I will, however, tell you that this is part 33 of a continuing saga the previous bits of which can be found in the following numeric-type order: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, and 32.
So we spent an hour there in the Ramsays' front yard, and
for once in my life, I didn't care if the neighbors called the
police. And by "didn't care," what I really mean is that
I had my excuse all ready in case anyone came up and asked me
what I was doing.
"Just playing with the dogs," I would've said.
The best thing, though, was that Traveler didn't seem to
care. The whole guard dog thing's very big for him, after all,
the idea that he's there to protect the Ramsays' house and
property and all. That's why when they're home and I come
rolling by, he makes it a point to bark at me like his only goal
in life is to get over that fence and messily kill me for the
good of all humanity. He needs to show the world that he's
serious about his job.
He always feels bad about it afterwards, of course, and
apologizes to me the next time he has the chance, but that
evening, whether it was the whole pact we'd made earlier or just
Heather's overwhelming puppiness rubbing off on us, we all plain
stopped worrying about whatever it was we normally worried
about.
Not that El Brujo worried about anything, at least as far
as I could tell: she just sat in my lap with her paws tucked
under, a little feline smirk of satisfaction flicking about her
whiskers. And not that Serena seemed worried, either: when I
would throw the tennis ball Traveler had brought out, she'd go
charging off after it same as the two dogs would. Watching the
squirrel leap back and forth between that big Doberman and that
little whatever sort of a dog Heather is--I don't think "mop" is
recognized as a breed by the American Kennel Club--I couldn't
for the life of me figure out how she avoided getting stomped or
chomped.
Jefe and Honoria, too, both came winging down to perch on
the fence and croak out raucous commentary, even busting out
into a hopping, squawking rendition of "Buffalo Gals, Won't You
Come Out Tonight?" when El Brujo pointed out that, as
cheerleaders, they really ought to have a half-time number.
It was, in short, the best time I'd had in years, an early
summer evening like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting
if Rockwell had lived in the mix of domestication and wildness
that is early 21st century suburbia or something. Just throwing
a ball and having some dogs scramble after it and bring it back,
sure, but so much more than that. How long had it been, after
all, since I'd last had friends?
Still, an hour is just an hour, and the sun was well on its
way to setting when El Brujo rose to her paws just as Traveler
came trotting up, the ball held daintily in his teeth, Heather
and Serena weaving and tumbling between his front paws, both of
them yipping in a way that sounded like laughter when I listened
to it the right way. "Well!" El Brujo announced, stretching
herself along the entire length of my thigh, her claws springing
out to tap against my knees. "I for one am exhausted!"
That got a "Ha!" out of Honoria and a "I think you mean
'exhausting,' Poosy!" from Jefe.
"Nonetheless," El Brujo went on, settling down with her
tail wrapped around her. "It's about time for Deena's session
to let out." She looked back over her shoulder at me. "Or am I
mistaken?"
I shrugged, scootched sideways, dragged my pocket watch
out, and blinked at it. "I couldn't say one way or the other,"
I told her.
She rolled her eyes. "I sometimes quite despair, August."
Another shrug, and I stuffed the watch back. "But yeah, I
guess we oughtta be rolling along."
Traveler dropped the ball with a nod. "It has been a
lovely evening." He stepped back and bowed to Heather and
Serena, both panting heavily by my chair's footrests. "Miss
Heather, Miss Serena: I thank you for allowing me to
participate."
Serena bowed back while Heather shook herself, gave a
massive yawn, bowed, and said, "We couldn't have played at all
without your ball, Mr. Traveler, so thank you for that." She
gave another yawn, then looked away, suddenly bashful. "Could
you possibly, sir, lift me up onto Mr. Augie's knees? I don't
believe I can jump that high at the moment..."
Smiling, Traveler bent down, straightened up with Heather
hanging limp as Spanish moss from his jaws, and set her like a
sack of jelly into my lap. "Sleep well tonight, child," he
whispered, touching his nose between her ears.
"Thank you," she said, oozing into a puddle of fur beside
El Brujo. "I think...I already...am..." Her eyes drew closed,
and tiny snores started whistling from her nose.
He stepped back. "Such a delight." He sighed. "And a
good night to you as well, El Brujo, August." A bow to the
crows. "And, of course, the entertainment committee."
A scrabbling sound, and Serena came huffing and puffing
over the curve of my knee, collapsed against Heather.
"OK," I said. "I think that's everyone we came in with.
Night, Trav. We oughtta do this again sometime."
With a quiet chuckle, he sat beside the tennis ball. "You
know where to find me," he said.
I laughed, spun, hit the gate, and rolled us back up the
road toward Chrysalis House. "Ahhhh," Serena sighed, curling
into a tighter ball. "Such a gentlepooch, that Mr. Traveler..."
El Brujo rolled her eyes some more, and in companionably
silence, we started up the hill, crossed the street, rounded he
corner, and came up to the front steps of the public side of the
house just as Deena and her father were stepping out of the
lobby. They both looked a little puffy around the eyes, but
they were smiling, too, so I figured it must've been the
good sort of crying.
Deena caught sight of us first and waved. I gave an extra
hard push to the rims so I could spare a hand to wave back, and
by the time we reached the two of them, I had shifted my mental
gears enough to form intelligible, English-language words.
"Ev'rything go OK?"
"Better than OK," Deena said, beaming, and beside her, her
father nodded. "And you?" She bent down and stroked Heather
gently, Serena not even stirring beside her, my brain nearly
short-circuiting at Deena's closeness. "They wear each other
out?"
"They had help," I managed to say. "So the program here
looks good?"
"Oh, yes!" And she went on to describe it as the three of
us headed back down the hill toward their place, her father
chiming in now and again with a detail that was evidently
important to them both. But to tell the truth, I was kind of
losing track of the conversation, their words sliding in and out
of focus--if that's something words can do...
That it had gone well, though, I could tell, and while they
talked, I called out silently in animal speech: "Jefe? You
still around?"
The ficus tree we were all just passing beneath had a small
seizure. "Whaddaya need, 'Mano?" I heard the crow's voice ask.
"You know the creek that runs through the meadow where all
the cul-de-sacs are?"
"I know it better'n you do."
"Can you wing over there please and pick me up a pebble?"
El Brujo looked back at me, her ears folding. "August?"
I ran a hand down her back. "Quick as you can, Jefe."
"No prob," he said, and the tree shook again in the
gathering twilight above us.
Neither Deena nor her dad seemed to notice, and they went
on talking happily for the five or however many minutes it took
for us to arrive at their place again. Her dad gave Deena a
kiss on the top of the head, said good night and thanks to me,
then went in the front gate and into the house, the front room
windows lighting up.
Things got quiet, but then Deena reached down to take the
sleeping Heather from my lap. "Thanks for watching her, Gus. I
hope she wasn't too yappy."
I forced my spinning mind to slow. "Just yappy enough," I
told her. "And thank you."
"Me?" She straightened up and blinked, Heather snuggling
against her. "What did I do?"
Wings flapped above us, Jefe's voice calling, "Got it!"
I took a breath. "Fly down onto my shoulder and drop it
into my hand, OK?"
El Brujo's whiskers jittered. "August, I--"
But I was already back into human voice. "You let me be a
part of all this," I told Deena, and I held out my left hand,
palm up.
She blinked from my face to my hand and back again, but
when Jefe slid down out of the evening darkness onto my left
shoulder, her eyes went wide. "I just," I said, Jefe dropping
the pebble into my palm. "I was hoping maybe you could put this
in the museum, y'know? To mark your first day?"
The silence got even thicker, a little twitch pulling at
Deena's right eye. Then she spun, ran through the gate and into
the house, slamming the door behind her.
Leaving me sitting there with a pebble in my hand.
I should, I suppose, supply the link to 34, the next chapter, here at the end of this chapter. It's just polite, after all.
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