© Grandpa Jim
Why bark? he wondered to himself. I mean what’s the point?
Outside the enclosure, adults pointed. Kids poked their fingers through the fencing.
He stood squarely on his four paws, tail tightly curled. Wrinkling his forehead, he turned and glanced up. On a tall pole, a large sign announced in bold black letters: “Basenji – Barkless African Dog.” As he read, some teenagers started barking, shaking their heads and making faces. What do they think they’re doing? Can’t they read? Humans are strange
Cutting, banging sounds caused the dog to look around for the source of the noise.
A worker, on a ladder repairing the fence, smiled back. “Look at that dog,” he called to his fellow worker pounding on a post.
“Huh?” The second worker stopped pounding, lowered his head and studied the dog.
“Those dogs are fast and smart,” continued the first worker.
The second worker nodded. “I like the colors. Red, black and white.”
“Yep, he’s a tricolor. The paws, chest and tail tips are always white.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“The zoo put up a plaque. It talks about the dog. He’s a Basenji. An ancient breed. They go way back. To prehistoric ghost wolves.”
“Wolves?”
“Yeh. You can’t train ‘em.”
“Too wild?”
“Too smart.”
“Smart?”
“The write-up says, ‘They can recognize which actions benefit them and which actions benefit their humans.’ They decide. That’s what makes them hard to train.”
“Sounds like some people.”
“And . . . and this is unique, they are the only dogs that don’t bark.”
“Really? Never?”
“Never. No one has ever heard a Basenji bark.”
* * *
The main gate clanged shut. No zoo visitors or workers in sight. Darkening clouds swirled and covered the fading light of the setting sun
Where the workers had been, the fence was not yet to its original height.
I can jump that.
He stood on his hind legs, gauged the distance, dropped down and backed up. With a powerful burst, the dog ran at the fence, curled his tail straight back for balance and speed, jumped straight up, somersaulted over the fence top and landed on soft sand near the cement mixer
* * *
Parking his wagon, Bear climbed the first steps of the playset. Another kid waited at the top of the slide. His older sister and two neighbor children played tag nearby on the grass under the park lights. Across the street, his mom waved through the open kitchen window. He was four and it was almost time for dinner.
A crack of lighting lit the sky followed by a loud clap of thunder. A rush of wind knocked Bear off the steps and onto the ground.
Another lighting strike hit the power pole near the playset. The capacitor exploded.
Bear looked up and saw a severed strand of electrical wire spin and flash through the air toward him.
The dog sprinted toward the child, jumped and slapped the end of the sparking wire with the extended tail. In that instant, flame lit the end of the tail, the canine body turned clear white and the bones of the skeleton stood outlined in a dark gray. The dog’s jaws opened wide and a high-pitched “YIP WUFF ARF YIP!” sliced across the playground and bounced off the surrounding houses.
The loose wire spun away to land twisting in the empty street away from the children.
Bear watched as the dog’s body fell in slow motion to land near him on the grass.
“Hurry, Bear!” his sister called. “Bring the wagon.”
The boy heard a yell, turned his head and saw his mom running toward them. She knelt and lifted him to stand. “Are you alright?” she asked, staring hard into his eyes.
“I’m o . . . kay,” he stammered. “The dog?”
His mother took his hand and moved toward his sister who was on the ground next to the dog.
“He’s hurt, Mom. See,” she said, “he’s not moving.”
The mother bent and touched the side of the dog’s neck. “He’s alive. We need to get him into the wagon, take him home and wrap him in a blanket.”
One of the other children brought up the wagon. Together, they carefully raised the dog and placed the still body in the wagon.
“Will he live, Mommy?’
“I don’t know, Bear.”
“He saved me.”
“I know, honey. I saw. I know. We need to get him home and take care of him.”
The three slowly pulled the wagon to the house while parents guarded the other children. Heavy drops of rain began to fall, and sirens screamed through the night from the approaching fire trucks.
* * *
He felt something warm. Opening his eyes, the dog saw a small hand resting on a front paw. Glancing over his shoulder, he squinted at the strange wrinkly hide covering his body. Back to the hand, he followed it to the form of a small human partially covered with another hide.
Fire bad. He remembered. Hurt human. He stretched. I hurt. The dog wiggled out of the hide and stood
“It’s okay,” the human said softly and reached to pat the dog’s side. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” The boy smiled. “You saved me. Thank you.”
“So, he’s awake.” The mother watched from the kitchen. “I’m making him some food and there’s a dish of fresh water by the fridge. Lead him over here, Bear.”
They watched the dog drink, nudge the food and take a curious bite.
“Honey,” his mother said slowly, “there was an article in the paper today about a lost dog. Actually, the dog escaped from the zoo. They want him back.”
“Mommy!”
“I know. I know. But we need to do this.”
“Maybe it’s another dog?”
His mother smiled. “Let’s go and find out.”
“And if it is, we get to keep this one. Please, Mommy.”
She smiled wider. “If it’s not their dog, maybe.”
* * *
“It looks like a Basenji. . . .”
“A what?” his mother asked.
“It’s a breed of African dog. The tri-color matches the picture of our dog. But. . . .” The Zoo Supervisor looked closer at the photograph in his hand.
“Is something wrong?” Bear’s mother asked.
“The tail’s wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Our . . . all . . . Basenji have white-tipped tails.” The Supervisor shook his head. “This one has a black tail. See, here.” The man bent over and touched the tip of the dog’s tail.
Jerking his head up, the dog let out a very loud and very high-pitched “YIP WUFF ARF YIP!”
“What!” The Zoo Supervisor exclaimed and jumped back. “That can’t be. He barked.”
“That’s his bark,” Bear agreed.
“Really?”
“Yep. He did that bark in the park,” the boy added.
“He did?” The Supervisor bent closer to the child.
Bear nodded his head. “Sure. He did it when he saved me from the ‘lectricity.”
The man looked at the mom.
“I did hear it,” she said. “It was right after the lighting strike. I heard a bark.”
The Supervisor scratched his head, waited some seconds and then said, “No Basenji in the history of the breed has ever barked. He does look like our lost dog, but he just can’t be.” The
The room was silent as the door squeaked back and forth on its hinges.
“Can we keep Benji?” Bear asked.
“What?” his Mom shook herself awake.
“That’s his name. He ain’t no Baasendgee. He’s Benji.”
“Don’t say ‘ain’t’.”
“Sorry. Can we?”
The mother spread her arms wide, palms up, resignation in her voice. “Okay. I guess. Yes.”
“Yippee,” Bear shouted and scratched Benji behind the ear.
“YIP WUFF ARF YIP!” barked the dog.
* * *
“What was that sound?” The worker lifted the mallet and gave the post a good pound. “It sounded kinda’ like a high-pitched bark.”
“Not a Basenji, that’s for sure.” The other worker stood straight on the ladder, a hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. “Those dogs don’t bark.” He scanned the enclosure below. “I wonder . . . where has that dog gone?”
The End