Later that night, when Mom and Uncle Bob were starting to shout again, Jake slipped out the window and hurried off to the park. It was chilly so he had put on his anorak and pulled up the hood, but he wasn’t really warm as he sat on the swing, not moving, and stared out into the darkness beyond the lights on the four tall poles around the playground, casting more glare than illumination. He figured he would remain for another hour and then head home; the yelling should have stopped, and the two of them would be in their bedroom, making up for all the bad things they’d said. At least his homework was done and he would probably be able to get some sleep before he had to be up again. It felt better here alone than it felt in his bedroom right now. He had been scratching in the sand with a long, thin branch, making patterns at his feet when he noticed shining eyes at the edge of the light.
“Who’s there?” he called out; his question was met with silence. Jake felt a moment of fear, but then he realized it wasn’t a person looking at him, it was a big, black dog, with a long muzzle and a thick coat. As Jake stared at the creature, it gave a tentative wave of its tail. Jake got off the swing and started toward it, going slowly so as not to frighten the animal.
The black dog sat down and waited for the boy.
“Hey, fella,” said Jake, coming up to the side of the dog and holding out his hand to be sniffed, all the while being careful not to do anything sudden or to look the dog directly in the eyes. “You’re a big guy, aren’t you?” He noticed the dog was well-groomed, but lacked a collar, and instead had a peculiar kind of cloth with strange marks on it knotted around his neck, which seemed unusual. There was no license, no tags, nothing on the cloth. “You have a chip, boy? So they can find you if you get lost?”
The long head nudged Jake’s hand, its black nose deep in Jake’s palm.
Jake closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This little gesture of friendship nearly overwhelmed him and he felt his throat tighten. Most of the time he didn’t think about being lonely, but now it was all he could do to keep from crying. He bent his head to the dog’s ruff and felt the soft fur touch his face, and waited until he could speak without sounding like a little kid. “I wish I could take you home with me, fella, but I can’t. Mom would have a fit, and Uncle Bob would probably go through the roof.” He couldn’t stand the thought of this splendid dog getting hurt, especially if Uncle Bob did the hurting. “I’m sorry. I’d like to take you home, I really would.” It would be great to have someone at home who was on his side, even if it were only a dog.
The dog nuzzled Jake’s face, then gave him a swipe with his long, red tongue.
Jake laughed to keep from sobbing. “It isn’t fair, fella,” he stated. “If you want to come with me, and I want you to come with me, there shouldn’t be any problem about it. But there is.”
As he rested his jaw on Jake’s shoulder, the dog made a musical kind of whine.
“I know, fella, I know,” said Jake, ruffling the fur behind his ears. “You got to belong to someone, anyway, I guess, so you have an owner. You’re too neat and well-fed to be a stray.”
The dog made a groaning sound and flattened his ears in pleasure as Jake continued to scratch around the base of his ears.; he took another swipe at Jake with his tongue.
“I like you, too, fella,” Jake said, and thought as he stroked the dense, soft fur. “But sometimes things don’t work out the way we’d like,” He was quoting Mom now, and he sighed. “Looks like we both have people at home. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He thought of the many warnings Mom had given him about strange animals and the many dangers they represented. He decided she was wrong about this dog, cloth collar or not.
The dog gave a soft yip followed by an energetic yawn.
“I sure hope you’re all grown up, fella, because you got really big feet. If you get much larger, you’ll need a barn for a dog-house.” He examined the large paw, and was rewarded as the dog lifted his foot into his hand. “Really big paw, fella.” He sat down next to the dog, trying not to think about all the things his Mom would be upset about if she could see him now. “You gotta have a name of some kind. Fella sounds really dumb. Maybe I can’t keep you, but I can call you something better than fella.” He leaned against the dog’s shoulder and thought. “Why not Ben?” he said after a long pause. “Like for Franklin Boulevard. Sure beats calling you Diogenes I. Vlamos for the park. Ben’s better.”
The dog lay down, head raised, paws stretched out in front of him, alert and content at once.
Jake draped his arm over the dog and pretended, just for a little while, that Ben was his dog and that they were out for Ben’s night-time walk and just taking a break from their rambles. After about ten minutes, the dog noticed something approaching, and a low, rumbling growl grew in his chest. “What is it?” Jake asked, trying to figure out what Ben had smelled, because it had to be an odor, since Jake couldn’t discern any reason for this change.
A guy in a county park ranger’s uniform came into the playground light, a flashlight in his hand. As the light flickered over the big black dog and the youngster beside him, the ranger said something under his breath. Aware that Jake and the dog were watching him, the ranger’s attempt to smile failed utterly because his face was lit from beneath by the flashlight, making him appear sinister. “Kind of late for you to be out, isn’t it, son?” He had a nice voice—deep but not booming; it kind of made up for the weird light on his face.
“Ben’s gotta be walked,” said Jake, scrambling to his feet; next to him Ben stood up.
“Yes, he does, but it’s a little late for walking a dog.” He saw the set look in Jake’s face, and tried to soften his remarks. “He’s a real handsome dog—that ruff makes him look wolfish.”
“I think so, too,” said Jake, realizing it was true.
“Still, it’s after ten. There’s a ten o’clock curfew for youngsters like you.”
“My Mom had to work late, and somebody’s gotta walk Ben,” said Jake, making a big show of shrugging.
“Without a leash?” the ranger inquired.
“He’s easier to handle if I just hold his collar. That’s why it’s cloth,” Jake improvised. “When I’m taller, I’ll get to use a leash.”
“How old are you, son?” The ranger had taken a notebook out of his pocket.
“Nine. I’ll be ten in two months.”
“What grade are you in?”
The black dog whined a little and looked as if he wanted to move on.
“Fourth, at Burbank,” Jake said. “Look, I gotta get going. Ben’s hungry.”
“Next time don’t wait so long to take him out. This isn’t a safe place for a kid after dark, and the curfew is real, you know.” The ranger bent down to make sure Jake could see his concern; Jake longed to hit him. “You should be home in bed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Jake in the same tone he used with Mom when she lectured him about Uncle Bob’s problems.
“Are you sure you can get home okay?” the ranger asked as Jake and Ben went to the paved walkway leading out of the park.
“Yeah. We know the way, don’t we, Ben?”
The
