Page 14 of Chasing Creed

The dogs appeared to be following in the same direction, though crisscrossing paths. Creed slowed Grace down, trying to create separation. There was no slowing Scout. It was best if he and Jason went ahead of them. While Grace worked with precision, sometimes grinding to a sudden halt to sniff a blade of grass from top to bottom, the black Lab blasted full throttle. Scout jumped over shrubs and zigzagged so close to tree trunks that he scraped against the bark.

Jason ran alongside, intentionally not reigning the dog in. He didn’t want to risk curbing Scout’s innate enthusiasm. Creed was proud of the pair. He figured they were proof-positive there was more than one way to do this job. But he also worried about them. All that energy, all that enthusiasm came with a hefty price of burnout. And that’s when mistakes could be made.

A handler’s number one job, according to Creed, was taking care of the dog. Watching for the unexpected. Protecting against the unseen risks and threats like poisonous snakes and scorpions. In the Panhandle of Florida, those risks included alligators and bears. Here in Mississippi, Creed was more worried about the crawly things in the grass. New territory always set him on edge. That’s where Brodie came in. Her advance site research was meticulous. Sometimes he wanted to roll his eyes at her over-the-top details. Until one of those details saved a dog from stepping into a hornet’s nest or nosing poisonous nettle.

The fog played to their favor. It kept scent down, close to the ground. And it kept it moist, cool, and fresh. They quickly gained distance from the vehicle as the dogs skirted the borders of the pasture. Both of them weaved into the trees and back out into the field. Despite the sheriff’s earlier prediction about the house, neither dog appeared interested in returning to the front of the property or any of the buildings. According to the dogs, whatever happened, took place out here.

Creed had to admit. That surprised him, too. He kept it to himself, away from the dogs. Yet his mind began spinning around possible scenarios. Maybe leaving the vehicle out here was just that. A place to dump it. Hide it.

But there was so much blood in the back seat.

The smell stuck in his nostrils, the damp air adding mold and stink weed to the mix. The mist created a constant sheen of droplets in his hair and on his bristled jaw. His T-shirt clung to his body and even his outer shirt was soaked through at the collar.

Visibility was at best only thirty feet, and he hated how vulnerable it made him feel. But Creed didn’t need to know what happened. He didn’t need to suspect or theorize or rationalize any of it. In fact, it was best if he didn’t think about it. Presuming or guessing might have him unconsciously influence his dog. His job was to assist, not lead. To protect and watch out for any hazards or risks to his dog.

He was thinking about all this even as Grace pulled hard then came to a screeching halt. Grace weighed only sixteen pounds, but she could throw him off balance. She insisted on a vigorous sniff at the base of a tree trunk.

He tried to keep his eyes two steps ahead of her, looking for obstacles. Somewhere up ahead, Scout and Jason plowed through tall grass and shrubs. Brodie and Hank were quietly alongside him. She carried a telescoping rod with metal prongs at the bottom. She extended it to poke into the brush ahead of them. The tool warned and prodded critters to move out of the way before boots and paws came close.

Now they waited for Grace as she began a twitching sniff of the bark, front paws up against the tree trunk as if reaching for the scent. Creed found himself searching up into the branches. It wouldn’t be the first time they discovered a victim up in a tree.

When he glanced at Brodie, he saw her eyes scanning the ground.

“What kind of snakes do we need to worry about?” he asked her.

“Most of them are around rivers or swamps. Copperheads and coral like wooded areas and the brush. Timber and pygmy rattlesnakes might be around in the woods. All those are venomous. Rat snakes like to hang from trees or hunt inside barns.”

Creed began to examine the scrub brush surrounding them. With his booted foot, he swept the foliage back and forth, slowly so he didn’t distract Grace. She had hopped along to the back of the huge live oak, front paws still up against the tree.

He tried to pretend that snakes didn’t bother him, when in fact, they creeped him out. Not Brodie, though.

“What about spiders?” he asked.

“Black widow, brown recluse and southern devil scorpions.”

“Oh good. So just the usual.”

She smiled at him.

“See I told you, once you got the hang of sarcasm, you’d realize I can be a funny guy.”

“Yeah, you’re hilarious.”

He continued to wave his foot over stubby grass and into the prickly shrubs while Grace danced around the tree. He was ready to slam his heel down onto anything that crawled. If there was a critter getting ready to strike, he’d rather it bit into his leather boot or even his pant leg instead of his dog.

He pointed to a plant with fern-like leaves about four feet away. Its purplish stems spiked high above the rest. “Is that one we need to watch out for?” he asked Brodie.

“Poison hemlock. Not as bad as sumac or poison ivy, but yes. It’s best to steer the dogs around it.”

He appreciated that she knew these things. When he first gave Brodie a cell phone for emergency contact, she kept forgetting to take it with her. As soon as she discovered she could use it as a research or navigational tool, she made sure it was in her belt, right alongside the canister of bear spray.

Grace snorted, finished with the tree.

Suddenly, there was a yelp behind them.

Creed whipped around in time to see Scout leaping backward. His right front paw batted the air.

Brodie and Hank raced to the distraught dog. Grace shot after them, her leash tangling around Creed’s legs and almost knocking him clean off his feet.