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When Toby was born,the last to emerge in a litter of seven, the first thing he noticed was how many people and other puppies there were around him. He would never forget all the smiling and happy faces, the wagging tails, the eager yipping and yapping, the soft, reassuring strokes of his mother cleaning him, and, most of all, the almost fire-side warmth of the bodies of his family, all huddled nicely together.It seemed like a fine world to be born into, and, he never imagined, in his innocence, that things could ever be any different.

Eventually, though, at six months old, he was taken from his canine family and given a strictly human one. Despite missing his mother and siblings, and being a bit confused and scared at first, he soon accepted and adapted to his new life and surroundings with the boundless cheer dogs seem to have in abundance. At first,everything was fine: he was treated well, was well fed, groomed, walked, and didn’t have such a bad life really. He even came to love his new family. It wasn’t long, however, as the months went by, that he was soon being chained up steadily in the yard, the attention waned, and, except for food and water, he seemed to be all but forgotten.

Of all the things of his puppy-hood that Toby missed, the closeness and constant presence of his family, his pack, was what he missed the most. Still, he had never dreamed that he would wind up completely alone some day – and, little more than two years after his birth, to find himself in just that situation, on his own, far from home, and abandoned to a world he knew little about, was a daunting experience, to say the least.

Although the sun had now risen well above the horizon and the cloudy mist had dissolved and cleared, the road was still a strange and unfamiliar place. The woods sat with mystery all about him. Every sudden sound, every snapping twig, or sudden chirp, or falling acorn caused him to start. No vehicle of any kind had come along for some time. Toby felt utterly alone, with nothing but the forest’s terrible silence for company, and a growing panic was beginning to take root in the pit of his stomach.

He wandered some thirty minutes or so, yet it felt much longer to him, and the long, gray winding road seemed it would go on forever. Try as he might, he could not pick up his master’s scent. He began to doubt he ever would.

He stopped only once to rest, sitting quietly in the roadside grass. However, he soon got back up and resumed his way, not really knowing where he was headed but feeling compelled, nevertheless, to keep moving. He still couldn’t understand why his master had abandoned him. What wrong had he done? And now, what would he do out there on his own? How would he survive? Would he survive?

As Toby moved on, the tree branches overhead soon gave way to open sky, allowing ample sunlight to rain down, and the exposed road soon became hot and uncomfortable under the steady gaze of the bright autumn sun. He hadn’t had much to drink that morning before being swept away from his home, and to make matters worse he hadn’t smelled, much less seen, any water since.

A short while later, Toby came to a fork in the road where a tall blue beech tree, with branches bent and twisting weirdly – looking like a wooden scarecrow – stood at the center. To the left was more of the same: empty road and endless trees, the mere sight of which greatly disheartened the dog. On the right, however, was the beginning of a small town.

At the corner, opposite the beech, stood an old townhouse surrounded by a peeling picket fence that had once, long ago, seen better days. An elderly man, who had just come out through the front door, stood on his porch, enjoying a pipe. Relieved to finally see someone, Toby trotted across the road to the townhouse and, stopping at the picket-fence gate, pushed at it with his snout, trying to open it. When that didn’t work he reared up, pawing and scratching at the barrier, which shook and shuddered, but still remained closed to him.

The pot-bellied, silver-haired man scuttled down the front porch steps, bellowing in anger. "Get out of there, you mangy mutt!" he roared. "Go on! What are you doing to my fence! Get!" Toby took off, quick as a jackrabbit, glancing back only once as he hurried up the street, but the sidewalk, thankfully, remained empty.

As Toby meandered his way through town he passed many homes, all of them still and silent, and there were no other people to be seen in the neighborhood. By then it was late-morning, and the sun was blazing down fiercely, and Toby’s thirst had grown considerably. He kept moving, hoping he would soon find water, but instead found the end of the township and himself looking down yet another tree-lined road that promised another long and lonely journey to nowhere. He sighed with cheerlessness, wondering what would become of him.

Then, scouting in all directions, he spotted what was left of an old stone wall made of heavy gray blocks at the end of a dead-end street. Next to it stood a tree offering shade, an offer he quickly accepted. As he sat next to the dry, cool wall, his ball at his side, the sweet scent of honeysuckle drifted by on a lazy wind, and it reminded him of home. Toby closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He caught a whiff of white aster mixed in with the honeysuckle, and then . . .

Toby suddenly leaped to his feet, lifting his ears, searching with them. Had he heard right? Was that a subtle, passing whisper of running water? He ran about frantically, stopped, listened more acutely, and then ran up to and around the stone wall. There, at the bottom of a patchy slope – part grass, part bare earth – ran a small, quiet stream running out of the nearby forest-covered hills. Toby raced down, half running, half sliding, all the way to the bottom, and drank eagerly at the stream’s edge, until he could drink no more for lack of breath. When finally done, he sat in the grass for a while, enjoying his respite from thirst, while sparrows and robins chattered boisterously among the nearby trees or pecked at the ground in search of seeds or insects.

In time, though, Toby, driven by his own hunger, ended his rest and found himself, like the birds, wandering through the fields in search of something to eat. Yet despite his best effort he found nothing, and as the day wore on his hunger only grew, becoming a nagging bother.

He soon ventured back up the slope and drifted through town again, hoping for a handout or some other form of help, but none came. In fact, he was chased away twice by different people. Still, on his way back to the stream, through sheer luck – and the good fortune of his nose – he did manage to find two dried-out cookies and a stale piece of bread. He was so disillusioned, however, in finding so little food and in the overall unfriendliness of the town, as well as his increasing sadness and fear over being lost and far from home, that he even forgot his ball and left it sitting up at the stone wall.

Returning from his meager findings, he stood by the stream drinking away the dry, stale taste of the cookies and bread. The little food he had found would hardly carry him through the rest of the day, let alone the night, and he knew he would have to find more by nightfall. Again, he wondered what would become of him. Then, stepping back from the stream, he noticed a small rabbit nibbling grass at the edge of the wood, some one hundred feet away. He didn’t know what it was, as he had never seen a rabbit before, but the thought of food occurred to him again. Toby gazed at it, pondering.

"He’d make a fine meal, perhaps," said a soft, but seasoned voice, suddenly. "If you could catch him, that is."

Toby spun around, startled not only by the voice, but at his own unawareness of the presence of its owner. There, on the other side of the stream, stood a golden retriever of many years. The old dog seemed to wear a pleasant smile. There was a quiet kindness in his caramel-colored eyes, and a warm light twinkled brightly behind them. He had such a calm and peaceful way about him that Toby couldn’t help but to relax and feel at ease almost immediately.

The elderly dog gingerly stepped over the running water and headed toward Toby, and there was a hushed, humble moment as the two canines approached each other with a cautious excitement – the way dogs will – and sniffed inquiringly, from front to back and up and down, letting a whole world of smells fill in the gaps regarding sex, age and general health and well being. They did so until both were thoroughly satisfied.

"My name is Max," said the old retriever, stepping back. "You’re a new scent around here, lad. At least," he added, appearing thoughtful, "I don’t recall running into you before."

"No, I’m—I’m new here. I was . . ." Toby paused, then sighed, lowered his head and closed his eyes, feeling dark clouds of shame gathering about him, for there is little else more shameful to a dog than being abandoned by their human master or their pack. "I’m lost, actually. I was abandoned by my master, you see," he said, barely audible. "Just this morning."

"Oh, that’s terrible, lad," said Max, with sympathy. "I’m sorry." There was genuine feeling and sorrow in his voice, and Toby felt certain that Max was sincere.

The young dog, responding to Max’s warmth and geniality, raised his head again. "Do you live in this neighborhood?" he asked, a faint touch of hope giving rise in his voice. "In a home that might be looking for another dog, maybe? Or at least one that—"

"No, lad. No," said Max, cutting him off gently. "I’m a stray too. I’m as homeless as you are. Have been for many months now."

He saw the flicker of hope go out in Toby’s eyes, like the tiny, dying flame of a used up candle. There was silence between them. The stream at their side gurgled quietly, as it had done for countless eons. The horn of a car cried out impatiently in the distance of the town.

"Look here, lad. What say we get out of this sun? It’s awfully hot. There’s a nice big, shady tree over there to sit under. Just let me have a go at this water first."

Max then turned to the stream and drank unhurriedly. He was somewhat larger than Toby, and clearly a much older dog. In fact, the scattered gray hairs round his muzzle and under his chin gave him a rather distinguished look – a canine gentleman, if ever there was one. Yet despite his age, he walked with a sturdy and balanced stride, revealing what was left of a once strong body. Although his fur had lost much of its sheen, the dense, warm coat flowed back and forth over his thin but solid, symmetrical frame like ripples on a golden-brown sea. He carried himself with a friendly air, the way golden retrievers are known to, and, in spite of his somewhat worn appearance, and a slight odor to his fur, he still kept with his dignity and was evidently very much at peace with himself. He must have been a powerful and wonderful dog in his heyday, thought Toby, watching him.

Toby glanced toward where the rabbit had been, guessing that it, too, must have been startled, fleeing into the safety of the trees.

"Oh, he’s gone by now," said Max, looking up from the stream. "You have to be quick on your paws if you want to catch one of those."

Then, with the old dog having had his fill, they took refuge from the heat under the large white-ash tree he had pointed out, its blue-green leaves beginning to change to its more characteristic autumn color of purplish-pink.

"There, isn’t that much better now, lad?" said Max, coming to rest a moment later in the shaded grass.

"Toby," the young dog beside him said. "I’m called Toby."

Max looked to him, his eyes still warm with sympathy. "Then Toby it is. And a fine name, too. Most pleased to meet you, Toby."

"Same here," said the young dog.

"I must apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you so badly a few moments ago."

"I wasn’t startled," said Toby, discreetly defending his honor. "I was just, well . . . surprised. And being careful." He couldn’t help but look away, however, unsure as to whether the old dog was buying his ruse or not.

"Good!" replied Max, with a knowing "wink" in his voice. For he was well aware of Toby’s pretense, but felt no need to be anything but good-natured about it. He then said, with a bit more seriousness, "It’s wise to be careful. The world is full of dangers."

"What was that animal at the edge of the woods a moment ago? I’d never seen one before."

"Never seen a—!? Why, that was a rabbit, lad," answered the old retriever, rather surprised. "They’re all over the place. They’re good meat. But, like I’ve said, they’re a hard catch."

Toby nodded weakly, still eyeing with curiosity the area where the rabbit had been.

"Now, then," said Max, with earnestness, as he settled himself more snugly into the grass, "do you want to talk about it? About this morning, I mean?"

Toby glanced at him, feeling those dark clouds of shame forming over him again, though perhaps not quite as dark as before, thanks to the old dog’s kind and easy nature.

"There’s really not much to tell," he said, and then proceeded to recount the events of his day: of how he was awakened early, was unexpectedly led to the family car, driven from his home, out of town, and way out into the country and abandoned, and, lastly, of what had occurred, more or less, up until he had met Max. The golden retriever grunted wistfully. "What about you?" asked Toby, after a brief pause. "Why are you out here on your own?"

"That’s what I’d like to know," replied Max in a solemn, quiet manner, as if speaking to himself. The light in his eyes seemed to go dim as he sat there, memories of another time pouring into his mind. "Like you, there really isn’t much to tell. I had been with my human family for many years – since my youth, though I wasn’t quite a pup. I was as good and true a friend and companion as I knew how to be: loyal, brave – if need be – and easygoing. We all got along just fine, the children, their father and I. It was a good home, a fine life. I loved them, and they loved me. At least, I think they did. Then, one day, everything changed.

"An adult female soon joined us," he continued. "She was a bit cold toward me, though I thought nothing of it at the time, of course. Some people just don’t take to dogs. But I felt a change in the air. Not so much with the children, but with the master of the house. He became less affectionate toward me. Not really cold, mind you, just not as warm as he once was. I began to feel left out of the loop, somehow. I couldn’t help sensing something was wrong." Max stopped to lick his forepaw and rubbed his eye to clean it, then carried on.

"One day they began packing things up and, little by little, everything went. Another day the children left, and never returned. It wasn’t long afterward that my master and his female packed up what little was left of their belongings and, early the next morning, with all the doors and windows left wide open, they, too, left, and never returned. Leaving me to find my own way." He paused again, briefly. "And a hard, lonely way it’s been these many months."

The sun drifted idly toward the western rim, as silent as the heartbeat of a sleeping mouse. Toby wondered if many dogs were abandoned like he and Max had been. "Why do they do it, Max?" he said, a moment later, with melancholy. "Why do they treat us that way?"

"I don’t know why," Max replied calmly. "I don’t know why man does many of the things he does. As much time as I’ve spent with them, they’re often a mystery to me. But not all men are bad, Toby. You mustn’t think that. Besides, there’s no point in being bitter about it, really. It doesn’t help any. It’s best to just move on, get on with your life and do the best you can."

Toby scratched his ear briskly, then said, "You say you’ve been on your own for months now. How have you survived out here for so long?"

"Well, it hasn’t been easy, but it can be done. You scrounge here, scrape there. You pick up some tricks along the way. You manage."

"How long has it been since you’ve eaten?" Toby inquired.

"Why, just this morning. Shortly before I wandered over here and ran into you. Why? When have you eaten last?"

The young dog then told Max of his not very successful attempts at finding food, except for the sparse "banquet" of stale cookies and bread.

"Well, why didn’t you say so, lad?" said Max with quiet indignation. "We’ll go try and fetch something for you right away."

"Where? In this town here?"

"No," said Max, thinking carefully and reflectively. "Considering your recent encounters with some of the people here, it might be best to move on to the next town. There’s another one not too far," he added, feeling a bit of pride in his knowledge of the area. "We have a while of sunlight left. It’ll take some time getting there, but it’ll be worth it."

Toby then started making his way toward the slope, but Max called to him, telling him there was a better, safer way of getting to the place he spoke of. The young dog glanced at the top of the patchy incline, then, after hesitating, trotted back over.

"Max," he said, walking up to the golden retriever. "Do you think there’s any chance my master will come back for me? Any chance at all?"

The old dog held a steady gaze on him, and saw the yearning and hope swimming in Toby’s eyes. He wanted very much to tell him that his master would come back for him, that everything would be all right – but he knew it wasn’t true. "It’s not likely, lad," he said with kindness, but candidly. "Not after what he did. Like I say, it’s best to just let it go and move on."

Toby looked back up at the stone wall, pensively, his eyes both hard and soft, strong and weak, as if struggling with some unresolved matter. He took one small, undecided step toward it, then stopped.

"Is everything all right?" asked Max, a bit puzzled.

There was a brief moment of silence before Toby finally turned from the small hill, and said, "Sure. Everything’s fine. Let’s go."

"Trust me, this way is easier," said the retriever, as they headed toward a thinly wooded area, side-by-side, "and a lot safer. It’s good to be careful, lad." He then turned to Toby, giving him a warm, welcoming look. "And it’s good to have company, again, too."

"Yes," the young dog agreed, the first hint of solace in his voice all day. "It’s good to have friends."

The two dogs then strolled off, and Toby, feeling thankful for having met Max, was awfully relieved not to be alone anymore.

An autumn breeze wandered across the stream, billowing the taller grasses of the field to and fro and shaking a few loose leaves from the trees down to the ground. Up at the old stone wall, which sat at the edge of town, a single leaf fell from the tree that stood next to it, landing well within the shade. And there it sat, its only company one thoroughly chewed-up rubber ball.

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"Ah, here we are," muttered Max, as they emerged from a copse of beechnut nearly two hours later.

They had traveled a good distance through vast woods and lonely fields, and had come to the edge of a wide, grassy meadow busy with the fluttering of monarch butterflies. The sun was sinking fast behind them, leaving the sky painted with broad strokes of reddish-pink and yellow-orange. The air had gotten cooler, and sweeter, and the surrounding countryside had come alive with a chorus of crickets and katydids, singing their nocturnal opus to the growing audience of emerging stars above.

Toby and Max now stood near the southern end of another small town, not all that different from the one they had left behind, but different enough in scent to be recognized by Max. They, dogs, obviously know nothing of the names of towns or cities, and care even less. Guided by a world of scents, and, to a lesser degree, sights and sounds, a region’s signature smells were all they really needed for identification.

"Here, let me rest a bit," grunted Max, as he lay down in an area where the grass wasn’t quite so tall. "I know you’re hungry, but I guess I’m getting a bit old for all of this running about back and forth. I’ll just be a moment."

Toby settled in beside the elder canine without complaint, and then asked, "Is that how you’ve managed all these months, from town to town?"

"More or less, lad, more or less," said Max. "You get food when and where you can. If you stay in one place for too long you become noticed, and then, well, unless you’re one of the lucky ones who gets a new home, you’re just considered a problem, and then they usually chase you off. But if you disappear for a while to another place, you’re forgotten. No man spends too much time thinking about a dog, unless it’s his own. And even then, not always enough."

Max stopped to yawn, then gave himself a good scratch to his flank with his hind leg. "When I was first left behind I was upset and scared, of course, and didn’t quite know what to do," he continued. "But I soon gathered my wits and went on my way. It isn’t easy for a stray to find a new home, though. It’s not that I didn’t try, either. I was chased away plenty, but mostly just ignored. I got tired of it, so I stopped bothering." Max yawned again, then shook his head and pawed at the air to shoo away a butterfly dancing in front of him on wings as bright as a ripe orange. "No, it’s not easy for a stray to find a new home," he repeated. "Especially for an old hound like me."

"Oh, you’re not that old, Max," said Toby.

Max grunted a short canine laugh. "I’ve seen more than twelve summers come and go, lad. That’s old enough." Then, rising up and stretching, he said, "All right, then, let’s go get you a meal. It’s getting dark. We shouldn’t have much difficulty keeping hidden and out of trouble."

They then wandered into town. Max seemed to know his way around well, and Toby followed him closely as they trotted up one block and down another. There were few people on the streets – it being the middle of a workweek – and they were avoided easily enough when the two dogs smelled or spotted them, simply by heading down another block. As they meandered along hushed streets, with leaves falling here and there, porch lights were jumping to life in sudden, quick bursts, illuminating wicker rocking chairs and porch swings and other items commonly found on country patios. Picking up their pace, they heard other dogs barking from several different homes as they hurried by, and Toby couldn’t help but envy them their shelter and comforts. He wondered if he would ever again know such a life.

After traveling along a few more darkening streets and crossing a tiny parking lot, the two dogs finally came to a small, rustic town diner. The place was closed for the day, but three large, plastic garbage bags sat at the side of the building.

"There it is," said Max, quietly, sampling the air. "It’s certainly no meal fit for a pack-leader, and I’m sorry for that. But when you’re hungry enough, anything will do."

Toby said nothing; he simply stared at the bags, sniffing deeply and licking his chops. Max hurried across the road with Toby directly behind. They approached the refuse, sniffed some more, and then each tore open a bag and made quick work of it, wolfing down whatever they could find, from cold spaghetti and half-eaten burgers, to fries and hot dogs. Then, with stomachs filled, they sauntered back across the road and backtracked their way to the edge of town, where they soon found themselves resting at the very spot they had been earlier.

They sat peacefully in the soft, comfortable grass, grooming themselves with satisfaction. By then night had fully fallen, and the royal-blue sky burned with endless numbers of stars. A leisurely breeze briefly caressed the meadow, then ceased.

"Max?" said Toby, after their grooming was completed, "what will happen to us? I mean, is this all there is for us now? Surviving from one town to the next, from day to day, just hoping for the best?"

Max glanced at the young dog, his eyes becoming shadowed, searching for an answer that could walk the fine line between hard truths and hoped-for wishes. "Your future is an open field, Toby," he said, at last. "You’re young yet; anything can happen. If you’re lucky, someone nice will bring you into their home some day and give you a good life. I certainly wish it for you, my young friend. It’s wonderful to have your company, but I’m getting old, and I won’t be around forever." He then turned and gazed out at the black twilight area between darkened green earth and cold blue sky, remembering better days.

Toby wanted to say something, but didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent. He lay his head down on the ground and stared into the dusky, noisy countryside. The softness of the grass, a full stomach, and the rhythmic chatter of the crickets, katydids and peepers all combined to lull Toby into a sleepy, lethargic stupor, until, all at once, he fell asleep.

"Ah, well," said Max, noticing that Toby had fallen into the comforting arms of dreams, "you’ve had a hard day, lad. We both have. We shouldn’t stay out in the open like this the whole night, of course," he mumbled to himself while glancing about. "Still, I suppose an hour or two of sleep here is okay, for the time being."

Max flattened himself out close to Toby, made himself comfortable, and allowed himself to sleep as well, even if only lightly, keeping both ears alert for any sign of danger.

So they slept, and Toby dreamed.

He dreamed of the only other dog – discounting his mother and siblings – that he had ever known. Her name was Chloe, and at the time of their first meeting she had saved his life.

It had been one of those fine late-spring days, the kind that beckons you with the scent of sweet, ripe apples and blooming flowers and easy gusts of warm-cool breezes to come outside and run and play. It was also a day when Toby had been permitted to run free in the yard. Unattended, he romped about, chasing his ball all over the grassy lot, past a row of honeysuckle, over an old croquet hoop and around the family’s rusted lawn mower. The side yard gate had been left open, and, in one wild, raucous moment, he flipped the ball far and wide and it bounced out of the yard. He raced after it, paying no heed to his surroundings, caught up in the excitement of youthful play, and, giving chase, made a beeline straight for the open street.

Now, Toby was still a very young dog then, not much more than a puppy. Had he been older and more experienced, he might have had a better understanding of the dangers of moving traffic. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t. The ball bounced, Toby ran, and a car came speeding down the road.

Only a hair’s breadth away from certain injury, if not death, Toby suddenly had the wind knocked out of him by a running figure, twice his size, twice his speed, but just as soft as he. Moments later, as his breath returned and his head cleared, Toby gazed up from the ground to see a beautiful Irish setter standing over him, wearing a disapproving look. She was older than he, but still a young, strong dog in her prime, with a thick, rich, healthy coat and loving blue eyes filled with years of experience and sympathy for younger, more foolish dogs.

"For goodness’s sake, pup," she admonished him, maternally, "you’ll have to be much more careful if you plan on living to a ripe old age of fourteen or fifteen summers, you know."

Toby chirped a short whine of confusion. He then stood, noticed the large car rolling down the block toward the horizon, and the ball bouncing away, wildly, down the street. It hit a parked car, careened backward and landed, with a dull, wet thud, smack in the middle of a small children’s pool on a neighbor’s front lawn.

"You’re lucky that car didn’t hit you as well," she said, as Toby turned back to her. "And that I have a quick mind, and quicker legs."

Toby thanked her, feeling rather foolish. His youthful spirit quickly perked up, however, and he then introduced himself.

"I’m called Chloe," she said, sitting back and wrapping her bushy tail comfortably around her hind legs. "My masters and I have just moved into the house next door. It seems we’re going to be neighbors, Toby."

"Terrific!" he exclaimed. "Maybe we’ll have a chance to run together." Toby then turned and dashed away, a streak of black-and-white fur as he headed for the pool. He carefully reached in with his mouth, retrieved the ball and ran back. However, by the time he got back to where Chloe had been, she was now gone, hurrying contentedly toward a man who had just called to her. Must be her master, Toby had thought, and then went back to his playing.

The pinewood fence that separated their yards wasn’t a big one, especially, and he and Chloe became good friends promptly, spending long afternoons in breezy conversation and playing games. Yet her stay in the neighborhood was not a long one, and one day, at the end of summer, the house next door was suddenly vacant and his first true – and really only – canine friend was gone.

Toby never saw Chloe again, and had no idea of what became of her. It was a sobering moment in his life. He was saddened by the fact that good friends could be separated so quickly and easily, without having any say in the matter whatsoever. Still, he never forgot her. He always remembered her for her kindness and friendship, her good conversation, for the games they shared and, most of all, for having saved his life.

In his dream, Toby was standing on the sidewalk in front of his home. It was a bright, sunny day, with the coolness of the light summer breeze just right. Out in the street stood Chloe, her ocher-brown fur burning brightly as it caught the sunlight. He wanted to go to her and play with her, to run through yards and dash through sprinklers and enjoy their first and last summer together all over again. He moved forward to join her, but as soon as his paw touched the pavement, a large car suddenly came soaring by and hit Chloe head on.

Toby woke with a start to country darkness. He then noticed that Max had awakened also, and was yawning and stretching away the sleepiness of his own slumber. The dream had disturbed Toby, but he felt comforted by Max’s presence.

"I see you’re up, lad," Max remarked. "Fine. I would have hated to wake you, but it’s really not safe lying here out in the open like this. We should get to somewhere more secure."

"Not safe?" said Toby, through a reviving stretch of his own. He got up and shook himself. "What do you mean?" He glanced about while waiting for a reply, as if the noisy countryside might supply an answer of its own.

"Let’s just say I’ve been harassed lying in open meadows in the night," replied Max, gazing at the town they had raided earlier for food. "Young men with nothing better to do than torment you for fun." He swung his head back round to Toby. "No, it’s best we move on. I know of a place nearby where we’ll be much safer."

So, like two dark shadows, against a backdrop of even darker shadows, they wandered their way silently across the meadow, beneath a twinkling, star-filled sky and a crescent moon. Toby followed Max into a forested area, then down a ravine and up the other side, and, soon, found himself standing in front of a small, run-down, deserted shed.

"It’s empty," said Max, "except for some wood, an old machine of some kind and a few old rugs. They smell funny, but they’re comfortable enough to spend the night on."

Suddenly, as they approached the shed, a bat flew out, making no sound but for the soft flapping of its wings, and disappeared into the night. Startled, the two dogs exchanged glances, yet said nothing. They carefully entered, sniffing broadly, and, when nothing else peculiar was detected, they settled in, each in his own chosen spot. It didn’t take long for their weariness to overtake them, and they soon slept again.

Toby woke next morning to the sounds of singing sparrows and the raucous cries of a lone raven. He was glad he hadn’t dreamt about Chloe again – not that he could recall, anyway. After stretching his limbs and shaking the dust from his fur and the sleep from his head, he suddenly realized that Max was not beside him. “Max?” he called, leaving the decrepit shack, but no reply came. Toby searched all over, including behind the shed, but Max was nowhere to be found. He was gone.

Toby felt a strange sinking sensation begin to spread in his stomach, as if the very ground was dropping out from beneath him. A strange sensation he had experienced only once before: on the morning of his abandonment.

He called out again for the old dog, a feeling of distress growing within. When still no answer came, he cried out in alarm. "Max! Max, where are you!?" Toby probed the air for a trace of the golden retriever’s scent, and, finding it, eagerly pursued it. Following his nose, it led him deeper into the woods. At some point, he suddenly lost the scent, then found it, then lost it again – and this time he could not pick it back up.

His alarm giving way to panic, Toby began running about frantically, feeling as if his legs were caught in thick, liquid mud: he could not run fast enough. The lower branches and leaves of the smaller trees whipped his face and muzzle with stinging blows as he raced along. He kept wincing to protect his eyes, all the while running and running, calling out for Max. He only stopped, finally, when he ran headlong into the old dog, sending them both to the ground.

"Toby!" cried Max with bewilderment, while rising and gazing down at his floored companion. "What on earth is wrong!? You act as if the Hollow Hound himself were after you."

Trying to look dignified, Toby picked himself up and sighed with relief at the sight of the retriever. "Where were you, Max!? When I couldn’t find you anywhere, I thought . . ." He paused, feeling a little ashamed now at his terror, so easily found and so quickly embraced. "I’m sorry. I just thought that maybe you had . . ."

"I don’t know what you were thinking, lad," said Max, his voice a mix of seriousness and befuddled amusement, "but I’m right here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I only went for a walk to pass droppings, and then went searching out some water for us."

An uneasy silence settled in between them for a moment. Then, wishing to avoid any further discussion of his behavior, Toby asked, "Did you find any?"

"No," Max replied with disappointment, seeming willing to forget Toby’s peculiar conduct, much to Toby’s relief. "There used to be an old trough nearby, on some man’s property. It was a good source of water when I was around and seemed to always be full. But it’s gone now. It had been there since I stumbled across this town." Max paused, deep in thought, then sighed discontentedly. "I was counting on that trough for our morning drink. Now, I guess we’ll just have to look elsewhere."

They then took to wandering the area, like lost spirits seeking a final resting place, searching painstakingly for a hidden stream, or a puddle, or anything Max might have overlooked during his past explorations. The area, though, was a rather dry one. By afternoon, with the sun beating down relentlessly, the tired, thirsty dogs had still not found anything, and fell to resting beneath the shady arms of an old oak tree on the outskirts of town.

With his head down on the grass between his paws, Toby found his thoughts drifting back to memories of home, which already seemed so long ago. He recalled running through a sprinkler as a puppy, or playing with a beat up old shoe, just enjoying the simplest things life had to offer, without a care in the world. He wished he could be back there again. Then he thought of his ball. He missed it, sort of, and wondered if leaving it up at the stone wall was such a good idea, after all.

Max, noticing Toby’s melancholy, leaned over and licked his head a few times in a reassuring gesture, and said, "Not to worry, lad, we’ll find something. I know it seems bleak now, but I’ve been in spots like this before and something always turns up sooner or later. You’ll see."

"I’m sorry, Max," mumbled Toby, barely raising his head, "but I’m just not used to this. I’m not used to going without water for so long. Or food, for that matter."

"It’s hard, Toby. I know," said Max. "We’ll just keep trying until we get lucky." He then turned to the sky and noticed a large bank of heavy gray-white clouds moving in. He watched patiently until they passed in front of the hot, piercing stare of the sun. Then, under cover of the shadow of the clouds, which made their search a little more bearable, they readily took advantage of the opportunity.

They spent the better part of what was left of the afternoon seeking out water again, but still found none, and the sky, having now become uniformly dark and overcast, hung over them like a great, titanic anvil, just waiting to drop. Finally, Max, feeling they had no other choice, decided to risk an early venture back to the diner, where at least the juices of discarded meals would help, not to mention feed them.

It would be tricky navigating their way through town that time of day, however; they’d be spotted and chased for sure. So Max suggested going through a small wood on the outskirts, just behind the alley of the diner. The going was a bit rough, with the foliage thick and cumbersome and hard to get through, especially the thorn bushes – but, somehow, they managed, with only a hand-full of scrapes and cuts to show for it.

"I’ve used this way only once before," said Max, as they pulled themselves free of the thick, entangled branches and shrubs. "It comes in handy knowing most of the ins and outs of a town when you—" He suddenly stopped short, as if his very breath had been instantly cut off, and Toby, coming alongside, felt his heart sink at the sight of a huge, metal garbage bin resting against the alley wall. They both stood for a moment, gaping in silence, as if struck dumb. "Blast it!" groused Max, finally. "What a fool I’ve been. I should have seen this coming."

Then, glancing at Toby, who wore a questioning look on his face, he explained. "There’s another place like this on the other side of town. I’ve had my share of meals there, too. But about a week ago they started locking their refuse away in those big metal boxes. It appears these people are doing the same thing, now. I guess we’ve worn out our welcome here," he added, sulking. Max’s heavy sigh reflected his growing frustration with the hard, paw-to-mouth lifestyle that he was becoming very weary of. "Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I am not going through that mess of overgrown, thorn-filled woods back there again! If we have to leave this town, then we’ll do so with our dignity in tact. Not to mention our fur and skin."

Led by Max’s stubborn, adamant resolution, they made their way out onto the streets, walking beneath a light shower of leaves. Just looking at their bright colors brought many foods to Toby’s mind and caused his hunger and thirst to intensify, so he tried holding his gaze on the unappetizing gray areas of the ground and thinking of other things as they ambled along.

"Why do they lock up their discarded food, Max?" asked Toby. "What do they care if we eat it if they’re just going to throw it all away anyway?"

Max, in the grip of a foul mood, didn’t respond, so Toby let it drop and kept moving in silence, only stopping moments later when he suddenly noticed that the old dog had come to a dead halt. Toby glanced up to see an expression on the golden retriever’s face that silently spoke of great concern, and he quickly followed his line of vision. Not too far up ahead was a car parked at the curbside with several people standing about, talking, gesturing, and nodding their heads. Most were townspeople, but there were three men who wore strange clothing – uniforms – that neither Toby nor Max recognized.

"I don’t think I like the looks of this," said Max, grimly, sensing that something was amiss, and feeling sure in his old bones that he and his young friend were in for trouble if they stayed out in the open much longer. "I don’t think I like the looks of this at all. Perhaps this was a mistake."

Suddenly, one of the uniformed men spotted the two dogs and pointed them out to the others. An excited exchange followed, with heads nodding and fingers pointing. Then, reaching into the car, one of the men pulled out thick gloves and two catchpoles, long metal rods with large loops at one end used to snare and subdue animals.

"Come on, Toby!" commanded Max, running off down a side street and making his way toward the nearest wood he could find. Toby followed him obediently, as close as a shadow.

The townsfolk, stepping back, watched as the uniformed men went into action. Slipping on the gloves, the two officers holding the catchpoles ran up the street after the dogs, calling and whistling to them. The remaining officer hopped into the car and took off down an adjacent road. The car had the words County Animal Control printed on its doors.

Toby and Max ran as swiftly as their canine legs would allow, through a stretch of nearby woods, then across an open field, and, finally, to the edge of town. How they made it back to the hidden, ramshackle shed they had spent the night in without being caught they weren’t quite sure, but they were both extremely grateful for it being there.

They sat in the dark shed for a long time, breathing in the musty smell of old rugs and older wood, which was old when the rugs were still new. When their panting subsided, they sat in silence, fearing any moment might be the one that brought the men in strange uniforms down upon them. It started drizzling long before they spoke again, and it wasn’t long afterward that the rainfall came in a steady, heavy flow, drumming noisily on the roof of their makeshift shelter and leaking in various spots of the feeble ceiling.

"Are we safe now?" Toby finally asked in a whisper, the fear in his voice evident.

"Yes," Max answered softly. "At least, I think so." He paused momentarily, and then sniffed with care, as if the air itself might be poisoned. A clean, wet, earthy smell came to him.

"Who were they, Max?" said Toby. "What did they want?"

"I don’t know for certain," he replied, hesitantly, "but to my knowledge men in uniforms can mean trouble for a stray. I’ve even heard tell of dogs being taken off the streets by men of those kind and never being seen or heard from again. I tell you, Toby, we can’t stay here another day. As soon as we’re rested enough and the rain stops, we need to move on."

They spent the rest of the night in silence, too tired and too afraid to utter a sound, squirming to stay out of the line of fire from the dripping ceiling – for it rained nearly all night long – while nursing their cuts and scrapes. The one thing they could be thankful for, though, was that the rain was sure to leave puddles and pools behind for them to drink from. Relief from thirst would soon be at hand, but they slept little that night, and woke up tired in the early morning hours.

Long before dawn, while the sun still crept slowly toward the horizon and a thin, spectral mist hung loosely in the air, they left the shed and drank from every pool of water they found. Then, glancing back often, they left the town as quickly as possible, disappearing along with the moon.

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