Webster

by Ellen Emerson White

  The cat looked at him tremulously. “But—they weren’t fully weaned yet. Are you sure they’re okay?”

  “Yep,” he said. “The vet came over and checked them yesterday afternoon, and the people who run the place stayed up all night, feeding them out of baby bottles and keeping them warm on heating pads and all.”

  Now, the cat looked stunned. “I don’t understand. You mean, there are good people in the world?”

  Amazingly enough, the answer seemed to be yes. He’d met quite a few of them recently. “Yep,” he said. “And I’m going to bring you there, too.”

  The cat started crying again, and he stood there awkwardly, waiting for the gushing tears to pass.

  “Is it okay if my friends come out of the woods, so we can figure out the best way to do this?” he asked.

  The cat nodded, still weeping.

  Whew. He would feel a lot better with some—well—buddies to help out. He turned towards the bushes.

  “Come on!” he called softly.

  The other dogs—his team—burst out of the underbrush and raced across the lawn, and watching them made the Bad Hat feel proud. MacNulty and Rachel were in the lead, with Lancelot and Matilda right behind them, while Duke strode in his dignified way through the weeds, and Jack chased after everyone, trying to keep up.

  The cat cringed slightly. “That’s a lot of dogs,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay,” the Bad Hat said. “They’re my friends, and you’re going to like them.”

  The dogs gathered in a semicircle around the porch, and everyone barked at once, asking questions and tossing out ideas.

  “Cool it,” the Bad Hat said in a low voice. “That television in there isn’t that loud.”

  The other dogs simmered down a little, but they were still all excited, and anxious, and bumping into each other.

  “What do we do?” MacNulty asked. “Do we herd her?”

  “I don’t think I can walk,” the cat said weakly. “I haven’t had any food for a while, and it’s hard to stand up.”

  The Bad Hat shouldn’t have been shocked that people who would discard kittens wouldn’t feed their poor mother—even though she was presumably their pet. “Can you ride on my back?” he asked. “That’s how I carried the kittens.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to hang on.”

  And she was kind of heavy and unwieldy, too, so it would be hard for him to balance her up there. But, they had to do something.

  “What do we do, if she can’t walk, and we can’t carry her?” he asked the other dogs.

  They all looked at each other, and shrugged, and started panting nervously.

  The Bad Hat sat down, and panted, too.

  And panted some more.

  “We need a branch,” Matilda said. “We could use it to drag her. Come on!”

  The dogs followed her across the street, and into a small vacant lot, which was covered with trees and bushes and lots of weeds and tall grass.

  “It needs to have leaves,” Matilda said. “Or a lot of smaller branches. So, she can lie down on it.”

  “A pine tree!” Rachel said. “That’ll be perfect!”

  They prowled around the lot until they found a pine tree with branches that were low enough for most of them to reach. The Bad Hat tried to tear one off with his teeth, but the wood was too thick. So, he started chewing the wood, even though the sap was sticky and tasted awful. But, it was taking a long time, and he got impatient.

  “This isn’t working,” he said. “Let’s find a different tree.”

  “No, just break it off,” Jack said. “Like this!” He hopped up onto the end of the branch and began jumping up and down. Unfortunately, he was so small that the branch boomeranged back at him and sent him flying through the air. “Oof!” he grunted, when he landed on the ground.

  “Pipsqueak’s right, though,” MacNulty said. “Bad Hat, you and Duke are the biggest—so, you jump on it, until it breaks.”

  Duke looked at them all blankly. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s okay,” the Bad Hat said. “Just do what I do.”

  The Bad Hat started jumping on the branch, putting all of his weight on his front paws, and Duke cautiously did the same. It took several tries, but finally they pried it off the tree.

  “All right!” the Bad Hat said.

  “All right!” Duke said, less certainly.

  The Bad Hat grabbed the long end in his teeth, and dragged the branch across the street and over to the porch. The other dogs followed him, yapping happily to each other about how totally awesome this idea was.

  But, when they got to the porch, the cat frowned. “That looks like a dog idea, not a practical plan,” she said.

  Maybe she was feeling a little better, because for the first time, she sounded like a cat.

  “It’s going to be like a stretcher,” Matilda said. “You need to lie on the soft part, and we’ll pull it along, and get you to the rescue farm.”

  “I don’t know if it will work,” the cat said doubtfully.

  The one reliable thing about cats was that they really liked to be difficult, especially when it was inconvenient. “If you have a better idea, we’re all ears,” the Bad Hat said.

  She didn’t answer for a while, and then she shook her head.

  “Are you strong enough to crawl out here, and get on it?” he asked. “Or do you need us to pull you?”

  The cat shook her head. “I’ll make myself strong enough,” she said.

  It took a long time, and it was hard to watch her move so painfully, but finally, she had dragged herself out from underneath the porch and onto the branches.

  “I’m Clarabelle, by the way,” she said.

  Oh. Right. Because he was such a Bad Hat, he usually forgot about pleasantries. “That’s Jack, and MacNulty, and Rachel, and Lancelot, and Matilda, and Duke. And I’m Webster,” the dog said. “But, they call me the Bad Hat.”

  Clarabelle looked at him dubiously. “Do you like that name? It seems unsavory.”

  Maybe, but he still liked it very much. He nodded. “Yup. We’ll try to pull the branch gently, but you need to hang on as best as you can.”

  He and Duke had just started to pull her down the driveway, when something terrible happened.

  The front door of the house opened!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hey!” A lady yelled. She was a large, heavyset woman, who was wearing torn jeans and a stained flannel shirt and looked like she hadn’t washed her hair for a week. “Get out of here, you rotten curs!”

  Curs?

  The Bad Hat didn’t realize that she was holding a beer bottle until the lady threw it at them. The bottle hit him right in the side, and he yelped.

  “Run,” the mother cat gasped. “She’ll hurt you. Or her awful husband will come out, and he’ll do something even worse. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine here.”

  Nope. No way. Not one single, tiny chance in the world. The Bad Hat carefully dropped his end of the branch on the ground so that Clarabelle wouldn’t fall off.

  “Come on, team,” he said. “Let’s take care of this varmint!” Then he swaggered up the driveway, with his best cowboy strut, feeling all of the hair on his back rise.

  The rest of the dogs were right behind him, although Jack was hopping and Rachel was racing, while MacNulty veered back and forth, and the others moved forward in their breed-specific gaits.

  “Get out of here!” the woman yelled, but she sounded a little scared.

  Yep. She should be afraid.

  The Bad Hat kept advancing slowly—ever so slowly, making his eyes as fierce and ominous as possible. He wasn’t going to growl, unless he had no choice, but he didn’t mind looking really scary.

  “We can’t bite anyone,” Duke said urgently. “Biting is bad!”

  “We’re just acting scary,” the Bad Hat said.

  Duke shook his head. “I don’t like it. It seems mean.”

  The Bad Hat stopped swagger
ing long enough to stare at him. “You’re a police dog, man. We’re taking control of the scene, to prevent injuries to any innocent bystanders, and then, we’ll evacuate the casualty.”

  Duke’s expression relaxed. “Okay. I can do that.”

  So, the dogs kept advancing down the driveway.

  “You better not come near me!” the woman said, still cowering on the porch.

  The Bad Hat moved even more slowly, never taking his eyes off the woman. Then, he raised his lips, the way Matthew always did, showing her that he had a whole lot of teeth. Big teeth. Sharp teeth.

  “No biting!” Duke said.

  Fine, whatever. “Then, smile at her,” the Bad Hat said. “A big, pretty smile that shows all of your teeth.”

  “Of course,” Duke said happily, and beamed at everyone.

  The woman hesitated, and the Bad Hat knew that this was the moment when things were either going to get really bad, really fast—or when the woman was going to retreat, like the animal-hating coward that she was.

  Maybe ten seconds of utter stillness passed, but it felt like ten hours.

  Time to raise the stakes a tiny bit. So, the Bad Hat scraped one paw across the dirt, exactly the way angry bulls did, when they were warning that they were about to charge. Then, he crouched a little, as though he was on the verge of attacking, but he held his position, waiting for the woman’s reaction.

  “Hey, I could care less what happens to that stupid cat,” the lady said gruffly. “Kill it, for all I care. I’m going inside to call Animal Control.” She turned around, went—quickly—inside her house, and slammed the door.

  The Bad Hat was so relieved that he thought his legs might collapse, but the lady might go inside and get brave—or find a weapon, and there was no time to waste.

  “Grab onto the branch with me,” he said to MacNulty. “And hang on tight,” he said to Clarabelle. “We’re getting out of here, as fast as we can.”

  But, before they even had a chance to take a step, the door flew open again and a burly man with a thick brown beard came lumbering outside.

  The Bad Hat’s heart sank when he saw that the man was holding a glass bottle in one hand, and a large wooden baseball bat in the other hand.

  If the Bad Hat had been by himself, he wouldn’t have been worried, because he could easily outrun this guy. But, how were they going to protect a cat who couldn’t even sit up all the way, forget run?

  “Leave me behind,” Clarabelle pleaded. “I’m okay, now that I know my babies are in a good place. I don’t mind staying here.”

  The Bad Hat paid no attention to that. Either they were all going to get away from these awful people—or none of them were.

  “Smile at him, Duke,” he said. “The biggest smile you have!”

  Duke grinned merrily—and the man gasped in fear.

  “Keep smiling,” the Bad Hat said. “The rest of you, follow me!” He took a deep breath, lowered his head, and charged towards the man full force, with the rest of the dogs only steps behind him.

  “Yeah, come get it!” the guy yelled, like some crazy thug from a bad movie.

  The Bad Hat knew that he was going to swing the baseball bat at them—and he was prepared for that. Just as the man drew his arm back, the Bad Hat leaped into the air, and caught the handle of the bat in his teeth. He wrenched it out of the guy’s hand, and continued right past him. In fact, he had so much momentum, that he actually banged into the side of the house—which hurt. But, he landed effortlessly and spun around to look at the man, still gripping the bat in his teeth.

  “Home run!” Jack said, and laughed.

  The man threw his beer bottle, and it shattered against the wooden floor of the porch. The Bad Hat instantly closed his eyes, as glass sprayed all around him and—yuck—beer splashed everywhere, too.

  “Everyone okay?” he yelled, not opening his eyes yet.

  As they all yelled that they were fine, the Bad Hat jumped over the porch railing, with the bat still in his mouth. He landed quite hard on the sparse grass, and then whirled around to face the man, looking as threatening as he knew how to look.

  Which was, all things considered, impressively threatening.

  The man’s eyes widened, as though he was dense enough to think that a dog was actually capable of swinging a baseball bat and doing some damage. Instead, the Bad Hat dropped it, and raced over to the tree branch in the driveway.

  “Hang on!” he told the cat. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”

  Clarabelle dug her claws into the branches, gripping them as well as she could, and the Bad Hat and MacNulty grabbed the end and tugged with all of their might. As they ran down the driveway, dragging the makeshift litter, the man stormed down the front steps. He tried to catch up with them, but Jack and Matilda darted underneath his feet, and the man tripped and fell heavily.

  “Keep running!” Matilda yelled, as she squirmed out from underneath the man. “We’ll catch up.”

  “Yeah, hurry!” Jack said. “We’ll be right there!”

  The Bad Hat and MacNulty didn’t hesitate, dragging the branch as quickly as they could, and trying to get as far away from the house as possible.

  “What do I do?” Duke asked.

  “Just keep smiling, dude,” Lancelot said. “And run along with us.”

  Duke nodded seriously. “Okay. I can do that.”

  So, the dogs all raced down the driveway, and away from the house.

  “Yeah, go!” the man shouted, between raspy coughs. “See if I care!” Then, he hurled the baseball bat after them.

  The dogs kept running, and the bat clattered harmlessly onto the ground. The Bad Hat was able to feel from the weight of the branch that Clarabelle was still with them. If the guy started chasing them again, or—worse—got in his stupid truck, and drove after them, it was going to be—no, he couldn’t worry about that. He had to concentrate on escaping.

  So, he did. They ran up one street, down another, around a corner, and down another street.

  When MacNulty saw a path in the woods, he veered to the right and hauled the branch over there. “Come this way!” he yelled.

  That was a good idea, so the Bad Hat helped him steer the branch in that direction. That way, they would be out of sight, and could rest for a minute, and maybe have time to stop being terrified.

  Clarabelle lay on the branches, gasping, and the Bad Hat and MacNulty leaned against a tree, panting. The rest of the dogs gathered nearby, also panting.

  “My mouth is tired,” Duke said. “Can I stop smiling for a minute?”

  The Bad Hat had to laugh. “Sure. At ease, Duke.”

  “Whew,” Duke said, and let his mouth relax.

  “You all right?” the Bad Hat asked Clarabelle, who nodded feebly.

  In his opinion, she didn’t sound—or look—so good, but okay, he would take her word for it.

  “We’ll try not to let any people see us,” he said, “and we’re going to cover you with some leaves, so that if they do see anything, we’ll just look like some wacky dogs playing with a tree limb.”

  Clarabelle nodded.

  Good. Cats could be pretty cooperative, when they were tired.

  Lancelot and Jack and Matilda enthusiastically tore up grass and flowers, and dropped them on Clarabelle, while Rachel gathered some leaves and dropped them on top of her, too.

  “Don’t suffocate her,” MacNulty said. “That’s like, a lot of vegetation.”

  At least, though, it wasn’t going to be obvious that they were transporting an ill cat.

  It was going to be a long, hot walk to the rescue farm. Their feline passenger was so weak from starvation and thirst, that she even lost consciousness at one point, but there wasn’t much they could do about that. Joan and Thomas and Dr. K. would be able to deal with it, the Bad Hat assumed. He hoped so, anyway.

  The end of the stick had some sharp splinters that cut into his gums, but he couldn’t think of a solution for that, either. He just put one foot in front of the other,
and walked with his head down to save energy. Sometimes, he switched off with Duke or Lancelot or Rachel, and MacNulty took a few breaks, too.

  Several civilians noticed them, and took the usual cell phone photos, or said things like, “Look, there goes Wandering Webster with some dogs and a big stick!” So far, the leaf camouflage seemed to be working. One woman tried to approach them, but the Bad Hat just stopped and gave her a dead-eyed don’t mess with us look, and she didn’t come any closer.

  “You’re wicked scary,” MacNulty said.

  “Yeah, and don’t you forget it,” the Bad Hat said.

  Duke looked worried. “Please smile. It’s important that dogs should always smile.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. “I’ll try,” the Bad Hat said. “Want to take a turn with the branch?”

  “Certainly,” Duke said. “Hang on there, miss,” he said to Clarabelle. “We’ll be home in no time.”

  Home. They were going home. It was bizarre to think of it that way, but the Green Meadows Farm was their home. And, yeah, the Bad Hat liked it there. He hadn’t known that it mattered to have friends, and be involved in their lives, and share things with them, but now, he had learned that it did. In fact, it mattered a lot. Even a notoriously aloof Bad Hat—so famous that he had his own Facebook page and was a media sensation—needed to have companionship. No, he didn’t know what was going to happen, or how his life was going to turn out—but, for the first time, he didn’t feel dread. He maybe even felt—well—optimistic.

  Which was completely unfamiliar—but, undeniably nice.

  “I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” Clarabelle whispered.

  “Happy to do it, ma’am,” the Bad Hat said, in his best cowboy voice. “You just sit tight.”

  Clarabelle nodded, and let her eyes close again.

  The dogs walked slowly, and steadily, down the road, pulling the branch along behind them. One paw, after the other. Clarabelle was pretty heavy, and they had to stop to rest a couple of times. But then, the dogs would get up, and start trudging forward again.

  When they got to Green Meadows Farm, they all stopped for a minute, to admire the view.