The patter of rain starts up in those dim hours before nightfall. It's so dark on this country road. No streetlights. Only a few dots in the distance, lamps burning in farmhouse windows.

I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head and start looking out for a place to stay.

Farmlands are much easier than towns to find shelter. Town residents want to keep out the riffraff. They don't want kids sleeping in doorways, and they don't like abandoned eyesores so they tear them down. I've slept in sheds, crouched between bicycles and lawnmowers, in open garages, in tree houses.

Here in open country there are buildings everywhere that people don't sleep in. Up ahead, off in a grassy field, a three-sided shelter provides shade from the sun and a place to put the feed bins so they don't get wet.

The dog still follows behind me as I step through a white washed rail fence and head up to the shelter.

The grass is wet and soon my pants are soaked up to the knees. I don't see any cattle in this field, though I can smell their stink like I've been smelling all day. It's gotten so dark I can't tell if I'm stepping in mud or cow shit.

Rain patters faster against my head. It's soaked through now, wetting my hair, dripping down my face. The shelter didn't look so far from the road, but I wasn't thinking about the hill. Or how tired I am. How hungry.

Finally I reach the top and collapse under the wooden roof of the shelter. It's poorly built, and rain leaks down between the boards. I suppose the cows couldn't complain, right? Still, it's better than being rained on directly. I can avoid the leaky spots. Plus there's a big tub of water. There are chunks of grass, hay, and a frothy substance that's probably cud or something floating on top, but I still dunk my face in and drink.

The dog imitates me, lapping it up. I almost smile when I realize that both our chins are dripping with water. Almost.

I sit into the corner, curling my knees to my chest, and pull from my pocket the last tomato. If only I could have some warm food, maybe this shivering would stop. At least the tomato is sort of warm from being in my pocket.

The dog sits and watches me eat. I don't know what normal dogs act like, but this one can't be normal. She's just watching, not even licking her chops like she's waiting for the table scraps. She's an interesting-looking mutt to be sure, her fur all marbled and toffee colored under the mud. She's got pointy ears like one of those Alaskan sled dogs but her fur isn't as bushy.

I stare back at her as rudely as I can, but she doesn't get the hint. "Oh, hell," I say. My throat is raspy from not talking for so long. "Isn't staring at dogs supposed to be some way of intimidating them? Ain't it supposed to show how I'm the boss, the alpha whatever?" I ask her, but she doesn't answer. Just stares at me.

"Dumb dog," I say, trying to beat back that surge running through me, saying,

Show that bitch who's the alpha now

"Just a dumb dog. Don't need to get all upset over some stupid dog."

I give the dog one last rude stare before I turn my face toward the rough wall and close my eyes. It's a long while before I can relax my fingers out of their fist shapes.