The Dog Read Online Free PDF

just stones and the murmuring and lapping of the
    water. When the wind blew hard, pieces of wood washed
    up, scrubbed and polished by the smooth stones. The wood
    was shiny, pale and strange. The strip between the deep, constantly
    churning water and the wet ground where grass had
    taken root was a dangerous, rewarding borderland where
    creatures were left behind, with straggly, drenched feathers or
    soggy fur.
    He always stayed as far as possible from the water's edge,
    stretching his neck towards the smells and setting his paws
    down cautiously. Along the shore there were no bushes.
    Though this made him uneasy, he often took the risk of letting
    himself be seen. Down there he always found something
    to eat.
    If he went far out on the point he came very close to the
    other world. He could see the opposite shore and sometimes
    he heard dogs barking. He didn't dare go to the very tip. He
    was afraid of the other side. When he heard barking he
    wanted to howl, but fear stopped him. He crouched low in
    clumps of brush on the bank, squinting in the wind, catching
    scents from the dangerous side.
    From the shore that was usually sheltered from the wind
    he could hear the loud roar of the rapids. He couldn't see
    them and didn't know what they were. The water danced in
    eddies down towards the noise. It was dangerous out on the
    point. The surging of the water made him deaf. He couldn't
    hear sounds from the forest. He kept to the wetlands and
    took small, cautious steps on decaying logs. Only rarely did
    curiosity lure him out into the roar of the rapids.
    Once he saw the silhouette of a long, arched back on the
    rocks in the narrows. It slid into the water and emerged on
    the opposite side. He saw the back lengthen into a tail, saw
    the undulating movement of the otter's leap to its den on the
    bank, but with his poor vision he lost track of the movement
    among the crowberry brush, and when he didn't pick up a
    scent he forgot about it.
    On the shore by the inlet, beavers had felled birches and
    aspens, stripping bark and twigs from the trunks. The logs
    plunged into the water, naked and pale. He became familiar
    with the scent of beaver although he never caught sight
    of them. The ground was muddy and rough where the
    beavers had been at work so he kept to the woods. He
    didn't like mud sticking to his fur. He didn't like unnecessary
    trouble. Climbing tired him out and made him forget
    to listen and stay on guard. He was no longer a pup who
    acted carelessly, without considering. He'd become deliberate and cautious.
    The path from the boat landing was overgrown; young
    spruce trees and birch saplings were so close together that he
    had a hard time making his way through. There was a
    murmur of bird sounds in there, rustling wings, shadows,
    blinking eyes. He never paid any attention to the little ones.
    They fluttered up on tiny, quick wings and vanished into the
    darkness of the enormous spruces. When he found one of
    them on the ground with ruffled feathers and limp neck he
    didn't connect it with the ones who fluttered and chirped.
    They were nothing to him when they were in the air; they
    were too quick. But the ones with heavy bodies that had a
    hard time taking flight, the flapping and squawking ones,
    those interested him. Where he picked up their scent he
    might find eggs.
    The old summer pasture had a dense layer of last year's
    vegetation, brown and compacted by the snow. Now green
    blades of grass were lifting it up. From the warm space
    between the ground and the tip of the blades came the
    rustling of quick paws. He made his way slowly up the slope,
    his muzzle in the warm, fragrant mat, eating insects methodically
    while continuing to listen for the rustling. Down there
    he could smell vole.
    Around the barn were stands of nettles. Those he avoided.
    To reach the marsh he had to cross an overgrown hollow
    bisected by a black, muddy ditch, where there was often a
    strong scent of moose.
    He was quite familiar with