III
he was a dog.
But he was no ordinary dog.
He was driving out into the country, by himself.
Big, a German Shepherd in appearance—except for his head—he sat on his haunches in the front seat, staring out the window at the other cars and at what he could see of the countryside. He passed other cars because he was moving in the high-acceleration lane.
It was a cold afternoon and snow lay upon the fields; the trees wore jackets of ice, and all the birds in the sky and on the ground seemed exceptionally dark.
The dog opened his mouth and his long tongue touched the windowpane and his breath steamed it. His head was larger than any dog's head, excepting perhaps an Irish Wolfhound's. His eyes were deep-set and dark, and his mouth was opened because he was laughing.
He raced on.
The car finally moved across the highway, slowing, entered the extreme righthand lane, and after a time turned into a cutoff. It moved up a country road for several miles, then it turned into a narrow lane and parked itself beneath a tree.
After a moment, the engine stopped and the door opened.
The dog left the car and pushed the door most of the way shut with his shoulder. When he saw the dome-light go out he turned and walked away into the field, heading toward the woods.
He raised his paws carefully. He examined his footprints.
When he entered the woods he took several deep breaths.
Then he shook himself all over.
He barked a strange, un-doglike bark and began to run.
He ran among the trees and the rocks, jumped over frozen puddles, small gullies, raced up hills and down slopes, dashed past glassy, rainbow-dotted bushes, moved beside an icy creekbed.
He stopped and panted. He sniffed the air.
He opened his mouth and laughed, a thing he had learned from men.
Then, taking a very deep breath, he threw his head back and howled—a thing he had not learned from men.
In fact, he was not certain where he had learned it.
His howl rolled across the hills and echoed among them like a great horn-note.
His ears pricked upright as he listened to the echoes.
Then he heard an answering howl, which was like, yet not like, his own.
There could be no howl quite like his own, because his voice was not wholly the voice of dogs.
He listened, he sniffed, he howled again.
Again, there came an answer. Nearer, this time...
He waited, tasting the breezes for the messages they bore.
It was a dog that came toward him up the hill, rapidly at first, then slowing its pace to a walk. It stopped forty feet away and stared at him. Then it lowered its head.
It was some kind of floppy-eared hound—big, mongrel...
He sniffed once more, made a small noise in his throat.
The dog bared its teeth.
He moved toward it, and it did not move until he was about ten feet away. Then it turned again and began to draw back.
He stopped.
The dog watched him, carefully, and began to circle. It moved to his leeward side and sniffed the wind.
Finally, he made a noise at the dog, deep down in his throat. It sounded strangely like "Hello."
The dog growled at him. He took a step toward it.
"Good dog," he finally said.
It cocked its head to one side.
"Good dog," he said again.
He took another step toward it, and another. Then he sat down.
"... Ver-ry good dog," he said.
Its tail twitched, slightly.
He rose and walked up to it. It sniffed him all over. He returned the compliment. Its tail wagged, and it circled a-round and around him and threw its head back and barked twice.
It moved in an ever-widening circle, occasionally lowering its head to the ground. Then it darted off into the woods, head still lowered.
He approached the place where it had last stood and sniffed at the ground. Then he turned and followed the trail through the trees.
After a few seconds he had caught up with it and they were running side by side.
Then he sped on ahead, and the trail circled and dipped and looped. Finally, it was strong indeed.
A rabbit broke from the cover of a small shrub.
He ran it down and seized it in his huge jaws.
It struggled, so he tossed his head.
Its back made a snapping sound and it ceased its struggles.
Then he held it a moment longer and looked around.
The hound came rushing up to him, quivering all over.
He dropped the rabbit at its feet.
The hound looked up at him, expectantly.
He watched it.
It lowered its head and tore at the small carcass. The blood made smoke in the cold air. Stray snowflakes landed upon the dog's brown head.
It chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed...
Finally, he lowered his own head and tore at the thing.
The meat was warm and raw and wild. The dog drew back as he seized upon it, a snarl dying in its throat.
He was not especially hungry, though, so he dropped it and moved away. The dog leapt upon it once more.
After that, they hunted together for several hours.
He always beat the hound to the kill, but he always left it for him to eat.
Altogether, they ran down seven rabbits. The last two they left untouched.
The dog sat down and stared at him.
"Good dog," he told it
It wagged its tail.
"Bad dog," he told it.
The tail stopped wagging.
"Very bad dog."
Its head fell. It looked up at him.
He turned and walked away.
It followed him, tail between its legs.
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
The dog cringed.
Then he barked five times and howled.
The ears and tail rose again. It moved up to his side, sniffing at him once more.
He made a laughing noise.
"Good dog," he said.
The tail wagged. '
He laughed again.
"Mi-cro, ceph, al-ic, id-i-ot," he said.
The tail continued to wag.
He laughed.
"Good dog, good dog, good dog, good dog, good dog."
It ran in a small circle, lowered its head between its front paws and looked up at him.
He bared his fangs and snarled. Then he leapt at it and bit it on the shoulder.
It made a yelping noise and ran away.
"Fool!" he growled. "Fool, fool, fool, fool, fooll"
There was no reply.
He howled again, a sound like that of no other animal on earth.
And then he returned to the car, nosed the door open and climbed inside.
He leaned upon a button on the dashboard and the engine started. The door swung itself all the way open, then slammed. With a paw, he pressed out the necessary coordinates. The car backed out from under the tree, then moved up the lane toward the road.
It hurried back onto the highway and then it was gone.
Somewhere a man was walking.
He could have worn a heavier coat this chill morning, but he was fond of the one with the fur collar.
Hands in his pockets, he walked along the guard-fence. On the other side of the fence the cars roared by.
He did not turn his head.
He could have been in any number of other places, but he chose to be there.
He chose to be walking on this chill morning.
He chose not to care about anything but walking.