The old oak door slammed open against the wall like a car accident. Wind and rain stormed into the living room, startling the meek pellet fire as it trembled like prey. The glow from the living room drew out a dark silhouette as he stood in the doorway with anxious hesitation oozing from his brow. 

I hadn’t noticed how dark the sky had gotten since the time Father had left to take Chester on a walk, yet the stars watching from behind the trees told me it was late. 

“What took ya so long?” Mama asked, “Dinner’s all ready for you on the counter. Might wanna heat it up a lil though.”

There was no answer from the shadow in the doorway. I felt my head turn toward my father, expecting a response. I sat there frozen with wide, puzzled eyes holding a blue colored pencil to my Daisy Dreams Polly Pocket coloring book. Our two blank faces searched for a response in his face, but a weathered old fisherman’s hat tilted toward the ground blocked any sign of what was preventing him from speaking. Finally, his head shot up like a jack in the box, staring me dead in the eye. Two glossy brown marbles admitted he had witnessed trauma as they flicked their glance onto Mama.

 “U..uh..” he squeaked, sounding like a little boy. His chin dropped to his chest again, unable to maintain eye contact.

 “What’s wrong hun?” My mother nearly screamed, lunging toward him. “Where’s Chester?” Her eyes took on the marble appearance; showing her whole pupil as she firmly grabbed Father’s limp shoulders. 

“He ran away. He’s gone.” He slid passed Mama and slouched into a chair, bending over and rubbing his hands to his face like a bathing raccoon. 

“I don’t understand. On the trail?!” Mama was now screaming.

A deer had been hit, dragged to the side of the road with a bent up car nearby, and its hazards flashing against the fog. Chester and my father were on their way back from their nightly walk, hiking along a trail only steps from the highway. One look into the poor deer’s eyes and Chester bolted into the Florence woods that ran through the dunes of the Oregon Coast. Father had chased after him; calling his name and searching through the forest for about an hour after the incident. It had gotten darker and darker and less safe to search for him through the unfamiliar dunes that night, so he returned to the house to try to explain what had happened on the trail. Mama’s verdict after seeing my father, an entire shipwreck, was to continue the search for the dog come daybreak. I didn’t know what to think.

Colored markers laid in a random sprawl on the kitchen table. Copy paper with pictures of a black and brown dog and phrases like Have You Seen Me? sat stacked in a pile by the door. My squishy six year old hands grasped a felt tip as a falling tear ruined my drawing of Chester; only causing more to coalesce inside my eyelids. 

“You all ready?” Mama asked, pulling her purse over her shoulder and looking back at me from the doorway. 

“Mhm” I nodded, assuring myself that everything would be ok. 

We spent a while at a campground near the trail hanging signs and asking hosts if they had seen a roaming mutt around the place. Of course it was no luck. We hopped back into the car and drove to the store to buy some things to help our luck: a toy that screamed an awful wheeze with every squeeze, assuming a hike through those woods with it would do the trick. After hours of walking around the forest there was still no sign of Chester. We got all excited when the camp host called my mom saying someone saw a dog in their campground, but every time he’d just get spooked and run away- like Santa getting caught by a little boy on a staircase. At least we knew he was alive, and for that I was hopeful; but I quickly realized I was the only one. 

That night, Mama sat quietly on the couch with her reading glasses propped up on top of her hair, scrolling through a magazine I never knew she liked. I sat with my legs folded and resumed my coloring session in my Polly Pocket book from a couple nights ago, but somehow filling in shopping bag outlines with Groovy Green didn’t hide the fact that Chester was lost. As I slashed a few yellow streaks into a smiley girl’s ponytail, an unfamiliar sound arose from my father’s bedroom. At first it sounded like a yawning whale and then faded into a child’s sobbing laugh. It scared me. Hearing my father cry was like going to the zoo and seeing animals from bedtime books and movies standing in front of me and glooming into my eyes. His cry was like learning division for the first time; confusing, yet common. Complicated, and weird. I didn’t think fathers even made tears. They’re supposed to squeeze you into a bear hug and tickle you until you cry. They chop down hunks of wood in the backyard, and their breath turns to clouds in the cold, just to keep you warm in the winter. That’s how I’ve always thought of my father. But hearing him cry in the small, dark bedroom was the sound of never seeing our dog again. It sounded like guilt of letting his family down. I didn’t want to imagine either, so I pretended I had never heard my father’s whimpers- like I still had no idea they existed. 

“We’re going to rent a campsite for the day,” Father announced. It was the last day to find Chester before our short visit to the Coast was over and we all knew that today was the last chance. We piled into the car with our bags and coolers and planned on an unpredictable afternoon. As we pulled into a campsite that sat next to the forest, I didn’t know what to think or expect. Fumes of hotdog chunks in a bowl of dog food filled the campsite as I squeaked the plastic toy in hopes of luring poor Chester. A chilly breeze swept through the trees, exposing my father’s sulking brows. Long hours of waiting passed eventually and I hated myself for thinking this might be it. 

All of the sudden, a rustle in the bushes made our heads shoot up like a jack in the box. Chester’s shy, worried face peeked through the leaves, sniffing all around before presenting his full being. It was really him. He let out a bark and whipped his tail around like a carousel as he sprinted toward the trunk of the car and jumped in, refusing to move. My mom and I ran to Chester and wrapped our arms around his neck. I glanced up to my dad, catching him smiling above us while a small tear ran down the side of his cheek.

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