Good Boy

He could feel his heart racing, and the smells tasted different, periodically changing from dark earth to fresh grass as he drew deep breaths. Things slapped into his face as the world blew past in a blur of green, but he was undaunted by it. This race was close. He just knew that he would catch his nemesis finally.

Leaping forward, he easily jumped a small hedge and landed in a clearing. With nothing to impede his vision, the young Beagle could see a flash of white as the cottontail dipped around a rock about thirty feet ahead. So close! In his head, a mantra played on a loop, “Get the rabbit. Get the rabbit. Get the rabbit.” Inspired by the sight of that little white tail, his feet seemed to keep pace with the rhythmic chant that only he could hear.

With a quick swoop down, his nose confirmed what his eyes had relayed. Rabbit was close. Good Boy is going to catch that garden beast this time. The scent was stronger to the right, letting the small dog know that the rabbit had wavered a little, perhaps trying to throw the dog off his trail, or maybe he remembered a tiny hole in a fence but decided against that direction. Scent was stronger to his left now, a bit of wild, a bit of Mr. Brown’s garden, and a whole lot of scared. The smell of fear gave the Beagle a rush. He sped up a little and followed to the left, around the rock.

For a few seconds he ran with his nose almost plowing a furrow in the lawn, as he tried to pick up the exact footsteps of the rabbit. His nose worked like a spyglass, easily ‘seeing’ exactly where those footprints were. Ahead, about fifteen feet, the little dog hopped another small hedge (the other side of the manicured yard that they had just run through). The small rabbit had quickly been able to dart under the bush, but his scent was strong enough, due to his fear, that the dog was able to follow without hesitation.

Suddenly the scent turned hard to the right, and if he had been anything but a beagle, that good boy might have missed it. The rabbit had caught the sound of a lawn mower ahead and, without even really having to process the thought, changed direction while maintaining his breakneck speed.

“Get the rabbit. Get the rabbit. Good Boy! Get the rabbit”, the dog’s nails gave him great traction in the dirt as he maintained the thirty-foot distance. His tongue was now almost touching the ground beneath him, except when he closed his mouth and used his nose to confirm the rabbit’s scent trail. He was going to need a long drink after this chase, and a nice lay down in the cool air under the front porch. But for now, he was completely focused on catching up to that rabbit and giving him a good shake. Just like he did to his stuffed teddy at home, shake the thing so hard that he had to brace himself against the force.

Ahead, and equally out of breath, the small cottontail could hear the dog’s tags jingling on the collar as he gave chase. They had done this before, racing around through the neighborhood gardens. Always, the rabbit made it home safely. There were no guarantees, but he was familiar with the gardens and was frightened by the occasional bark that the dog was letting out. It sounded like excitement combined with frustration. The rabbit's fear gave him a bit of an advantage – adrenaline was not released in as great quantities when one was running for sport, as much as it was released when one was running for survival, and that adrenaline was like having a nitrous oxide kit under the hood. Little rabbit was able to haul ass and stay well clear of the tiny white teeth of that smelly dog.

To the left there was a fence. It would be a barrier to the beagle, but the rabbit knew that the hole he often dug under the fence was repaired just as often by the human with the big floppy hat. She was old, the rabbit could sense age as easily as he could sense that the human was female. She didn’t like him being in her vegetables so she would yell and chase him away. He didn’t know about poisons, but he was a very lucky little rabbit because the old woman didn’t believe in using them. Some days he would eat little bits of carrot, or celery. He would be calmly enjoying a warm breeze, and the taste of some crunchy treat that wasn’t just plain grass, when suddenly he would hear the hollering as she came thumping down the wooden back steps. Like lightning, he would make for the hole under the fence and disappear from her reach. Most days when he got back to that spot, the dirt would have been all pushed back into the hole and he would have to dig it out again. Today, there was just no time to dig through, if the woman had filled it in. So, he kept to the right, heading for a small nearby woodlot. There were trees and plenty of brush that he could zig and zag around and if he was lucky, he could lose the dog in there.

In the clearing before the woodlot, the rabbit heard a screeching that made his blood run cold. The sweeping shadow confirmed the presence of a winged predator. Rabbit didn’t know about scientific names, therefore only had memories of seeing other small unfortunate beasts being snatched from the ground by these airborne monsters for reference. However, that bit of information was enough to coax a burst of intense speed from the tiny critter, and he hit the edge of the woodlot like a bit of grey and white fur fired from a pistol.

The screaming hawk overhead had the opposite effect on the beagle’s chase game, as he stopped for a moment to look up. After a quick assessment, realizing that the bird was no threat to him and not something that he was interested in chasing, the dog dropped his nose to the ground to get back to his afternoon fun. With the distraction, he didn’t see the rabbit leap over a fallen log into the underbrush, and by the time he picked up the scent again and began to run, his quarry was ahead by more than fifty feet.

Although much fainter than it was a minute ago, the fear-scent was still enough to make his mouth water a little. “Good Boy! Get the rabbit. Get the rabbit.”, he hopped over the fallen log and around a stand of young trees. The smells in here were different, like decaying leaves and mold. The dog didn’t know what they were, he only knew that the new smells made him sneeze and that he had a hard time keeping the same pace as before because he had to take his time to discern the rabbit’s scent from the rest of the smells. Suddenly, he saw a slight movement to his right. The flash of that white tail was impossible to conceal among the browns and greens of the shady woodlot, and the dog got a renewed burst of energy when he caught sight of that little rabbit butt bouncing through the brush. With a few sharp barks, the dog was hot on the trail of that little rabbit once again.

Out of the woodlot, they tore through flowerbeds and across expansive green lawns. Like a kaleidoscope, the world shifted and changed around the beagle for the next fifteen minutes. For the dog, the changes in smells was what lit up in his brain, for the rabbit it was different sounds. Each with their own specialized senses was experiencing the chase differently; the rabbit’s ears were key to his survival and the beagle’s nose was keeping him in the race.

Ahead, the sounds of traffic were music to the rabbit’s ears. He knew of a small culvert that crossed over into a field of wild grasses where he could easily find cover, and he gained a renewed energy from that knowledge. The dog hadn’t yet heard the traffic, although he sensed a change in the chase. Rabbit was getting away. The beagle let out a few sharp barks in frustration.

A few seconds later, his human’s voice loudly interrupted the game, “Jasper!”

Months of receiving treats in exchange for running to his owner when he heard that word overrode his instinct to chase, and he immediately ran to the left hoping for some tasty rewards.