Watchers by Dean Koontz Page B

went out there on a sentimental journey, hoping to recall the pleasure I got from the Santa Anas when I was a boy, in the days before . . . everything turned so dark. I wanted to kill a few snakes like I did when I was a kid, hike and explore and feel in tune with life like in the old days. Because for a long time now, I haven’t cared whether I live or die.”
     
     
    The dog stopped chewing, swallowed hard, and focused on Travis with undivided attention.
     
     
    “Lately, my depressions have been blacker than midnight on the moon. Do you understand about depression, pooch?”
     
     
    Leaving the Milk-Bone biscuits behind, the retriever got up and came to him. It gazed into his eyes with that unnerving directness and intensity that it had shown before.
     
     
    Meeting its stare, he said, “Wouldn’t consider suicide, though. For one thing, I was raised a Catholic, and though I haven’t gone to Mass in ages, I still sort of believe. And for a Catholic, suicide is a mortal sin. Murder. Besides, I’m too mean and too stubborn to give up, no matter how dark things get.”
     
     
    The retriever blinked but did not break eye contact.
     
     
    “I was in those woods searching for the happiness I once knew. And then I ran into you.”
     
     
    “Woof,” it said, as if it were saying, Good .
     
     
    He took its head in both his hands, lowered his face to it, and said, “Depression. A feeling that existence was pointless. How would a dog know about those things, hmmm? A dog has no worries, does it? To a dog, every day is a joy. So do you really understand what I’m talking about, boy? Honest to God, I think maybe you do. But am I crediting you with too much intelligence, too much wisdom even for a magical dog? Huh? Sure, you can do some amazing tricks, but that’s not the same as understanding me.”
     
     
    The retriever pulled away from him and returned to the Milk-Bone package. It took the bag in its teeth and shook out twenty or thirty biscuits onto the linoleum.
     
     
    “There you go again,” Travis said. “One minute, you seem half human—and the next minute you’re just a dog with a dog’s interests.”
     
     
    However, the retriever was not seeking a snack. It began to push the biscuits around with the black tip of its snout, maneuvering them into the open center of the kitchen floor one at a time, ordering them neatly end to end.
     
     
    “What the hell is this?”
     
     
    The dog had five biscuits arranged in a row that gradually curved to the right. It pushed a sixth into place, emphasizing the curve.
     
     
    As he watched, Travis hastily finished his first beer and opened the second. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
     
     
    The dog studied the row of biscuits for a moment, as if not quite sure what it had begun to do. It padded back and forth a few times, clearly uncertain, but eventually nudged two more biscuits into line. It looked at Travis, then at the shape it was creating on the floor, then nosed a ninth biscuit into place.
     
     
    Travis sipped some beer and waited tensely to see what would happen next.
     
     
    With a shake of its head and a snort of frustration, the dog went to the far end of the room and stood facing into the corner, its head hung low. Travis wondered what it was doing, and then somehow he got the idea that it had gone into the corner in order to concentrate. After a while, it returned and pushed the tenth and eleventh Milk-Bones into place, enlarging the pattern.
     
     
    He was stricken again by the premonition that something of great importance was about to happen. Gooseflesh dimpled his arms.
     
     
    This time he was not disappointed. The golden retriever used nineteen biscuits to form a crude but recognizable question mark on the kitchen floor, then raised its expressive eyes to Travis.
     
     
    A question mark.
     
     
    Meaning: Why? Why have you been so depressed? Why do you feel life is pointless, empty?
     
     
    The dog apparently understood