Biology Reference
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might imagine, in suicides and homicides, in massive floods. Even in death, the world is
three-dimensional, not just a flat plane.
I felt a bit dizzy. I knew it was my adrenaline surging. This wasn't training, and what Solo
was smelling wasn't swamp gas. The cops were well behind us. I wasn't sure where. I'd been
too intent on Solo.
Solo kept following his nose, and I kept following Solo. We were now into the shade of the
trees on the far side of the swamp. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that Solo had stopped. He was
just standing there. A body lay in the shady copse in front of him. The victim was thirty feet
from me, less than ten feet from the dog, simultaneously ashen, because of the dried mud,
and dark. Facedown, shirtless, mired in mud. I smelled nothing. But the trees and bushes had
helped concentrate scent for Solo.
Solo looked back at me. What next?
I fumbled as I dragged the tug toy out of my pocket, feeling it catch and then give. I let
my voice escalate, making it merrier with each enunciation. Good boy. Good boy. Good boy!
What a good boy! Good fish! Yeah!
Solo was happy to come toward me and get his reward as I backed up. Then he and I were
swinging together like two planets spinning in a mud orbit, held together by the rope of a
tug toy. I pulled him farther and farther away from the body trapped in the silt. I called over
my shoulder, as loudly and matter-of-factly as I could, “Found him.”
Over Solo's happy growls, I could hear the investigators' faint, surprised voices. They soun-
ded far away, but one of them repeated himself so I heard his mantra more clearly as they ran
toward us. “You're kidding. You're kidding. You're kidding.”
Solo's work was done. I let him keep the tug toy. He had earned it. I hitched him up, and
we turned and walked away from the canopy of trees, back into the sun and the iridescent
green of the marsh.
