Cole and His Dog

Chapter 1-2

For his first two nights after leaving home, Cole was able to find a shelter with an available bed. It was first come, first served, just as Adam had hinted it would be. During the day, Cole tried to find a job, starting with the places Adam had suggested. They all told him they weren’t hiring at the moment but to check back later. After that, he tried every diner, fast food place, and pizza shop he saw along Colfax and then downtown. The story was always the same—they weren’t hiring, or weren’t interested in him because the only experience he had was delivering pizzas—and without a car that wasn’t an option.

He did stop by The Haven at mealtime, glad for some decent food in his stomach and a chance to get off his feet for short time before taking off again.

The third evening, Cole got to the shelter he’d previously stayed at too late to get a bed for the night. The man he spoke to suggested another place, a couple of miles away, but the time Cole got there, it, too, was filled to capacity.

With no other option, he started searching for somewhere to crash for the night. He knew the area around the 16th Street Mall wasn’t a good idea, if he didn’t want the cops hassling him.

And Cap Hill’s no better, though the dangers are different. Growing up in Denver he’d heard stories about Capitol Hill being a hangout for dealers and kids prostituting themselves to make enough to buy something to eat. There’s no way in hell I’ll do that. I’d rather starve to death.

Maybe down by the creek? Last night, he’d overheard a couple of guys at the shelter talking about camping under one of the bridges over Cherry Creek. Another teen had chimed in that behind the bushes on the opposite side of the creek from the bike path wasn’t too bad either. “No one can see you, unless they come looking.”

As much as he hated the idea, Cole decided to see if he could find a spot down there. It was that or walk the streets until daylight then go back to The Haven and hope they had an empty bed. But sleeping during the day would mean I can’t keep looking for a job.

By the time he arrived at the bike path it was dark. As he walked, looking for somewhere to hide and try to sleep, he remembered riding along the same path with his father when he was younger, long before his coming out had changed everything. Then, he and his father were close. They would spend weekends on their bikes, exploring the city.

I should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t expect him to go ballistic, even though I knew how he and Mom felt about gays. Well, yeah, I guess I did—sort of—but I hoped they’d still accept it because they loved me. It’s not like I had a choice. They didn’t see it that way, though—especially Dad. And now, here I am, trying to find a hidey-hole where I’ll be safe for a few hours.

Cole walked along the edge of the creek, looking for a place where the water was shallow enough to cross to the other side. When he saw a spot, he took off his sandals, waded over and put them on again, then began checking behind the brush and bushes. He thought he heard voices and froze. Up ahead was one of the bridges that crossed the creek. He could see the red tip of a cigarette, glowing in the dark. Inching closer, he spotted three people, two guys and a girl, he thought, from their shapes. They were sitting, leaning against the bridge abutment.

One of them must have heard him because he called out, “This is our place, so get moving.” He sounded as if he meant it.

Cole took him at his word, turning back the way he’d come. A few minutes later he found what he was looking for. The bush was thick, standing a couple of feet away from the concrete wall that separated the creek from the street above. Cole could tell from the debris scattered around that he wasn’t the first person to be there. He hoped someone didn’t think this was their ‘place’ the way the guys under the bridge had laid claim to where they were camped.

I was stupid, when I packed up. I should have taken the blanket off my bed.

He hadn’t, however, so he spread out the towel, thankful that it was summer and the night was warmish. Using his backpack as a pillow, he curled up, trying to get comfortable on the rough ground. Every time he started to doze off, something startled him awake—a car horn, voices of people above him or along the bike path, an ambulance siren.

Finally, exhaustion overcame fear and he fell asleep. He was awakened, he didn’t know how much later, by someone saying, “Well, look what we have here.”

“I wonder what we should do with him,” a second voice said, hate and glee lacing his words.

Cole shot up, trembling, to see two men silhouetted by the early morning light behind them. “Leave me alone,” he begged, trying to back away.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” the larger man asked, grabbing Cole’s arm to pull him to his feet. He shoved Cole hard against the concrete wall.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” Cole whimpered, just before he was punched in the gut. He doubled over, trying to breathe, and slid down the wall, praying he’d survive whatever they had planned for him.

Suddenly, there was a low growl from behind the punks.

“What the f**k!”

The men spun around, giving Cole a clear view of the huge, dark fawn-colored dog, with a black muzzle and ears, standing there, its fangs bared. It moved closer, swinging its head from side to side as if trying to decide which man to attack first. When the smaller man lifted the iron pipe he was holding, the dog sprang, gripping his arm between his teeth. The man screamed in pain and a moment later the dog released him, starting toward the second man, who took off running, closely followed by his companion.

The dog now focused its attention on Cole, and Cole was certain it was going to attack him. Instead, the dog sat back on its haunches, head c****d to one side.

“What…what are you? Like you can answer. Not,” Cole whispered. He held out his hand, praying the dog wouldn’t chomp it off. He, for Cole was certain it was male, leaned forward to lick Cole’s hand, leaving a trail a drool behind. Cole wiped his hand off on the grass, muttering, “Yuck,” as he let out a deep sigh of relief. “Where’s your owner?” Cole asked, getting to his feet. He didn’t see a collar on the dog, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

The dog stood too, watching as Cole brushed twigs and dirt off his jeans before shaking out the towel and folding it, to put into his backpack.

“You better go home,” Cole told him sternly. “Someone is probably wondering where you are.”

The dog ignored him, so Cole pointed to the path across the creek, saying, “Go.” Again, the dog ignored him. Cole picked up his backpack, wondering where he could find a restroom, because he really had to pee. Carrying the pack and his sandals, he waded across the creek to the bike path, sidestepping an early morning bike rider. The dog followed, standing beside him while Cole put on his sandals and tried to decide which way to go. He was close enough to downtown that he hoped he could find a coffee shop where he could use the restroom, in exchange for buying coffee and maybe a sweet roll.

As he started down the path, the dog walked beside him, earning them both leery looks from the few people that they passed. Accepting the dog had no plans to abandon him just yet; Cole took the ramp up to Speer. Across the street, he saw a coffee shop. The dog was right next to him when they got there.

Wondering if the dog would obey, Cole said, “Sit. Stay.” Surprisingly, the dog sat down. Cole patted his head and went inside. He bought a small coffee and a slice of banana bread, asking if there was a restroom. The clerk nodded, pointing. Cole went in, took care of the most pressing business, then changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. After washing up as best he could, he brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and went back outside. He half expected the dog to be gone. Instead he found him sitting patiently where Cole had left him.

“Is that monster yours?” a man asked, approaching the dog warily.

“He seems to think he is,” Cole replied with a small smile.

“You should have him on a leash instead of letting him run free. It’s the law, in case you didn’t know.”

“Sorry,” Cole replied, deciding it was better to accept the lecture than admit the dog wasn’t his and have the man call the cops, or animal control.

“He’s a Bullmastiff, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Cole replied, not having a clue if the man was right. “And gentle as a lamb, if he doesn’t think you’re going to hurt me.” Again, Cole thought putting that idea out there would keep the man from doing more than trying to pat the dog on his head, which the dog accepted graciously.

“What’s his name?”

Cole thought fast. What would someone name a dog this big? “I wasn’t terribly imaginative, I’m afraid. I call him Bull.”

“That works.” The man patted Bull one more time then went inside.

“Whew.” Cole sat on a bench outside the coffee shop to eat his banana bread, breaking off a piece to give Bull. “I hope you’re okay with your new name,” Cole said, after the dog scarfed down his treat, looking at Cole for more. Bull nodded his massive head, although Cole was certain it had nothing to do with the question. Cole gave Bull the last bite, then stood.

It wasn’t until they were halfway up the mall, heading to the bus stop, that Cole realized he had a big problem. No way would they let Bull on the bus, and Cole had planned on returning to The Haven—but on foot it would be a long walk. Still, there was nothing to do but walk, unless he planned on abandoning Bull. For a moment he considered the idea, but knew he wouldn’t. After all, the dog had saved him from getting beaten up—or worse.

“Get your hiking boots on, Bull. We have quite a way to go.”