Free Argos by Ralph Hardy Page B

wolves, and human thieves too, until at dawn, when Apollo begins his journey across the sky, I curl up next to the barn and sleep for a few minutes until the roosters crow. Such is my fate now.

    As the months pass, Telemachos grows into a young man. His voice no longer squeaks when he talks, and hair has begun to grow on his face. Every morning tutors come from the village and work with him. How hard he studies! He has learned all the gods by name and what prayers to say to them. He practices his letters and reads poetry. Sometimes he reads it to me, and I confess, it puts me to sleep. Then there are the numbers! I do not understand the marks he makes, but he must understand it well because the tutors no longer strike him on the wrist—although perhaps now they are afraid to. Then, in the afternoon, there is wrestling and spear throwing, archery, and boxing. On days when there is wind, he goes to the harbor andpractices his sailing. A king must know all these things, and one day Telemachos will be a king.
    But now he is a boy who misses his father.

    Now, in his thirteenth spring, Telemachos has turned even more inward, for there is no man about to teach him the ways of the hunt, as boys learn at this age. And so Telemachos broods. I know he wishes to hunt, because he spends long hours practicing with his bow and hurling his spear at gourds, but he knows nothing of tracking game, of staying downwind from the fearful doe; he knows not the footprint of the wild pig, nor where the hares make their warrens. Neither does he know to strike a pair of antlers with hard wood to taunt a buck into showing himself, nor does he know where the point of the spear must go if a boar charges. In short, he knows nothing about how to hunt like a man, and so I will teach him to hunt like a dog.
    This morning Telemachos rises early to practice with his bow. I follow him out to the pasture, where he sets up a gourd, and when he sets down his bow to lift the gourd up to the fencepost, I take his bow in my mouth and trot away. He runs after me, calling my name, but for once I disobey him and continue to lead him away from the house and toward a streamdeep in the wooded valley where the deer come to drink. But humanfolk are so loud! How to get him to stop calling my name?
    I stop and let him catch up to me, and I put the bow down at my paws. When he stoops to pick it up, I take one end in my mouth and begin to tug, leading him farther into the woods. He follows me, curious to play my new game. But it is not a game. To hunt is to live. I crouch down and slowly creep up a hill, sniffing the air to make sure the wind has not changed. Telemachos, as smart as his father, soon realizes what I am doing and crouches low alongside me. Together we slither into the wood, barely disturbing a leaf. Every few minutes I stop to sniff the air, and Telemachos sniffs as well, although humans have pitifully small noses. Then I rub my face in the dirt, and the boy does too, darkening his shiny face, which animals can see for leagues.
    We pass a tree where a young buck has rubbed off the bark with its antlers. I stand on my hind legs and lean against the tree, showing him the missing bark. I think he understands. Farther along the trail, where it grows wet, I see the footprints of a deer. Telemachos walks past it, so I growl softly until he turns, and then I put my nose next to the footprint and growl again. He sees instantly what he’d missed. Now heknows we are close to our prey.
    As Apollo carries his chariot higher, we reach the hidden stream. There we duck under a laurel and wait. First one small doe appears, then another. Soon they are joined by as many deer as there are whiskers on my snout. I look at Telemachos and lick his bow hand. Slowly he notches an arrow and raises his bow. Then, as often happens in the morning, the wind shifts, bringing our scent to the deer. Several raise their heads, alert, ready to flee.
    Now! I think.
    I hear the hum of his