Sheep: Chapters 10–15

With never a thought of hunger or weariness, I ran for my life. If I began to flag, Tiffany’s words urged me on, giving me the strength of two.

It was only then that I realized how dreadfully thirsty I was, and how tired.

And then I heard the train whistle, loud and shrill.

He went flying right off the bank, me tumbling behind, as the train rushed by, all cinders and metal and scream.

He ran back up to the tracks, knelt down, and started sifting through the stones and stuff.

The kid looked all around, then began rooting through a trash can.

“Wow! Are you a trick dog or what? How did you do that?”
I hate being underestimated. Call it pride, but what’s so hard about turning on a water fountain?

Names are for people’s convenience, you know, so they can call us when they get lost. Dogs don’t need names.

The Good Shepherd Home for Boys didn’t invite you right in. The windows were small and pinched looking, like mean little eyes, and the front door scowled, telling you that whatever you did was wrong.

Just then the door opened, and a big, beefy kid came pushing out.

He was waiting by the door, slumped over with his forehead on his knees and his arms wrapped around them.

He reached under the blanket and pulled out a bunch of musty towels he’d stuffed there to look like he’d been sleeping all along.

It wasn’t long before the door opened and a shaft of light sliced the room in two.

Whatever would befall us, would befall us together.

It was a full moon night, a night you want to be nestled on a hillside, the sheep hunkered down, dreaming whatever sheep dream.

I could tell by the way Luke carried himself, his shoulders already hunched, that he had no idea of his worth, what he could do in the world if he was given half a chance.

Deep in my canine soul, I knew one sure thing: Luke had to get away from that place.

By instinct I had been moving toward the darker end of town, onto streets with broken streetlights and boarded-up houses.

To look at the place, you’d have thought nobody had ever lived there, but the porch underneath was a regular rat hotel. I stuck my nose in, and the tenants ran in all directions.

Morning came at last. Light seeped in under the porch.

My hiding place was dismal in the morning light—broken bottles, cigarette butts, a bicycle wheel threaded with spiderwebs.

They seemed okay to me. For people, I mean. A little serious, but that was to be expected. You didn’t want to adopt a dog or a kid if you hadn’t thought a whole lot about it.

He was shorter and younger than Bob, but he walked with that same sure stride.

We left the home behind, Luke scuffing his feet as if they were too heavy to pick up.

A little boy floated a balloon from his perch on his dad’s shoulders.

He just wore this long, ugly face and slumped along. Nobody wants a sulky dog. Boy, that is.

It wasn’t long before we were all in the pickup, Luke in the front with his new folks, me in the back where the wind ruffled my fur and I could watch the long road disappearing behind us.

He even drew a picture of me. He had to tell me it was me, but Katrin said it was a very handsome likeness and put a frame around it.

We were camped alongside a river, the goats hunkered down, and the Goat Man was roasting some dinner over a hot fire.

Outside our window the moon was just a sliver, a wink in the dark sky.