no proof that I ever had a mother.
No prison visit either,
but that’s my choice.
Tío bakes a carrot cake, and gives me
a brand-new laptop, and the warmest
hug
of my life.
Then B.B. gives me a grinning
photo of Gabe, a picture that brings tears
of happiness to my eyes, but I don’t
actually cry, because Gracie chooses
that moment to give me a silly poem
about the clumsy way
baby elephants play
while they’re learning
how to control all 40,000
clunky muscles
in their trunkies.
After that, we sing and howl off-key.
It’s the first time anyone has ever
called my birthday
happy.
This story of turning twelve will be great,
when I tell it on my dog nose blog,
with my new laptop, using plenty
of numbers that no longer remind me
of winners and losers
in long-ago fights.
When I sit down to write,
I say that Gabe is exactly half my age,
but he’s also 6 times 7 = 42,
old and wise
in dog years—almost ancient—
but age doesn’t stop him
from celebrating. All through
my whole birthday, he’s the one
who helps me laugh
by grinning
as we gobble
messy frosting.
If only birthdays could last
forever. But they don’t last.
Nothing lasts. Suddenly,
the forest
is no longer
peaceful.
32
GABE THE DOG
EXPLOSIONS
Each boom rhymes
with the smell
of danger.
Worse than thunder.
Worse than yelling.
I would hide in the closet
forever
if my Leo didn’t keep patting me
and reminding me
that it’s just the same
mean noise
we hear
every year.
33
TONY THE BOY
TRAIL NAMES
Hunting season opens
with gunfire at dawn.
Frightened deer hide
in our vegetable garden.
A desperate bear scratches
at the cabin door.
At first Gabe hides, but then
he goes crazy with fear, barking
and growling. He sounds like
a pit bull. He sounds
like Mom.
Gunshots and snarls
bring old nightmares
rushing back.
Why do I always
have to start over
again
and again
struggling
to be free
of the past?
Tío shakes me awake to say
that he’s leaving, and at first
I assume he means forever …
but it’s just another call-out
for a search.
As usual, I go with my uncle
to a safe base camp at a trailhead,
even though this time, the forest
is scary.
Hunting season means danger
for searchers, who have to keep
their dogs close, and make noise
with whistles, to warn hunters
who might otherwise mistake
any movement
for a deer
or a bear.
When I find out that Tío and Gabe
have to search for a lost hunter
who went out with six hounds,
I’m furious. Hunting doesn’t
seem fair, to either the dogs
or the bear.
Bear hounds are trained to follow
a scent, running so fast and so far
that they often get lost. Even dogs
get mixed up when a chase is swift
and frenzied. Dog noses are smart,
but not perfect.
Bear hounds are supposed to chase
a bear up a tree, where it’s easy
to shoot. This time, one of the hounds
got lost, and then the frantic hunter
lost his way too, running around,
trying to find his missing dog.
Now, the hunter’s wife
is at base camp, crying
and complaining
about his dangerous
way of enjoying
the outdoors.
the sheriffs, and volunteers.
Everyone looks busy and useful
except me.
All I can think about is the hound.
I feel a lot more troubled by the thought
of a helpless dog than by the image
of a lost hunter
who still has his gun.
Instead of waiting by the crowded
base camp table, I start wandering
with a flashlight, hoping to see
canine paw prints.
Still hoping, I roam farther
and farther, first on the main trail,
then narrower paths that fade
until suddenly, I know
I’ve messed up.
Now I’m lost too.
There’s no trail at all.
I’m surrounded by wildness.
That’s how it happens—
one path leads to another.
So you choose, you walk,
you choose again,
and pretty soon,
there’s no
turning back.
I don’t have a GPS, or even a map
and compass. I hardly know anything
about navigation by starlight.
I don’t have a two-way radio
or my cell phone, which probably
wouldn’t even get a signal
way out here.
So I can’t call for help.
I’m stuck waiting. I know the rules.
A lost person should stay in one place,
hug a tree, avoid wandering
in wider and wider
aimless
circles.…
Instead, I panic and run
until I’m sliding down
a long, steep
s
l
o
p
e
scrambling
to keep from falling
over a cliff.
This is stupid.
I should know better.
I might not always listen
to every boring grown-up rule,
but I am old enough to have
common sense.
So I make myself stop.
I stand motionless,
waiting.
The forest is crowded with SAR dogs
and searchers. If B.B. and the other
ground pounders don’t find me,
then Gabe and Tío surely will.
Won’t they?
I sit with my back against
an incense cedar tree,
where the red bark smells
like the smoky air
around those praying women
in the prison yard—thick air
clouded with incense
and gloom.
So many emotions churn
through my head that I feel
like a baby elephant
trying to learn how to use
its long
clumsy nose.
On my birthday, I never
would have guessed that twelve
could feel so young
and sm
all
and complicated.
Anger. At myself. At Mom.
Terror. Of being lost forever.
Or getting found, and then
punished. Sent far away
to live with strangers.
Shame too.
How could I be so selfish?
Searchers who should be focused
on finding the hunter and his hound
will have to waste time
looking for me.
Or will they? Has anyone
even noticed
that I’m gone?
Sitting still with these thoughts
becomes impossible, so I lurch
to my feet, and stumble back
the way I came. Or at least I hope
it’s the way. Panic makes the world
shaky. Things seen from a distance
change shape as I move closer—
a loping coyote turns out to be
a motionless slab of granite.
That soaring pterodactyl
is just a crow.
Tall
skinny
ancient
people
wearing
flowing
robes
are
only
brown
tree
trunks.
I race, then trudge, knowing I can’t
even trust my own eyesight …
but at least the night is over.
Daytime strikes like lightning.
I’ve been lost for hours and hours.…
I run, walk, run again
until I’m so exhausted
that all I can do
is stop and rest,
wish, hope, pray,
and think of Gabe’s
smart nose
warm fur
happy grin
loyalty
courage.
But the weather is turning.
Blue sky goes cloudy.
A cold wind shrieks
like the spirits
in one of Tío’s spooky
campfire stories.
I close my eyes, hoping that when
I open them, I’ll discover that I’ve been
dreaming.
Is that musky scent
a bear’s?
Am I touching
fur?
When I open my eyes, instead of dreams,
I discover a reddish dog who whines
as he greets me, nuzzles my arm,
and shows me his trusting eyes,
filled with joy and hope, because now
that he’s found a human, he assumes
everything will be fine.
It’s not Gabe or another SAR dog,
so it must be the hunter’s hound.
He’s lean and bony.
How long has he been out here?
Two days? Three? I’ve lost
track of time. I’m hungry,
so the poor dog must be
starving.
I can’t believe that while I was
searching for him, he’s the one
who ended up finding me.
I feel like a cave boy.
This is how it must have been.
Tío has told me about coevolution,
like when hummingbird beaks
gradually changed shape, just to fit
certain flowers. Dogs and man
learned to need each other
thousands of years ago.
No wonder I suddenly feel
like I’m home,
even though I’m still
out in the woods,
lost and cold.
Scared.
The hound is weak, but he talks
to me in his dog-language
of movement and touch.
B.B. has told me that wild animals
don’t make eye contact, because
they don’t need to understand
human faces, but dogs do need
to know us. They can’t live
alone.
This hound is so friendly,
and he must have a name.
I try out a few, but he wiggles
happily, no matter what I say.
Angel, Magic, Wizard.
I make my voice high
and squeaky
so it sounds excited.
My approval is the dog’s
reward.
Suddenly, I feel hopeful. Ever since
I learned about trail names,
I’ve wondered what I’d call myself
if I’m ever brave enough
to be a thru-hiker.
Rescue Beast. No—Trail Beast!
That’s what I’d be, part Trail Angel
and part mysterious,
ferociously dedicated,
educated, scientific,
magical.…
34
GABE THE DOG
SEARCH!
I’m tired, but we have a place where Tony was last seen, and we have a scent object—his backpack—so I plunge my nose in, sniffing his boy-life of games, paper, ink, and sweet treat snacks.…
Then I tug the long leash to keep my Leo close behind me as I inhale shoe prints, nose to the ground, following tracks, so I can
find
find
find
our Tony.
Nothing else matters.
35
TONY THE BOY
RESCUED!
The hound is too weak
to walk, and too heavy to carry,
so I stay still, hugging him,
even though I desperately
want to run and search for berries and a stream.
Hunger.
Thirst.
Fear.
Now I know how Tío felt
when his raft
was drifting.
How long can a dog live
without any food and water?
If it gets colder, my fingers
and toes will be numb.
If only Tío or B.B. would find us.
They both know all sorts
of human and canine first aid.
Sounds in the forest grow
eerily loud
when you’re lost.
The wing beat of a raven
is like thunder
or a monstrous roar
so when I hear a collar bell
that tinkles like Christmas
and I see the orange flash
of a SAR dog’s happy vest,
and I feel the familiar warmth
of Gabe’s panting breath,
I feel so relieved
and so safe
that I finally crumple up
and cry.
Gabe licks me, Tío hugs me,
and the hunter’s hound rolls over
to show Gabe that he’s
not a fighter. The two dogs
sniff each other curiously.
It’s some sort of diplomacy,
like when the presidents of countries
shake hands on TV.
If I’m going to be a veterinarian,
I’ll have to learn as much as I can
about the sign language dogs use
to talk to each other—this joyful
dance of wagging tails,
lolling tongues, thrashing legs,
and wiggly bellies.
After that, my mind is a blur.
Base camp, then the truck, a clinic,
good news: the bear hound
will survive, and the hunter
was found by one of the dogs
that has practiced finding me
over and over, when I was just
a volunteer victim
pretending
to be lost.
The rest of that first day at home
is so peaceful and cozy
that I can’t imagine
ever going outdoors again.
All I want is soup
cookies
hot cocoa
and sleep.
The next day, I feel strong enough
to accept Tío’s after-breakfast lecture
without any arguments. He’s right.
I should have stayed at base camp.
I should have listened
and cooperated.
We spend the rest of the morning
relaxing, and then, after lunch,
we go online together, and we order
a fancy new satellite phone
so that I’ll never again be stranded
in any rugged, remote area
where old-style cell phones
can’t get a signal.
But the biggest gift
my uncle gives me
is the calm, patient feeling
that I still have plenty of time
to learn
common sense.
It’s just like math, he promises.
Just learn one formula at a time.
The first is such a simple rule
that you’ll never forget:
DON’T HIKE ALONE.
My lost-and-found mood
of grateful relief
lasts until Halloween.
That’s when everything
suddenly
turns mean and scary.
One final prison visit.
Mom is a no-show.
The nightmares come back
with such hurricane force
that I know I’m facing
a decision.
This is my life.
My chance.
My only hope.
I’m at a crossroads, a place
where two paths meet.
There aren’t any road signs
telling me which trail
will lead toward a future
and which could carry me back
into my past.
I can choose to continue
feeling like one of Mom’s
doomed puppies
or I can let my mind
take that first step
toward safety.
So I tell the social worker
to stop scheduling me for prison visits.,
and I tell Tío that I’m tired of waiting
for Mom
to grow up.
I’m ready for my own turn to grow.
I’m tired of feeling tired, and worried,
and secretly
scarily
furious.
That night, as I paint my face
in a snarling bear design, it feels natural
to be someone else for a change.
Gabe wears my magician’s hat
with a stuffed toy rabbit
hidden inside.
Even though he can’t see the toy,
Gabe knows it’s there, because
his genius-nose always shows him
invisible secrets.
Gracie wears a red and gold sari
from India, and the spotted horse
is dressed as a funny elephant,
with a floppy trunk
made of braided hay
that keeps vanishing
into a horse-mouth.
I’m too shy to say it out loud
but Gracie looks pretty
and she’s starting to act
as if she likes me