"Man, you have a good dog in that Toby," said Dan, who had never been deer hunting before. The two boys had followed the creek into the woods from a back road about 10 miles from town.

"I know. Look at him hit that track. He‚s on a deer. I can tell. Good boy Toby. Track boy, track," said Tom. The tall lean hundred pound black and tan hound had his head so low that his long ears were dragging in the dirt. His tail was wagging like a fencer‚s sword. Suddenly he bolted into the bush. Tom and Dan took off after him at full speed. They didn‚t exactly move with stealth as branches cracked with every step.

"My dad says hunting deer with a dog is no good. They‚ll chase it away before you get a chance to shoot it. This is fun, though," said Dan.

"Yeah man, giving chase is the best part." The conversation ended because the boys were running beyond their capacity, being no match for dog or deer.

Toby stopped in a crouched point. About 30 feet ahead of the boys was a large doe, frozen as if trying not to draw attention. Toby started to circle around to the other side of the deer. "Stay Toby," said Tom. "Take her out Danny boy." Dan loaded his rifle, took aim and fired. It was no good. The bullet hit a small tree, ricocheted and missed the deer completely. The deer was gone so fast the boys didn‚t even see it jump. "Spaz," was all Tom had to say about Dan‚s shooting. Toby was off after the deer as soon as the gun went off. Toby could be called off a track, allowing for a good shot, but no hound could be trained to resist a running deer.

"Do we chase?" asked Dan.

"Just walk. The creek is out this way. It‚ll run out of places to go. Maybe Toby will get it to circle back to us." They walked on. They could hear Toby moving around in the thick brush. They entered a bit of a clearing. "Go wait over there," said Tom as he motioned to the far end of the clearing. "Keep an eye out. If I know my dog he‚ll herd that deer right into your lap. Oh yeah, if you see a deer and it looks like a guy about five nine in a baseball cap and hunting jacket or like a big coonhound, don‚t shoot it."

"Bite me Tom. You could have missed that shot as easily as I did."

"Not a chance," said Tom knowing it was the truth. Tom had already gotten his deer a few days earlier. He had been driving home from his after school job at Canadian Tire and saw a huge buck just standing at the side of the road. Tom sped home to get his gun and dog. He raced back. Toby tracked the deer into the woods for 10 minutes and Tom got a clear shot at a prize buck. Tom‚s dad said getting that deer was nothing but dumb luck. However, Tom knew it was because of his dog.

Tom headed into the bush as Dan waited just inside the clearing. Dan saw Toby bolt into the clearing and immediately turn around back into the bush. Then a loud howling barking scream started to echo through the forest. Dan never owned a hound but knew that was the call. Toby had the deer. Suddenly the deer crashed through a thick growth of small trees. The young trunks and branches broke against her body. Toby was right on her ass howling as loud as a foghorn. Tom was about 40 seconds behind, red faced and breathing noisily. Dan knew no one in the world could hit a deer running that fast.

"Don‚t just stand there! Let‚s get after them," yelled Tom, already well past Dan‚s position. Dan was stunned. They didn‚t need to shoot the deer. Toby would kill it. All he could think about as the violent barking echoed in his head was teeth, and the drool that flowed from Toby‚s mouth. The dog looked like a monster fixated on killing an innocent animal. It didn‚t seem like the same dog they had taken partridge hunting on so many other occasions. Toby would happily flush a field of birds. He would look as though he was playing as he jumped through the long grass like a giant cat. As the birds fell out of the sky Toby would retrieve with such pride. He would drop the birds at Tom and Dan‚s feet and smile, knowing he had done his job well. Dan thought deer hunting must be serious business to dogs. He thought of wolves running as a pack and taking down a 1200 pound elk. The success of the hunt is everything. Failure could mean starvation. Dan was strong, a football and bas! ketball player, not a star but good. Dan couldn‚t help but think that if Toby or a pack of Tobies came after him, he wouldn‚t last 30 seconds. They would rip him apart.

Dan heard splashing. Toby was still barking but not as furiously as before. Then there was a shot. Dan ran to the noise. Tom had beaten him there. Tom was resting his arms on his knees and breathing in gulps. Two fat men in camouflage clothing and orange hunting caps were standing on the bank of the creek laughing. They were each over six feet tall and well over 200 pounds. The bigger taller one, who would have to qualify as obese, held a smoking gun. They each had a can of beer in hand and a cooler sat between them. Dan could see Tom‚s eyes focus and count the cans of Budweiser scattering the area. Toby was still in the water. He had the deer‚s throat in his mouth as he swam to shore.

"Looks like we swiped your deer boys. The dog chased it right into the water. It was like shooting a fish in a barrel," said the larger man. "Good thing he came along when he did, we‚re out of beer."

"You‚re lucky he brought it back to shore. I for one wasn‚t going to swim out there and get it," said the smaller but still oversized man. Toby had the deer on the bank now. He stood over it with his head held high. He was soaked and shivering but looked like he was on the bench at a dog show.

"Good boy, Toby," said Tom as he walked over and hugged the big wet dog.

"You guys should get the deer. It was your dog who did all the hunting," said the bigger man.
"Thanks, we‚ll take it," said Dan.

"No, you guys take it. We‚ve just got the one tag left. I don‚t have to work tomorrow either. I‚d like to come out again. Besides, my buddy here has never shot a deer," said Tom.

"Me neither," said the bigger man. "I‚m mostly a bird hunter myself. Do you guys know a butcher who‚ll prepare this thing for us?"

Tom didn‚t say anything. He just pulled out his buck knife, cut the throat, split open the breastbone, tied off the colon and gutted the beast. "The bullet went down the neck and into the heart. It was a good shot, would have killed her instantly. You‚ve got to gut them right away when you hit an organ or the bleeding will spoil the meat," said Tom. "Leave it, Tobes." Toby had started to go for the carcass, but moved immediately to Tom‚s side as the command was given. "On second thought, we‚ll keep this one."

"I‚d be obliged. We were really just out to see what we could shoot. You know, target practice. We don‚t even have a tag. No warden is going to come back in here but if we brought it out to the road, we could get busted. Would have had to leave it out here to rot," said the bigger man with a childish grin.

"The wolves would have eaten it," Tom said.

"I think I‚ve had enough deer hunting anyway. I‚ll stick to partridge and pheasant. Seeing a big animal like that get gutted is a lot different from cleaning a bird or a fish," Dan interjected.

"Does that super dog there hunt birds too?" asked the smaller big man.

"He hunts whatever I tell him to hunt," answered Tom. "Never chasing junk either. I say, ŒToby birds,‚ he flushes birds. I say, ŒGet the bunnies,‚ he gets rabbit. I say ŒTrack deer,‚ we‚ve got deer. It‚s scary how much he understands."

"He retrieves too?" asked the smaller man.

"You just saw him retrieve a deer. No other dog is doing that," answered Tom. Toby knew they were talking about him. He stood attentively. All eyes were on him. Toby knew that he was the hero as usual. Any talk of hunting turned to praise of Toby‚s exploits. Toby had become a bit of a superstar in local hunting lore. Tom and his dad were inundated with invites to go hunting. People gave up asking to borrow Toby. There was no way the Kane men were going to let someone else hunt their dog without being a part of it.

"Ever consider selling him? I know people who would pay thousands for a dog like that," asked the bigger man.

"He‚d sooner die or kill than give up his dog," answered Dan quickly, feeling a little ignored.

"That‚s the truth," agreed Tom.

"Where did you get him? Maybe we could get a brother or sister. Do you breed him at all?" asked the smaller man.

"He‚s been chopped. Makes for a better pet," answered Tom.

"He‚d tell you where he got him but doesn‚t like admitting he‚s a dog napper." As Dan spoke Tom shot an evil look.

"You stole that hound! Jesus boy! You‚re lucky his owners aren‚t hunting you," said the bigger man.

"Let‚s haul this out of here," said Tom as he walked over to the deer and grabbed the front legs. "Dan, get the back legs." Tom led the way out of the bush. Toby walked beside the deer as it hung between the two boys. The two fat men followed. Tom was wondering what they were still hanging around for.

"So, who‚s dog would that rightfully be?" asked the bigger man. People had stolen Toby before. He would always make it back home though. On one occasion a hunter came to Tom‚s house complaining Toby had bitten him. Tom‚s sister Lucy had seen someone grab Toby and throw him into a truck earlier that day. Toby made it home a few hours later.

"Just how would you get in a position where my dog would be biting you?" asked Mr. Kane. The hunter had no answer. "Get out of here before I shoot you," was all Tom‚s dad had to say. Tom was thinking these bastards wouldn‚t try anything out here. Sure, they were at least 20 years older than the high school seniors but they all had guns. It would be too dangerous and stupid to try to nab Toby now.

"That‚s pretty serious, stealing a dog like that," said the bigger man. "We should ask around. See if anyone is losing their hunting dog."

"You should get the hell away from us," said Tom. Toby said the same thing with a little growl and stare.

Toby originally belonged to an old guy who lived in the house across the orchard from the Kanes. Toby‚s name was something German that they couldn‚t pronounce. Toby would take off from home and come and play with Tom and his sister Lucy. She would sometimes bring Toby in the house and let him sleep in her bed for the night. Lucy gave Toby his name long before Tom took him from old Mr. Dollinger.

Two years ago Toby didn‚t show up at the Kane house for three weeks. Tom, wondering if something had happened to his friend, walked across the orchard and up the long driveway to Dollinger‚s house. There was a man maybe in his late 30s getting into a car. He didn‚t even look at Tom. "Hey, where‚s the dog?" Tom shouted.

"He‚s locked in the shed," said the man, still not looking at Tom.

"What‚s he doing in there?"

"I‚m keeping him in there."

"Why?"

"Not that it is any of your business but my father is in the hospital and that is where I am keeping the dog." The man quickly ducked into the car, firmly closed the door and drove away. Tom was concerned but knew Toby wasn‚t his dog. He had no place telling Dollinger‚s son where to keep him.

Tom let another two weeks pass without seeing Toby. "Mom, have you seen anyone going up to the Dollinger house?"

"No Tom. Why?"

"Some guy, the son or something, said he was taking care of Toby."

"I haven‚t seen anyone up there."

"That fucker!"

"Thomas, your language."

Lucy was practically going crazy. "Poor Toby all alone in that shed. We have to do something Tom. He needs to get out and play. It‚s cruelty."

"You‚re right Lucy. A dog like that shouldn‚t be locked up all day." Tom went down to the basement and grabbed the heavy crow bar. Lucy followed as Tom marched to the Dollinger house.

"What are you going to do Tom?"

"Bust him out." Lucy had never admired her brother as much as she did at this moment. There were no signs of life around the house. Tom and Lucy walked right past it to the shed in the back. Outside the shed there was a stench of urine and feces.
"I can hear him. He‚s in there," said Lucy with her ear up against the wall. Toby‚s whining was faint but constant. Tom shoved the end of the crow bar under the padlock secured latch. He leaned on it with all of his might. He pushed and pulled on the crow bar for minutes that seemed like hours. Tom could feel blisters swelling on his hands but he had to get in there. He had to rescue his dog. Finally the screws holding the latch broke free. Tom kicked in the door. Lucy ran past Tom to Toby‚s side. "My boy. What have they done to you my baby dog?" Lucy said through tears as she caressed the dog that could barely manage to lift his head in acknowledgement.

"It looks like they haven‚t done anything. He‚s probably been in here without food since we last saw him." Tom picked up the dog and carried him home. He weighed nothing. Five weeks ago he was so sleek and powerful looking. Now, Toby was a skeleton in a bag of skin. They fed him left over meatloaf and a box of dog biscuits Lucy had bought for when Toby came to visit. He ate. He puked and then he ate his puke. Toby‚s legs and spine were bent from inactivity. His eyes were cloudy. There were patches of fur missing and he shook as he stood.

"Jesus Christ. How could someone do that to an innocent animal?" Mr. Kane said when he got home from work. "We‚re keeping him. If anyone has a problem with that they‚ll be dealt with."

A few weeks later old Mr. Dollinger got out of the hospital. He never came looking for his dog.

It took four months for Toby to return to his beautiful sleek powerful build. Toby loved the Kane family. They were his saviours. He repaid them with kisses and cuddles and wanted to be with them always.

"He‚ll make a good hunter," said Mr. Kane and, after a year of training, Toby was the best hunting dog anyone had ever seen. Toby was good for the family too. He brought them closer together. Nursing him back to health was a project they all poured their hearts into. Toby taught them how to love each other. He taught them that the pack sticks together. They were a closer family because of him. Sometimes Toby would take off and go hunting on his own. "It‚s the breed. You can‚t train that out of them," was Mr. Kane‚s excuse for his dog‚s imperfection.

Sometimes Toby would fight with other dogs, only when he was with Lucy or Mrs. Kane, though. "He‚ll protect my mom and my sister but he seems to think I should protect him," was how Tom explained Toby‚s split personality to other dog owners. "He‚s a gentle loving aggressive dog that‚s filled with contradictions."

Tom and Dan reached the truck. They loaded the deer into the back. The two fat men were still following them. "Stealing a dog is serious business boy. We‚d better take him from you and find his rightful owner," said the bigger man.

"Oh crap," said Dan as the bigger man grabbed for Toby‚s collar. Toby bolted and took an aggressive stance right behind Tom.

"His owner knows where he is. If he wants him he can come and talk to me." Tom was sizing up the big men. Tom weighed in at 160 pounds, each of these pricks had at least 60 pounds on him. Danny could fight all right but this was scary. They all had guns. "Don‚t mess with my dog buddy. You‚ll be in a world of trouble."

"Big words little man," said the bigger guy.

"I don‚t know why you‚re starting this with us. We don‚t deserve it," said a puffed-up Dan as he walked from the other side of the truck. Dan had already put his gun in the lock box in the cab of the pickup. Tom, thinking this was a good thing, put his gun away as quickly as he could.

"In the truck, Tobes. Atta boy," said Tom as he motioned Toby into the truck. "Let‚s go Dan."

"That‚s right chicken shit, run home to daddy," said the bigger man.

"My daddy would have shot you by now. You‚re lucky I‚m a wiser man," said Tom as he got into the truck and shut the door.
"Punks," yelled the bigger man as he ran one step towards the truck and stopped. Tom started the truck and hit the gas,

shooting up a spray of gavel from the road as he went. Tom looked in the rearview mirror as he drove away. The fat bastards were patting each other on the back in a sort of spastic victory dance. The little conflict had made their day.

"Look at those drunk old pricks. We should have kicked their asses," said Dan.

"You should have kept your mouth shut. It‚s best to keep on walking when you run in with people like them." Toby lay down in the middle seat of the pickup‚s bench and put his head on Tom‚s lap. "I‚m driving here Tobes. I can‚t pet you now. The trouble I‚ve gone through over you. It‚s unreal. You‚re worth it though. You‚re my shmuppy, my little boy. Yes you are. My little baby dog."

"Do you want to let me out? I‚ll walk and let you guys be alone."

"You don‚t even have a dog, so shut up."

"Baby dog? He‚s like four. That‚s 10 years older than you in dog years."

"We did get you a deer though. If anyone asks, we say you shot it."

"No, let‚s tell everyone Toby killed it all by himself."

"Not a chance. Somebody would try to steal him. From now on we call him a good for nothing, useless hound that couldn‚t track a skunk. That‚s the story. Stick to it. Understand?"

"No problem."