The enraged beast dove too, right into the flap where Paco had disappeared. But being big and clumsy, the werewolf didn’t fit through the doggy door. He got stuck, good and stuck.
Wedged in tight, his head and shoulders on one side of the door and his body on the other, the werewolf was trapped. The great monster was unable to get free.
That’s when the herd of deer took action. They kicked at the huge pile of pipes. The pipes started to roll down toward the werewolf. Smack. Whack. Smack. The pipes began to roll faster toward the werewolf.
The deer sprang out of danger and were safe.
The werewolf was trapped and was not.
Like the walls of Jericho, the piles of pipes came tumbling down. The great lycanthrope—that terrible monster, that ugly werewolf—was no more.
Paco watched. He cheered. He yelled, “Muchas gracias, mis amigos!”
But the deer and the hornets were already gone, melting away into the soft gray of evening.
Now, Paco needed to find his way back to the road. He needed to find his cats and get away from this place of broken things. He needed to return to where everything was whole and good and filled with love. He needed to go home.
Toward the end of the crooked path, toward the white way of the rocky road, toward the tunnel of trees, Paco ran. And there, at the bottom of the tall tree where they had perched on the very smallest branch at the tip-top, sat Little Annie and Norma-Jean.
Paco skidded to a halt. His pink tongue hung out. His breath was short. “I told you”—puff, puff—“to run!”
“We know,” they said together. “But we were waiting to see if you needed to be rescued.”
“Rescued? Me?” Paco sputtered between puffs. “I just rescued you!”
“We know. But we waited, just in case. Sometimes your plans don’t always work out the way they should.”
“They did this time, though,” Norma-Jean added with a smile. “So let’s go home!”
With a cat on either side to guide him through the murky dimness of the tunnel of trees, Paco trotted down the road. He was tired now and trying not to think of the long journey that stretched ahead. He and the cats did have very short legs. The way home would take them a very long time.
Except that, as it turned out, this time it wouldn’t.
Once the two cats and the little dog came through the tunnel of trees into the light, they saw a welcome sight. Natasha and B-Boy were coming back up the road to look for them.
“I told you to run!” Paco called out, a little exasperated because nobody listened to him, but awfully happy to see his friends.
“We did,” Natasha said. “When you didn’t follow, we came back. Friends don’t leave friends in trouble. You showed me that. So climb on.” And she knelt down on the white stone road.
“Us too?” asked Norma-Jean and Little Annie.
“Why, yes! You saved my life. You’re not much bigger than Paco. Even with four friends on my back, I can run like the wind.”
So two cats and two dogs got on Natasha’s back. They clung tightly to her fur. Then she began to race down Mount Diablo toward the ribbon of white highway stretching southward toward town. Yet when Natasha reached the fork in the road, where the west road went west and the east one they were on met it, she slowed. Her ears perked up. She stopped.
“What’s wrong?” asked B-Boy, who rode up front and could see best.
“The highway is straight ahead,” Paco called from the back.
“I hear something. Shhhh,” Natasha said.
Eight ears perked up and listened too.
“I hear it!” said B-Boy.
“Me too,” said Paco.
“Us too,” chorused Little Annie and Norma-Jean.
With a bark of joy, Natasha left the fork in the road. She didn’t go straight ahead toward the interstate, but dashed right for a paved hiking path Paco had never seen before.
As she barked loudly, nonstop, Natasha’s long hound legs ate up the ground with ease. Her golden coat streamed out behind her. Her passengers hung on for dear life. And the Afghan hound ran like the wind.
Not very far away on that very path, but too far off to hear a dog barking, Olivia was saying, “It’s really late. Natasha isn’t coming. We need to go. I’m sorry, Victoria.”
With a heart of stone, Victoria lowered her megaphone. “I know.” Her tears rolled down, leaving wet streaks on her cheeks, which were no longer pink as cherries. They were pale and white and smudged with dirt.
Sad and weary, the children went to their bikes, picked them up, and turned them toward home. They were just about to push off, when a small gray bird with a black cap on her head screamed fee beee, fee beee.
Suddenly, the four skunks, who had been sitting on the path toward the mountain, now appeared as if by magic on the path toward home. They didn’t have their tails up. They didn’t hiss or growl. They just stood there.
“What’s going on?” Tommy asked out loud.
“It’s another bad omen!” moaned Sandy, not remembering that some omens are good ones.
“No!” insisted Olivia. “They’re trying to tell us something.”
At that very moment, with folded wings and a rush of air, the chickadee swooped down, skimmed across the top of Victoria’s long hair, and picked up a strand in her beak. She tugged.
“Ow! Stop that,” cried Victoria.
“Turn around,” Olivia yelled at her friend. “She’s trying to turn you around.”
So Victoria did, and the bird let go. From off in the distance she heard a familiar sound. A bark. Then another. And another.
“Natasha!” she screamed. She dropped her bike to the ground and raced up the path. The other children put down their bikes and began to follow, although they didn’t catch up right away. The little girl ran so quickly her feet barely touched the ground.
Suddenly, right there in front of them all, coming around a bend was a golden dog, barking madly with a wild joy and rushing into Victoria’s open arms. The little girl grasped her beloved dog’s neck and buried her face in the huge hound’s fur. They stayed there together not moving, Natasha still barking, and Victoria still crying, but crying tears of happiness this time.
In a moment, the other children were there too, with Tommy Thompson out in front, as usual.
He couldn’t believe what he saw.
“B-Boy? B-Boy! What you doing here?” He snatched the Jack Russell from Natasha’s back and held him up. “It is you, isn’t it?”
B-Boy barked yes because it was him, of course.
Then Sandy and Olivia skidded to a halt next to Tommy. Olivia’s eyes grew huge and wide. “Paco? Little Annie? Norma-Jean? All my animals are here too.” Her mind couldn’t make sense of what her eyes saw. “I—I—can’t understand this. What’s going on?”
It was then that Victoria raised her head from the fur of Natasha’s neck and turned to them. She smiled a lovely smile, one that Olivia would never forget.
“I know what’s going on. The animals went looking for Natasha. They found her, you see. And brought her back to me. She needed their help, and they gave it. That’s what friends do. That’s what you have done for me.”
Bright sun sparkled on blue pool water as Paco unrolled his beach towel next to Coco’s. It was Saturday. He and Olivia were at Sandy’s for a play date. He plopped himself down next to the chocolate Lab.
Coco had a contented smile on her face. Her white funnel collar was gone. She wore her World’s Greatest Dog medal with pride. Her leg felt much better. The stitches were coming out on Monday. She yawned a big yawn. She turned toward her friend.
Paco looked simply smashing. While all the dogs and the two cats snoozed through the day before, worn out by their great adventure, Olivia had gone to the mall. She’d bought a yellow French terry hoodie for Paco that said on its back, “My dog is a
n angel.”
Coco admired Paco’s new shirt. “You are an angel,” she told him. “And a very brave dog too.”
“Muchas gracias, Coco. You’re making me blush.” He couldn’t stop grinning at what she said.
“It’s all true,” broke in Natasha, who lay regally under the beach umbrella. She had spent the day before at the groomer, getting the tangles out of her long coat. Now she glistened like spun gold. “You’ve the heart of a lion, and not a dandelion either.”
“You’re the bomb!” yelled B-Boy, as he popped and locked his way backward toward the edge of the pool. Then he did a backflip into the water. Natasha watched him with a smile on her face. She really did like B-Boy. He was quite a dancer.
Paco noticed Natasha’s fond gaze following B-Boy and didn’t mind. He had his Coco, and she was the one he wanted most. Besides, they were all good friends, so being jealous was just plain…well, plain dumb. They were all together. They were all OK. That’s what really mattered.
And none of the children had gotten in any trouble when they had returned two nights ago—except for Tommy Thompson. They all made it back home before dark, except for him.
However, being late wasn’t even his fault—this time. He rode all the way to Victoria’s house with her to make sure she got inside safely. He waited outside until he heard her yell, “Mumsy! Poppy! Natasha just came home!” He heard her parents’ cries of joy. Victoria never told them how Natasha just came home, and that worked out just fine. There was soon ice cream for everyone, especially the Afghan hound, and laughter served all around.
But Tommy missed his curfew for the second time in two days. His parents took his bike away for a whole week. He pretended to be upset, but he really wasn’t. He kept remembering Victoria’s smiles, and the way she looked at him. He could live without his bike for a few days. He was walking on air instead.
Now the boys and girls gathered at Sandy’s with their dogs. They all wore their bathing suits. They intended to swim and celebrate Natasha’s return. Sandy’s dad ordered a pizza and cut up some fruit too. They sat at a table and played Uno for a while. They didn’t talk about what had happened the other night. They didn’t have to, because they knew.
Well, they knew some of it. They didn’t know everything.
“Coco,” Paco said, a hint of worry in his voice.
“What, Paco?”
“I told you what I did. Up there in the junkyard. I got thirsty, and I drank rainwater from that footprint.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Last night, the moon was full. I was muy scared. But I didn’t change at all. I didn’t start to become a werewolf. Nothing happened. Do you think something will tonight?”
“I don’t know, Paco. But I rather suspect it won’t.”
“Por qué?”
“Because you can’t believe everything you read on the Internet, especially when it comes to magic and charms and ways to turn into a werewolf.” She gave him a wise and knowing smile.
Lines formed a furrow on Paco’s tiny forehead. “Sí. I hope you’re right. I don’t want to look like that big hairy beast. I like being small. It has its advantages. But what if I do change, Coco? What then?”
Coco’s voice got stern. “You listen to me, Paco. Because I am your friend. If you do change on the outside, it won’t matter. You’ll still be Paco inside, the bravest Chihuahua in the world. You’ll still be you where it counts. In your heart.”
“Sí. Claro.” Paco knew what she said was true. So he snuggled close to Coco, who thought he was perfect just the way he was. He closed his eyes, sighed a happy sigh, and took a nap.
Writing is, most of the time, a solitary occupation, carried on with a computer and in a room, with or without a view. But a writer also needs people to come along on her creative journey—for support and encouragement and company when a good cup of tea and sympathy are needed.
Therefore, I would like to thank my long-time agent, John Talbot of the Talbot Fortune Agency, who has been traveling with me since the very beginning. He always reminds me that a writing career is not a sprint, it’s a marathon.
I would also like to thank those wonderful early readers who believed in Chihuawolf from my very first draft: Priscilla Adams, Frank Bittinger, Hildy Morgan, and Ken Spence. Last, a tip of the hat to Roger Samuels for naming my real-life skunk visitor, Professor Pewmount, which was the perfect name for Paco’s wise old friend.
Charlee Ganny lives in a 150-year-old farmhouse high on a hill near Harveys Lake, Pennsylvania. She has three dogs, too many cats to count, and lots of visiting wild creatures, including a skunk named Professor Pewmount.
Chihuawolf is her first book for children. She has written nine adult novels. Under the pseudonym Lucy Finn, she writes romantic comedy. As Savannah Russe, she created a USA Today bestselling vampire series. She is also a back-of-the-book indexer, and in 2006 she won the American Society for Indexing’s H. W. Wilson Award for Excellence in Indexing for her index of Joseph Campbell’s A Skeleton Key to Finnegans Wake: Unlocking James Joyce’s Masterwork.
But most of all, she is a writer and a dreamer, and what she dreams…she writes.
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