Prince

         The back door opened and the clicking of paws passed from kitchen linoleum to the frosted wood porch. The tread of the stairs, measured for men, broke the dog's gambling gait but not his momentum. For a moment, the dark-haired retriever seemed to be two; His head was leery of the icy stairs but his rear had business to do and was eager to pass. It ended in a tie, as Prince hit the concrete landing sideways and bounded awkwardly into the crisp snow. His paws sunk deep into the snow, slowing him down, and his breath quickly frosted his muzzle. It was the coldest day Prince could remember and he was an old dog.

         The back door clicked shut but Prince barely noticed. The instinct to secure the yard was the immediate need. He stuck his muzzle in the snow and traced a path along his hallowed border. There was the metal tool shed in the back corner. Check. There was the old garden in the far corner. This had once been his biggest concern. He checked it twice but rabbits rarely came there anymore. Prince checked the air conditioner next, then back to the concrete landing and the gate. All that remained were the tree and swing set, which was just as well, as the pressure in his gut was becoming hard to endure. His bony frame settled into a crouch beside the swings and Prince waited for the inevitable relief. He could be patient now that his work was done.

         Once he'd finished, Prince pranced about the ice-coated tree and scratched at the snow until he suddenly recalled his morning ritual. He trotted to the gate in anticipation, his jaw lolling. The dog grimaced; The flesh about his muzzle quivered, undulated and finally rose to reveal the teeth. Just then the Man stepped out of the house across the street and Prince bellowed. The Man shook his head and motioned toward Prince, which intensified the display. Prince barked until his eyes watered, then he huffed several times to purge himself. He’d gone light-headed.

         Barking was something Prince did often and all he ever desired was a reaction. It didn’t matter to Prince whether they approached in play or jumped with fear, but the ones that did nothing aggravated him. There was no more life in some of them than in sticks or his plastic water dish and that was what enamored him to this Man who never ignored him. As always, the Man spoke in his lilting tongue. "What’cha doing, dog? Cold dog, aren’t ya?"

         Prince watched the Man open the door of his car; heard the jingling of keys, then the engine wound and died. With a second effort the engine caught and roared a challenge to Prince. The Man clamored out of the car and back again, to clear ice from the glass, and each time Prince barked wildly. When the man warmed up between forays, he and Prince stared at each other through the foggy window. It surprised Prince when the last gaze was broken and the car swished and rushed away.

         The stench of exhaust flowed to him and Prince sneezed. He sniffed. He noticed the overturned trashcan and after pawing and snatching a wrapper through the fence he mused, while he chewed, on who might have knocked the trash over. Signs of another dog were expected but the atom that registered in his nose was sinister and perturbing. Prince’s tail raised reflexly. The Cat. Why hadn't he smelled the cat before? Anger and recrimination swelled in the dog as he paced. Why didn't the Man smell it? Of course, humans were fickle with such matters anyway. Prince recalled the day he’d caught sight of the Man petting the cat. Petting it like it was a dog! Why wasn’t he killing it? At the last, he suspected the Man’s intention was to lull it off guard and crush it with the car. Prince had concluded long ago that the purpose of a car was crushing nuisances. Everything should have a purpose. The purpose of a dog, for example, was to serve its Master. Prince had never failed Master.

                As he thought of Master, it occurred to Prince that it was well past time for their afternoon nap. Prince had, in fact, never been left out this long, especially in winter. He cocked his head. There should be the smell of food. Prince wasn’t especially hungry, not for a dog anyway, but the Master always ate before the sun reached its height. He strode along the house and found, save for the faint ticking of the heater, there was no sound. Prince scratched at the door, barking sporadically then he whined. It was a detestable puppy-trick, of course, but Master always came when he whined. The heater ticked and ice crackled under the afternoon sun. There was no other sound.

         Prince wandered the yard. His hair bristled in the wind as he paced and scratched, anxiously chewing on a shard of ice that scrambled loose. Was he being punished? Prince could think of nothing that he had done to anger Master. Had he somehow failed in his duties? Surely nothing malevolent could have evaded his watch. The Cat may have gotten into the trash but it hadn't slipped into the house. Still, he had the sense that something had slipped by him. Something that drifted just outside the range of scent or hearing. Something that drifted away. He suddenly returned to barking and continued until his throat grew sore.

         Prince returned to the swing set, sniffed it absently, and relieved himself again. Sunlight glinted along the frozen chain. The swing had been broken for many years and all that remained were the chains and bent claws that once held a seat. Prince had worn a chain himself once, for walks beyond the gate with Mistress. It was just last winter when she had gone ... somewhere. Mistress had never come back but he still remembered how well he'd protected her on their walks. Indeed, he wondered what else he might have accomplished if given the chance. Certainly as much as the others had done. There were signs everywhere of those who had held his post before. He still caught scents of other dogs in unexpected places, like the old afgan under Master’s bed or from the couch in the basement. These withering scents troubled the Prince with thoughts of a past deeper than he could ever measure.

         Another question, long forgotten, returned as he lay under the swing set. It was a big question, a rare question for a dog. It was the curious nature of having senses that reached so far when his domain was so slight. The riddle wore at him as he drifted in and out of sleep. He dreamed of huddled, furry masses and the smell of his knotted blanket. He remembered places long forgotten. A place where he had played with dogs just like him. A place with a soft, black dog he dimly recalled as his mother. Everywhere he turned was a brother or sister, uncle or mother with the same twinkling eyes. He remembered running and running until his legs burned and he couldn't go any further. In his dream he watched the others run as far as the eye could see, to the blood-red sun on the horizon, and the setting sun became the mouth of the greatest dog of them all. And it howled.

         The sound woke Prince from his stupor. Other dogs were howling and barking in the distance. For a moment Prince was confused but the dream faded quickly and he realized what was happening. The Woman was coming. With practiced menace he stalked to the gate. The migrating human was nearly as bad as the Cat; she ignored him to the point of torture. She was an arrogant beast, marking every house. Even the strays weren’t so bold and enterprising. Worse yet, she bore countless scents of men, woman, rodents and even cats. It was unnatural.

         The cavalcade alert continued, including the cheery yelps of a hound just four houses down. Prince joined the general wail of protest. He leaned on the fence, impatient to confront the Woman. He was eager to dispel the disjointed feeling of the day. His pride alone remained unshaken by his exile from the house and it occurred to him that this might be the reason for his banishment from the house. Perhaps the Woman was his opportunity. He would be quick and cunning, alert to the knowledge that the Woman spit poison. He rolled his withers as her scent grew.

         She arrived with a waddling gait, her footing unsure, her steps cruching over the snow out of rhythm, which stimulated his instincts further. She was obviously weak, sluggish from slips on the ice. She dug in the bag at her side for the bright papers that smelled of so many strangers. Prince bared his teeth and growled breathlessly. If she might only fall – he fancied the possibility of yanking her through the fence like the greasy wrapper. But she clutched something, raising it toward him. That was how she spit. Prince leapt against the fence and, as his back paws swept across the ice, he crumpled into a pile of fur. His misspent rage reaped unforseen success; the Woman’s eyes were wide and full with fear. She stepped back. Even Prince wasn’t sure if the fence would save her this time. He regained his footing and, now ecstatic, doubled his efforts. The Woman retreated, walking slowly beyond the plowdrifts along the road. He had won the driveway. When she finally passed from sight Prince rushed to the far fence and ushered her away from the house with grand noise. He couldn’t be sure she hadn’t scented the house, but she wouldn’t return again. His confidence was supreme.

         Prince trotted to the back door and scratched. It took a moment before his waiting there, calls unanswered, became hauntingly familiar. He wanted to be with Master. He had served them both well, as well as he ever had. Prince sounded a single ringing bark. The silence rushed back in on him as he waited. All he heard was the heater, always ticking, and the deep hum of winter as he lay against the door.

         The sun was low when the rumble of the yellow bus and the sqeaul of its brakes brought Prince back to his gate. He watched the children hop down and shuffle into the house next door. Chirping voices and a general commotion moved through the house to the back door. When it opened Cinnamon was the first to exit. She lingered on the porch a moment to sniff the snow and look at Prince. In turn, he watched her bolt from beneath the feet of the children who followed after her. Cinnamon and the two children were roughly the same size; she being large for a dog and the others uncommonly small, even for children. She was much faster too. Even as the children chased her, Cinnamon had time to greet Prince through the fence. He nuzzled her with urgency; leaning up on the fence to nip and whine as the children passed. He wasn’t ashamed of his whining now and this unaccustomed behavior caught the attention of the children. They stopped to pet Prince, patting his head dully with mittened hands, arms crooked over the fence.

         Prince broke away and ran toward his door; he stopped short to look back to the children. He barked and the giggling children shook the fence. Then, in silent agreement, the kids scooped up snow and flung it toward him. Prince scampered to elude the spray of powder. Cinnamon, excited by the action, jumped between the children. Prince barked at her but she was caught up in the game. She stood firm, chomping the loose pellets of snow tossed at her, tail wagging furiously. When the children lost interest in that game they moved to the other side of the yard to build a snowman. Cinnamon, for her part, kept stealing the sticks the children were using as arms. Prince watched as the sunlight dimmed and the sky grew dark as wine. The air was so cold it tasted sweet.

         The children's back door opened abruptly and a woman appeared. "Time for supper"

         "It's not dark yet, mom." the boy said.

         "It's dark enough. Eat your supper so I can finally have a bath." The children trudged to her. Cinnamon broke away to pee in the flowerbed as her mistress considered Prince. "Bad dog. Stupid thing's been barking all day. Cinnamon, c’mon girl."

         Prince waited for Cinnamon to look back but she didn’t. The yard was empty again.

         Prince considered the house across the street as the light faded. Night meant the Man would return soon. Prince limped back to his porch and lay down. His joints had begun to ache and, as he waited, he licked his paws. A strange itch was biting into them.

         It was night now. Prince heard a car and limped to the gate. It rushed past and he limped back to the porch. When he went to the gate a second time, and again the car simply passed, Prince didn’t bother returning to the porch. Master had given no sign, no hint that he would finally appear. Prince lay and stared out into the street. Wisps of steam pawed at the opening of the sewer and he wondered if that's where the Cat lived. He'd seen it slink down there before. He wished it would appear now. Not so he could hurt it. He thought that, maybe, they could wait for the Man together. The thought made his tail wag.

         A fine snow began to fall. Prince went to the tree and curled up against it, shielding himself from the wind. His paws were burning now and he was tired but Prince was patient. He was a good dog. And he had the sounds in other houses to comfort him. There was life in the houses, like there was life behind the rough bark of the tree, and it was warm. He drifted in and out of sleep, until he noticed a light growing in the street, then the roar of an engine. Prince stood unsteadily and moved slowly to the gate as the Man parked his car across the street. After a moment the Man stepped out and Prince panted with excitment and raked his paw down the fence. The Man, as always, noticed and spoke. With renewed vigor, Prince paced and jumped against the fence.

         The Man looked at Master’s dark house and then his own.

         Prince barked.

         Someone yelled into the dark and both paused, then Prince began to bark again.

         The Man took a step toward the dog. He was in the center of the street. “Poor thing. Cold dog, aren't ya?”

         Prince wagged his tail.

         “You’ll be all right.” The Man pulled his coat closer and sighed. "That's a good boy. That's right, you're a good dog."

         Prince barked frantically as the Man turned away. Prince flourished as the Man walked to his front door. The dog tried to jump the fence but it was too slick and his strength was spent. He listened to the faint click of the Man's door as it closed and then Prince wandered to the swing and lay beneath it. Ice cracked along the frozen chain as he waited for sleep. Once again he heard the deep humming sound of the winter night and it became the distant call of those who had faded away. Prince felt the coldness leave him and he closed his eyes, hoping to dream of the horizon with a blood-red sun that howled.