Thunder Dog Read Online Free PDF Page B

up. I also noticed she snored. Like a grizzly bear.
    Roselle’s puppy raisers were Ted and Kay Stern, a retired couple in Santa Barbara, California, who first got her as a fuzzy, yellow, four-month-old puppy with an impish twinkle in her eye. The Sterns gave Roselle her first ten months of basic in-home obedience training and acquainted her with as many different environments as possible, including a visit to New York City at Christmastime. The hectic pace of urban life didn’t seem to faze Roselle as the Sterns visited packed restaurants, clattering subways, and crowded sidewalks.
    At home, Kay remembered Roselle as spunky and playful. “She used to steal my slippers from the closet and run all around the house to try to play keep-away,” Kay said. “She loved to play hide-and-seek with us, and I loved her crooked doggy smile. She sometimes tested limits and tried to pretend she didn’t remember her lessons. She was a smart pup.” They also reported her snoring, especially in church.
    When we got back to New York, Roselle and Linnie became fast friends. Whenever I worked down in the basement of our house in New Jersey and I needed to take a break, I’d grab a braided Booda rope bone and play tug-of-war with the dogs. They pulled me all around the basement in my rolling office chair, banging me into walls and posts. It was something like a human pinball game and I was the ball.
    Within two days of her arrival at the house, Roselle went off to work with me at the World Trade Center. Initially, we spent a lot of time exploring the building’s hallways, its lobbies, and the underground shopping center. I worked hard to make sure she would not expect to always go the same way to get to a particular location within the building. I always felt it important that Roselle not be able to anticipate my commands—something that can easily happen within a confined space such as the WTC. Roselle and I made a good match; we were always up for an adventure.
    But my 9/11 adventure would have very high stakes.

    As Roselle and I walk together down the first few concrete stairs of Stairwell B, I begin to smell a peculiar odor. It reminds me of the smell of kerosene lanterns at Boy Scout camp. At first it’s slightly pungent, though. Just a tickle. I wonder what that smell is? Roselle must smell it too, but she gives no sign.
    More stairs, with our small group heading down. The temperature in the stairway is comfortable, not too hot or too cold. The electricity is working and the air is breathable. But that smell . . .
    Then it hits me. As a salesman, I’ve flown all over the world and been through countless airports. I know that smell. I’ve smelled it on the runway. I could swear it’s jet fuel .
    I don’t say anything yet, but my mind begins to reel. Could a plane have hit our building?

4

HEARING
THE COFFEE TABLE
I wonder if anyone else has an ear so tuned and
sharpened as I have, to detect the music, not of
the spheres, but of earth, subtleties of major and
minor chord that the wind strikes upon the tree
branches. Have you ever heard the earth breathe?
KATE CHOPIN
    T he stairwell doesn’t feel crowded at first. People are quiet. Focused. No one is panicking. We just want out.
    Stairs are usually a breeze. If I can ride a bike or drive a car, I can certainly climb down a bunch of stairs.
    When I can, I walk down with my hand on the metal railing to my right. The railing juts out from the concrete wall, which feels cool to the touch. On the left is another metal handrail, this one supported by metal balusters. On my left, Roselle matches my pace, my hand on her harness handle. David is just ahead. Our stairwell is fifty-six inches wide, a full foot wider than the two corner stairwells. This additional space allows two people to climb down the stairs side by side. Sometimes we move out and pass people on the left; sometimes people pass us. I switch Roselle from side to side as needed. Everyone is polite but