He wanted to turn and run, but curiosity overruled his fear. With his heart thumping in his temples, he slipped between the trees.
The grove was deserted. But there was evidence that an extraordinary congregation had gathered here. Hoof marks and paw marks in the churned dirt, feathers and fur flitting about, splashes and pellets and mounds of excrement spread all around.
And in the middle of the grove, a crack in the earth. Tenatively, he approached it. There was no smoke. The ground was still and cold. Whatever miracle had been here--if any-- it had passed.
Or had it? He caught a motion from the corner of his eye, and glancing round saw Duffy appear from between the trees.
"So..." he said to the dog. "It was all true."
At the sound of his master's voice, Duffy came pounding over, jumping up at Ralph's face to lick him.
"Duffy," Ralph said. "Are you listening to me? I said I believe you."
Duffy just barked and ran in circles.
"Speak to me, damn you!" Ralph hollered.
The dog barked again, his tail wagging furiously. Then he was away, out of the cool of the grove, glancing back over his shoulder to see if his master was following.
Ralph took one last look at the crack below him, then followed the dog out into the sun, stepping in a dozen different kinds of excrement on the way.
Duffy was still cavorting and barking, and did not let up all the way back to the house. Ralph kept listening, hoping to hear a recognizable phrase (even a word) somewhere in the din. But all he heard was the dog's bliss at being alive and back with the creature that fed him.
That didn't answer any of his questions, of course.
But Duffy's joyful mood was contagious. By the time they came in sight of the rubble, Ralph was already planning the house that would one day replace it.
He would not, however, waste his heart loving it, he decided, in case the vote had gone badly and the animal running ahead of him was pretending simple doghood to keep his master from despair.