8

Footsteps

Jon had no idea at first if the footsteps were a dream or reality. It grew silent as he leaned up onto his elbows. Something was standing outside, waiting.

“Do you need something?” he called out.

No answer.

Laying down, he waited, listening. Footsteps quick and light began again. Realizing they could not belong to a person, Jon partially unzipped the tent door.

There was a dog. It leaped backward, startled by the appearance of Jon’s head peeking out, then waited, frozen.

Jon had seen this dog before. He recognized the black, brown, white, and silver patchwork of fur. As the dog sat down, apparently at ease and panting in a happy, breathless way, Jon thought it was smiling. Its bright cyan eyes flashed like sea-blue gems.

On the sand by the dog’s feet lay a grill that Jon had used to cook. Evidently the dog had smelled traces of beef.

“Hey there, girl…”

Jon had owned a female dog growing up, and often thought of dogs as female until learning otherwise. In this case he so happened to be correct.

Unzipping the tent flap completely, he expected to startle the dog away but in fact it leaped playfully at him, landing on his chest and licking his face.

“Woah, easy there!”

The energetic dog sped out of the tent, running twice in a circle, then bolted halfway down the beach and back. She stopped abruptly in front of Jon, sat down, wagging her tail, and barked invitingly.

“I know you want to play but it’s late and I’m tired.”

The dog twisted her head at him. Her whole body went into the wagging motion of her tail.

“You want food?”

Outside, Jon checked his food bag and found one remaining slice of beef.

“If I feed you, you’ll probably follow me.”

The dog whined, licking her lips.

“All right, all right…”

He set up the grill and activated the solar-powered flame, which had enough charge to cook this unscheduled meal. Then he fed the beef to the dog unseasoned. After gobbling it down, she sat at Jon’s knees and rested her head on his lap.

As he rubbed her ears, Jon noticed she was actually a small dog; her thick hair created an illusion of size. She must have been less than one year old.

“Where do you live, hm? Where’d you run off from?”

She kept staring at Jon with her twinkling, gemstone eyes.

“I saw you on the beach the other day, didn’t I?”

He stopped petting her. She placed her paw on his hand to encourage him to continue. He could not easily resist that, so he pet her more.

“I’ve got to get back to sleep. Tomorrow I’ve got a long ride ahead of me.”

He purified some water for her and poured it into a bowl on the ground. The dog lapped it up as Jon removed his shoes and slipped back into the tent. Before he could finish zipping it closed, she had poked her snout inside, sniffing around.

“Sleep outside if you want, but not in here…”

Jon pushed her nose out, but she pushed it in again. Then her paw thrust into the tent.

“No dogs allowed,” he said, laughing. “You’re dirty!”

The dog was indefatigable. Eventually, Jon stepped outside again, picked her up—her body was really much smaller than it looked—and sat washing her four paws, one by one, while she rested on his lap. After checking her for ticks and mange, he carried her into the tent and let her lay down outside of his sleeping bag.

“You're lucky I’m such a softie.”

Jon could imagine his friends scolding him. Catherine would be saying ‘what about this…’ or ‘what about that…’ Harold would be rubbing his chin, thinking, and saying, ‘yes, but…’ or ‘that’s true, however…’ Rolling over, he watched the dog falling asleep and started to miss his friends. As he rubbed her ears he felt a little better.

Eye archives from that morning indicate that Jon researched the species of dog and discovered it to be the Northern Shepherd, native to the colder regions of Upper Ii, but they had become popular all over Icomo for their intelligence, loyalty, and medium-size.

The dog observed Jon as he carefully packed up his belongings. Then she pranced around the area sniffing rocks or sunbathing on the sand until nothing remained of Jon’s campsite but Jon himself, his backpack, and his bike.

“Well, I guess this is where I leave you.”

Jon gave her one final scratching of the ears before sliding on his backpack and pushing his bike up a sandy hill leading off the beach. The dog trailed along behind, and Jon kept walking, expecting her to lose interest and run off, but as he mounted his bike and began pedaling, she gave chase. He braked.

“I’ve got a long road ahead of me. I can’t take care of you, okay?”

The dog turned her head curiously at him. Jon kept pedaling, and she followed. He stopped again.

“Your owners are going to wonder where you are.”

It occurred to Jon that she might have a pet owner’s chip, so putting his Eye in, he accessed the dog identification app and discovered that no chips could be found in the vicinity.

“So you haven’t got an owner, huh?”

She sat at Jon’s legs, placing her paw onto his hand in a pleading gesture.

“Well, if you haven’t got an owner, then…”

Jon knew he was doing one of those senseless, romantic things his friends had often accused him of doing—like riding his bike around Icomo… But maybe they had always been right about him.

He picked the dog up and dropped her into the bike basket, then rode off smiling at her happy panting face, drinking of the air.

So, I’ve got a dog now. I always wanted one, but would tell myself, ‘Now’s not the time. Maybe next year…’

Well, at the most inopportune moment, I’ve finally taken one in and it just might be the most ‘Jon’ thing I’ve ever done.

That morning Jon rode into the province of Co, and little in the landscape marked the change except that the soft green hills became rockier, less grassy, and steeper. The coastline also narrowed and in some places it disappeared beneath the sea entirely. In the bike basket the dog sat gazing ahead as the morning air warmed up.

He reached Yep before evening. He had not stopped for lunch and made good time, but the trip had exhausted him. When the square, practical-looking houses came into view, he rested and sat with the dog on a rock to watch the sun going down.

It was already four o’clock in the afternoon. Cliffs rose twenty or thirty feet into the air, and one formation of rocks arched over the sand like an ancient doorway and stood pillar-like in the waves.

Below that arch a young woman was drawing a complex pattern in the sand with a long metal pole. The dog leaped up and ran toward her.

“Hey!” yelled Jon. “Wait!”

The woman stood motionless, watching, as the dog ran in happy circles around her and destroyed her drawing. Jon ran down to them, trying to attract the dog’s attention, but he realized the dog had no name

“I’m sorry!” he yelled, panting. “Come here, girl…”

The dog sat down at the young woman’s feet, wagging her tail. Jon picked her up.

“It’s fine,” the woman said. “I didn’t really like this drawing anyway.”

She began kicking sand over the drawing to cover it up. Then she turned her back to them and walked away…

Jon was not sure what to say. She had not given any indication that she wished to continue talking, so Jon carried the dog back to his bike.

“You might need some training,” said Jon, rubbing the dog’s ear. “And I guess you need a name, too…”