Maybe longer, because I don’t remember now when I first read “The October Country,” the name of the collection that included this story. What stayed with me was the little boy’s joy as he stroked and cuddled and smelled his patient dog, his “emissary” to the outside world.Īlthough “The Emissary” touched something deep inside me when I read it, I hadn’t thought about it in, oh, about 30 years. I think the story – this was Ray Bradbury, after all - had a darkish, spooky ending to it, but that’s not the part I recall. And when it did, the boy would bury his fingers and his nose in the dog’s fur and, in a sort of telepathy of the senses, imagine all the places the dog had been during his wanders that day. He’d wait, anticipating the moment the dog came back. He couldn’t, but each day he’d send his faithful dog out to roam and bring back stories for him. It was about a sick, bed-bound, weak and very lonely boy who longed to be able to run outside, free, and be part of the world beyond his dim sickroom. When I was a kid I read a short story, “The Emissary,” by Ray Bradbury.
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