The warmth of summer spread throughout the country in July of 1987 and Beatrix was on the trail. Nose pressed firmly to the ground, she breathed in the earthy scent of truffles. The trees shook around her with the warm breeze, her fur ruffling along with them. The low heat lay in the air and draped on top of Beatrix like a blanket, though she barely paid it any notice. It was familiar and comforting.
The sound of sheep and horses and the humans harvesting wheat on the farm behind her faded away as it was replaced by the swaying sounds of the forest. The trees provided relief from the unrelenting sun, and the scent grew stronger as Beatrix tracked it further into tall trunks and rustling bushes.
As Beatrix grew near the end of the trail, she imagined the short, stocky human with her face and tied-up hair when she came back with a truffle for dinner. That human always had a deep frown unless Beatrix brought back a truffle, and that human always gave Beatrix a bite of truffle from dinner while Beatrix lay on the wooden floor of the food-making room, watching dinner as it was made and enjoying the smell of the air.
Beatrix ended at a tree that grew high into the sky with no truffles lying at its base. Beatrix circled the tree one, two, three, five times before she sighed and flopped down on the dirt floor, disappointment coming off her in waves. Now she would be arriving home empty pawed.
Through the sounds of rustling trees and warm birds and growing roots, Beatrix could hear the sound of pages and soft, stuttering whispering. The voice was high and slightly squeaky and filled with hesitation.
Beatrix pushed herself up, shaking the dirt and twigs from her consistently dirty fur. Following the sounds, she rounded a small oak tree, the leaves of which provided ample shade for the young school-age child Beatrix found beneath it. Said child wore a sullied uniform, his tie undone around his neck and his shirt half untucked from his rolled up pants. He sat criss-cross applesauce against the rough trunk of the tree, his eyebrows furrowed in focus and his mouth moving along with his eyes.
Beatrix stilled, unsure if she should approach or not. That choice was no longer hers when the boy suddenly looked up and spotted her. Neither boy nor dog moved for a second, brown eyes looking at green.
Beatrix thought about leaving, after all, the boy was here first, but his face broke out into a toothy smile, two of the top row teeth missing, and he waved. Beatrix tilted her head to the right, unsure what to do in response. The boy seemed to sense the hesitation and patted the spot right next to him. A moment later, Beatrix was curled up a few feet away from the boy and listened as he continued to read aloud, picking up right where he left off.
Beatrix didn’t know when, but as she had been lying down, listening to the boy read, she had fallen asleep. The sound of her owner’s voice calling her through the trees drew her out of the darkness of slumber and into a different kind, filled with tiny white dots in the void sky.
The night air was chilly as she ran back through the woods, though she knew it would be chillier if she did not get home before her owner grew tired of waiting as he so often did.
Over the next two years, she would see the boy every day at the same tree. She would listen as he read book after book. His voice became steadier and even on days when his words would wobble in the wind, he never seemed to get angry at himself. Instead, he would set the book down, and they would walk to the nearby creek together.
Sometimes, they would see if they could catch fish, sometimes they would dig for treasure, and sometimes they would simply wait by the water, letting the waves crash up against their legs.
Beatrix watched as the boy grew older, as his hair grew longer and then was shorter a day later, as it grew darker every year. The first year, he would jump and jump by the creek, trying to reach a branch, and the next year, he would grab it with a little hop. The day he was able to grab it, he would throw it, and Beatrix would chase it, and every day after, the boy would jump and grab a branch and throw it, and Beatrix would chase it.
On June 15th, 1989, the day that came after the smoke filled the sky, the day after the owner seemed agitated, walking around the whole farm time and time again, the boy did not show up. Beatrix waited by the tree all day, she waited through the call home, she waited through the night. The boy did not show up.
Every day, she waited by that tree for the boy to show up. Sometimes, when she got frustrated, she would go down to the local creek and try to catch fish, sometimes she would dig for treasure, sometimes she would simply wait by the water as the waves splashed up her legs, and she would gnaw on the many branches from the past. She would do this every day for ten years. The seasons would change, but Beatrix’s routine would not, and the absence of the boy would not.
It was July of 1999, and Beatrix was lying by the tree. Her owners had packed up and left a while ago. She didn’t remember why, so now she had all the time in the world to wait for the boy, the friend she had found instead of a truffle. Sometimes, she would still hear his squeaky voice stuttering through the story through the rustling of the tree.