A Dog's Promise Read online

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  For Gavin Polone, friend, animal advocate, calorie denier, laptop critic, and one of the main reasons why my work has reached so many people on the planet.

  { PROLOGUE }

  My name is Bailey. I have had many names and many lives, but Bailey is what I am called now. It is a good name. I am a good dog.

  I have lived in many places and of all of those, the farm was the most wonderful—until I arrived here. This place has no name, but there are golden shores to run along, and sticks and balls with flawless mouth-fit, and toys that squeak, and everyone who has ever loved me is here—and they all love me still. There are also, of course, many, many dogs, because it wouldn’t be a perfect place without them.

  I am loved by so many people because I have lived many lives with many different names. I’ve been Toby and Molly and Ellie and Max, I’ve been Buddy and I’ve been Bailey. With each name came a life with a different purpose. My purpose now is a simple one—to be with my people, and to love them. Perhaps that was my ultimate purpose from the start.

  There is no pain here, only the joy that comes from being surrounded by love.

  Time was unmarked, passing in serenity, until my boy Ethan and my girl CJ came to talk to me. CJ is Ethan’s child. I sat up alertly when they appeared, because of all the people I had ever cared about, these two had the most important role in my lives, and they were carrying themselves the way people behave when they want a dog to do something.

  “Hello, Bailey, you good dog,” Ethan greeted me. CJ ran a smoothing hand over my fur.

  For a moment or two we just shared our love with each other.

  “I know you understand that you have lived before, Bailey. I know you had a very special purpose, that you saved me,” Ethan said.

  “And you saved me, too, Bailey, my Molly girl, my Max,” CJ added.

  When CJ said those names, I remembered how I had accompanied her on her life’s journey. I wagged at the memories. She put her arms around me. “There’s nothing like a dog’s love,” she murmured to Ethan.

  “It’s unconditional,” Ethan agreed, patting my forehead.

  I closed my eyes with pleasure at being cuddled by the two of them.

  “We have to ask you to do something now, Bailey. Something so very important, only you can do it,” Ethan told me.

  “But if you fail, it will be okay. We will love you, and you can come back here and be with us,” CJ said.

  “He won’t fail. Not our Bailey,” Ethan replied, grinning. He held my head in his hands, hands that once smelled like the farm but now just smelled like Ethan. I gazed at him with a rapt focus, because when my boy speaks to me, I can feel his love pouring out like warmth. “I need you to go back, Bailey. Back to fulfill a promise. I wouldn’t ask you if it weren’t necessary.”

  His tone was serious, but he wasn’t mad at me. Humans can be happy, sad, loving, angry, and many other things, and usually I can tell by their voices how they feel. Dogs are pretty much just happy, which might be why we don’t need to talk.

  “This time will be different, Bailey,” CJ advised. I looked to her and she, too, was loving and kind. I sensed, though, an anxiety in her, a worry, and leaned into her so that she could hug me more tightly and feel better.

  “You won’t remember anything.” Ethan was speaking softly now. “None of your lives. Not me, not the farm, not this place.”

  “Well,” CJ objected, her voice as quiet as Ethan’s. “Maybe not remember, exactly, but you have been through so much, you will be a wise dog now, Bailey. An old soul.”

  “Here’s the tough part, Buddy. You won’t even remember me. CJ and I will fade from your mind.”

  Ethan was sad. I gave his hand a lick. Sadness in people is the reason there are dogs.

  CJ petted me. “Not forever, though.”

  Ethan nodded. “That’s right, Bailey. Not forever. The next time you see me, I won’t look like this, but you’ll recognize me, and when you do, you will remember everything. All of your lives. It will all come back. And maybe then you’ll also understand that you are an angel dog who helped fulfill a very important promise.”

  CJ stirred and Ethan looked up at her. “He won’t fail,” Ethan insisted. “Not my Bailey.”

  { ONE }

  At first I knew only my mother’s nourishing milk, and the sheltering warmth of her teats as I fed. It wasn’t until I had become much more aware of my surroundings that I realized I had brothers and sisters with whom to compete for Mother’s attentions, that as they wiggled and squirmed against me they were trying to shove me to the side. But Mother loved me, I could feel it when she nuzzled me, when she cleaned me with her tongue. And I loved my mother dog.

  Our den was formed of metal floors and walls, but Mother had arranged a soft roll of cloth into a warm bed up against the back side. Once my siblings and I could see and move well enough to explore, we discovered that the surface beneath our pads was not only hard and slick but cold. Life was much better on the blanket. The roof over our heads was a brittle tarp that flapped in the wind with a crisp rattling chatter.

  None of this was as interesting to us as the alluring, empty rectangular hole at the front of the den, through which light and outdoor smells poured in an intoxicating blend. The floor of the den jutted out past the roof at that point. Mother often went to this window to the unknown, her nails clicking on the metal shelf that thrust out into the world, and then she … vanished.

  Mother would leap out into the light and be gone. We puppies would huddle together for warmth in the chill of her absence, squeaking comfort to each other, and then collapse into sleep. I could feel that my brothers and sisters were as distraught and anxious as I was that she might never return, but she always came back to us, appearing in the middle of the rectangular hole as swiftly as she had departed.

  When our vision and coordination improved, we pooled our collective courage and followed her scent out onto the ledge, but it was terrifying. The world, dizzying in its compelling possibilities, was open to us there below the shelf, but to access it meant a free fall of impossible distance. Our den was literally off the ground. How did Mother jump down and then back up?

  I had a brother I thought of as Heavy Boy. My siblings and I spent most of our time trying to shove him out of our way. When he would climb up over me to sleep on the pile it felt like he was trying to flatten my head, but extracting myself from the compression was not easy, especially with my brothers and sisters pushing back. He sported the same white muzzle and chest, with the same mottled white, gray-and-black body as the rest of us, but his bones and flesh were just somehow heavier. When Mother needed a respite from feeding us and stood up, Heavy Boy always complai
ned the longest, and he was always seeking to nurse, even when the other puppies were satiated and wanting to play. I couldn’t help but be irritated with him—Mother was so thin that her bones were visible through her skin, and her breath carried a rancid, sick odor, while Heavy Boy was plump and round and yet still always demanded more from her.

  It was Heavy Boy who strayed too close to the lip of the ledge, his nose sniffing at something in the air, maybe eager for our mother to return so he could continue to try to drain the life out of her. One moment he was precariously stretched out at the very edge, and the next he was gone, falling, an audible thump reaching our ears.

  I wasn’t sure this was a bad thing.

  Heavy Boy began a panicked squalling. His terror infused all of us in the den, so that we, too, began squeaking and crying, anxiously nosing each other for reassurance.

  I knew right then that I would never go out on the ledge. That way meant danger.

  Then Heavy Boy went completely quiet.

  The silence in the den was instantaneous. We all sensed that if something had gotten to Heavy Boy, it might very well be coming for us next. We huddled together in soundless dread.

  With a loud scratching sound, Mother appeared on the ledge, Heavy Boy hanging, chagrined, from her teeth. She deposited him in the center of our pile and of course immediately he was squeaking in demand for a teat, heedless of the fact that he had frightened all of us. I am sure I was not the only puppy who felt our mother would not have offended us if she just left Heavy Boy out there to face the consequences of his venture.

  That night I lay on top of one of my sisters, considering what I had learned. The ledge at the front of the den was a dangerous place, not worth the risk of trespass regardless of the succulent odors offered by the world beyond. By staying near the bed; I reasoned, I would be completely safe.

  I was entirely wrong, as it turned out a few days later.

  Mother was napping with her back to us. This upset my littermates, especially Heavy Boy, because the fragrance of her teats called to us and he wanted to feed. None of us were strong or coordinated enough to climb over her, though, and she was wedged in the back corner of the den, denying us access around head and tail.

  She raised her head at a sound we heard every so often: a humming machine noise. Before, the sound always rose and fell swiftly, but this time it came close and whatever was making it was obviously motionless for a time. We heard a slam, and that’s when Mother stood up, her head tenting the flexible ceiling, her ears back in alarm.

  Something was coming—heavy thuds were getting closer. Mother pressed herself to the back of the den and we followed suit. None of us went for her teats, now, not even Heavy Boy.

  A stark shadow blocked the light from the rectangular hole, and with a loud boom the ledge to the world was slapped up, making the den a sealed enclosure, no way out. Mother was panting, white rims under her eyes, and we all knew something was about to happen, something awful. She tried to force her way over the side of the den, but the ceiling was down too tight; all she could do was stick the tip of her nose out into the air.

  The floor of the den rocked, and there was another slamming sound, and then with a grinding roar the surface beneath our feet began to tremble. The den lurched, flinging us all to one side. We slid on the slick metal surface. I looked to Mother and she had her claws extended and was struggling to stay on her feet. She could not help us. My siblings were crying pitiably and trying to make their way to her, but I hung back, concentrating on not being thrown. I did not understand the forces pulling at my body; I just knew that if Mother was afraid, I should be terrified.

  The bouncing, banging, and shaking went on for so long, I began to believe this would now be my life, that my mother would forever be dismal with fear, that I would be flung back and forth without cease—and then suddenly we all were tossed in a crush at the back wall of the den, where we piled up and then fell when the noise and the sickening stresses on our bodies magically ceased. Even the vibrations stopped.

  Mother was still afraid. I watched her as she alerted at a metallic slam, and saw her whip her head around as she took measure of a crunching sound tracking to the place where the ledge had always thrust out into the world.

  I felt real fear when I saw her lips draw back from her teeth. My calm, gentle mother was now fierce and feral, her fur up, her eyes cold.

  With a clank the ledge fell back down into place and astoundingly there was a man standing there. The instinctive recognition came to me in a flash—it was as if I could feel his hands on me, or remember how it felt, even though I had never set eyes on such a creature before. I caught sight of bushy hair below his nose, a rounded belly, and eyes widening in surprise.

  Mother lunged and savagely snapped her teeth, her bark full of angry warning.

  “Yaaah!” The man fell away in shock, vanishing from view. Mother kept barking.

  My littermates were frozen in helpless fear. Mother was retreating to where we were collected, drool flecking her mouth, fur up, ears back. A maternal rage radiated from her—I felt it; my siblings felt it; and, given his reaction, the man undoubtedly felt it as well.

  And then, with an abruptness that made us all flinch, the ledge banged up, shutting off the sun, so that the only illumination was the dim glow filtering through the covering over the top of the den.

  The silence seemed as loud as Mother’s snarls had been. In the gloom, I saw my littermates begin to unclench, though they set upon my mother with a need made frantic by what had happened, and she acquiesced, lying down to nurse with a sigh.

  What had just occurred? Mother had been afraid but had channeled that fear into something fierce. The man had been afraid but hadn’t turned it into anything but a startled shout. And I had felt an odd composure, as if I understood something my mother did not.

  It wasn’t true, though. I didn’t understand anything.

  After a time, Mother crossed to where the ledge had been flipped up, sniffing along the top edge. She pressed her head up against the tarp, raising it slightly, and a shaft of light shot into the den. She emitted a slight sound, a moan, chilling me.

  We heard the crunching noises I associated with the man, and then voices.

  “Ya wanna take a look?”

  “Not if she’s vicious like you say. How many pups, you think?”

  “Maybe six? I was just figurin’ out what I was lookin’ at when she came at me. Thought she was gonna take my arm off.”

  These were, I decided, men speaking to each other about something. I could smell them, and there were no more than two.

  “Well, why would you leave the tailgate down in the first place?”

  “I dunno.”

  “We need this pickup. You gotta go get that equipment.”

  “Yeah, but what about the pups?”

  “So what you do is take them down to the river. You got a gun?”

  “What? No, I don’t got a gun, for Pete’s sake.”

  “I got a pistol in my truck.”

  “I don’t wanna shoot a bunch of puppies, Larry.”

  “The pistol’s for the mother. With her out of the picture, nature will take care of the pups.”

  “Larry…”

  “You going to do what I say?”

  “Yessir.”

  “All right then.”

  { TWO }

  Within moments we were back to sliding around, again subjected to noises and sickening forces we did not comprehend. Yet among the mysteries of the day, this particular event seemed less threatening with its repetition, somehow. Was it too farfetched to believe that soon the noise would end, our bodies would settle, the ledge would reappear, Mother would snarl and bark, a man would yell, the ledge would bang upward? This time I was therefore more interested in the smells wafting in through the gap between the flapping roof and the metal walls of the den: a blast of exotic, wonderful odors that brought with them the beckoning of a promising world.

  When we were flung into a pil
e and the vibrations ceased, Mother tensed, and we probably all knew that a man was walking outside the den, but then nothing happened for some time except that our mother paced, panting. I noticed that Heavy Boy was following her around, focused on what was, for him, the issue of the moment, but I knew Mother had no intention of nursing us right then.

  Then came voices. This, too, was something we’d experienced before, so I yawned.

  “Okay, I’m not sure how this is going to work.” That was a voice I hadn’t heard. I pictured another man.

  “Maybe instead of droppin’ the tailgate, I just roll back the tarp?” This was the voice belonging to the man who had yelled.

  “I think we’re just going to have one shot at the mother. Once she sees what we’re up to she’ll bail over the sides.”

  “Okay.”

  “I forgot to ask, you said you have the gun on you?” New Voice asked.

  “Yeah,” Familiar Voice replied.

  “Would you mind?”

  “Oh, hell no, here it is. I ain’t never shot a pistol in my life.”

  I looked over at Mother. She seemed less stressed. Maybe all dogs calmed down once something seemed to be occurring over and over.

  There was an unrecognizable clicking sound. “So, you ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  With a loud crackle, hands appeared on both sides of the den, and daylight began flooding into our enclosure. The roof was being peeled back by the men, who were peering down at us. Mother was growling ominously. There were two humans—the one with the hairy face from before, and a taller man with a smooth face and more hair on his head.

  The smooth-faced man smiled, his teeth white. “Okay, girl. Be still, now. This will go a lot better if you hold still.”

  “She ’bout ripped my arm outta the socket before,” the hairy-faced man said.

  Smooth Face looked up sharply. “She actually bit you?”