The Dog That Saved Stewart Coolidge Read Online Free Page A

comfortable—at least none that the dog knew.
    But he made do, and he was grateful that whatever power created him, and cared for him, continued to do so, even in this time of being alone and lost.
    Most animals simply endure the cold without complaint, because complaints would serve no purpose. None complained, especially not that lumbering black bear with a thickly layered coat of fur that the dog had encountered in the woods several months back, just as the cruelest part of winter had broken. The bear had sniffed and snorfed and growled in the dog’s direction. The dog had considered growling or barking in rebuttal, but did not, thinking that this strange, shambling beast might take any harsh noise as a threat, even if the dog kept the bark informative and not threatening.
    Instead, the dog had backed up several yards, putting a thicket of dry brush between the two of them, then turned, and, as noiselessly as he could, had taken off at a full run, away from the black, large, furry creature.
    And now that the warm had come back into the air, at least during the day, the dog did not feel as precarious, or as threatened. There was open water about, and often some food. The rawhide bone he now carried was not filling, not exactly, but it softened the growling in his stomach and made sleep come easier at night.
    He trotted on, down the sidewalk, doing his best to act like a normal dog. He sniffed and noted the familiar scent. He had found a secluded place, deep in the brush, between places where humans lived, with only squirrels and rabbits in the vicinity, and none of those posed any threats.
    In the past—how long he did not know—he had encountered the scents of coyote and fox and porcupine and skunk in the woods—all creatures he did not want to encounter in the physical. He sniffed to determine which direction the scent came from and did his best to pass as far from them as possible. Skunks and foxes were not dangerous, he knew, but they smelled horribly, and the dog, while not in the company of humans, not just now, was a fastidious animal and did not want to have an awful odor clogging his nose for days on end.
    Coyotes could be dangerous. He had heard them, many months earlier, attacking something, and did not care to test his mettle against a crew of them.
    No, this place where he bedded down was quiet and far enough away from humans that they would not see him or even take notice of him being there. In the cove of a fallen tree, a small depression filled with dry leaves, was a spot that made a perfect bed—at least for now, the dog thought.
    Perhaps that human on the street, the one that talked nicely to him this morning, perhaps that human might offer a better form of shelter. But not today. Today the dog would peel off the plastic wrapper and gnaw on the bone until it was finished.
    That human, the one with the nice voice and the nice face, he lived around here. The dog noted his scent the day he took the first bone. It was a unique scent, as all humans had, but this one he remembered. And that scent was strong here.
    Perhaps, the dog thought, that human lived near this place.
    He chewed and smiled to himself, stopping every few minutes to listen closely, as if to say that he knew that there was a power that looked after nature and all the creatures within, and would continue to look after this one dog and that there will be just the right amount of time to find the solution to this one dog’s problem. In good time, all in good time.

Chapter Five
    S TEWART NEARLY ran the entire way home that day and did his best to complete a fifteen-minute cleaning regimen: dishes washed, bathroom cleaned, clothes stowed haphazardly behind a closed closet door, bed made, pillows fluffed. He lit a candle that he had bought at the market during the 50-percent-off-all-Christmas-merchandise sale in January.
    It smelled of pine.
    Pine is okay, isn’t it? It doesn’t have to be Christmas to light a pine candle, does it?
    One or