Gunner's Arc

Chapter 4 of 9

The brown dog and Gunner tumbled in the wood chips, easy and loose. But the play stopped feeling like enough. Gunner wanted the thump. He wanted a body to hit the ground under his weight. He turned his head and found the black dog across the park, low and shaking, watching him from the far fence. That was the one he wanted to knock over. The moment Gunner took one step toward it, the black dog flinched and shifted its paws, ready to run. Gunner knew that fear. He had felt it in his own back yard, jumpy at every sound. If he charged, the black dog would bolt, and there would be no thump at all. Force would only chase it off. His sister trotted up beside him. Winny loo moved on all fours, quick and sure, the way she always beat him to the sunny floor at home. She looked at the black dog, then at Gunner. "You run, it runs," she said. "Scared things don't wait around to get hit." Gunner's tail dropped. He knew she was right. She was always right about the timing of things. "So don't be the scary one," Winny loo said. "Be boring. Boring dogs get close." Gunner watched a strange dog near the ramp, one with an odd, uneven shape and a lively step. It nosed at the ground, calm, paying no mind to anyone. The black dog did not flinch at that one. It only feared the noise, the rush, the slam. Gunner tried Winny loo's plan. He did not charge. He lay down flat in the chips, chin on his paws, and went still. He let his breath slow, the way the warm boards had taught him. He waited. The black dog stared. Its ears stayed pinned. But Gunner did not move, and nothing bad happened. Slowly, one careful step at a time, the black dog crept closer. It sniffed the air. Its tail lifted a hair off tucked. Winny loo watched from the side. "Not yet," she said. "Let it come." Gunner held. His muscles begged to spring. The black dog came within a body length, then closer, curious now, leaning in to smell his ear. Its fear had thinned to a thread. Gunner did not slam it. He rolled up gently and bumped his shoulder into the black dog's side, soft, a nudge, not a hit. The black dog stumbled, caught itself, and did not run. Then it bounced. It dropped into a play bow of its own. Gunner had not knocked it over. But he had turned a scared dog into a willing one. Now it stood close, loose and eager, no longer braced to flee. The next charge could land. He had traded fear for trust, and trust would let him get his thump.