The Dog Read Online Free PDF Page A

hours they
    were constantly busy. Their world was familiar and they were
    on guard, for they all knew what was behind the tufts of
    grass and above the treetops, and what might be there.
    During the long period of privation he'd wandered aimlessly,
    his memory patchy, like clouds of damp fog.
    Sometimes he had run half-heartedly, without searching in
    earnest; sometimes he had fallen asleep by a treetrunk in the
    midst of chasing something that rustled or squeaked. Now
    he searched eagerly but knew where he was, even when a
    snapping twig or a faint rustle in the dry grass woke him
    from a nap.
    He'd become wary of his old sleeping place on the slope
    by the marsh. Now he preferred the large spruces where the
    lowest layer of dark, needle-covered branches skirted the
    ground. But he never slept many nights in the same spot.
    After a while he would become uneasy. Sniffing around the
    place he'd slept, he wasn't sure what scents he picked up.
    Then he retreated, found another spruce or another pile of
    stones to crawl into. But he often returned to the old places
    that felt familiar, where he was on guard but not agitated. If
    too many indistinct trails of scent surrounded the spot he
    became confused, at worst afraid. But fear didn't strike often.
    He didn't know what brought it on. Fear stung; fear struck
    in the dark.
    In the mornings his body was stiff and he had to stretch
    his numb legs again and again before the blood got moving
    and his joints loosened up. The sharp smells of early morning
    made him alert. Whatever had taken place in the grass
    and the moss had just happened. There were no lingering
    traces of creatures that by now were far away. He always
    began by scouring the marsh where he'd first found eggs.
    Searching was futile now, but the delicious, flavourful eggs
    remained with him. He had to forage in the marsh before he
    did anything else.
    Every day he roamed the same area. The recent past hung
    in the air as wisps and trails. In the present, branches
    snapped; there was rustling, squeaking and scraping. But
    some things had happened so long ago that their smells had
    completely vanished. There were many such things. They
    happened once again when he reached the place where the
    scent had faded away. But now they happened inside him,
    with a jolt that made his muscles tense. He started searching,
    his snout rooting, his paws tearing at the ground.
    Under the roof of the cabin, against the timbered wall
    where the ground was dry, there had been a dead magpie
    one morning. He couldn't walk past the cabin without
    investigating that strip of dry ground. When he crossed the
    pasture and came down to the wooded area on the point
    there was a rotting tree trunk that roused his excitement.
    This was the place he'd found large cocoons. He scratched at
    the reddish wood; it crumbled under his claws. There were
    no more cocoons, but that was where it had happened, and
    when he came across the trunk it happened again. Each time
    it grew fainter until eventually it sank into the ground and
    disappeared. Other things happened that made him watchful
    and momentarily roused, nose to the ground and ears
    pricked. If they brought more than a mouthful to eat, if they
    filled his belly, these things, too, would remain with him a
    long time.
    The birch buds swelled and grew sticky. On the slope down
    to the inlet the sallow bushes were in bloom, covered with
    pollen and bright in the sunshine. He was alarmed the first
    time he saw them, thinking for a moment that they were
    large, luminous bodies.
    Under the alders, pointed blades of grass, green and with
    an intense taste, were pushing up from beneath the grey
    brown blanket of last year's leaves. There was a stand of
    nettles by the old manure pile at the barn; the air around
    them had a sharp smell.
    The ground, too, was always changing. The pattern of
    wet areas and grass, of sounds and smells, shifted beneath
    him. Down by the shore the ground ended: no grass or
    tracks,