Lester ground his teeth for a moment, to gather his thoughts. “Both of you, aim for the near corner of the barn. You can meet there. Sneak along the shady side, toward the back of the farmhouse. That’s where the old farmer used to tie up his dog, to a post sunk into the ground with a metal ring screwed into it. I expect the new farmers will do the same.”
“If there is a dog,” Thistle interjected. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
“Farmers and dogs go together like moss and the backside of a rock, and you’d best be prepared for the worst. If there is a dog,” Lester went on, “and the dog’s tied up, that’s good news. When the dog gets wind of you, it’ll bark like mad and race to the full length of its rope, but that’s as far as it can go. No need to bolt, and don’t let the noise bother you. Just keep your distance.”
“A tied-up dog is good. Don’t freeze, don’t bolt,” Alice said, imagining it.
“That’s right, young ’un. You know what else is good? A dog that’s locked in the house.”
“Inside, you mean? Like the farmers?” Thistle gave a shiver of horror. “How awful. Imagine being locked indoors!”
“Don’t waste your sympathy on the dog,” Lester said with a silent chuckle. “He won’t waste any on you. A dog in the house can’t hurt you. But any mutt worth its tail will smell that you’re close by and bark at the door, and it’d be just like a farmer to open that door, too. So keep your wits about you.”
“Should we look inside the house, too, just to be sure?” asked Alice, as if breaking into farmers’ houses was a thing wild rabbits did every day. Truthfully, her curiosity was growing by the minute. The Arm Waahr, the crib, the countless boxes—where were they now? And was a baby people really as ugly as everyone said?
Lester gave her a look. “I wouldn’t attempt it, personally. But if you can peek in a window, feel free. Knowing what manner of dog we’re dealing with could be useful.”
“I thought all dogs are bad,” Thistle said.
“These things have nuances, youngster! A little dog that makes a big noise is less bad than a big dog that makes a little noise. You might as well find out as much as you can. If you even make it that far,” the old rabbit pointed out.
“Tied-up dog is good, dog in the house is good but keep our wits about us, peek in a window if we can—and what if there’s a dog that’s loose?” asked Alice, who was determined to make the most of this adventure.
“I’m getting to that.” Lester paused to rub his chin on the warm rock. “If the dog’s loose, run! Show it the flash of your tail! Whatever you do, don’t let yourself get cornered, and don’t freeze. Once the dang dog’s got your scent, holding still can’t save you.”
“Loose dog. Don’t freeze. Bolt,” Thistle repeated, memorizing it. “Wait. What does a dog even smell like?”
Lester bared his teeth in disgust. “You’ll know it when you smell it, believe me. Almost as bad as a fox. And don’t be fooled. Sometimes people give dogs bubble baths and they come out smelling like flowers. Doesn’t matter. It’s still a dog.”
“What about traps?” Alice asked. “And what about the farmers?”
“They won’t set traps until they’ve planted a garden. That’ll take a while. A farmer can’t run for beans, so even if one of them sees you, you’re all right. Unless it has a shotgun.”
Alice and Thistle started to speak at the same time. Lester double-thumped his back feet for silence.
“I know you don’t know what it is; that’s why I’m telling you! A shotgun looks like a stick and smells like hot metal—like when the sun beats down on that old wheelbarrow in the woods. It’s not dangerous unless the farmer lifts it up and points it at you.” Lester sounded matter-of-fact. “If that happens, same rules as a loose dog. Run like the wind, and make extra sure to zigzag. Keep running even if you think you’re safe. The farmer won’t chase you, but the shotgun can still reach out and grab you, with not a lick of warning.”
“Like a hawk?” Alice asked, with hope. Hawks were known to be sure, silent killers that could dive to the earth and snap a rabbit’s neck before the victim even knew what happened. “May a hawk take you, in good time!” was a common rabbit expression of goodwill. A quick and painless death after enough of life has been enjoyed is what most living creatures prefer, after all.
“Not quick and quiet like a hawk, no. I should have said so. It’ll make a big noise to scare you, the loudest bang you’ve ever heard, but don’t freeze. Just keep running.”
The kits’ ears drooped to hear this.
“Shotguns are the darndest things. I’d rather deal with a dog, myself,” Lester went on, nonchalant. “When a dog’s chasing you, at least you can tell if you’ve got a chance of getting away or not.”
“Were you ever chased by a dog, Lester? What happened?” Thistle asked, eyes wide.
The old rabbit flattened his ears. “If I ever was, I must have got away, now, mustn’t I? That’s all I’ve got to tell you. Any questions?”
Thistle shook his head, but there was one more thing on Alice’s mind.
“Last night, during the meeting, you said a life without radishes is hardly worth living.” She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. “Is that really true, Lester?”
“It’s a matter of opinion. I’ve got mine. You’ll make up your own mind, that’s why you’ve got one.” He paused. “What’s good for the rabbitfolk is good for the rabbit. You’re doing a fine, brave thing, both of you. Now, off you go.”
“Use your ears, use your nose,” said Thistle earnestly.
“Use your brain, young ’un! That’s your best hope. I’ll wait here for you as long as I can. But don’t come back until it’s safe.”
* * *
“Come on, girl, run!” Carl slipped the leash from Foxy’s neck, but the dog just stood there. “Why won’t she run, Dad?”
“She’s not used to it, champ. Try throwing a stick.”
“I don’t have a stick.”
Carl and Brad stood where the backyard opened to the meadow beyond. There were plenty of sticks on the ground, as it turned out. They gathered a few, and Carl tried again.
“Fetch, Foxy! Fetch!” He threw the stick a short distance, maybe a dozen feet.
Foxy sat her tail end down on the grass and lifted one paw, to shake.
“She doesn’t like sticks.” Carl turned to his dad. “Should I go inside and get one of her toys?”
“Give her a chance,” Brad advised. “Throw a few more.”
Carl squatted next to the dog. “Hey, Foxy! You know how you like to watch me play video games? And when the zombie dinosaur skeleton comes on the screen, you always bark?” He waved a stick in front of her. “This might look like a stick, but it’s really a dinosaur leg bone. Don’t you want to chase it now?” Most video games had gone the way of fast-food drive-thrus in the Harvey household, but Carl’s parents and a few of their like-minded friends had decided that Attack of the Zombie Dinosaur Skeletons was just educational enough to let the kids play on weekends. It wasn’t a great game, or even a good one, but the lack of alternatives had made it pretty popular among Carl’s old crowd.
Carl pretended to gnaw on the stick, to get the dog excited. “Ooh, dinosaur leg bone, yum-yum! I’m gonna throw it, and you run get it, okay? And bring it back! That’s playing fetch.”
Foxy yawned. But she stood up again, at least.
Carl threw the stick and cheered. First he pretended to run, to show Foxy what to do. Then he ran for real but in slow motion, calling “Come on, girl, come on!” in an overexcited voice. The beleaguered dog finally trotted after him. Carl had to pick up the stick himself and urge her repeatedly to follow him back, but they made it.
“Good girl, Foxy! That was awesome!” From the way Carl praised her, you’d think she’d solved world peace. Her tail didn’t wag, exactly, but it did curl up a bit, which was usually a good sign.
“Throw it farther,” Brad suggested. “And show her a treat first. For motivation.�
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Carl did. At once Foxy looked more interested. Together, she and Carl went to get the stick. This time Foxy was the one to carry it back, though she dropped it twice and Carl had to help her pick it up again.
They did it again, and again. Each time the stick went a little farther. Foxy seemed to be getting the hang of it. After a few more tries she finally went by herself. She made it all the way back to Carl and dropped the stick at his feet.
“Foxy!” Carl hugged her around the neck. “You fetched!”
Brad grinned. “See, she’s not going to run away. Don’t worry, champ. Just give it a good throw. That lazy dog could use the exercise.”
“I’m not worried anymore,” Carl said, elated. His dad was right. Foxy was a good dog, a smart dog. Of course she’d come back! And it was fun playing fetch with her outside in their own enormous yard. Living on a farm was like having a private park. Maybe they could even put in a carousel!
“Woof!” Foxy barked at him, bright-eyed, ready to play.
Carl drew his arm back and gave the stick a mighty throw into the meadow. This time it went so far he couldn’t even see where it landed. Impressively, Foxy broke into a run.
“Go get it, girl!” he yelled.
* * *
Alice took the long route to the barn along the meadow’s southern edge, just as Lester had advised. She was liking this adventure so far. Grazing and making pellets got dull after a while, and she wasn’t yet old enough to have a litter. There had to be more to a rabbit’s life than that, didn’t there?
That’s why Lester’s talk about radishes had gotten under her fur. Maybe radishes were what she was missing. “Radishes and Swiss chard, oh my!” She said the words aloud, trying out the idea.
Thistle burst through the grass, terror in his eyes.
“Thistle, what happened? You’re supposed to be in the middle of the meadow—”
“It’s raining sticks!” he said, gasping.
“Sticks? Are you sure?”
“Yes! They keep falling from the sky. That’s not good, is it? Didn’t Lester say that shotguns look like sticks?”
“Yes. But he didn’t say they fell from the sky.”
“Go get it, girl!”
The two rabbits stared at each other, then looked up.
THWACK!
The stick landed right in front of Alice. Both kits bolted at top cottontail speed, covering fifteen yards in a single second. Then they turned and hopped warily back. They regarded the stick in wonder.
“See?” Thistle yelped.
Alice pushed the stick with her nose. She gnawed the bark, to be sure. “It’s just a stick,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “It can’t eat us. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about…”
But her very next inhale delivered a pungent smell that was half drooling carnivore, half lavender-scented pet shampoo. The rhythmic footfalls of whatever was galloping toward them shook the ground beneath their sensitive feet.
“Loose dog, bolt, don’t freeze!” cried Thistle.
It was too late. An orange-furred face with a wet black nose and two dark button eyes loomed over them. The panting creature talked to itself in a kind of cheerful self-narration. “Go go go, look at me go! Running, running—wait, what’s this?”
Alice couldn’t help it. She froze. Thistle froze. The animal froze, too, but just for a moment.
“I believe that’s my stick,” the creature said. “Carl thinks it’s a dinosaur bone. He’s a nice kid, but gullible. How do you do?”
“You look like a fox,” Alice blurted. “But you’re not. Are you?” No fox would smell like lavender, she was fairly certain. Foxes were notorious for their stink.
“Pish-posh! Hardly. But I have an attractive resemblance to a fox, so I’m told. That’s why my name is Foxy. I’m a Shiba Inu.” Foxy said it with great pride. “A purebred Japanese Shiba. We’re a rather popular breed at the moment. But what on earth are you?” The dog sniffed. “Not a pigeon, that’s obvious. Not a cat? Not a squirrel? Not a rat? No offense!”
“We’re cottontails,” said Alice, mimicking Foxy’s proud tone. “It’s a rather popular kind of rabbit.” It wasn’t her nature to boast, but if they were about to get eaten, at least they could go out with some dignity.
Foxy grinned. “Oh, rabbits! I should have guessed, I’ve seen pictures. Carl has several books about your kind. There’s a faint whiff of rodent about you, I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I knew right away you weren’t rats. You’re much too cute. Well, how do you do, rabbits! It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Foxy held out her paw to shake. Alice jumped back. Thistle trembled but touched his tiny nose to the paw.
“How do you do?” the little rabbit said. Then he laughed. “A Shiba Inu, what a relief! We thought you might be a dog!”
Like all Shibas, Foxy had triangular ears that stood up on her head like the ears of a teddy bear. Now those ears wilted in disdain. “Inu is the Japanese word for dog, you provincial creature. Shiba Inu means Shiba dog.”
The rabbits stared, uncomprehending. Foxy tried again. “A Shiba is a kind of dog. Like a cottontail is a kind of rabbit, I suppose. Oh dear, now what’s the matter?”
Both rabbits had gone frozen and glassy-eyed. Foxy nudged them with her cold, wet nose, to wake them up.
“Hello!” Alice cried, the first to come to. “Are you going to kill us?”
“I beg your pardon! Why would I do that?”
“To eat us,” Thistle squeaked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Foxy let her eyes close halfway, which only increased her regal air of mystery. “If you must know, I’m on a prescription diet from Dr. Yang, my veterinarian. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s well known in Park Slope, very well known. I get low-carb canned food in the morning, kibble for sensitive stomachs at night, and one Spearmint-Flavored GlitterTooth Chew-Bone every day, to freshen my breath.” The dog licked her lips with a tongue that was pink as a rosebud. “Sometimes they give me a biscuit!”
“So, you don’t eat rabbits?” Alice said, not trusting her senses quite yet. “We thought all dogs ate rabbits.”
“‘All dogs’ is a great many dogs, my quivering friend! We’re not all the same, as you rabbits seem to think.”
“Foxeeeee!”
“Foxeeeee!”
“That’s Carl. One of my humans. He’s calling my name.” Unperturbed, the dog yawned, sat on the grass, and scratched her right shoulder with her back right foot.
“Foxeeeeeee!”
“Foxeeeeeee!”
“That’s Brad.” Foxy repeated the scratching exercise on the other side.
“Foxeeeeeee!” Now both voices called in unison. There was desperation in the sound.
“What do they want?” Alice asked.
“I wish I knew! They call my name a lot. I think they just like saying it.” The dog’s head tilted adorably to one side. “Would you like to see my new house? I have a new dog bed, too, it’s luxurious. New bowls. New toys. A new box of biscuits! I don’t know what I did, but it must have been very good.”
Neither of the young rabbits knew for sure if this was a wise idea, but if the dang dog wasn’t going to eat them, and the farmer hadn’t set any traps, why not? It would make a great story back at Burrow. Even Lester would be impressed. And Alice was still deeply curious about the Arm Waahr and the baby who lived in a cage. This might be her only chance to see these things.
“All right,” Alice said, speaking for them both.
“Delightful! I’m so pleased. Do me a favor, though, would you, dear rabbits? Brad, whom I mentioned, he’s Carl’s father—he thinks I’m lazy. If he sees us together, can I chase you, just a little bit? I won’t catch you, I promise,” she added eagerly. “I just hate it when he makes fun of me like that. It’s terribly embarrassing.” Her ears drooped and her tail unfurled, and all at once she was the picture of abject canine misery.
“You can chase me,” offered Thistle. “That’ll be fun.”<
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Foxy’s ears and tail popped up again like someone pressed the happy dog ON button. “Marvelous, that’s a good lad! Let’s go.”
CHAPTER SIX
The welcome wagon arrives.
If anyone had noticed those two young rabbits and a dog who looked like a fox crossing the meadow together like old friends, they’d have scratched their heads over it for sure.
Foxy trotted along straight as the crow flies, her curled-up tail bouncing proudly on her back, but the rabbits couldn’t help acting like rabbits. No straight lines for them. They tacked back and forth like sailboats in a headwind and dashed for cover every ten yards, so it was a ragtag parade and took quite a while.
The closer they got to the farmhouse, the bigger and redder it grew. It smelled like oats and apples and cinnamon, which was unexpected and pleased the rabbits a great deal. There was no one outside. Foxy offered to bark at the kitchen door to let her humans know that company had arrived, but Alice and Thistle felt compelled to check the place out first, as any sensible cottontail would. Alice thought of Lester’s advice, and asked if they could peek in a window.
“A brilliant suggestion!” Foxy replied. Like all dogs, she’d spent countless hours looking out windows, and she liked the idea of looking in for a change. All they had to do was find a window low enough for a small dog and two pipsqueak rabbits to peep through.
Luckily, the farmhouse was built into a slope. The kitchen door opened to a small porch with three wooden steps that led down to the backyard, while the window on the opposite wall, above the kitchen sink, was only a foot aboveground. From there, Foxy could see in easily, and the rabbits stood up with their paws and fuzzy little chins resting on the sill. Now all three animals had a clear view of the kitchen.
Alice's Farm Page 4
