The boy knelt deep in the grass and watched his dog.
After a while he broke off stubs of grass and put them in his mouth and then sat back on his ankles and feet. The grass was tall and sitting back hid him well, so well in fact that he could only see his dog's ashen colored head in intervals, rising and falling in time as he worked the field back and forth. The boy liked this view. He pretended that his dog was no longer aware of his location. But the boy knew this wasn’t true. The dog swept the field in a wide pattern on his search for scent, and for brief moments he would pause and disappear. Though the boy couldn’t see him he imagined what was probably the case – his dog straight and still, mouth shut and hardly breathing, discerning some faint scent. Then the dog would reappear in a swell, working his arch a little wider.
The boy lifted his gaze slightly and looked across the field. On the far side the tree line loomed high and broad. He chewed his stubble and studied the wood for a while. The boy had only been in those woods one time, with his father, last fall. They didn’t go very deep and they didn’t stay very long, but he recalled how still the place had seemed. Still and odd, he thought to himself now.
“Don’t ever come in these woods alone,” his father had said, looking straight ahead.
He in turn had asked his father why, but he never got an answer. At that time the boy had allowed himself to imagine that there was some wild danger or secret in the woods. Such pretending, at his father’s side, hadn’t frightened him then. But now as he recalled the occasion, he felt a thin chill settle on his crown and move down his neck and back. But this lasted only a moment, for the sun and the tall grass and the sweeping arch of his dog helped him quickly forget.
Soon he rose where he sat, and placing two fingers in his mouth, let out a sharp whistle. His dog froze for a moment, looked at the boy, and then bounded toward him. The dog came up to him and moved to his right side, turning to face the same direction the boy stood. Reaching across the dog the boy let his hand fall lightly on the dog's shoulder and he felt a gentle quiver beneath his fingers.
“Good boy.” He patted. “You’re my dog. You’re a good boy.” The boy looked at the dog warmly and smiled. The dog met his gaze and panted loudly, red tongue wagging from the corner of his mouth. Then the dog turned his gaze far across the field and closed his mouth and stood still. Only the tip of his nose moved, curling into the breeze. After a few seconds, the dog resumed his hurried panting.
“Heel,” the boy commanded and began moving forward. He lifted and folded his arms over the grass, its ends skimming under his palm and past his forearm. The dog followed in step, keeping near the boy’s right side. They walked together through the middle of the field and did not turn. Soon the boy and his dog faded into the woods.
