Then one day I got something I thought I never would have in this world. A woman in a sequined dress with light blue boots bent down to give me a napkin full of small pieces of steak. But that wasn’t all. She patted my head and said, “Here you go, Tidbit.” Tidbit! I had a name. I had a home. I longed for a master, and above all I longed to go inside. I wondered, Would she take me inside? “Come on, Dolly,” someone called. And she was gone.
I listened every day to the music. The boom boom was a bass. The gliding sound, a fiddle. The plunk, a banjo; the twang, a guitar. Best of all were the voices. When I listened to the voices, my tail would thump. Then my body would twitch, then my nose would begin to rise up, and if the music was just right and just wonderful enough: AOOOOOOOO! A sound worked up from the bottom of my belly to the back of my throat and let loose a long, mournful howl.
Alone behind the Opry, I learned to sing.
Sometimes the people would gather at the back door with their instruments. They would play together, working out a little piece of music to perfection, or just making the music for the joy of it. I sat quietly on my blanket and listened. A man named Charles made the fiddle sing. The banjo jumped in the hands of Scruggs. A man named Porter had the glitteriest coat of all.
One time a different man came. A man with the blackest boots and tallest hat that I had ever seen. A man with the lowest, smoothest voice that I had ever heard. A man dressed all in black. He sang about trains and prisons and someone called Mama. He sang in the voice of pain and sorrow and too many nights out on the blanket. And my tail began to thump, my body to twitch, my nose to point up, up, and AOOOOOOOO. I joined his song.
“Hey, Johnny, you got some company,” the fiddle player said. Everyone laughed, but the music went on. Johnny and I sang one song after another. Then the fiddle player looked at me and said the words that would change my life, “Let’s take Tidbit on the Opry.”
Everyone stopped and looked down at me. I waited until I could stand it no more, then AOOOOOOOO. That did it. They all laughed, and the man in black picked me up.
“Ten minutes!” someone called from the door, and in we went. I had never been inside. It was beautiful and warm. Then the fiddle player tied a red bandanna around my neck, and we walked onto the stage. I sat beside the black boots and looked out.
I had never seen so many people before. Cameras flashed, people clapped. I got so nervous I almost wet the stage, but I stood tight and—boom boom—the bass began. The gliding fiddle joined in. Plunk and twang, and Johnny was singing about Mama.
I listened at first, too stunned to do anything. And then I was swept away by the sounds. My tail did not move at first, but as he sang on, my tail started thumping, my body started twitching, and my nose rose.
AOOOOOOOO.
I no longer saw the crowds or the cameras.
I was lost in the music, singing with Johnny.
I was home.
When the music ended, there was quiet at first, then it all broke loose. I looked out and saw the people. They were cheering and clapping and jumping up and down. For that moment and forever after, my life was different.
If you saw me now, you might think that my life hadn’t changed much. I’m still pretty sad to look at, but I am not so hopeless after all. I wear my bandanna and ride in the bus with Johnny, right up in the front seat. Every once in a while, when it’s a slow night on stage, Johnny picks me up and says, “Sing one, Tidbit,” and my tail begins to thump, then my body begins to twitch, and I lift up my nose and join right in, AOOOOOOOO!
CHAPTER 7
Marcus: A Mountain Comes Alive
Italy, A.D. 79
Read by Jack
For several days I knew something was wrong. The ground would tremble slightly, sometimes leaving small cracks in the wall. Occasionally I would get a whiff of a strange scent.
Then, on August 24, life changed forever. I was sound asleep in the garden when I was awakened by an earsplitting boom. A second boom quickly followed. Suddenly, the people in my household were in the garden with me. They were looking up at the mountain they call Vesuvius. A large, dark cloud hung over Vesuvius, and it appeared to be moving slightly toward our city, Pompeii.
Then, a light gray ash began to fall from the sky.
“The mountain is alive,” screamed one of the slaves.
My master called for us to go to one of the lower rooms of the house. I followed, although it is not what I wanted to do. Everyone entered the room. I stood at the door. The children, huddled in one corner, called to me.
“Come, Marcus. Come.”
I would not enter the room.
“Come, Marcus,” my mistress called. I stood fast.
The ground trembled again, and my master reached for me. The second before he grabbed my collar, I darted away. I bolted up the stairs, through the corridor to the front door.
Outside, men, women, and children ran in all directions. Some fled toward the sea, others toward the city gates. Yet others seemed to be running nowhere at all, calling the names of loved ones. Ash continued to fall, leaving a gray, powdery dust on everything. It made the people look like moving statues.
Those running to the sea probably hoped to escape by boat. I decided to go to the countryside. I would exit through the gates. Not the Vesuvius Gate—that would lead directly to the trouble. I would use the Sarno Gate by the amphitheater and run as fast as I could for as long as I could.
I ran along the city streets, darting between legs. The cloud caused darkness all around, which made it difficult to see. Some people carried torches, hoping to light the way, but it was useless. Small stones fell from the sky, knocking out the torches.
I kept running—past people carrying their possessions, past people carrying children, past slaves carrying their owners’ wealth. People fell all around me. Bodies littered the streets. Ash rained down onto my head, and fiery stones burst into flames at my feet. My eyes burned from the ash.
I passed shops. People huddled in the doorways for shelter. I did not stop. If I stopped for even a moment, death would be on me like flies on meat in the butcher shop.
Ash covered the street and my paws. I could tell there would come a point when it would be so deep that I would no longer be able to run. So I ran faster, jumping over obstacles, darting between legs.
Finally I reached the Sarno Gate. All I could see was legs—moving but going nowhere. People were screaming. I tried to push my way through but did not get far. I tried a different direction. A person collapsed in front of me.
If I did not get out the gate I would die! I pushed past one leg, then another. It’s a good thing I’m a skinny dog. I continued to weave between legs.
For a while, it seemed like I was making no progress at all. Then, finally, I broke free into the countryside.
I turned for another look at Vesuvius. It was more frightening than before. The smoke from the top looked like a great tree with branches on all sides. The cloud extended from the mountain all the way down.
As I watched, one large section on top of the mountain swayed slightly. It swayed again. Then, with a tremendous crashing sound, it gave way and collapsed down the side of the mountain. Following behind it was a gush of fire and burning melted rock, all rolling toward Pompeii.
The earth shook. I fell. People around me fell too. Some did not get up.
I ran and never looked back. I did not know when day ended and night began, I kept running. Finally, I came to some large rocks. I crawled between the rocks and sank into a deep sleep.
When I awoke, I discovered a young boy had crawled in beside me. I curled up next to the boy. We stayed side by side until daylight returned two days later.
I never did find my family. I tried once to get back into Pompeii, but the ground was too hot. Now, I live with the boy and his family on a farm on the hillside. Vesuvius is still there, but it looks caved in and ragged. When I see it, I think about August 24—the day the mountain came alive.
CHAPTER 8
; Roscoe: Love Is in the Air
For weeks I have been trying to impress the Poodle next door. Her name is Venus. She was named for the Roman goddess of love and beauty. And, boy, is she beautiful! Soft white hair, easy curls, dark mysterious eyes, and a smell that will make you drool. Any dog would be glad just to stand beside her. My goal in life is to win Venus.
The only thing holding me back is Tiger, the cat who lives at my house. Tiger is big, fast, and the best hunter I’ve ever seen, bar none. She always seems to foil my plans.
This morning Tiger caught a squirrel. I have been trying to catch squirrels for years, but just barely miss them every time. It’s Tiger’s fault. She gets them first.
Tiger’s squirrel was an especially big one, and she left it in the front yard. So I’m thinking, “Now’s my chance to show off.” Venus was in her back yard. Perfect.
I get the squirrel and head her way. It feels good to have that squirrel in my mouth. I shake it a few times. Yes, it feels real good. Empowering.
Venus sees me. I hold that squirrel up high where she can see it. She is looking at me like I am some fine Labrador. This makes me feel great, so I toss that squirrel around. I toss once. I toss twice. I toss …
Then I see Tiger come around the corner. She sniffs the spot where her squirrel was. She sniffs some more. Then she sees me. The squirrel is still in my mouth, but I no longer feel empowered.
I know what you’re thinking: You’re a brave dog. You don’t have anything to worry about. Finders keepers, losers weepers, and all that. Well, you don’t know Tiger. She is a monster. She could bring a full-grown Saint Bernard to his knees.
I look at Venus. She is watching Tiger.
Tiger charges across the yard, stops in front of me, and hisses. I drop the squirrel. This is the right thing to do because otherwise she will scratch me in the face, and that would be a worse embarrassment.
Tiger takes her squirrel. Venus goes back into her house. I pee on the spot where I dropped the squirrel and go back into my house. Tomorrow is another day.
CHAPTER 9
Mimi’s Guide to Life
Paris, France
BATHROOM PROTOCOL
People prefer to send you outside to do your business. This is fine and pleases them. This is fine, that is, if the weather permits.
In sunny weather, a bush or a patch of soft grass is perfectly acceptable.
In rainy or snowy or otherwise disagreeable weather, feel free to use the carpet or floor, but be sure to hide it. Behind a chair is a good spot. Closets work. Anywhere dark and out of the way.
I know a Basset Hound who got through an entire winter going in the guestroom under a double bed.
HIDING
Another of life’s important skills for the canine is hiding. Hiding is necessary when normal dog activities are not acceptable to people. These might include improper snitching from the table, nipping and growling, and bathroom indiscretion. Hide under large objects—beds and sofas are ideal. Smaller furniture, chairs, and tea tables may work for Toy Poodles and Cocker Spaniels.
Position yourself where people can’t reach. The center underneath a king-size bed is perfect. Watch out for the groping hand that will try to catch you. If you hide long enough, you will be forgiven. I once knew a Boxer who hid under a porch for three days following an unfortunate incident with a birthday cake.
TABLE MANNERS
Sit quietly and calmly beside the table. Above all, don’t let your eagerness show. Jumping up, drooling, or loud moans of hunger can result in being “put out.” Pay attention. Is there one particularly messy eater? (Babies fit into this category.) If so, align yourself beside this person and wait for fallout. If someone looks at you with a smile, go directly to that person and assume the position—sitting up on hind legs. The longer you can balance on your hind legs, the bigger the payoff.
CHAPTER 10
Bo versus Bank Robber
Bus stop.
I love school lunches!
I find them after the school bus leaves. They’re in brown paper bags left on the sidewalk. My favorite school lunch is a bologna sandwich and a Twinkie.
Today I was on my way home from the bus stop, and I cut through a back yard. A man was getting out of the car. He put something on the ground and leaned back into the car to talk on one of those things people talk on.
I saw what he had put on the ground—a large school lunch! There was writing on the bag, but I can’t read people writing.
I grabbed it and took off. He yelled and took off after me.
I know neighborhood shortcuts, so I went through hedges, and he had to go around. I got home and went in my dog door. A person I live with named Sissy was getting ready to cook something.
She stopped me and said, “Bad dog. What have you got now? Give me that.”
I had worked hard for this school lunch, and I wasn’t about to give it up. But she pressed a certain spot on my neck and my mouth opened. It didn’t want to open, but it had to. I hate when they do this. Half the time they do it and then put something round in your mouth and make you swallow it. Your throat does not want to swallow it, but it has to.
She opened the bag and yelled, “Mom!” Mom is another person I live with.
Sissy and Mom met in the hall, and Sissy showed her the bag. I wanted to say, “Hey! It’s my school lunch.”
Mom read the bag aloud, “I have a gun. Put the money in the bag.”
Apparently the bag was full of money, a lot of it, and Sissy wanted them to split it, and Mom said that wouldn’t be right. And Sissy said something else, and Mom said something about robbers or drug dealers, and then there was a knock on the back door. A voice said, “I want my bag.” Usually I run to the back door and bark when somebody knocks, but this time I didn’t.
Sissy and Mom looked at each other, dropped the bag, and ran into a bedroom and locked the door.
What about me?
I grabbed the bag, went into the other bedroom, and hid under the bed. Because, sure, there was money in the bag, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a bologna sandwich along with it.
There was a terrible noise. The man was beating on the back door and shaking the door and finally kicking down the door and coming in the house. Usually I would be doing what they call “barking my head off” at this, but I didn’t.
The man came down the hall and kicked in the bedroom door. I heard Sissy and Mom scream and then there was some talk and Sissy called, “Bo, come here, Bo,” in a voice that was higher than usual. I didn’t come.
Then mom sang out, “Bo! Bo! Din-ner!”
And I came.
Sometimes I act like I don’t have any sense at all. I ran into the kitchen to my bowl, but it was empty. A trick. I still had the bag in my mouth, so I went out my dog door and kept running.
I paused at the hedge and saw the man come out, followed by Sissy and Mom. The man had a gun in his hand. I’ve seen those on TV. And he pointed it at me! At me!
Sissy cried, “Oh, no, don’t you shoot my Bo.” And she hit him with a weapon of her own—the frying pan. She had managed to hold on to that throughout everything.
The man fell down, and at that moment, two men in uniform came around the house. It was the police. Mom had called them while she and Sissy were hiding in the bedroom.
The police took the man and the money. And Sissy and Mom and I went back into the house. I got my picture in the newspaper—there’s something about a dog catching a bank robber that people enjoy. I also got a T-bone steak.
A T-bone steak is something you never get in a school lunch, so everything worked out fine.
CHAPTER 11
Jip: The Long Way Home
Virginia, 1864
Read by Professor Bassett
THIS WAS THE DAY WE LEFT OAK FALLS.
Me and Jim Jr. were going to war. I didn’t know exactly what war was, but I knew it was something serious and that Jim Jr. might need me.
We were in the yard, ready to leave. Jim Jr.’s mother
hugged him so tight that she felt my body, which was inside his coat. She drew back.
“Junior! You aren’t taking Jip with you,” she said.
“Jip wants to go, don’t you, boy?” He opened the top of his coat, and I looked out. Deep inside the coat my tail wagged in agreement. Jim Jr. said, “We’ll take care of each other, Mama.”
“See that you do,” she said. She pointed her finger at me. “You’re too young to go to war.” Then she pointed at her son. “And so are you.”
“Mama, I’m almost eighteen.”
They hugged again. Big Jim hugged him too and said, “Farewell, son.”
Now that I’d been discovered, there was no point in hiding in the coat, so he set me on the ground and we started up the road.
At the bend in the road, Jim Jr. looked back at the farm. It was like he had to take the farm away with him, like it was the last time he’d ever see it.
“Farewell,” he said quietly, and we continued on our way.
THIS WAS THE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE.
Now I knew what war was. It was terrible noises and smells and cries of pain and pleas for help. I stayed with Jim the best I could. Late in the day he fell down hard, and I hid under his coat until it was over. His hand lay on my head. From time to time, he would moan and his hand would wander, but I found it every time and wiggled under it.
When dawn broke, he said, “Jip?” in a weak way. Then, louder, “Jip!” I crawled out and lay my head on his shoulder. “Is it night?” he asked.
He didn’t say anything more. After a bit, two men came, looked him over, and picked him up, one at his shoulders, one at his legs. I followed them to a tent. They stopped me from going inside. I don’t know how long this went on.
THIS WAS THE DAY WE STARTED HOME.
Dog Diaries Page 2
