Ally wanted trout, and she wanted it today. Every evening the big man came home to the log cabin smelling of fish. He hummed on the porch, cleaned his catch, and never shared a bite with the black Lab who watched from the steps. The man was so tall and shaggy he looked more beast than person. His whole family was like that, towering and wild. Ally had decided she would be there next time, right by the water, before the trout were ever bucketed away. There was one problem. She had no idea where the big fellow fished. He left before dawn and came back after dark. Ally had tried following him twice. Both times his long legs lost her within the first meadow. She flopped on the porch boards and sulked by the single rocking chair. The hunt felt hopeless. Then the wind shifted. A smell rolled off the laundry line behind the cabin. Ally lifted her nose. There, pinned and swaying, hung a blue and white checked flannel shirt. His shirt. It carried everything, the man, the water, and the sharp silver tang of fish. Ally's tail thumped. She did not need to chase him. She needed to track him. She gripped the flannel's cuff and tugged it from the line. She buried her nose deep in the plaid. Pond mud. Crushed grass. Fish. She locked the scent in her memory and set off across the meadow. The trail was faint but real. She followed it past a cluster of blackberry bushes heavy with dark fruit. A thorn snagged her ear. She pushed through and kept her nose down. The fish smell grew stronger with each step. The grass opened. Ally stopped at the edge of a calm pond fed by a thin stream. Shapes slid beneath the surface. Trout. Dozens of them, long and silver, turning in the clear water. This was the spot. She had found it. But she was not alone. The whole shaggy family stood along the far bank. The big man crouched with a line in the water. Two others waited beside him, and a small one splashed in the shallows. Four sets of dark eyes swung toward Ally at once. The little one pointed. The big man rose to his full, enormous height. He was not humming now. He stared at the dog who had appeared at his secret pond, and his family stared with him. Ally's plan had worked. She knew exactly where the trout lived. But she had walked straight into the middle of the fishermen themselves, and they did not look ready to share.

Ally held still at the edge of the pond. Four shaggy giants watched her from the far bank. The big man stood tallest, his line forgotten in the water. Behind him crouched two more, broad and brown, their eyes dark and steady. The little one pointed at her and chattered. Ally knew one wrong move would send them charging. She would be chased off before she ever touched a trout. So she did not move toward the fish. She did the opposite. Ally lowered her front legs and dropped her chest to the grass. Her tail swept slow behind her. She rolled onto her back and showed her belly to the sky. It was the oldest trick she knew. It told any angry thing, I am no threat. Her tongue lolled. She stayed soft and loose in the soft meadow grass. The big man grunted. The others did not move. The little one took one step closer, then another. Ally held her belly to the sky and waited. She did not snap. She did not bolt. A small shaggy hand touched her ribs. Ally thumped her tail harder against the ground. The little one laughed, a wild high sound, and buried both hands in her black fur. Ally licked the small face. The little one shrieked with joy. The big man rumbled something low. The two others rose. Ally's heart pounded. She flipped to her feet, ready to run. But the big man was not coming to chase her. He reached into a bucket at his side. He pulled out a trout, long and silver and flapping. He held it toward the little one. The little one pointed at Ally instead. The big man paused. Then he tossed the fish. It landed in the grass an arm's length from Ally's nose. She stared at it. She looked up at the big man. He watched her with his dark eyes and did not frown. Ally pounced. She clamped the trout in her jaws. It was cold and slick and better than anything she had smelled on that porch for weeks. She ate it in four fast bites by the water's edge. The little one clapped. The family went back to their lines as if a dog eating their catch was nothing strange. Ally had done it. She had won a trout at last. Her belly was warm and full. But one fish was not enough. She looked at the bucket by the big man's feet. It held many more, and he had only thrown her the one. The little one liked her. The big man had allowed her. The grown ones, though, still watched her with flat, careful eyes. To eat again, she would need more than a single lucky trout. She would need the whole family to want her there.

Ally reached the pond ahead of the shaggy family. The young dog trotted beside her, nose twitching. The flat rock waited by the water. But something was wrong. The family's bucket lay on its side in the mud. Fish bones trailed across the grass. A thief had come before them. The shaggy giants arrived and saw the mess. The tallest one bared his teeth and snorted. The two broad ones scanned the trees, eyes hard. The little one hid behind a thick leg. Ally understood. A bolder beast had been raiding their catch. Now every grown one watched the treeline instead of the water. When the young dog stepped near the empty bucket, the tallest giant stamped and growled. The young dog flinched back against Ally. They would never share a trout while they feared a raider. Ally saw her chance. If she drove the thief off, the wary ones might trust her at last. She found the scent at the pond's edge. It was rank and wild, clawed deep in the mud. Ally followed it into the brush with the young dog at her heels. The trail led uphill through brambles. Then she stopped cold. In a clearing stood a mother moose and her calf. A fresh gash cut the mother's flank. Bandage-white scars crossed her legs. The calf pressed against her side. These were not the thieves. They were only hurt and hungry, drawn to easy food. But the mother lowered her huge head and snorted. She stamped a front hoof. She saw Ally as the next danger to her baby. The young dog did the thing it always did. It moved too soon. It darted forward with a yip. The mother moose charged. Ally did not run. She knew the oldest trick. She dropped flat to the ground. She rolled her shoulder down and showed her soft belly to the sky. She lay still in the dirt, loose and low, telling the moose: I am no threat. The young dog froze, then copied her, pressing its chest to the earth. The mother moose stopped. Her hoof came down an arm's length from Ally's head. She breathed hard. Ally held still. Slowly the great head lifted. The mother turned, nudged her calf, and limped away into the trees. The raids were over. The hungry pair had moved on. Ally led the young dog back to the pond. The shaggy family stood by the righted bucket. Ally walked to the empty bucket and sat beside it, calm, showing them the treeline was clear. The tallest giant studied her for a long moment. Then his shoulders dropped. He did not growl. He reached into the bucket and pulled out a trout. He tossed it. Ally caught it in her jaws. But he pulled out a second fish and tossed it to the young dog too. The grown ones watched and let it happen. They were jumpy no longer. Now Ally had to win the whole family's bucket, trip after trip.