by Jean Little
He wanted to promise to keep her safe forever. But the man fetched up next to them, panting heavily. His cheeks were brick red. His eyes blazed. He bent over with a grunt and grabbed the leash. Then he stood, catching his breath and glaring at everyone.
“Don’t …” Dickon began.
Instantly, the man began to shout at the frightened dog.
“This is it for you,” he told her. “No more peeing on the carpet, no more chewing shoes, no more running away when you are called. I’ve had enough. We are turning you in and if they have any brains you’ll be dead before the day is out. Put her down again, boy. The little beast snaps.”
The children had gathered, wide-eyed, in a ring around Dickon and the dog. But the man’s rage frightened them almost as much as it scared the dog. Everyone but Jody, the teacher and Dickon himself retreated to a safe distance.
Dickon’s insides squeezed tight just as they had when his father had yelled at him or at his mother. In those days, he had run and left Mum to protect him. But now he must stand his ground. The little dog had run to him.
“Don’t yell so loud.” His words came out in a squeak, but they did come out. “You’re scaring her.”
“I’ll yell at her if I please,” the man snarled. “Put her down, I said. What happens to her is not your business. She deserves whatever she gets. She made a puddle of pee on my newspaper this morning before I had a chance to read the sports page. And she chewed up my girl’s new Barbie.”
Dickon had no choice. He set the dog on the ground as gently as he could. The man wheeled about and set out for the Humane Society building. As he did so, he jerked hard on the leash, tumbling the dog off her feet. Then, without glancing back, he dragged her after him as though she were a pull toy, never giving her a chance to get her balance.
“Just a minute, mister!” Leslie shouted after him.
When he kept going, she strode to catch up. All the kids knew she was mad as a wet hen. They grinned.
“You fix him, Leslie,” Travis said. But he kept his voice down.
“You’re a BEAST!” Jody shouted after the striding man. Her voice shook, but it was at full volume.
The man charged on. Dickon agreed with Jody, but yelling would not help the dog. He ran after the pair, trying to think of how he could rescue her.
“What’s her name?” he called in a desperate bid to slow the man down.
The man slowed slightly and stared at the boy dashing after him. Leslie turned too.
“What’s it to you?” he snarled. Then he surprised Dickon by answering. “I’ll tell you. It’s a dumb name, but she’s a dumb dog. Birdie! Her name’s Birdie.”
“Nothing You Can Do”
Dickon was so startled that he missed his footing and almost fell flat. Leslie grabbed his elbow and steadied him. They ran on.
Birdie! Had the man really said her name was Birdie?
“Bertie?” he called. “Did you say …”
“I said Birdie. It ought to be Bird-brain, but it’s Birdie.”
“That’s enough,” Leslie’s voice cut in, silencing the man briefly.
Dickon’s thoughts whirled.
She couldn’t be Birdie. He was Birdie.
Birdie for now, he reminded himself. I’m really Dickon. I’m not Birdie at all.
The man had been forced to stop at the door. A family that had just found its lost calico cat was coming out, all smiles. They clustered together in the doorway, crooning over her. “Oh, Motley,” the little girl said, “I thought you were dead.”
The man tapped his foot. Then he looked at Dickon.
“My girl Tiffany named her. When she ran, her ears stuck out like wings or some stupid thing. But even Tiff agrees now she’s really Birdbrain. Would you people move it? I have things to do.”
The family ignored him, but they were soon gone. The door of the Humane Society swung shut behind the man, the dog and Leslie, who followed him in.
Dickon stared at the door. The other children crowded around, but only Jenny saw how pale he had grown.
“Are you all right?” she asked, moving close enough to touch him. “You look sick.”
Dickon hardly heard her. Birdie. Her name was Birdie. It must mean something, but he felt too shocked to think clearly.
Through an open window, they could all hear the man inside raving on about how bad the dog was.
“I got her for my girl from a guy I know who works in a pet store. He said she was a purebred Papillon some woman had had for six months and then she had to go to England or someplace so she’d asked him what to do. He let me have her cheap. I should have known she wasn’t worth fifty bucks.”
“Purebred Papillons cost far more than fifty dollars,” Leslie told him coldly. “They are still thought of as a rare breed. She should have her papers and her health record. Never mind that now. You don’t want her, I take it.”
“You’re dead right,” he barked.
He was starting in again, but Leslie cut in.
“Did Tiffany try to train her?” she said crisply.
“We all tried. The animal is worthless, I tell you. I’ve promised to get Tiff a pedigreed, housebroken poodle. The kid is sick of cleaning up after Birdie-Brainless.”
“How old is she exactly?” asked a voice Dickon had not heard before.
“About a year and a half. What does it matter?”
“Has she had her shots? Is she spayed?”
“Yeah, yeah. We had her fixed and generally checked out.”
“How about a dog license?”
“No,” he said uneasily.
“Get one for the poodle,” Leslie Hawkin’s voice said. “I’ll take her now.”
“Hey, I want that leash. I paid good money for it.”
The children strained their ears, but heard nothing more for a few moments.
“I gotta go. I’m late,” they heard him say finally.
“I also am late. If your daughter cannot be kinder, do not get her that poodle.”
“Wow,” Anthony whispered. “She sounds fierce.”
The children eyed each other and drifted back into the field. Dickon lingered until Jenny said, “Come on. She’d better not find you listening.”
He trailed after her. Two minutes later, Leslie strode out to join them. Before they could ask her what was going to happen to Birdie, she spotted Dickon and frowned.
“I told you to go home,” she snapped. Then her face softened. “You were a help with that poor dog and I’m grateful, but it’s time you left.”
Dickon gulped, turned on his heel and raced toward the fence. Then he braked and spun back to face her.
“What’s going to happen to … to Birdie?” he asked.
“We’ll try to find her a home. But if she’s as bad as the man says, it won’t be easy. She’s over a year old and not even housetrained. But she is appealing.”
“Maybe…maybe I could help her,” Dickon said, knowing it made no sense.
“Will your family let you adopt her?”
“No,” Dickon mumbled, staring at the ground. “My mother won’t … she got attacked …”
“Then there’s nothing you can do for her. Run along. We have work to do.”
This time, Dickon went out the gate to the front, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Birdie. But the man was roaring away in his car and the Humane Society’s front door was closed. There was no sign of the small dog with the flyaway ears.
“Birdie,” he whispered. “I know how you feel.”
Home again, he flung himself face down on the bed. He did not mean to cry, but once he started he couldn’t stop.
Birdie needed him and he needed her. Yet there was not one thing he could do.
Apprentice Trainer
When he was quiet, at last, he heard the class working with their dogs next door.
“No, Tallboy. NO!” Daniel cried.
Dickon got up and slammed down the window. Without his glasses, everything outside blurred. He lay down on his bed again.
Perhaps he should watch TV, he thought, but could not make himself go turn on the set.
Sleep rescued him.
At five o’clock, he woke, groggy and miserable. In the bathroom, he peered at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed and his eyelids were swollen. Mum must not see him looking like this. He ran the water as cold as he could get it and bathed his cheeks and eyes until he looked more himself. It was a good thing she was going to be late.
Then, all of a sudden, he wished she would come home right now.
“I need a hug,” he told the mirror.
She was forever stretching out her arms and telling him that she needed a hug. He always gave her one even when he did not want to, but he had decided long ago that hugs should not be ordered up like pizza; they should just happen.
All the same, right now, he needed a bear hug from somebody. He remembered his dad’s bear hugs and almost started crying again.
When his mother finally arrived, he was nearly asleep again in the big chair in front of the TV. She thought that he was slow and dragging because he was only half awake. He was glad. He could never tell her about Birdie. She would probably state right out that she had always said dogs were a lot of trouble. She would not understand how much he loved this one dog.
The next afternoon, Dickon tried not to look out the window. He didn’t think he could bear to watch. But he could not keep his mind on anything else. They thought that all he had to do was take his pill and he would be able to focus, but it wasn’t true. Sometimes nothing helped. His thoughts scattered in all directions like marbles spilled on the floor.
He was lying face down on his bed, punching his pillow, when the door bell rang.
“Who is it?” he called through the door. He felt silly hesitating, but Mum had made him promise never to open it until he checked.
“Me. Jody. Open up, Dickon Bird.”
Startled, Dickon swung the door back. Jody, with Poppet beside her, stood grinning at him.
He pushed his glasses up to see her better and said not a word.
“Hey, Dickon,” she said. “You know that dog Birdie?”
It was not three o’clock yet. Why wasn’t she at the class? He could not bear to discuss Birdie. He nodded instead.
Jody chuckled. “You look as though you think I’m going to go off like a firecracker.”
Poppet was wagging her tail hard. Dickon bent to scratch behind her ears. His hair flopped forward, hiding his face from Jody’s teasing glance.
“What about Birdie?” he got out.
“How would you like to join our class and give that poor dog some training?” Jody asked, her eyes spar kling. “I suggested it and we all talked Leslie around. What do you say?”
“You’re kidding!” Dickon burst out, unable to bear it. His hands shook and his heart pounded, as though his ribs caged a full set of drums. “It’s mean to make fun about Birdie.”
“Hey, what do you think I am?” She sounded really hurt.
“How should I know? I only met you once,” Dickon said.
“Let me in and I’ll explain,” Jody said. “Let’s not blow it before we start.”
Mrs. Nelson was peering at them from next door. Dickon waved. She waved back and left the window.
“Come on in, then,” he told the wild girl. He felt as though he would burst into tears any minute. But Jody wasn’t like the Bridgeman brothers. Poppet loved her.
She followed him to the kitchen. He watched in amazement as she picked a tumbler out of the draining board, filled it with cold water and chugged it down. Then she straddled a chair and took a deep breath.
“Now listen. That little dog was abused by the girl who owned her. She is so nervous that finding her a new home will be hard. She shivers when she is touched and pees when she’s scared, which is when anybody comes too close. We got talking to Leslie about her and she told us how afraid she is that she won’t be able to place her. Leslie thinks she should not be with a girl, not after that Tiffany. So Jenny and Kristin and I reminded her how different she was with you. She ran straight to you, remember? So, finally, Leslie said you could come over and we could try her in the class with the others. Maybe, just maybe, with our dogs near and you petting her, she’ll calm down.”
Jody’s eyes were fixed on his face.
“Are you serious?” he whispered.
“Come on, Dickon, would I come if I weren’t? What kind of kids did you hang around with where you came from?”
Dickon did not answer. She was waiting impatiently. She had no idea that the offer was like one of those dreams you stumble into without knowing your part.
“Well, yes or no?”
“Are you sure it’s not a … trick?”
“Positive. Leslie says you can come into our class and work with her for a week or two and see if she shapes up. If she doesn’t, nobody will adopt her and it’ll be ‘Bye-bye, Birdie.’”
“But I don’t know how,” Dickon said miserably.
“Me neither!” Jody grinned. “That’s why we’re in the class. Come on, Dickon Chicken, go for it.”
Dickon stared at her. Nobody had ever called him Dickon Chicken – and he should be furious. But he did not mind one bit.
Suddenly he raced away from the kitchen, circled the small living room, dashed through the hallway and fetched up facing Jody again.
“Woweee!” he yelled.
Jody’s mouth dropped open.
“Holy Nellie,” she said, laughing. “Is that ‘Yes’?”
“Yes,” he shrieked. “Yes, yes, yes, YES!”
“Cool it, kid. It’s not a trip to Canada’s Wonderland. It’s work. Leslie thinks you’re too young. But I told her you were just small for your age. Stand still. You’re making me dizzy.”
“Yeah, okay, of course, whatever you say,” Dickon rattled off. He did his best to calm down. “When should I come?”
“Right now. They’ve been waiting for ages.”
Dickon, dazed but joyful, was about to follow her when he realized he had not taken his medication at two o’clock. He raced into the bathroom and gulped the pill down.
Everyone was in the circle. Leslie had Birdie on a leash. The dog had been brushed, but she still looked scruffy. Her head drooped. So did her tail. Only her ears stayed tall. She did not notice Dickon coming across the grass.
Leslie gave him the leash and waited to see what would happen. “Here’s your personal trainer, Birdie,” she said.
“Hi, Birdie,” Dickon said huskily.
The little dog started violently at the sound of Dickon’s voice. “It’s only me,” the boy said, holding himself still.
She glanced up timidly. Then she came to life. Next thing they knew, she was bouncing on her hind feet with her front paws waving frantically, leaping for his knees. Her tall ears quivered. Her tail curled up and spun in circles. She saw him as her friend.
Dickon knelt and stroked her, murmuring love words.
“What did your mother say?” Leslie’s voice asked above him.
“Nothing,” said Dickon truthfully, his eyes on Birdie. “It’s okay.”
Jody’s eyes gleamed, but she said nothing.
“All right. Once she’s calm enough, do exactly what I tell you. You’ll have to stay focussed. You look awfully young. You remind me of … Well, never mind.”
“I’ll be twenty-one any minute,” Dickon joked. Wild joy bubbled up in-side him. He had seen a movie about geysers like Old Faithful shooting up out of the ground. He knew how the ground felt.
Giving Birdie a last pat, he rose and backed slowly toward the circle, drawing the tiny dog after him. When they got to their spot in the ring, he went down again on one knee, and petted her amazing ears. She seemed to relax a bit, but she still quivered slightly from nose to tail.
“Easy, girl,” he told her softly, as he had the day before. “Nobody will hurt you. I won’t let them. You are safe with me.”
He straightened up and looked at Leslie. She studied him with cool eyes. Then
she smiled.
“Maybe those girls are smarter than they look,” she said. “Welcome to the class, Dickon Bird, apprentice trainer.”
He squared his skinny shoulders and nodded. He would not let it go wrong.
Birdie in Training
“You have the right touch with her,” Leslie continued. “After what she’s been through, winning her trust might have taken much longer. Now, everybody, keep still and listen closely.”
Dickon tried to contain the enor mous sigh of relief and jubilation that pushed up out of him. Standing still was hard. Listening was even harder. Leslie’s words flew at him like swarms of butterflies. Birdie needed him to stay with it.
How was he going to manage? Then he saw Jody grinning at him and he knew. If he copied her every move, he’d do it right. If she got in trouble with Poppet, he’d look to Jenny and Perkins. Perkins was better behaved than Poppet. He gazed at Jenny as though she were Wonder Woman.
Dickon smiled at Birdie again and murmured, “Good girl.”
Leslie had just told them they must heap on the praise.
“There is no such thing as too much praise,” she said.
He liked that. He stopped listening as he smiled at his marvelous dog. Birdie was going to be …
“Dickon, are you with us or not?”
His face burned.
“I am,” he said. “I’m listening. I just am not used to being here yet.”
Jody and Kristin laughed. Trevor and Jake did too. Last of all, Leslie herself grinned.
“I can see that might be a problem,” she said. “I’m not quite used to it either! Now pull Birdie in to your left side and tell her to sit. As you say the word, press your left hand gently down on her rump and hold her head up with your right. Don’t jerk it. We just want her to keep the commands ‘Sit’ and ‘Down’ separate. Wait. I’m not through. The minute she does sit, praise her as though she just won a gold medal.”
Dickon pulled Birdie close. Much to his relief, she came and even leaned her slight weight against his leg.
“Sit,” he said firmly. “Birdie, sit.”
He reached down to encourage her, but she was already sitting. Her big eyes gazed anxiously up at him.
