Dognapped

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  An Anytime story of Early America

  by Michael Wenberg

  A sequel to Captain Lewis’s Dog

  Copyright 2011 Michael C. Wenberg

  www.michaelwenberg.com

  Dognapped

  An Anytime tale of Early America

  by Michael Wenberg

  Captain Meriwether Lewis's big, Newfoundland dog, Seaman, paid no attention to the chill bite in the morning air, as he trotted along the riverbank.

  He never worried about the cold or even ice and snow. After all, he was protected by thick, black fur that always kept him warmer than any coat.

  He paused for a drink at the river's edge, then watched a V of geese, honking and complaining, fly by overhead. When they were out of sight, he resumed his morning exploration.

  He didn't get far before he came to a sudden halt.

  His intelligent brown eyes scanned the jagged, brush and tree lined river bank ahead.

  Nothing.

  And yet, his nose had told him otherwise.

  Something he couldn't quite identify was there, hidden.

  He could smell it.

  He almost turned back to camp. But he was curious now, so he decided to trot on.

  Even with the help of his keen nose, he almost missed it. But a slight movement caught his eye. And there it was, the source of the smell, sitting still as a heron on the trunk of a fallen tree that poked like a finger out into the river's current.

  It was a boy.

  He was holding a line in his hand, staring so intently into the water that he hadn't noticed the dog on the bank up above.

  Seaman knew what the boy was doing. He was fishing. And he had watched Captain Lewis fishing often enough to know it was a time for quiet. So that's what he did. He curled up on the ground, rested his chin on his paws, and waited. And in the back of Seaman's mind was the hope that if he was very good, the boy might notice it and reward him with a treat.

  Perhaps a sweet, crunchy fish head?

  Or a hunk of chewy, venison?

  Or maybe even a piece bread, soaked and dripping with skunk fat?

  Seaman's mouth began to water. When it came to treats, he wasn't picky.

  Suddenly, the boy jerked the string, letting out a whoop of delight as he pulled in another fish.

  Seaman didn't need a signal. He gave a loud bark, and rushed down the bank to join in the celebration.

  The boy, however, took one look at the strange, black, blood-thirsty animal racing towards him, gave a shout of terror, and dove into the river.

  A swim? What a great idea. Seaman jumped into the water after the boy, sending spray in every direction.

  The boy, however, was tricky. His head popped up on the opposite side of the tree trunk. Hidden from Seaman, he swam quickly towards the safety of shore.

  When Seaman saw the boy stumble out of the water, he barked with surprise and paddled furiously back towards shore. But by the time he reached shallow water, the boy had already scrambled up the bank, and disappeared into the brush.

  Chase? Another great idea, Seaman thought.

  He paused long enough for a quick shake, and then got busy. Nose down, he picked up the boy's trail in an instant.

  “Gotcha,” Seaman barked happily. And then he was off, streaking fast as a deer after the boy.

  A few seconds later, the chase was over. The boy gave a shriek as Seaman hit him with a wet, furry shoulder. When he stopped tumbling, Seaman pounced, pinning him to the ground with his paws.

  Boy and dog, both breathing heavily, stared at each other for a moment.

  Seaman cocked his head, listening intently as the boy whispered words the dog didn't understand.

  And then the boy closed his eyes, prepared to die bravely.

  The boy had never seen a dog like Seaman before. In fact, he didn't even realize that Seaman was a dog. In his eyes, Seaman was simply another hungry predator, no more friendly than a grizzly, cougar, or wolf.

  In other words, he fully expected the dog to eat him.

  Instead, Seaman licked the boy's face. And then he let him go, distracted by another impulse to shake, and then an itch that need scratching.

  Before the boy could duck, he was covered with wet spray from Seaman's coat. Giggling with relief, he wiped his face dry. He wasn't going to be eaten after all.

  He reached out and scratched Seaman's muzzle, cautiously worked his fingers around to the dog's ears. In an instant, Seaman was on his back, paws in the air, eyes closed with pleasure as the boy scratched his chest.

  Then the boy was on his feet, walking away. He whistled for Seaman to follow, slapping his thighs.

  That's when Seaman caught a faint whiff of something wonderful in the air. He raised his nose, quivering.

  The boy whistled again. Seaman noticed he was heading in the direction of that smell.

  Food, Seaman thought. No harm in getting some breakfast before returning to his camp.

  Seaman jumped up and trotted after the boy.

  The boy marched like a returning hero into the still sleepy village, the big black dog at his side.

  The place was instantly thrown into an uproar. Some men and women reached for spears and bows and sticks from their fires while others grabbed babies and toddlers, and ducked back into the protection of their lodges.

  At first, the boy watched the chaos with amusement, making sure to keep Seaman close. And then he shouted for calm.

  That's when everyone saw that the boy was in no danger. And neither were they.

  Children approached the dog first, touching his coat, stroking his muzzle, tugging his ears.

  Seaman didn't mind all the attention. In fact, he loved it. It didn't take long before he was on his back again, the children scratching his chest.

  “What a strange looking fish you caught this morning. Shall we eat it?” The boy looked up with alarm, and then noticed the smile on his father's face.

  “I don't think he would taste very good,” the boy replied in the language of his people, a Native American tribe known as the Wallawallas.

  “And besides,” the boy said suddenly, jumping to his feet and sticking his chest out proudly. “He is a fierce warrior. And my friend.”

  “Then we should treat him with the respect a warrior and a friend of the chief's son deserves,” the boy's father, Chief Yellept, replied. “You should bring him to our fire and offer him food.”

  When the boy whistled, Seaman was up in an instant, sending children tumbling harmlessly this way and that.

  Of course, Seaman didn't realize the honor he was receiving. Few strangers were so quickly accepted by the Wallawallas, and even fewer were invited to dine at Chief Yellept's fire.

  But Seaman was no ordinary dog.

  A wooden bowl was filled with a thick stew of venison and salmon and root vegetables and placed in front of Seaman. He finished it in three gulps, licked the bowl clean, and then looked up for more.

  Four bowls later, Seaman was so full he could barely move. It was the perfect time for a snooze.

  But the boy had other plans. He took him on a tour of the village. He introduced him to his friends and showed him the places they liked to play.

  Then it was back to the fire. Before Seaman could get comfortable, someone brought out a comb carved from an old buffalo bone. Seaman couldn't stop yawning, but sat patiently, eyes closed, while he was groomed by a handful of the children. They removed twigs and seeds from his coat, smoothed out knots of hair and tangles.

  When they were done, Seaman's black fur gleamed in the sunshine.

  “If he is a warrior, don't you think he should look like a warrior?” suggested the boy's father.

  The boy noticed the string of grizzly bear claws hanging around his f
ather's neck, and the leather headband that was holding back his hair.

  “You're right,” he said, patting Seaman on the head affectionately. “I'll get my friends to help. . .”

  When Lewis and Clark, accompanied by a handful of armed men and the young, Native American woman, Sacajawea, marched into the Wallawalla village a few hours later, the children were almost done.

  Seaman's collar had been decorated with elk teeth, three crow feathers were sticking out of a tuft of fur on his head, multicolored leather bands circled his ankles, and one girl was still trying to braid his tail.

  When they caught sight of Lewis's dog, surrounded by all the children, the party came to an abrupt halt.

  “That mongrel doesn't look stolen to me,” Captain Clark exclaimed.

  Lewis blinked in disbelief, then threw back his head and laughed with relief. When Seaman hadn't returned to camp, Lewis had assumed that he had been dognapped - again.

  Lewis's laughter brought Seaman instantly to his feet. He gave a sharp bark of recognition, and raced towards his master.

  Lewis barely had time to brace himself before Seaman came skidding to a stop in front of him. The dog stood on his hind legs, placed his front paws on Lewis's chest, and then licked his