It’s too loud. The ground quakes. The air smells like fire. I’m all alone. 

     And I’m scared. 

     I press my face to the dusty ground inside the tiny cave—I think it’s a cave—and I curl my tail beneath my body. It’s too loud, and I want to run away to some place quiet, but I can’t. I’m too afraid, and I can’t even hear my own whimpers over the noise. So I pant inside my tiny cave and shake with fear and wait for everything to stop. It doesn’t. Not for a long time.

     When it’s finally quiet, I’m too tired to do anything but sleep. The ground is wet—I was so scared of the noise and the tremors and the smoke that I peed inside my little cave and now my head rests in a pool of my own drool—but I sleep anyway. I sleep and sleep and sleep.

     My tummy rumbles, and I wake up. I’m hungry. And I’m thirsty. I lick the ground, but it isn’t wet anymore, and I don’t know how to find water. So I whine. I whine for someone to bring me water. Or food. The way I did when I was with the others. Before the loud noise that brought the outside inside and I started running. I should have stayed and not run, because now I’m all alone, and there’s no one to bring me food or water. I whine louder.

     Nobody comes.

     It gets dark. I haven’t moved from my little cave, and I’m still so thirsty and hungry. I start to howl. I howl for the others to come find me. There were lots of us together before, so I just have to howl loud enough for them to hear me. I howl and howl and howl.

     I think I fell asleep howling. I didn’t mean to, but it’s lighter now, so I start to howl again. I’m not as loud as I was before. And I’m so tired. And so scared. And so thirsty. I pee again. Then I keep howling.

     I hear noises outside my little cave, but not loud ones. Human noises. The howling worked! But I’m too tired to howl now, so I bark. The sounds get closer. I keep barking.

     My little cave goes dark as something blocks the opening. It’s a giant head. Human eyes stare into mine, and I see white human teeth inside a human mouth as the human head makes human sounds. It’s trying to talk to me. I bark again.

     The head disappears. Then a human hand reaches toward me. I don’t know what it wants. It’s not bringing me food or water, so I back as far away as I can and bark some more. 

     The hand moves away. It’s quiet again. I’m still hungry and thirsty.

     I start shaking, but I stay where I am and rest my head on my paws. I’m lonely, and scared, and still hungry and thirsty. So I cry. I cry and cry and cry.

     A shiny bowl appears at the opening of my cave. Bowls mean water! And food! I lift my head and sniff the air. I smell water in the bowl. I smell food, too, but from somewhere else. I don't know where, and I’m so thirsty! The bowl sits right there, and I don’t see the human hand, so I carefully crawl on my belly toward the opening of my little cave. I’m almost to the bowl when I smell the human, but I’m so thirsty that I plunge my tongue into the water anyway, and I drink. I drink and drink and drink.

     “. . .thirsty. . .” 

     The human is talking, and I know that word! Yes! Yes, I am thirsty! But it’s better now. I’m not so thirsty anymore. But I’m still hungry.

     “. . . hungry. . .”

     Yes! Yes, I’m hungry! I look up from the bowl of water to see a human hand—the same human hand, I think—holding something in front of me. I sniff. Potato! I know potato! I like potato! I bare my teeth just enough to cautiously nibble at the piece of potato being held between human fingers, but then I’m so hungry that I take the entire thing into my mouth at once and chew! I hope there’s more. 

     There is! Another piece of potato appears in front of my mouth, and I take it too. This time, I look up while I chew. The human is baring its teeth the way humans do when they’re happy, and I feel a hand brush the fur on my back. It feels nice, and the human keeps making human sounds and feeding me bits of potato. 

     “. . . hungry and thirsty. . . scared. . . good dog. . . good dog.”

     Yes! Yes, I am a good dog. And I was very hungry and thirsty. And very, very scared. But I’m not hungry or thirsty or scared now. I’m just a good dog. I’m a good dog.

     “. . . so dirty. . .”

     Oh. 

     Yes. I’m very dirty. And I peed in my cave. I’m not a good dog. I’m a bad dog. I stare at the human and don’t eat any more potato. I’m a bad dog.

     The human keeps stroking my back and scratching my head, even though I’m a bad dog. A dirty, bad dog. And then the hands are picking me up and lifting me into the air, and I’m suddenly a cold and dirty bad dog. I shiver. 

The hands shuffle me around while I’m still in the air, and it makes me even colder, and I don’t like it. 

     Bad human! 

     But then the human wraps me in a blanket—I know blanket!—and I’m being held inside the soft blanket against the human’s big human body, and it’s nice and warm. I stop shivering. 

     Good human!

     “Poor little girl,” the human says, bringing their face close to mine. Such a good human! I lick the face to let them know what a good human they are. I lick and lick and lick—

     “Okay, stop!” the human says, but I see lots of happy human teeth and I hear a happy human sound, so I don’t stop. The human makes more happy sounds, and my tail wags inside the blanket. I’m happy, too.

     “Let’s get you home.”

     Home? I don’t know home. Is it with the others? Or with this human? I like this human.

     “You need a bath.”

     I don’t know bath.

     Then the human carries me to the bath, and I do know bath. And I don’t like the bath. It’s very wet. And little parts of me sting when I’m in the water. I lick them to make them feel better after I’m dry again and sitting on the human’s lap.

     “No, don’t do that, little girl.”

     I stop and look at the human’s face, and I don’t see happy teeth. So I put my paws on the human’s chest to get closer to the face, and there they are. Happy teeth! I also see a spot on the human’s chin that looks like it stings just like mine do, so I lick the spot to make it feel better. 

     “Ow!” the human says. “No. Please don’t lick the scratches on my face.”

     I stop, and instead I lick the human’s mouth. And I keep licking until I see the happy teeth again. When I do, my tail wags again.

     “Well, little girl, you and I are both a bit bloody and bruised from yesterday, but I think we’ll survive.”

     My tail wags some more. I think the human means I’m a good girl.

     “You need a name, though.”

     I cock my head. I don’t know name. 

     “Hm.”

     I lick the human’s face again. I’m hungry.

     “Stars, you’re a kissy little thing, aren’t you?”

     I don’t know kissy. I know hungry. And I’m hungry.

     “Well, now that I know your fur is white, maybe. . . Snowy?”

     No. Hungry.

     “Lily?”

     Hungry!

     “Bianca?”

     I bark.

     The human makes another happy sound that sounds like a bark, too. I bark some more.

     “Just listen to that deep voice of yours! You’re so tiny, you look like you should be a soprano, but instead, you’re an alto. A viola that looks like a violin.”

     I bark again.

     “Maybe I should call you Viola, huh?”

     I keep barking. The more I bark, the more happy teeth I see, and my tail wags and wags and wags. I’m hungry, but I’m happy, too. I’m happy, and the human is happy.

     “Okay, okay! Viola, it is! Are you hungry, Viola? Do you want food, little girl?”

     Yes! Hungry! Food! I want food! More potato!

     “Okay, let’s get you some food, Viola.” 

     The human lifts me into the air and tucks me under an arm to carry me toward the food. I’m happy. My tail wags, and I lick the human’s hand. Good human!

     “We’ll get you some food, then we’ll both get some sleep, because I don’t know about you, but I’m tired, little girl.”

     Yes. Tired. But first, food.

     The human scratches my head, and says, “You’re a good girl, Viola. You’re a good, good girl.”

     I wag my tail. Yes. I am a good girl. 

     “And I’m glad I brought you home, little one.”

     Home. Yes. I know home now. And I like home.

     “Welcome home, Viola.”

     I’m Viola. I’m a good girl. And I’m home.