by Joan Carris
“I am a bad dog,” Sir Walter whimpered. “I helped them dig so we could all run away and be wild. But I hate being wild!” Again he howled.
Ernest snuffled at Sir Walter’s paws, which were torn and bleeding. “Did you do this to your feet running in the woods?” he asked gently.
“Yes. They kept running and hiding from me!” Sir Walter sat up. “They snapped at me! They said I was just a dog and should go home. Just a dog, they said.”
“And then they ran off, and you couldn’t follow because your paws hurt too much. Am I right?”
“AwooOOO,” went Sir Walter, awash in misery.
“Well, now, a dog is a fine thing to be,” Ernest said, thinking that the puppy’s mother would have told him that had she been alive. “Those foxes are just . . . just foxes,” he finished, realizing that that was true. “They are who they are.”
“Laddie!” cried Grampa, rushing into the clearing. He picked up Sir Walter and hugged him. He rubbed noses, tousled the puppy’s matted hair, and cried a few happy tears. “Poor wee bairn,” Grampa said. “Let’s go home and bandage those paws. I’ll bet you’re hungry, too.”
Ernest’s snout led them back to the Bed and Biscuit. Grampa carried the “braw wee laddie,” as he kept calling him. Gabby rode on Ernest’s head, of course, and Milly stalked beside him.
“Leave it to a dog,” Milly said. “Causes all this fuss, scares us us to death, and he’s the one who gets carried home.”
Ernest told her and Gabby what Sir Walter had said about being a bad dog. “He made a big mistake, but he knows now. He has a good heart,” Ernest insisted.
Hours later, Ernest stretched out on his blankets, his stomach nicely full.
Grampa was bathing the puppy in the kitchen sink. He toweled him vigorously, then turned a blow-dryer on him. Sir Walter yipped and howled the entire time.
“Oh, hush,” Grampa said. He brushed the puppy’s black hair until it shone, then slathered disinfectant on his paws and wrapped them in strips of clean sheeting. By the time Grampa tucked him into his basket, Sir Walter was totally worn out.
“Sleep well, wee laddie,” Grampa said, stroking Sir Walter’s head. “And no more running off. Old guys like me can’t take too much excitement.”
WHEN RORY CROWED the next morning, only the puppy moved. “Going outside,” he told Ernest and Gabby, “and I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Hmmm, Ernest thought. What a good, polite puppy. I wonder how long that will last.
In less than a minute, Sir Walter crept back into his basket, nosed his blanket into place, and went to sleep again. He was still sleeping when Grampa and Ernest went out to milk the cows.
After morning chores, Grampa phoned Terry at the wildlife shelter. “I know it’s a Saturday, but is there any chance you could bring the van today? I have enough antibiotic in our goose that we could safely take him home.”
Terry agreed, and Grampa phoned AnnaLee. “I hope you can come with us,” he said. “We’re taking the goose back. Pick you up in about an hour?”
By ten o’clock, Terry and the van were at the Bed and Biscuit. “I brought the county map, Doc. The pond’s way down here, see? Sequoyah Pond.”
On their way to the goose’s pen, Ernest broke into a trot. Over his shoulder he threw a message to the muskrat. “See? Today we’re taking the goose home. Your turn next!”
The muskrat blinked his nearsighted eyes at the group going by, gave a satisfied muskrat “Rrrumph,” and went back into his straw nest.
Oinking with excitement, Ernest stopped at the goose’s pen.
“Ahhnnnk?” went Zeus, his head swiveling left, then right, then left again. “Ahhnnnk!”
“Ho-o-o-me, home on the pon-n-n-d,” Gabby trilled as Grampa halted a wheelbarrow next to the goose’s cage.
Now he looked like a real Canada goose. Wings extended to their fullest, head high, Zeus flapped and flapped and trumpeted, “Ahhnnnnnk!”
When Zeus quit celebrating, Grampa surprised him with a soft black hood for his head and wrapping around his wings. “I’m returning you in good shape if it’s the last thing I do,” he said, grunting as he and Terry maneuvered the goose into his cage. They carefully lifted the cage into the wheelbarrow, and then into the van.
Grampa placed a blanket in the large, built-in cage inside the van. There he put Ernest, Gabby, Milly, and Sir Walter, where they would be safe in case of an accident. The van had two smaller built-in cages, empty today, and Zeus in his own cage, of course. Like any hooded bird, Zeus was calm and quiet. Grampa joined Terry in the cab, and they were off.
Only a mile down the road, AnnaLee waited at the head of her lane. She was doing jumping jacks as they pulled up.
“You have to ride with the critters,” Grampa told her. “Only room for two in this cab.”
On the way to Sequoyah Pond, AnnaLee reached her fingers through the cage to pet Ernest and Milly, then Gabby and Sir Walter, who couldn’t seem to stop barking.
“Shhh,” begged AnnaLee. “That’s enough barking.”
“What did I tell you?” said Ernest, looming over the puppy.
“But . . .”
“Please,” said Ernest, thinking how glad he was to be returning this wild bird to his home. Now maybe Grampa would have more time to train Sir Walter. A dog was clearly difficult to train, and Ernest wasn’t sure he was up to it.
By this time, the movement of the van had begun to lull everyone except Ernest to sleep. Ernest went to work on the song about his brain.
“Oh, I am a lucky, a very fine,
Plucky young pig!
I can think, I can ponder,
My mind does not wander,
For I have a brain and it’s big.
I’m a pig!”
Most satisfactory so far, Ernest thought as the van ran smoothly down the road. He concentrated until he could add the final lines:
“I’ll sing loud in the wind
And rejoice in the rain
For my dependable,
Never expendable,
My dependable brain!”
The van stopped. AnnaLee unlatched the back door and helped everyone except the goose onto the grass. “Ooh, what an awesome place!” she exclaimed.
There on the banks of Sequoyah Pond, tall, brown grasses rustled in the fall breeze. Slender, dark green firs and plump evergreens rimmed the pond, with the occasional golden-leaf willow reflected in the water’s glassy surface.
“Sizable pond,” Terry said.
“Gorgeous place,” said Grampa. “Must be spring fed to have water this clear. And look! See those geese over on the far side?”
“Let’s get Zeus, Doc,” said AnnaLee.
The men hefted the goose’s cage out of the van and lugged it over to the bank. Zeus racketed around inside his cage and trumpeted “Ahhnnnnk!”
Answering cries came from across the pond.
“AHHNNNNNK!” screamed Zeus as Grampa and Terry worked to free him from the restraining bands.
Last, Grampa snatched the black hood from his head.
Zeus charged down the sloping bank, calling at the top of his voice.
AnnaLee pointed across the pond. “See that smaller goose? I think she’s trying to come over here! Well, she would if those big dummies would get out of her way!”
Everyone watched as one goose tried to paddle away from the group. Two large males swam in front of her and around her, heading her off.
The smaller goose gave a piercing cry and lifted off the water, flapping strongly toward Zeus and Grampa’s family on the bank.
Zeus tried to lift off and could not. He lurched awkwardly forward, splashing water for several steps before his wings began working properly, allowing him to take off in ragged flight. All the while he called in a piteous voice.
The two geese met in the air, and Zeus flew one joyous circle around his mate. Together they settled on the water, close to Grampa and his family.
Now Zeus caressed his mate, crooning to her as she s
troked him with her bill and sang low goose songs.
Tears ran down AnnaLee’s face. Grampa and Terry swiped at the moisture on their faces and smiled at each other, wordless.
The three people and four animals beside the pond remained still until Zeus and his mate swam away, around a curve in the bank and out of sight.
“He didn’t even look back,” Milly said to Ernest.
“He’s happy now,” Sir Walter said. “Wild, like the foxes.”
“He’s home,” Ernest said.
Grampa gave a gentle yank on AnnaLee’s ponytail. “Maybe now we can get back to what we know, you think?”
AnnaLee giggled and patted him on the shoulder.
“Doc, I can’t thank you enough,” Terry said. “Just quit worrying about those fox kits. They’ll most likely be fine. I’ll be over to get Old Man Musky in a week or so.”
“No rush,” Grampa replied. “That muskrat is eating like a horse. Ernest keeps him company, don’t you, Ernest?”
“Wrunk,” said Ernest, rubbing against Grampa’s leg. Ernest was eager to go home, where he could sing his new song to himself in the shower. Since he’d gotten to know the wild things, he had realized just how much he loved his home. And his family, of course.
Grampa picked up Milly and Gabby — the cat for his arms, the bird for his shoulder. To Ernest and Sir Walter he said, “Let’s go, troops.”
AnnaLee smiled. “A good day’s work, like my dad says.”
“All days with animals are good days,” said Grampa.
In this book, the story of Zeus is closely modeled on fact. Years ago a wild Canada goose was found in my county with an arrow lodged in his neck. Our local North Carolina wildlife shelter cared for him and returned him safely to his home waters, where his mate was waiting.
Wild Canada geese live everywhere in North America, not just in Canada. These big birds congregate anywhere that offers open water and nearby trees or shrubs. Like deer, they have learned to share their habitat with people.
Adult Canada geese are impressive, with wingspans of up to six feet. Like most waterfowl, they eat aquatic plants, roots, young sprouts, and grass. Their bills have lamellae (teeth) around the outside edges that the geese use as cutting tools. Canada geese live in families, like wolves, and typically mate for life. If one mate dies, the other mourns, often for the rest of its life. If the geese decide to migrate, they travel as families with the youngsters born that year.
The red fox belongs to the canine family, which includes wolves, coyotes, and dogs. Like others in this family, red foxes can run long distances on their long legs. They use their powerful jaws for holding and killing prey and their tough claws for digging and scratching.
The adaptable red fox, as well as the gray fox, has always flourished in woods and open country — all over the world — but they now live in suburbs and even in cities. If foxes know you can see them, they’ll run away.
A vixen (adult female fox) and dog (adult male fox) can have anywhere from one to fifteen pups, or kits, who are born in the springtime with their eyes closed, like other canines. The dog fox brings food to his mate’s den as she nurses their young, but he does not enter the den.
By the end of autumn, the kits need to be trained as good hunters, because each fox spends the winter alone. They are solitary animals and do not form packs the way wolves do. Even so, they enjoy communicating with their tails (a fox’s “brush”) and a variety of sounds. Foxes are beautiful, curious, smarter than dogs, and determined as all get-out.
The muskrat was named for its strong, musky odor, which is secreted from a gland near its tail.
The muskrat’s heavy fur consists of underhair that repels water and dark brown, outer “guard hairs,” which are also quite waterproof. They weigh about four pounds — only half the weight of a skinny house cat — but are more than two feet long, including their long, flat tails. This tail acts as the muskrat’s rudder in the water, where muskrats swim forward and backward equally well.
Muskrats prefer marshy areas and are sometimes called marsh rabbits. Blind at birth like many mammals, the babies swim after only ten days and eat plants at three weeks of age. At a mere thirty days, these youngsters are on their own and will live about three years in the wild. In captivity, they can live ten years.
Although muskrats have weak senses of sight, hearing, and smell, they communicate well using a variety of squeaks and squeals. They are known as crepuscular animals, moving about only at dusk and dawn, good times for camouflage. Most interesting of all, muskrats have the ability to keep their bodies toasty warm while letting their feet and tails remain cool. This trait is called regional heterothermia (hetero meaning “several,” and therm meaning “heat”).
Paperback ISBN 978-0-7636-4621-9
Also available as an e-book and in audio
Hardcover ISBN 978-0-7636-4306-5
Paperback ISBN 978-0-7636-5849-6
Also available in audio
www.candlewick.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2009 by Joan Carris
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Noah Z. Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First electronic edition 2014
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Carris, Joan Davenport.
Wild Times at the Bed and Biscuit / Joan Carris ; illustrated by Noah Z. Jones. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Dr. Adam Bender, the veterinarian at the Bed and Biscuit, accepts four sick animals from the wildlife shelter for treatment and tries to make them feel at home, with the help of the domestic animals already there.
ISBN 978-0-7636-3705-7 (hardcover)
[1. Veterinarians — Fiction. 2. Animals — Fiction. 3. Domestic animals — Fiction. 4. Wildlife rescue — Fiction.] I. Jones, Noah (Noah Z.) ill. II. Title.
PZ7.C2347Wil 2009
[E] — dc22 2008938398
ISBN 978-0-7636-5294-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-7636-7429-8 (electronic)
The illustrations were done in pencil and watercolor.
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