The four wolves growled menacingly as they slowly circled the dense mesquite thicket.

Buddy dragged himself through the nearly impenetrable underbrush, the jagged tears in his shoulder and stomach made every inch gained an eternity of agony.

It wasn't so long ago everything had been wonderfully normal; everyone loaded into the car and off to a day in the country. Buddy spent most of the day with the boy; investigating the many sights and smells the country afforded, but best of all, being with the boy and his family.

The day ended with Buddy and the boy falling asleep in the shade of a large tree. Buddy awoke to the father gently scooping the boy into his arms and carrying him to the car.

Buddy waited his turn for the command to "load up", but strangely, the command never came.

The man stooped and petted Buddy's head. "Stay, Buddy," the man said. "Things are just too hard right now; we can't afford another mouth to feed. Take care and be a good boy."

Buddy didn't understand much of what he said, but with a slow wag of his tail, he waited patiently as he was trained to do.

There were some words that Buddy understood well; good boy, load up, dinner, were all good words and Buddy always responded to those words with joy and speed. He didn't like the words; bath and stay, but always obeyed. He was especially concerned when "Bad Dog!" was used and felt shame and sadness.

Buddy didn't feel the man was angry with him, but he couldn't understand why the command to "load up" wasn't given. Then the man and woman had closed the doors and Buddy watched with concern as the car slowly drove away.

Buddy sat and waited for the family to come back for a long time. He remembered that when they were at their home, the family went away some times and though it had always seemed like a long time to Buddy, it was never for more than hours, not days.

After it had gotten dark several times, Buddy soon became hungry; whimpering softly, he began to sniff the air. He couldn't smell them anymore, but he began to follow the hard trail that the car had turned onto.

Buddy didn't know how to count time, but he knew that many days and nights had passed while he walked steadily along the hard trail.

Then last night he had left the trail for a quick drink in a puddle beside the road, he never saw or heard the pack until he was struck in the shoulder by the first dark wolf.

The large Black Labrador fought the losing battle valiantly until he was forced to crawl into the safety of the thicket. As he lay there with his life draining into the mud, he wondered. Had he been a bad dog?