome the way people in these situations were supposed to be, but she wasn't so gorgeous herself. Searching for wounds, she lifted the edge of his cap. Blood. And a receding hairline.

Here's the