Immortal Max

by Lutricia Clifton

  I rub my mouth, a lot. Pace the kitchen, a lot. Sigh deep, a lot.

  “Sammy—”

  “To buy a purebred puppy.” I spit out the words and watch Mom’s mouth drop open again.

  “Puppy—” Beth makes a thick gluck sound. “You can get all kinds of puppies at the shelter for nothing. Hundreds of dogs are just begging to be adopted.”

  “It’s not the same. I want a dog of my own, one I pick out myself. You know, like in my dog book.”

  “Oh, your dog book.” Mom pauses, looking at Beth. “He’s been dreaming about this for a long time. And remember, you’re the one who got him started on that dog book.”

  “Yeah, but …” Beth’s shoulders slump, a sign she’s caving.

  “No, wait.” Mom’s forehead furrows with lines again. “It just won’t work, Sammy. You know what we talked about. It would be too hard on old Max. A puppy would run him ragged—and us. Remember how it was when Max came to live with us? He just about destroyed the place.”

  “Yeah, but that was different,” Beth says. “Max was never trained and had been mistreated. It was Sammy who changed that. He spent hours working with him.”

  “Yeah, Mom.” I send Beth a thank-you look. “And I’ll train the puppy from the start so it won’t be a problem.”

  “I say he should go for it,” Beth says.

  I decide seventeen-year-old sisters are great. They understand things because they’ve been through them already. Little sisters with big ears are another thing.

  “How much they gonna pay you?” Rosie peeks around the door frame.

  “Uh, don’t know yet. Have to negotiate salary when I meet with them.”

  “Them people are dumb rich.”

  “It’s those people,” Mom says. “And who told you that?”

  “Beth. She says they burn money.”

  Mom gives Beth a raised-eyebrow look.

  “Well, they do, Mom,” Beth says. “I deal with them at the clinic all the time. They’re so obnoxious. I mean, money means nothing to them. It runs through their fingers like water.” She pauses, looking at me. “But maybe that’s a good thing because that means they’ll pay better than people like us could.”

  “People like us?” Mom’s eyebrows reach for the sky.

  Beth shrugs. “Let’s face it, we’re not exactly rolling in dough.” She glances around our kitchen. “You’ve been inside the castle walls out there, so you know what I’m talking about.”

  Mom looks around the kitchen, too. “Well, what you say may be true, but not all the people at CountryWood are ‘rolling in dough.’ Some of my customers live quite modestly. I really don’t think Sammy will make enough money to buy a pedigreed dog, but …” She looks at me and sighs. “Okay, you can do this. But if you do get a puppy and it annoys Max, it will have to go. Agreed?”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mom.”

  “And trust me,” she says, “you’re lucky to be living where you do. Our place is a lot nicer than anything I’ve seen out there. Prettier, too.” She fills glasses with iced tea. “Now, let’s eat.”

  “Well, I still think those people have money to burn,” Beth whispers, leaning close. “So start high when you set your salary.”

  I think of Justin. His four-hundred-dollar dog. Twenty-five-hundred-dollar golf cart. I say, “Yeah, some people get all the luck.”

  “Yeah.” The smile slides off Beth’s face.

  I know what Beth is thinking. She got into a good school in Colorado and has been working hard to save money for books and expenses. Studying hard, too, so she could get a partial scholarship and a work-study program. Going to that school is the most important thing in life to her.

  “Wait up.” Mom sticks out her hand like a big-city traffic cop.

  Oh, no, she’s changing her mind… .

  “You can’t let your chores slide.”

  Breath I didn’t know I was holding explodes from my mouth. “Sure, of course, no problem, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll feed Max right now and mow the front yard soon as it cools off some.”

  I hurry to the back door and stop, looking at Mom. “Oh … and Bailey should be the one to make Rosie’s costumes. She keeps up with pageants on TV and knows the latest styles and … and just because she should.”

  “Yeah, I want Bailey, too,” Rosie says. ”I didn’t like the pictures you and Grandma drew.”

  Mom looks at Beth.

  “I say give the girl a chance,” Beth says. “She’s been dreaming about being a designer since she could walk.”

  “Well, maybe.” Mom sighs. “Your granny seems to be slipping faster every day.”

  I leave Rosie doing her version of a pirouette and hurry outside. Noticing that Max’s food and water dish still haven’t been touched, I try to remember when I saw him last.

  Friday. Friday after school.

  Then I remember the last thing I told him: I just want to be alone.

  I look across the backyard, which is at least two acres, maybe more. It was part of a farm when Grandpa owned it. He sold off most of the land, but after Dad died, Grandpa deeded Mom the part where the house, the garage, and the garden shed sit, plus the space where Mom grows perennials. Black walnut and oak trees grow out back, wild raspberries and native honeysuckle. A haven for squirrels, possums, raccoons. And occasionally, foxes.

  Mom was happy to get the place because it meant no mortgage payments. Just taxes, utilities, and repairs. Which cost plenty. Beth, Rosie, and I love living there. Plenty of space to do our thing. Tree house. Sandbox. Horseshoe pit. Basketball hoop. Max loved it, too. Right away, he became territorial, keeping animals away from the house. Stray dogs. Possums. Raccoons. Squirrels—especially squirrels, which bury walnuts and acorns all over. The ground looks like miniature land mines have detonated everywhere. Brown eruptions on a field of green.

  That’s it. He’s treed a squirrel and won’t let it come to ground… .

  Dumping Max’s dog bowls, I refill them—fresh Dog Chow in one, cold water from the yard spigot in the other—and make a mad dash back inside.

  I have important business to take care of. First, call Yee and Anise to confirm my job interview with the head of security and then write an ad to take to the woman who does the CountryWood newsletter. And since she could be my first customer, I need to find out what kind of dog she has so I can study my dog book.

  It hits me then. Monday’s become a school day and a big test is scheduled. The biggest exam of my life. If I don’t do well, she may not hire me.

  Suddenly, a land mine erupts in my stomach.

  Chapter 7

  “So, your appointment’s tomorrow morning?”

  Beth is fixing a spinach and tomato salad for Sunday-night supper. I’m spreading egg salad on pumpernickel bread. Mom’s in the garden, potting perennials, and Rosie’s feeding the days of the week.

  “Yep. Nine o’clock sharp.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Nah. My friends are meeting me at the front gate. They’ll introduce me to everyone. Did you find something on peekapoos like I asked? Everything I’ve collected is on purebred dogs, not mixed.”

  Beth points to a printout of a web page on the table. “One of the dogs is a peekapoo?”

  “Two peekapoos.” Yee and Anise gave me the news when I confirmed my appointment last night. “Part Pekingese and part poodle. I’m kinda surprised those people out there would have a mutt.”

  “I wouldn’t call them mutts in front of the owner. Lot of dogs today are deliberately crossbred to achieve certain traits. They’re called designer breeds.”

  I stare at Beth. “For real?”

  “Yeah, for real—”

  “Help! Help!” Rosie slams through the back door, eyes streaming.

  “What is it?” Beth grabs her. “Are you hurt?”

  “It’s Max—he’s going to kill Monday and Thursday.”

  Beth and I run for the door. Rosie follows. Mom sees us race past and chases after us. We find Max standing next to
an overgrown evergreen bush behind the barn. Two of Rosie’s cats are nearby, pacing.

  “Wait. There’s something in the branches.” Beth moves closer to investigate. “I think that’s what the cats are interested in.”

  Max inserts himself between Beth and the bush.

  “Watch out.” Mom arrives, breathless. “He could be sick. One of my customers told me last week about a stray dog that had distemper.”

  “What’s distemper?” Rosie’s face is streaked with tears and dirt.

  “A viral disease that affects dogs.”

  Rosie starts to wail again. “Are my cats gonna get sick, too?”

  “None of our animals are going to get sick, Rosie. They’ve had their shots.” Beth watches Max awhile, then laughs. “He’s found a nest, a robin’s nest. And a bird’s sitting on it.”

  Mom moves up next to Beth. “You don’t think Max is protecting it?”

  “That’s exactly what I think. The nesting site’s low to the ground, too low to be safe. Could be a first-time mama who miscalculated a good building site.”

  “Wonder where the male bird is?” Mom scans the treetops, then looks at Beth. “Robins are monogamous, aren’t they?”

  “Usually.”

  “What’s that mean?” Rosie walks closer, too.

  “It means a bird stays with one mate for the breeding season.”

  I look up at the trees, see blue jays, finches, and blackbirds. Chattering because we’re trespassing in their space. No male robin.

  Sunday and Wednesday join Monday and Thursday. Almost a full week of cats, walking back and forth. Tails lashing.

  “My bet is the male bird disappeared for some reason,” Beth says. “Some animal could have gotten him. Maybe one of the cats.”

  Rosie’s eyes overflow again. “My cats aren’t bird killers.”

  Beth squats on her heels so she can look Rosie in the eye. “All cats are bird killers. It’s normal. That’s probably why Max chased them away. He wasn’t trying to kill Monday and Thursday. He was protecting Birdie.” She stands up, staring at Max. “That’s the odd part.”

  “It is strange.” Mom looks at Beth. “Why do you suppose Max took it in his head to do it? Have you ever heard of something like this before?”

  Beth shakes her head, then looks at me. “You noticed anything different about Max lately? You’re around him more than anyone else.”

  “Me? No, nothing.”

  But I did tell him to pester someone else… .

  “Well, he must have stumbled on her by accident and decided she needed help.”

  “There could be other reasons, too.” Beth’s forehead wrinkles up, like she’s thinking about something. “Maybe the male bird did mate with more than one female. If he changed partners for a second brood, he’s probably taking care of the other family. He can only pull so many worms out of the ground, you know.”

  “And then Max fell in love with Birdie.” Rosie is all smiles. “So they’re married now.”

  I stare at my little sister, dumbfounded. “Dogs don’t fall in love with birds, stupid.”

  “Don’t call your sister names, Sammy.”

  “But he’s right.” Beth pulls Rosie close. “Dogs and birds don’t fall in love like that. Max just adopted the new family.”

  “Oh.” Rosie gets real bouncy. “Maybe some new daddy will adopt us, too.”

  Making a choking sound, Mom hurries toward the garden shed. “I have some work to finish up,” she says over her shoulder. Voice tight. Strained.

  After Dad’s accident, Mom went into a deep depression, hardly talking at all. Which is why we don’t mention him much. It’s like a knife twisting in her gut.

  “Geez, where do you get this stuff, Rosie? That is so … dumb.”

  “Ease off, Sammy.” Beth leads Rosie away from the nest. “Go help Mom, tell her supper’s almost ready.”

  Rosie calls the cats to follow her. Once they’re gone, Max curls up in the grass near the nest.

  “If that’s not proof,” Beth says, “I don’t know what is.”

  “Dumb old dog.”

  “Pretty smart, I’d say.” Beth looks at me, eyes serious. “Max’s food and water dish are dirty again. Freshen both of them and bring them down here. He’s not going to leave that nest.”

  “What? No way! Rosie’s the one who upset Mom, not me. Let her do it, I have a job now.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Sammy?” Beth’s eyebrows scrunch up. “Your attitude sucks lately.”

  Because nothing’s fair! Why can’t anyone see that?

  “Remember, Rosie’s only six. She’d just been born when the accident happened, so she has no memories of Dad.” She pauses, shaking her head slightly. “It’s hard to miss someone you never knew.”

  “Well, I don’t remember him much, either. And you’re the one who brought Max home, so you haul stuff back here.”

  “We tried that, remember? He only responded to you. Not me. Not Mom. Nobody except you. And you’ve done a great job with him all these years.” She pauses. “Besides, I’m handling two jobs as it is. And remember, I’m rearranging my schedule so you can work, too.”

  “Yeah, well … it still sucks.”

  Her eyes narrow to slits. “Look, if you don’t take care of Max properly, I’ll tell Mom and she won’t let you take that job.” She walks toward the house, talking over her shoulder. “Twice a day—fresh food and water twice a day.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Yep. And that bird could use some water, too. Grab that old birdbath out of the shed.” She stops, looking at the wild raspberry bushes next to Mom’s garden. “She’s close to food, plenty of earthworms in the grass, but she needs water.”

  “I have to babysit a dog—and a bird?” I look at the robin, sitting in a mud-and-stick nest inside a fortress of evergreen branches. “How long does it take to hatch eggs?”

  “Couple of weeks, but we don’t know when she started sitting. Could be shorter. Maybe a week?”

  “Oh. Well, a week’s not too bad.”

  “After that, she’ll take care of the hatchlings another couple weeks until they’re strong enough to fly. Fend for themselves.”

  “Two to three weeks? No way Max will hang around that long.”

  “I’ll take that bet.” Beth grins. “And shake it! Supper will be on the table in five minutes.”

  Beth disappears, leaving me with Max. He thumps his tail on the ground and gives me a shaggy grin. His breath smells like squashed bugs. Bittersweet, like sauerkraut. Since he hasn’t been to the house, I decide he probably did eat some. Hot-weather insects are thick. Grasshoppers in the grass. Cicadas buzzing through trees. June bugs chewing on bushes. He’ll eat anything.

  On the long trudge to the back porch, I wonder how a day that started out so good could end up so bad. Just as I got a job that would fix everything, Max had to adopt a bird. Which means I now have two new jobs. Since there’s no water spigot at the barn, I’ll have to bucket water twice a day—for a dog and a bird—and haul down Dog Chow.

  I feel like wringing Max’s neck.

  Rosie’s, too.

  And Beth’s—especially Beth’s.

  It’s a conspiracy.

  “Sammy, are you still up?” Mom calls from the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing? It’s getting late.”

  The clock on my nightstand says 10:06. “Working on something. I’ll be done in a minute.”

  “Working on something … like what?”

  “You know, getting ready for tomorrow. I have to go to CountryWood in the morning.”

  “Well, don’t stay up too much longer.”

  “Almost done.”

  I go back to working on my ad for the CountryWood newsletter. I’ve been studying ads in the Services/Businesses section of the want ads, trying to figure out the important things to say. Like, the job I’m looking for. And why I’d be good to hire. And how much I charge. And how to contact me.

  I read what I’ve written. />
  Do you need someone to walk your dog? Hire me! I’m full of energy. Have tons of experience and credentials. And I will pick up your dog’s poop. Call Samuel Allen Smith at …

  I pause, wondering if phone numbers count as words. If I count the number as one word, I have thirty-four words. If two, thirty-five. I decide it counts as one, but it’s still too many. And I haven’t mentioned cost yet.

  I study the want ads in the paper some more. A few minutes later, I rewrite my ad and count the words again.

  Rent a dog walker. Experienced. Can provide credentials. Will pick up and dispose of dog poop. Fair rates but you need to pay in cash every day. Call Sammy Smith at …

  “Aw, man. Thirty-two words!”

  I notice none of the ads in the newspaper mention names and decide not to mention mine. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve worn out the eraser on my pencil, but the ad includes all the really important things. Now, if only it’s short enough.

  Will walk dogs. Credentials. Includes picking up dog poop. Payment in cash required. Call …

  Fifteen words exactly.

  Exhausted, I turn off the light. Who knew writing fewer words would be harder than writing a lot? But now it’s done. And since Yee and Anise are meeting me tomorrow morning at CountryWood, everything else will be a snap.

  Chapter 8

  Monday, 8 AM. My stomach is crawling with roaches. Hard-backed bugs with stiff antennas. Yee and Anise called at seven to say they couldn’t meet me today because of cheer practice. I have to interview with the chief of security and the woman who does the newsletter by myself. An outsider, crashing the gates at CountryWood.

  I can’t do it. I might mess up. They might not like me… .

  Then I think of my grandpa and feel ashamed. He never let anything stop him. Broken water line. Rusted-out muffler. New pump for the well. Let’s roll up our sleeves and get this done, Sam, he’d say. Time’s wasting. If he were alive, he would be proud because I’m interviewing for my first job. My first real job. And I’m doing it on my own.

  The roaches in my stomach morph to balloons. I’m floating. And to top it off, I get to see the mysterious land of CountryWood.