Read Online The Dog by Kerstin Ekman - Free Book Online Page B

barking of the
    dogs in his ears.
    As he crossed the pasture he heard something large, running.
    Loud panting. He lowered himself into the blanket of
    leaves and grass so as not to be visible. The massive body
    rushed closer. Very close to him, it abruptly changed course.
    It was the bull moose. Mouth wide open, tongue stiff.
    Inhaling and exhaling wheezily, gasping.
    The moose was so close to him for an instant that the dog,
    lying flat in the grass, felt as if he were being singed by the
    smell and the bursts of air. As the moose rushed on towards
    the point he no longer heard panting, only the cracking of
    branches and brush. Just as the huge body plunged into the
    water, a dog appeared.
    He dashed silently through the pressed-down tracks in the
    grass. When he reached the point he began to bark in a
    high-pitched tone. This was the sound of a dog in pursuit,
    almost a howl. The moment he reached the water the tone
    changed. It grew deeper. He was telling someone what was
    happening. He was wild with excitement. But he didn't
    follow the bull moose as it swam off across the lake.
    The grey dog was about to sneak back up the slope
    towards the barn and beyond to make his escape, when a
    shot resounded. It came from so close by it hurt his ears.
    For a few moments his senses exploded. He remembered
    nothing and was not aware of danger. When he could see
    and hear again he found himself lying pressed up against the
    trunk of a spruce.
    He could feel the ground trembling from two directions.
    Someone was there, on the other side of the spruce. Out in
    the pasture a second moose was careering down the slope.
    When the grey dog heard whoever was behind the spruce
    make a rattling sound, he bolted. In a panic, he dashed
    towards the point, following the moose, and crept under a
    windfallen tree. From his hiding place he could see the
    moose fall. He knew it must be the young female, though he
    wasn't entirely familiar with her scent. Blood foamed around
    her muzzle.
    The black dog that had been pursuing the bull stopped
    barking and ran quickly towards her. When she heard him
    approaching she wobbled up and tried to reach the water.
    Bright blood poured from her wounded lungs. When the
    dog reached her she plunged forward and toppled heavily
    into the lake.
    The black dog barked, prancing along the shore.
    Otherwise there was silence. The moose lay in the water like
    a block of stone. Little waves sparkled and washed softly
    around her body.
    It remained quiet. The black dog whined softly, pacing. In
    the trees, the birds that had gone silent now resumed their
    activities. Soft peeping and chirping could be heard, as if a
    new morning had dawned. The waves breaking on the shore
    and the leaves crackling in the wind overpowered these
    sounds. In the distance was the dull roar of the rapids, comforting
    and lulling.
    The grey dog didn't move. He was downwind from the
    black one and took in his smell every time the other dog
    moved. He also knew the whereabouts of the man who had
    fired the shot. He was standing on the slope below the barn,
    though he hadn't made any noise for a long time now.
    When the dog had lain still so long his body ached, he
    heard the man moving towards him. He was crossing the pasture,
    making no effort to hide. When he arrived at the cabin
    he stopped, putting down his rifle with a clatter. He continued
    with a lighter, more cautious step. The black dog barked.
    Out at the point, the man began walking slowly; the dog
    could hear him breathing. He stopped right by the wind
    fallen tree; the air was thick with his potent, compact smell.
    Then he waded out into the water. The grey dog rose up
    slightly on his stiff legs but did not dare flee. The black dog
    was still close by.
    The man began to speak. There was static and beeping
    from his walkie-talkie. After a while he hung it on the branch
    of a birch tree, leaning his rifle against the trunk. There was
    rattling and rustling, followed by the smell of