Free The Dog by Kerstin Ekman Page B

gone he went down. He was extremely
    tense and agitated by the whiffs of scent crossing every
    which way in the rough terrain. Now, though, he was alone
    at the point.
    At the spot where the moose had been slaughtered there
    were patches of blood but no remains. He sniffed around.
    The smells awakened the hunger pangs in his belly. But he
    was tired and his injured chest hurt. He couldn't hunt in the
    pasture when his body wouldn't respond. He licked at the
    patches of blood but found nothing to eat. In the end he
    wandered back up to the cabin and rested at the foot of the
    steps. He lay very still, curled tightly into his own dizziness
    and pain.
    At dusk he went back down. He walked on stiff legs and
    with slow, jerky movements. There was a strong wind
    blowing from off the mountains to the west. It had picked
    up as night fell, and it washed through his coat and cleared
    his nose and ears after all the confusion of the day and the
    jumble of scents and loud noises.
    Then he caught a whiff of the man. He knew he wasn't
    there. But his smell was. It was at the spot where he'd been
    fighting with that black dog; a compact odour, not just a
    residual scent from the morning. His instinct was to turn tail,
    but his muscles wouldn't obey. Then he smelled the blood.
    He moved closer to something dark between the stones.
    Next to it he found the food.
    He ate, pressed low and tail uncurled. It didn't take long
    to devour the pile of meat. Before he hobbled off, he sniffed every bit of the fabric, its familiar smell.
    That night he slept up in the cleared area, where he could
    hear all the sounds coming off the lake, even the most distant
    ones. His belly was heavy from the meat. He slept for long
    stretches and the pain receded. At dawn he went back down
    to the spot where the man had left his jacket spread across
    the stones alongside the pile of chopped moose lung.
    Sniffing the whole area thoroughly, he found a few scraps
    he'd missed.
    It was a windy day. He couldn't hear any noise from the
    forest, no gunshots. He lay still for so long that when he got
    up there were yellow birch leaves stuck to his coat.
    The man returned that evening, rowing across. The creak
    of the oarlocks cut through the wind. As he stepped out of
    the boat he whistled and talked, but he didn't stay long.
    When darkness was falling he pushed the boat out into the
    lake and it vanished, along with the creaking and splashing.
    The grey dog lay in the clearing, ears pricked, following the
    journey.
    There was food down there. The man had put it where
    the wind would carry the scent to the cleared area. The dog
    had revealed himself there for an instant, a grey-black mask
    and a pair of attentive ears in the undergrowth.
    Things had gone quiet all around the pasture. Only the softest
    voices were still there. He heard the chirping of the
    titmice and the soft calls of the bullfinches from among the
    trees. The Siberian jays fluttered gently among the birch
    leaves, which fell even on windless days. The aspen leaves
    were ready to fall. Sometimes on frosty mornings he heard
    soft clicking sounds as they snapped loose.
    The water that had filled green leaves and made the grass
    grow tall was receding. The blanket of pasture was withering
    and turning yellow. At the roots, where the soil was still damp and warm, the mouldering process began, working on
    leaves and whatever else was on the ground. Everything that
    happened now took place deep down, and from the earth
    rose the heavy, powerful scent of decomposition. When the
    rain began to sweep in off the ocean beyond the mountains,
    the pasture became a brown place of rough grass and rotting
    stalks. It was silent there. The short-eared owl rarely
    swooped, and eventually it flew away. Not even the vixen
    caught any voles.
    The dog's shoulder healed but his bruised rib continued
    to ache in the cold weather. Most of the time he lay still,
    though he had to guard the food spot out at the point and
    keep the