“Nice, isn’t it.” Bob nodded, drawing quick small breaths through his nose.
Darcy walked up, smoothing her green shorts over her hips and adjusting the belt at her slim waist. As her slender fingers moved, her coltishness disappeared, and she resembled a young woman.
She picked a peach off a branch above my head. “These are ready to eat.” She bit into the thick ball. Juice trickled into the gravel. “Yum. Point for New Mexico’s side.”
Bob smiled. “This part of town used to be an orchard.”
“In the desert?” Darcy stared at the brown rocks at the place where the earth and sky met.
“There’s water underground, and three rivers meet about a mile from our house. People irrigated their trees. They grew all kinds of fruit here. But mostly apples.”
“So, the town is called Appleton, right, Dad?” Taking another bite, she surveyed a den at the end of a walk and looked at me. “Guess that’s where we live, Belle. What do you think?”
I followed her gaze. The den resembled a giant dog biscuit plopped on the gray rocks. Behind it, I saw a line of other dens, and way beyond that, huge flat-topped boulders.
A colt again, Darcy kicked the ground. “Pretty enough, but where can we practice agility?”
Someplace, for sure. Stomach rocking, I looked around, but saw only more dens in a row on either side of ours.
“Let’s go in and you can look around, Darcy,” Margaret suggested, smelling excited, like lightning.
“It would be kind of nice to know where I’m living,” Darcy grinned. “Though I’d rather know who’s living around me. I hope they’re nice.”
Bob dug in his pocket for a key and started up the walk.
Margaret followed, and I had to laugh. Tall as she stood, he stood taller.
I dove into the shadows they cast. Buster panted beside me.
Bob unlocked a screen door and a carved wood front door that creaked when he pushed it open. Cool air fanned my face. Absolute dog heaven. I ducked through a darkened hall, and skidded on slickness into another burrow. Buster careened off a wall and flopped onto the floor beside me.
Darcy turned on a light and looked around. “Ohhh, Spanish tile. Cool, Mom.” Her flowery smell mixed with lightening.
Beautiful slick Spanish tile. Standing still, I explored with my nose. The burrow had a sweet, smoky aroma, and a round fireplace in one corner. The white walls smelled like fresh paint.
Darcy spotted the fireplace and her eyes lighted. “Whoa.”
Bob laughed. “That’s a kiva fireplace, Darcy. See the benches either side of it? They’re called banco’s. They’re in the bedrooms, too.”
Darcy took off down a corridor toward the back of the den while Buster lurched toward a door opposite the fireplace. “Food burrow’s this way,” he called.
Bob, Margaret, and I followed him into an area smelling of unfamiliar spices.
Darcy’s steps tapped in and out of burrows at the back of the den, then she rejoined us, and opened a glass door leading to a patio. “Look at the trees out there.” She stepped onto flagstones. Buster followed. She pointed to a running stream gurgling through the yard. “Is that an irrigation ditch?”
“Yup,” said Bob with a glance at some apple trees on the bank nearest the house. “Comes off the river. And we’re allowed to use the water in our yard.”
I saw grass clumps beyond the flagstones. The stream glided between the green tufts. Dancing into the grass, I realized it grew taller than me. It might even hide Buster. I buried my face in its verdant sweetness. More dog heaven. Breathing my fill, I snuffled into a wide bush with tiny grayish leaves that stretched above my head. It gave off the fresh sharp scent that Bob and Margaret had called sage.
Buster ambled to the stream and drank. Darcy returned to the den.
I kept sniffing the sage brush. Each breath soothed my stomach. In the time it takes to eat a bowl of food, I began to feel almost well again.
Buster lifted his nose from the water and shook. Tongue lolling, he strolled toward a footbridge leading to a den behind us. “Hey Belle. Let’s visit the other bank.”
“You go,” I replied, keeping my nose in the sage. Dog biscuits, I could make a bed in these branches.
Buster trotted across the bridge, and soon I heard him rummaging near the den behind ours.
Its door opened, and the odors of leather, perfume, and expensive beef cuts wafted out, mixing with the smell of the sage.
Peeking out of my refuge, I saw a child skip across flagstones, her red braids swinging over her tan t-shirt. Freckles spattered her nose. Spotting Buster, she clapped her pudgy hands. “Hi, doggy.” She smelled like snapdragons.
Buster lifted his ears and wagged his tail. He always made friends fast.
Plump legs churning, the little girl bounced up to him and patted his shoulder.
“Katherine!” someone shouted from inside, possibly an older girl, judging from the rose perfume that rolled out of the house as she spoke. “Get away from that dog. It’ll bite you.”
Round face twisting into a scowl, Katherine glanced over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue in the direction of the speaker. Kneeling, she flung her sturdy arms around Buster. Their noses touched, and he licked her neck.
A girl about Darcy’s age burst out of the den. Sunlight glinted off her neat, red ponytail. She placed her hands on her hips. “Come back here, Katherine, or I’ll tell Mother.”
This girl had a snapdragon smell similar to Katherine’s, masked by rose perfume. Far away as I sat from her, the scent made me sneeze.
“Oh, Emily.” Heaving a sigh, Katherine stood up and turned toward the den, a dry leaf smell tingeing her snapdragons.
The big girl ran at Buster, clapping her hands. “Scram! Get away from our house.” The reek of pepper covered her perfume.
Jumping out of the bush, I growled at her. “How dare you talk to him that way! Buster didn’t do anything to you.”
“Never mind, Belle.” Buster called to me on the dog channel as he trotted toward the footbridge. “She smells nasty. I’m out of there.”
“Good idea,” roared a dog voice from the den next to ours. The den’s screen door flew open and a square-jawed, black and tan animal jumped out.
I sniffed the earthy light scent of a female terrier but the largest one I’d ever seen. She bounded to meet Buster at the footbridge, hair fluffing around her face. The rest of her coat lay in close cropped waves along her body. “Be careful. Those humans will hurt you,” she woofed, looking him in the eye without lifting her head. “Especially that older girl, Emily. She’s scared of dogs, but she pretends she hates them.”
Buster scuttled back to our side of the stream. Racing across the yard, I nudged him toward our den.
Darcy appeared at the glass door. “What’s going on? What’s all the barking?”
Red pony tail bouncing, Emily yelled from her bank, “Keep your mutt off our property.”
Smelling her pepper and sour stomach under it, I dashed to Darcy in case she would need help.
The black and tan dog joined Buster. “You’d best go with her, or you could end up in the dog pound.”
Buster’s ears drooped until they hung below his chin. “I was just looking around. We’re brand new here.”
The big dog cocked her head. “Welcome to the neighborhood, but stay out of that yard.”
Emily marched back into her den, her movements reminding me of a willow tree angered by a wind storm. When she disappeared inside, I exhaled in relief.
But now another red-haired person burst out of the den, strode across the footbridge, and glowered at Darcy with glittering green eyes. She moved like a cat ready to kill a snake.
Darcy froze in our doorway and began to smell afraid, like sour stomach.
Buster and I stepped between her and the woman. The other dog
stood nearby.
Margaret appeared, a box in her hand. Behind her, two men set down the food burrow table.
“What’s the matter?” Margaret said.
The woman looked at the box and the men. “You must be moving in.”
Margaret nodded. “I’m Margaret Simmons. What’s your name?
The woman’s coarse features softened. “You may not realize it, but dogs are not allowed to run free in Appleton.”
Margaret stepped outside and slid in front of Darcy. “I’m sorry. We didn’t realize that.”
The woman forced a smile. “All right, now you know. I’m Mrs. Robinson.” She paused, then added, “The wife of Appleton’s mayor.” She arched her stubby neck.
Margaret eased her hands onto our collars. “Nice to meet you. If dogs are not supposed to run here, we won’t let them. Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Robinson.”
The stench of sour stomach rolled off Mrs. Robinson. “Why don’t you build a pen for them? A lot of people do that.”
I looked at the sky. Please, dog heaven, don’t make us live in a pen.
Mrs. Robinson peeked at the black and tan dog. “You go home, Jazzy.”
Cocking her head, Jazzy opened her jaws and snapped them shut, teeth clattering. She looked like she was trying to catch a fly, but I didn’t see any flies to catch.
Mrs. Robinson gasped, scrambling backwards, nearly tripping on a sage plant. Her odor turned to the metallic smell of panic. “Don’t you snap at me, Jazzy.”
Margaret gaped at Jazzy and laughed. “What are you doing, girl?”
Mrs. Robinson’s voice trembled. “Those Airedales scare me to death when they do that,” she gulped. Recovering, she glared at Margaret. “Some people think it’s cute.”
Jazzy clattered her teeth a second time, as if she were snatching a treat out of the air.
“It doesn’t look like she’s trying to hurt anything,” Margaret said, swallowing her grin.
I wiggled my nose. Jazzy smelled earthy, like a normal friendly terrier, but with nutmeg and cinnamon on her, too, the scent of a fun-loving dog. Lifting my chin, I looked down my muzzle at Mrs. Robinson. Come on, flea brain. Jazzy’s quirky, that’s all. She doesn’t mean anything by snapping the air.
Mrs. Robinson looked at us and stiffened, as if holding her ground. “I’ve called the police on that Airedale, and I’ll call them on your dogs if you don’t control them. They’re dangerous, and they should be locked up.” She edged away from us, ready to leap if we moved. When she neared the stream, she turned on her heel and hurried to the footbridge. Once across, she settled into a gliding walk and held her head high.
Eyes wide, Darcy stepped out of the den, smelling vinegary. “Do you think she’d really call the cops?”
“I don’t know. She seems afraid of dogs, so she might be overreacting to their being out,” replied Margaret, glancing at Jazzy and chuckling.
“Wonder why she’s scared,” Darcy mused.
Margaret shrugged. “I don’t know, but let’s put Belle and Buster on their leashes until we find out exactly what the law is.”
Darcy grasped us by our collars. Margaret disappeared into the den, returned with our leashes, and went in again.
We cowered close to Darcy.
The door to Jazzy’s den opened. Another girl about Darcy’s age stepped out, her short black curls bouncing.
Now what was coming? Nose twitching, I tried to sniff out the girl’s attitude. She smelled like sage brush.
Jogging to us, she grabbed Jazzy’s collar. “How did you get out?”
Jazzy cocked her head and clattered her teeth at the air. “I opened the food burrow door,” she said on the dog channel.
Buster and I laughed.
Darcy gaped at the Airedale and then at the girl. “Does that dog, like—always, snap that way?”
“Yup, that’s part of being an Airedale. Some of them have an instinct left over from their rat catching days, I guess. They were taught to snap at their prey.” She grinned at Darcy. “I’m Susan Krebbs. Who are you?”
I saw Darcy give Susan that sizing up look humans use when they meet each other.
I don’t know if Darcy liked her, but I liked Susan’s aroma.
Darcy introduced herself and us.
“Congratulations.” Susan rolled her eyes. “You get to live across from the Robinsons.”
Darcy kicked a stone. “Nicest folks in town it looks like.”
“The little one, Katherine, is okay, but I think the others eat sour pickles for breakfast.” Susan wrinkled her ample nose and plopped sturdy hands on solid hips.
Darcy smiled at her. “It would seem like that.” Her flowery scent mixed with smells of vinegar and sour stomach.
They looked at each other for about as long as it takes to eat a dog biscuit, then flexing strong shoulders, Susan said, “I’m twelve.” Her face brought to mind a full moon. “I’m in 7th grade.”
“Me too,” said Darcy.
Susan nodded. “Then we’ll be in the same school.”
“Cool!” Darcy said.
Falling silent, they balanced themselves first on one foot and then the other.
After what seemed like time enough to eat three bowls of food, Susan asked, “You want some lemonade? I think we can find dog biscuits, too.”
“Okay.” Darcy stopped fidgeting and stood up straight.
She must be beginning to like Susan.
Susan’s den had a glass door to the food burrow, like ours. She and Darcy took us in. After rummaging in the cool box where humans keep their food and digging the best smelling dog biscuits out of a hole in a wall, they settled on Susan’s blankets in her sleeping burrow. Buster and I sat down on the floor and eyed the treats.
“You got it down pat, don’t you?” Jazzy dropped on her haunches, too.
“Of course,” I said, liking her spunk.
Darcy sipped her lemonade. “So what’s with these Robinson people?”
“They’re just rich jerks.” Susan reached into the box and threw a treat to each of us. “They’re lawyers and big shot politicians who think they’re it.”
“Is Mrs. Robinson, like—afraid of dogs?” asked Darcy.
“Yeah,” Susan replied. “But I don’t know why.”
Patting me, Darcy glanced around the room, spotting pictures on a bulletin board. One showed girls clustered around a soccer ball and a wooden eagle. “Is that your team?” she asked, an eager breath in her voice.
Susan grinned. “Yeah, we were league champions last year.”
“I played on a championship team too, back home,” Darcy said.
“Good, you can try out for our team,” Susan invited. “But there’s a lot of competition for spots.”
Darcy nodded. “There always is.” She smelled like lightning, excited.
Jazzy lowered her ears. “I don’t think your human knows what she’s getting into, Belle. That team won a regional tournament against four other states. They’re hot dog biscuits.”
I lifted my ears. “Don’t sell Darcy short. She’s no old gnawed bone.”
Jazzy cocked her head and gave me her best smart-aleck look. “Don’t speak until you see Susan play.”
“You watch Darcy play before you talk. You don’t know her from a chewed up shoe, so don’t be a smart-aleck.”
“Stop me.” Jazzy clacked her teeth.
Buster slid between us. “Hey, it’s a human issue. Let them deal with it.”
I leaped straight over him at Jazzy. I’d have won a prize ten times longer than myself for that move in an agility contest.
Jazzy sidestepped me. I skidded into a closet. Susan’s smell enveloped me as a pair of slacks fell onto my head.
Darcy leaped off the bed and grabbed me. “Belle! Cut it out.” Retrieving the slacks, she hung them on a hook.
Susan guffawed.
Jazzy’s chin whiskers bounced, and a quizzical expression filled her eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t land on me. I’d have been in trouble.”
“I like your sense of humor, but don’t be such a smarty bones,” I retorted. “Judge Darcy’s soccer playing after the tryouts.”
Jazzy lowered her ears.
Darcy escorted me back to Susan’s bed. “Belle is a jumping bean. She won some agility prizes in Illinois.”
Susan scratched my back. “Dog agility. We had that here one time.”
I looked up at her. Had? What does that mean? Dog heaven, please not what I think it does.
Susan continued. “I took Jazzy, but the people who organized the agility games moved away, and no one else wanted to take over their job.”
My heart sank lower than a skunk in its hole.
Buster let his ears hang. “I’m sorry, Belle.” He touched his nose to mine.
Darcy leaned down and scratched my head. “Guess we’re going to have do agility by ourselves.” She looked at Susan. “Are dogs allowed loose on your own property?”
Susan drained her lemonade glass. “Yes. As long as you’re there with them.”
I thought of racing in an arena with a crowd cheering. Leaping flea-sized fences in the yard could never compare to that. My stomach shook, and I tried to think of something pleasant to calm it.
A breeze stirred the curtains at Susan’s window. I smelled the plant I liked.
Turning to Jazzy, I said, “I love the scent of sage brush.”
“Me too,” she answered. “It smells good when it rains.”
I kept my nose on the aroma, the best thing I had found so far in New Mexico.
Chapter 3
Tryouts
Fleas on Appleton’s leash law. Shaking until my tags rattled, I stalked to the end of the run Bob had erected for us because of that rule.
Sticking my head through wire mesh I sniffed the sage brush beyond our enclosure, longing to burrow into its thick leaves. Why couldn’t he have fenced the whole yard, so we could have a big place to run as we’d had back home? Here we just had a place under a shady peach tree, which was okay, but when I got to racing past the trunk, I reached the end of the pen before I knew it.
Belle's Challenge Page 2
