Hunter's Trail

I shook my head. “That whole place stinks of werewolf. I don’t know how she’d react to that, especially if she wandered out of my radius.”

“Good point. Dog park?” Jesse suggested.

“No way. We have no idea how she’ll react to other dogs. She might eat them.”

“I guess that rules out taking her to my parents’ place,” Jesse mused. “I don’t want Max to be eaten.”

I thought it over for a moment. “Actually . . . maybe it’s worth a try? At least then we could see if she can pass for a dog in mixed company.” With her color and intelligence, I couldn’t imagine thinking the bargest was anything but a magical creature, but I was hoping that was only because I knew for a fact that magical creatures existed.

Jesse shot me a dubious look, but called his parents’ house anyway. They were both out, but his brother Noah was home, and willing to participate in a doggy friendship experiment. Or rather, a dog-bargest friendship experiment. Possibly the first of its kind. Jesse brightened a little. “If we’re stopping at my folks’, I have another idea too.”

When we pulled into the driveway at Jesse’s parents’ house, there was a man already standing on the front steps with Max on a leash beside him. My eyes bugged out a little at the sight of him. It was like Jesse had taken another Jesse and swallowed him. “Whoa,” I said in awe. “It’s Jesse version 2.0.”

“Can it, Bernard,” Jesse said good-naturedly. “That’s Noah.”

I took a closer look as he put the van in park and we got out. Noah stayed on the steps, standing calmly as Max started jumping straight up and down in the air, thrilled beyond measure by our presence. Noah had lighter skin, for sure, and wasn’t as handsome as Jesse. He had the exact same smile though, which I noticed as we walked toward the house and he stepped down from the steps, holding out his hand. I shook it while Max cheerfully head-butted my legs, delighted to have me within love-attack range. It hurt, and I winced. “Max,” Jesse reproached. Max turned to him with a wounded look and did his best to love my femur by wagging his whip tail against me instead. Not a big improvement. I patted him on the head anyway.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Scarlett,” Noah said playfully. “Jesse never, ever talks about you, so we know you must be special.”

“Noah,” Jesse warned, in the exact same tone he’d used on Max. His brother took him about as seriously as Max had.

“All right, where’s this monstrous dog?” Noah asked.

Jesse and I exchanged a look. “In the van,” I said simply. I looked down at my knee. “Jesse, can you . . .”

“Yep, I’ll get her. Hang on to Max’s leash,” he warned Noah. “She’s . . . big.”

Jesse went to the back doors of the van and cracked one door open a little. “What’s he got in there, King Kong?” Noah said under his breath. I smiled.

The bargest stepped daintily down from the van, hardly needing to hop at all with her long legs. Max went stock-still, his hackles rising. “Holy shit,” Noah whispered. I glanced at him. He was staring at the bargest with a mixture of wonder and respect, but no fear. “That,” he said with awe, “is the ugliest fucking dog I have ever seen.”

I laughed. Definitely Jesse’s brother.

Jesse took it slow, but she walked toward us with perfect calm, head up, eyes alert. I’d never seen such a self-possessed dog before; she seemed to be controlling herself, not because we’d told her to, but because it was her nature. As someone who has spent a lot of time around dogs, I found it almost spooky. Then she paused and rubbed her face against Jesse’s leg, trying to push the muzzle off, and I had to laugh a little.

“What kind of dog is she?” Noah asked me quietly.

“Technically, she’s a lurcher,” I replied. More or less honestly. Anytime you breed a sighthound, like a deerhound or an Irish wolfhound, with any non-sighthound breed, that’s called a lurcher. Don’t ask me why.

Max whined as Jesse and the bargest drew closer, shuffling his feet the same way she had in the crate. He didn’t know what to do. Jesse stopped when the bargest was just close enough for the two dogs to smell each other’s heads, and we let them do so. Then Max did something I never dreamed I’d see him do: he plopped on the ground and rolled over, belly in the air.

And that was that.

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting on the kitchen table, watching the dogs chase each other around the house. I could have sold tickets to this view. Max, who was already a fast, intelligent, strong dog, was tearing around the house, playing with a creature that was twice his size, speed, and intelligence. Noah had wisely put all the breakables up high before we arrived, so while they thundered around, the cupboards rattled a little, but nothing actually broke.

After a few minutes, Noah vanished upstairs to take a phone call. Jesse and I had started out sitting on the couch, but had elected to move to higher ground for our own safety.

“Let’s change her name,” I said to Jesse, watching the two of them play. Max was panting heavily, but although I’d removed the bargest’s muzzle, she still seemed unfazed. “She’s not responding to how I pronounce Belle, and anyway, she should get to be called something a little less annoyingly ironic.”

“What are you gonna call her instead?” Jesse asked with a tiny smile. “Frenchie? Blackie? Inky?”