A Dog's Way Home by Bobbie Pyron

winter, Tam would have done that. Home, now, was being with her.
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    It snowed hard for two days. Mid-December winds blew drifts of snow so deep, Tam had a difficult time shouldering his way through. He used precious energy just to make one or two miles. Hunting was difficult. Any extra weight Tam had put on during the Indian summer was melting away.
    The coyote was built for snow. Her wide paws splayed on the surface like snowshoes, allowing her to travel easily. Her narrow chest knifed through the deeper drifts. But like Tam, hunting proved difficult for her too. She and Tam had little fat to keep them warm as they slept beneath the low, deep boughs of a hemlock. They awoke hungry and went to sleep hungry.
    After several days, the two lay in the sun on a rock ledge overlooking a meadow. The snow had finally stopped.
    Tam closed his eyes against the glare of the sun on snow. His head tipped forward as he dozed.
    Suddenly the coyote tensed beside him. Tam opened his eyes and followed her gaze down to the edge of the trees on the far side of the meadow. There, a gray form ambled across the snow. Tam lifted his muzzle, catchingthe scent. It was not a scent he had met before. As he was about to lay his head down on his paws, the coyote slipped off the ledge, eyes fixed on the lumbering animal below.
    She moved with fluid silence. Keeping low and downwind, she swung to the left, skirting the edge of the forest. Tam sat up and watched with interest as she slipped up behind the creature. Tam expected her to arc high in the air and pounce, as she always did.
    Instead, the coyote barked. Tam jumped off the ledge and pushed his way through the snow. A chase would soon be on and the coyote would need him.
    The creature turned to face the coyote. Sun lit the black tips of the long, needlelike quills bristling from every inch of its body.
    The coyote darted forward, snapping at the face of the porcupine, the only part of its body not protected by quills. She and her brothers had learned the hard way about the sharp, stinging quills. They had also learned how sweet the meat of the tender belly of the porcupine is. The trick was to either crush the head in one snap or flip the porcupine over, exposing the unprotected belly.
    Tam barked his way down to the coyote and the porcupine.
    The porcupine swung her head to the side to see Tam.
    The coyote rushed in, snapping at the creature’s nose.
    The porcupine swung her tail. Quills raked the side of the coyote’s neck. She dodged most of them. One or two lodged harmlessly in the thick rough around her neck. She licked her lips, tasting the porcupine’s blood.
    Tam darted forward. He snapped at the porcupine’s side. He yelped and tumbled back, shaking his head. His face was full of quills.
    Tam’s attack was just enough distraction for the coyote. She rushed in, shoved her long muzzle beneath the porcupine, and flipped her onto her back. The quills stuck fast in the snow, pinning the porcupine to the ground. The coyote tore at the exposed throat, the belly.
    In seconds, it was over.
    Tam wiped furiously at the stinging barbs in his face. One pierced the tender side of his black nose. Several more hung from his chin and the side of his mouth. One had barely missed an eye. He managed to dislodge most of the quills by scrubbing his face with his paws. He rubbed his face in the wet snow to cool the terrible burning.
    The coyote tore open the underside of the dead porcupine. Tam wagged his tail. In her hunger, the coyote forgot herself and bared her teeth. Then, just as quickly, she pinned her ears back in apology, wagging her tail low.
    Tam had never tasted meat so warm and so sweet. He forgot the pain in his face. He ate until his shrunken belly could hold no more. They stripped the carcass clean.Later, when raven, then badger, then bobcat checked the carcass for any remaining meat or bones, they would find nothing on the snow but blood and quills.
    That night, their bellies