The Dog Who Could Fly Read Online Free PDF Page B

over the frozen snow.
    Just as they reached the ditch that marked the boundary of the farm a flare burst directly overhead, blinding them. Both men lay flat on their faces in the cover of the snow-filled depression, sweating fear and mouthing silent prayers. The flashes of the German big guns intensified as they hurled their high-explosive shells at the French lines, and their rumbling shook the ground.
    The flare went out like a snuffed candle, and in the momentary darkness that followed the big guns seemed to fall silent. Robert was just about to signal to Pierre that the time had come to move again, when a new sound filled the air. It was one that Robert had been dreading. The long-drawn-out howl of a puppy rent the night—a puppy who had just discovered that his newfound source of food, water, warmth, and love had deserted him, just as his mother had.
    There was a second howl even more anguished than the first. It was as if the puppy understood that his chances of survival were diminishing with each step that his protector took away from him. He seemed determined not to be left to his fate, as if somehow he knew that his cries for help would force Robert to turn back.
    Robert glanced at Pierre. “Wait there,” he whispered. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
    Pierre sensed the grim resolve in Robert’s words. “I am sorry, my friend,” he muttered, “but you know we have no choice.”
    Robert began to crawl back the way he had come. He was under no illusions as to what he must do, and he cursed himself for having been so soft. He felt for the knife he carried on his belt. To use a revolver would be easier, but far too dangerous now that the hour had come for night patrols to leave their posts and lie out listening in the snow—which was what the Germans did every evening as they tried to catch the French off guard.
    As he neared the house Robert felt queasy, the nausea rising from the pit of his stomach. Pierre was right, of course—they simply had no choice—but Robert was unsure whether he could summon the courage to do what he had to do, even if their lives depended upon it.
    He heard excited yapping as the puppy sensed his approach. He emerged into the open space between the orchard and the house, rising to his feet and blundering forward. He had to silence that dog, or it would bring every German patrol down on their heads. Another flare burst overhead. He threw himself down in the snow barely feet from the doorway, wondering if the howls and yaps had been heard.
    The desperate yelping was replaced by a new sound now—that of a dull thudding as a tiny body hurled itself against the door. Small and starved though he was, the puppy was trying again and again to batter down the door so he could be reunited with his erstwhile protector. For a split second Robert glimpsed a pointed nose pitching upward as the puppy tried to leap through one of the brokendoor panels, only to disappear again. The puppy was fighting as if for his very life, and if there was one thing that Robert admired it was a fighter.
    Berating himself for his crazy sentimentality, Robert began to search for a log or a rock. Butchering the pup with his knife would feel far too much like savagery and murder. A sharp crack to the skull would spell instant oblivion, and was the most humane way. But as he felt around under the thick snow nothing came to hand.
    Robert was growing desperate. Pierre lay injured in a ditch on the far side of the orchard, totally dependent upon him. He had to get this done before the puppy started to howl again. But how could he kill the little guy with his knife, especially when he had taught him to eat and to drink at his own hand?
    Robert paused to consider his options. He had been in a few tight corners in the past couple of years, and he had never once given up the fight. The puppy was so close to death but still he was battling all the way. Robert recognized in him the pugnacious spirit he saw in himself. Hearing a