by KC Frantzen
Mom moves Lobbie. Instantly I’m on my feet. Ready to play?
“No May. I’m making room. Lie down. Good night.”
I relax and cuddle closer as the lights go out. When Dad hops back in, Mom plunks her arm over me and Dad plunks his arm over Mom.
This feels like home. We’ll play tomorrow.
“It’s too early.” Mom snatches the pillow out from under me and smashes it over her head.
“Friendly area roosters, being helpful,” says Dad.
“Mmrrbbbffffttt.”
I bark, “Let’s play!”
“Not now May. We need to eat. Then we have chores,” says Dad.
Chores?
April marches past with her nose in the air. “Yes, Pest. Chores. In this family, we each have a purpose and pull our own weight. Except you.”
I watch her go. I want to pull my own weight, all 9 pounds of it.
Breakfast is the first adventure. I spy the fridge in the barn. There’s no stove in here, or out there either. Mom prepares oatmeal on a device she calls “hot plate,” while Dad puts our dog chow in three mix-matched bowls. We all eat and clean up in a jiffy. Grouch is already at the door.
Even Dad-the-former-grouch seems happy, as he pats her head. “It’s going to be a beautiful day, girl.”
When we all step out into the sunshine I’m hopeful and bark, “Let’s play!” But no one does. I sit with Lobbie, at the ready. Dad and Mom are busy back and forth, back and forth, from the truck to the apartment and barn. When I try to help, all I hear is, “MOVE May!” “Get out of the way, May!” “Next time I won’t be so careful.” “May, c’mon. I can’t watch out for you.”
No matter what I do, I feel wrong.
April stands watch “to deter illegal and inappropriate actions, intercepting or reporting any incidents as necessary.” Hans is busy too. He finds a spot near enough to keep an ear on things, and settles in for a snooze. They all seem to know what to do.
Except me.
I wish I knew how permanent my position is. I mean, is this my Forever Home? Or not?
Mom’s voice interrupts. “Go play May, but stay near the barn and out of trouble.”
Righty-o! I tell Lobbie, “Stay here and out of trouble,” and place it next to the door. I see April jogging towards the unfinished house. Maybe she’ll play. “Where ya goin’?”
“I am on my way to assess the perimeter. Do not interfere.”
“I won’t.” She doesn’t sound too grouchy.
We trot along the barn then up towards the house. She sniffs and listens and watches, all senses alert. I try it too.
April looks at me with stern amusement. “I have my responsibilities. It is my duty to protect from squirrels or burglars, terrorists or anarchists, or who or whatever else might be lurking. Has the family ever been attacked? Not on my watch. They have nothing to fear, I am on guard.”
“Bet no one messes with you. Except Dad.” She gives me a look.
A burst of breeze stirs the new leaves and my nose starts to drip. “PEEYEWWW, what’s that smell? Oh look, by the rock – a beautiful cat (I think it’s a cat…) with glistening black and white fur. She looks so sophisticated. Maybe she wants to play!” I watch her step delicately down the rocky path towards us, not a care in the world.
April continues scanning and says, “Leave her alone, Pest. She is not a threat to security, nor is she the type for games.”
“But it’s a great day to play! She’s just not noticed us. Let’s introduce ourselves and suggest a game.”
“One. No, I am on duty. Two. I assure you, she has. Three. I would not approach if I were you.”
“You’re just sorry you didn’t think of it.” But before I can say hello, the cat that isn’t a cat raises her furry tail and promenades past.
As she withdraws into the underbrush, a wicked wind wafts towards me. Peee YEWWW! Her perfume (if that’s what you call it) is stifling.
WHA-CHOOOOO. I sling my head and shake, teeth to toenails. Wha-CHOO! I’ve got to roll or something and get this smell off. I rub my face in the damp earth. If I can get most of it off, maybe Mom won’t bathe me.
April strolls by and I hang my head. “I stink.”
“You were not sprayed directly, which is providential. It could have been much worse.”
“How do I get rid of it?”
“It will wear off.”
“Wait!” I start to say more, but she continues walking.
“You do not listen. You are not ready to learn.”
I run to catch up. “Am too.”
April climbs the steps to the house. “We shall see. Pay attention. On prior trips, I scouted several selections for a lookout. I concluded the front porch affords the best overall perspective. I shall double-check my previous assessment.”
I study her every move.
“I am scanning the field and tree line, searching for possible lines of attack. I must always remain on the lookout for my humans, and to a lesser extent my brother. But added to my endless duties, Dad and Mom inform me I must tolerate you.”
Gulp.
“With the safety of the entire family as my responsibility, I am not inclined to frivolity – most certainly not with a little sister. (I have other names.) Besides, you are temporary. You are not permanent because one, Hans has the indoors managed and two, I have the outdoors. There are no other open positions. Hence the conclusion you will not stay in this family. Still, I suppose you now have clearance and there are things you should know.”
April scans the surrounding area once more. “Excellent. This corner will serve its purpose quite well. It affords an unobstructed view down the hill, from the front gate almost to the barn.” She lowers herself, arranging legs and lovely tail perfectly. “One’s posture goes a long way to communicating one’s intent and status, though such decorum is probably lost on you.”
I try to arrange my tail too, but it’s only a nub. Will I ever fit in?
She continues, directing a few glances at me. “I was also rescued, but from an entirely different situation than either my brother, or from what information I can gather, you. I was homeless for months, surviving on small rodents, birds, rabbits, bees, carrion, trash – anything I could catch or locate. I even survived fields similar to this one. I know the dangers lurking below, and above.”
She inspects the vicinity once more, then her body language shifts. “I have been properly trained, and I pay attention.” When she sees I’m watching, she continues. “I am specifically looking for any subtle changes in scent, sight, or sound. I also trust my instinct. Today, there is nothing of import. I am satisfied with the initial security sweep.” She rises and trots down the steps. “Now I shall attend my first priority. Dad is unloading tools into the garage. I shall supervise.”
I curl my lip. “I don’t really like supervising.”
“Splendid. Then I shall have some privacy.”
After she rounds the corner, I play nearby, just like Mom said. Then crate prison thoughts consume me.
I can MOVE if I want. And I want!
Zoom! I zip past the woolly caterpillar inching along a low branch. Zoom Zoom! When I round the front of the barn, wildflowers and grasses spread before me. It’s like the colors from the Monster’s wall art. Except his design was chaotic. This is ordered and glorious!
I trot further down the driveway then break into a gallop. There’s adventure out in that field and it’s whispering a word: FREEDOM!
With the wind in my whiskers, I’m a little cottontail, playing in the sun. No wait – I’ll play security guard since April is off supervising. I probably can’t “deter illegal and inappropriate actions,” but I could “report any incidents.” Even better, I’ll play both!
Here’s something already, two sets of hoof prints. “Those were made by deer,” I tell a dragonfly. “I remember them from last night, when we drove through the gate.” But…Sniff. Something’s odd. There’s a strong scent, only on the larger ones. The tiny prints barely s
niff have one. Sniff, sniff. Maybe because it’s a newborn, to protect it or something. Well, I can hardly smell it but it was here. Wonder if deer like to play?
I follow the trail into the woods, but they are long gone.
That’s okay, I’m on duty anyway. Ooh, here’s paper-thin snakeskin, thankfully with no snake in it! And a speed bump, courtesy of a mole. And a dark brown feather that sniff smells like danger.
Where to next?
I scamper into a circular clearing and see hundreds of yellow and black buzzing insects, busy among the flowers. But they are too intent to bother me. I notice a small rickety shed near the edge and decide to check it out. Sniff, sniff. No recent sign of humans but there is– “Oh, pardon me! I didn’t see you.”
“Sssalutationsss.”
This is who that snakeskin belonged to. Gulp. “Excuse me for interrupting your nap, sir. I’ll be moving along.”
“What’sss your russshhh? I’ve not ssseen you before. Ssstand clossser.”
“Uh, no thank you. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You are mossst unusssual. A dog with sssplendid mannersss.”
“Me?”
“Indeed. Mossst dogsss foissst their nosesss into my ssspace. What is sssuch a sssmall dog doing ssso far from her houssse?”
“I, er, I…”
“Threatsss lurk in thessse environsss. Sssmall dogsss who resssemble grey rabbitsss mussst be cautiousss.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll try to remember.”
The copperhead studies me, tongue flicking.
It’s a little embarrassing. Maybe it’s the cat perfume and he’s too polite to say anything. I try smiling. He nods, then slithers under a rock. Wshew. Not quite what I was thinking about a new friend but…
MMMM, I smell rainwater. I’m parched. The bird stationed on the hollow log turns to watch me as I approach. “Pardon. I don’t want to frighten you, but I’m thirsty.”
Odd. It’s sure clumsy.
It tilts its wings and hovers before plunking down on the shed.
“Thanks for sharing.” I plunge my tongue into the cool water. Lap, lap, lap, lap. It has a pleasant algae whang, so different from city water in a grimy bowl. There’s another taste though, not damp wood…more like…Is this log made of concrete? Need to check this out. Sniff, sniff, snuffle.
As I trot to the side nearest the shed, the bird makes an awkward landing on my back. “Hi again. Want to help? Hey! Stop buzzing me. We can play later.”
It makes another pass by and slams into my ear. “Stop it! What’s wrong with you?” Sniff, sniff. “You don’t smell alive.”
We square off. As it veers nearby, I duck and take a swat at it. “I’m sorry, but don’t play so rough.” But it doesn’t quit. After several passes, I make contact. Definitely not a bird. And I think I broke it!
The contraption nosedives into the side of the shed – CLUNK. It makes a whirring motor-type sound but can’t seem to take off. As I advance, it starts smoking, then lies silent.
Is it a security guard, like April? For what? Better check out this shed.
Piffle. Door’s locked. Maybe there’s another way. I snatch the bird-like device and head to the side. Here’s a small hole, from the smell of it, made by a field mouse. Maybe I can pull on it. Using my underbite, the board loosens enough so I can just squeeze through. Better grab that dead-birdie-device too.
Okay, we’re in! It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. It’s a run-down place sniff not used by humans in awhile. There’s a folding bed and a wooden chair near some shelves. I jump on the seat and rummage around the scattered items. Clothing, some food from the looks of the labels, a tiny flashlight, cups and plates, a well-used green metal box that smells like old fire. Not too much of interest. Still, I get a whiff something’s not quite right. There’s something more, out of place.
I jump down and walk under the bed to scent what else I can find. Right-o, a handle! Putting my weight against it, something unlatches. Peculiar smells waft into the room from behind the shelves. That’s what I scented! I jump onto the bottom shelf and peer down a dark passage, concrete stairs disappearing into blackness. Shudder.
Maybe humans have a way to push back these shelves but they’re too big for me. Still, I think I can slip through. I grab the little flashlight with my teeth, using a paw to turn it on like I saw Dad do, and squeeze inside.
Light bounces off the narrow walls as I descend each step. Eight steps, flat space, eight more, flat space, six times. Shudder. I’m going deep underground.
I hear a big open space coming up, thank goodness. I use the light to shine around the walls. This room hasn’t been used in awhile but it doesn’t look abandoned like the shack. There is a circular room. (Is this under the clearing?) The floor doesn’t feel exactly stable. There are shelves and some beds, one on top of another. There’s a bathroom too, and a place to make food. I spy all kinds of equipment and computers, some backpacks. I nose inside one of them and there’s a metal piece. It says RA-115. Big clear plastic bins contain arms and ammunition, maps, and other papers. There’s a gigantic round door off to one side.
I think this qualifies as needing to “report any incidents as necessary.” But before this little flashlight runs out, I’d better get back out. I’ve never been so alone or felt it.
I dash up the stairs, drop the light, seize the mechanical bird and squeeze out the way I came in.
Wait! Better leave things the way I found them. I squeeze back in. Hope that lever works in reverse. I’m relieved when I hear the door whumpf shut. I nuzzle the flashlight back about where I found it and look around.
Paw prints in the dust! I start by the bed and back away towards the hole, blowing hard through my nostrils as I go. It works. Not great, but okay. I hope.
It’ll be hard dragging birdie home, but otherwise April will think I’m fabricating. I grab it by the good wing and search for my way out of the woods. I decide to aim for brighter sunlight and finally pick up my own scent trail.
Even along the same route, when you go the opposite direction, it’s a whole different scene. Should have left a marker. Hope I can find my way back to the shed again. Now where is that gravel road?
“CaCAWW CaCaww CaCAWW.”
Crows! One starts, then they all chime in. I watch a cloud of black feathers lift off. “DANGER CACAWW. DANGER LITTLE DOG. CaCAWW.”
When I look up past the trees, I see the house. “Thank you crows. I’m okay now. I’m on my way home!” There’s Mom, digging in the dirt with Hans nearby. Bet April is still supervising Dad in the garage. They all have jobs, a purpose.
As I run through the field towards home, I keep wondering what mine is. (Ow, these burrs are sharp.)
“CaCAWW DANGER DANGER CACAWW.”
“Okay already. Thanks, I’m alright.” Uh oh…
My heart goes thump and nothing’s in focus thump thump and my legs stop working and thump thump I stumble and roll, head over paws. THUD.
I lie panting, too sick to stand. I struggle to my feet and shake it off but the world moves in slow motion. And I hear everything really, really well.
Crickets chirp. A frog is singing. And those blasted crows. “DANGER DANGER CaCAWW.”
What was I doing? I don’t exactly…Oh look…How pretty…
A brilliant blue butterfly flits away and lights onto the gravel. There’s a road. MMM, it will feel warm on my pads.
I shake it off again, which clears my head. For a moment.
Where’s that bird thing? There you are. C’mon birdie.
“MAAAYY! Where are you?”
Uh oh. Mom’s calling. Ooh, look at the shadow, circling and circling. It’s making me woozy to watch. Thump thump.
“DANGER CaCAWW LOOK UP.”
I drop birdie and command my head to tilt back. It’s a hawk, way up high. He’s diving, wings and talons tucked. Who’s he after?
Hey! He’s coming after ME! Must get into the grass.
I hear Mom scream, “May I see yo
u! COME!” Oh good. She doesn’t sound too mad. Thump thump.
“I’m here,” I try to bark, but it comes out like a squeak. Thumpthumpthump.
“MAY COME HERE NOW!”
Something’s wrong. What do I do? Thump thumpthump. Pick up birdie. Right paws ahead, left paws ahead. Right, left, right, left…I lurch out of the tall green grass and, drat. Wing broke off birdie. Why is Mom running with one arm flung over her head?
Just as I collapse, I sense Mom scooping me up. “Oh May, my little May!”
A rush of wings beats the air, then all goes dark.
I‘m being carried. Sniff. Mom? Though my body is limp and my eyelids aren’t working, I can listen. Seems we’re approaching the garage and April is talking.
“As head of security, I must inform you. There has been a severe breach, with a near miss on Mom.”
I hear Hans’ voice. “The bat came back?”
“Pardon, did you say ‘bat’?”
“Never mind. What happened?”
“Hawk attack. The Pest disobeyed orders, with life-threatening consequence, however Mom arrived in time.”
Dad’s footsteps. “What happened? Is she alive?”
“Here. Puff puff huff. Take her.” I feel Mom hand me over.
I scent Dad’s head up close, listening to my chest. He says, “She’s breathing. Barely. And she is fragrant, isn’t she? Whoo-wee.”
I know. I stink. With great effort, I slit my eyes open in time to see Mom hold up a hand. “Winded…Not run like that in years…”
I try to blink…a struggle.
Mom gulps a little more air. “She wasn’t pestering me or Hans to play…so, you know, I started looking around…then I glimpsed her, dragging something. I started that direction to blister her ears. We told her to stay near the barn and out of trouble!”
