The Day the Dogs Came Back

It turns out the citizens of Kint had been missing more than they realized.

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Transcript

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Welcome to Dispatches from Kent. Conditions remain inconclusive. This week's report concerns the return of something the citizens of Kent had not realized they missed quite so much. It began with a visitor. Visitors are uncommon but not unheard of in Kent. They usually arrive by bus, occasionally by bicycle, and once memorably by mistake. This particular visit was a woman named Elera Finch, who arrived carrying a travel bag of modest size. When she reached the town square, she set the bag down on a bench. The bag moved. This caused immediate interest. Illera opened the zipper and out popped a small creature with bright eyes, a kinetic tail, and an opinion about nearly everything. It barked. The sound traveled across the square in a way that made several citizens stop midstep. Did you hear that? Someone asked. The creature barked again. A street sweeper named Alban Rowe leaned closer. What is it? he asked. Ilera looked surprised. It's a dog, she said. The word spread quickly. A dog had arrived in Kent. This was notable because dogs had not lived in Kent for many years. No one could quite remember why. There had once been dogs everywhere, in doorways beside fishermen, dogs sleeping under park benches. But somewhere along the way they had slowly disappeared. Life in Kent had continued perfectly well without them, until the moment one returned, and within minutes a crowd formed around the bench. The dog wagged its tail enthusiastically at every citizen it met. It barked at pigeons, it barked at shadows, it barked at a lamppost with remarkable commitment. Children laughed. Adults knelt down to scratch its ears. Someone produced a biscuit, and someone else produced three more biscuits. The dog accepted them all. By evening the square resembled something between a festival and a family reunion. The Ministry of Cultural Memory later described the atmosphere as every holiday combined. The current king visited shortly after sunset. He watched the dog chase a throne stick with intense interest. Curious creature, he said. What do they do? Well they're companions, Ilara explained. They follow you around, they get excited when you come home. Sometimes they steal food. The king nodded thoughtfully. That sounds extremely useful. The following morning the council convened an emergency meeting, the subject dogs. After several hours of discussion, the council reached a unanimous conclusion. Kent required more of them. A small expedition was organized immediately. Volunteers were chosen. Their mission was simple. Travel beyond Kent, locate dogs, return with as many as possible. The citizens waved goodbye as the wagon departed. For several days the town waited eagerly. The visitor's dog continued to perform demonstrations of wagging, barking, and general enthusiasm. Children practiced throwing sticks in preparation for the future. But then a letter arrived. It had been delivered by courier and bore the unmistakable tone of mild difficulty. The expedition had encountered problems. The roads outside Kent were longer than expected. The wagon had lost a wheel. And worst of all, the team had located many dogs but had no reliable method of convincing them to travel together in an organized fashion. The letter ended with a sentence that caused notable concern. We may be delayed indefinitely. The town felt quiet. Citizens walked the streets imagining Kent without dogs again. It suddenly seemed less acceptable than it had a week earlier. And then, several evenings later, a sound drifted across the fields outside town. At first it was faint, uncertain. The sort of sound people hear when they think they remember something. Do you hear that? Someone asked. The sound grew louder. Barking. Not one bark. Many dozens. The citizens gathered at the road. A wagon appeared slowly over the hill. Behind it rolled a truck, and inside the truck were dogs, large dogs, small dogs, dogs with floppy ears, dogs with proud ears, dogs that barked confidently and dogs that barked with charming uncertainty. The expedition team looked tired, their clothes were dusty, but they were smiling. As the truck doors opened, the dogs burst forward like fireworks made of fur. They raced into the square, they wagged, they barked. They selected humans with impressive enthusiasm. Children were immediately adopted. The king himself was chosen by a large dog who appeared convinced that monarchs required supervision. The square filled with laughter and barking, loud, annoying, incessant, and joyful barking. A philosophical aside, human beings often forget the small companions that once filled their daily lives, until one returns. And then the memory arrives all at once. The sound, the excitement, the simple joy of a creature that believes your arrival is the most important event of the day. And suddenly the world feels larger again. The citizens of Kent did not realize how quiet their town had become until the day the dogs came back. From the land of Kent, where wagging tails are now considered essential infrastructure and happiness once arrived in a truck. This has been your correspondent. Conditions remain inconclusive.