Fluffy & Freckles Special Edition

by Ellen Miles

  Charles thought of how Lizzie had once called him a “puppy whisperer” because he seemed to be able to connect with any puppy, no matter how scared or shy they were. Could he whisper this puppy out of its hidey-hole and into his arms? He slid a hand into the pocket of his jeans, hoping to find at least a piece of a dog biscuit to tempt the puppy with. Nothing. He tried all his pockets, but they were empty.

  When he glanced back at the cave entrance, he saw that the puppy was peering out again. His face was so cute, with a big brown spot surrounding one eye and freckles of brown sprinkled all over. Charles held out his hand. “Hey, Freckles,” he whispered. “Come on out. I don’t have anything to give you, but I’m still a friend.”

  “Charles!” a shout boomed behind him.

  “Dad!” Charles stood up and ran, clomping through the snow on his snowshoes, into his father’s arms.

  “What are you doing way back in the woods here?” Dad asked. He looked a little mad at first, but then he knelt down to give Charles a huge hug. “I thought we’d lost you.”

  “But now we found you,” Steve said, coming up behind them.

  “I followed those tracks.” Charles blurted out the whole story. “It was a puppy! A brown-and-white one. He’s so cute, but he’s really shy. And now he won’t come out!” he finished, pointing to the cave. No freckled face peered back at them. Would the grown-ups believe him?

  “Nice tracking,” said Steve, nodding. “But I’m not surprised that this pup is shy. He’s been living on his own for a while, from what I hear. Probably half-wild by now.” He dug into his jacket pocket. “Still, I bet he might be tempted by something really good to eat. And I just happen to have a leftover turkey sandwich right here.”

  Steve unfolded the white paper around the sandwich, then lifted off the top piece of bread so the turkey slices showed. “This looks like something that might tempt a hungry pup, hey?” He held it out for Charles to take. “Worth a try, anyway.”

  Charles peeled off a few slices of turkey, then walked closer to the little cave. “Puppy?” he called. “Freckles?”

  “You’ve already named him?” Dad asked.

  “Shhh.” Charles turned around with his finger to his lips. “He’s shy. He’ll never come out if we keep talking.”

  Dad frowned. Charles knew he shouldn’t have shushed him, but he really, really wanted that dog to come out. “Sorry,” he mouthed. Dad nodded and waved a hand to let Charles know it was okay. He got it—he knew how much puppies meant to Charles.

  Charles squatted down, holding out a piece of turkey. He was hoping that the smell of meat would waft into the little cave. Sure enough, after a few moments he saw movement, and the little face appeared again. “Hi, pup,” said Charles. “Want some?”

  The puppy’s nose twitched, but he didn’t move.

  Charles held out his hand a little closer.

  “Are you sure he’s friendly?” Dad asked in a low voice.

  Charles waved a hand, meaning both “yes” and “be quiet!”

  The face disappeared.

  Charles turned around. “Dad!” he said.

  “Okay, okay,” said his father. “I’ll be quiet.” He pretended to zip his lips. “Just don’t get too close until we have a better idea of what this dog is like.”

  Charles nodded and turned back to the cave. He waited patiently until the face reappeared. Then he pinched off a small piece of turkey and tossed it, hoping to get it closer to the puppy.

  It landed a foot from the cave entrance. The puppy’s nose twitched again, but he didn’t step forward. Charles saw him lick his lips.

  “Aha! You’re hungry,” said Charles softly. “I knew it.” He tore off another piece and tossed it a little farther. This time it landed right in front of the puppy.

  The puppy’s nose twitched. He licked his lips again.

  That smells so good. I’m scared to come out—but I can’t resist.

  He bent to gobble it up. Then he cocked his head and looked straight at Charles, as if asking for more.

  “Yessss,” Charles said under his breath. He tossed another piece. This time, the puppy didn’t duck back into the cave. Instead, he gobbled that piece—and stepped forward to grab the first scrap of turkey that Charles had thrown, too. He tossed another piece, a little way in front of the puppy.

  The puppy didn’t move.

  And then he did. He took one step, stretched out his skinny neck, and grabbed up the piece of meat. Then he stepped back.

  Charles sighed. This was going to take forever! His legs were tired from squatting, so he stood up to give them a stretch. The puppy disappeared back into his cave.

  “Let me try for a while,” said Steve. Charles handed over the turkey and went to stand by Dad while Steve squatted down.

  “Steve’s always had a way with animals,” Dad told Charles in a low voice. “He doesn’t have any pets—says he doesn’t want the responsibility—but he’s like you. He can’t ignore an animal in need. He even helps out his farmer friends sometimes when they have a baby animal who needs extra care.” Dad put a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll get the puppy out of there.”

  They watched as Steve tossed piece after piece of turkey toward the cave entrance. The puppy reappeared and began to snatch up the treats. Steve stayed very still, and murmured things that Charles could barely hear. “That’s it” and “okay, friend” and things like that.

  Soon Steve was making shorter and shorter throws, and the puppy was coming closer and closer to him. Charles held his breath. Now he could see how thin the puppy was, and how he was shivering as he stood in the snow. Was he trembling with fright or from cold? Probably both, thought Charles. His heart went out to the brave little pup who had been living on his own all winter.

  What kind of dog was Freckles, anyway? Lizzie was the one who could always guess dog breeds, but Charles was pretty sure that this pup wasn’t any particular breed—more like a mix of several different types. He had never seen another dog quite like Freckles—not even on Lizzie’s big “Dog Breeds of the World” poster—but Charles loved the puppy’s spots, his long ears, and his sweet face.

  “I’m running out of turkey,” Steve said, without turning his head. “But I think I can almost grab him. Be ready if he runs past me.”

  Charles watched closely as Steve threw one more piece of turkey, very close to the tip of his own snowshoe. The pup slowly crept closer, stopping to eye Steve every few seconds. Then, when he bent his head to take the meat, Steve swept out a long arm and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

  “Got him!” he said, pulling the puppy into his arms.

  Charles saw the puppy squirm and wriggle, but Steve held him calmly and firmly, and soon he settled down.

  “Now what?” Steve grinned up at Charles.

  Charles opened his mouth—and closed it again. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He looked at Dad. “Well, we were about due for a foster puppy, right?” he asked. It had been a while since the Petersons had helped a puppy in need.

  “Whoa!” Dad held up his hands. “Hold on, there,” he said. “How can we do that? We’re not home, remember? We’re staying at an inn. I don’t think they allow pets there.”

  Charles looked back at the puppy, who had nestled into Steve’s wool jacket. He could see, even from where he stood, that the puppy was still shivering. “But we can’t leave him in the woods,” he said. “Maybe we should go back home early so we can foster him there?”

  Dad shook his head. “Nope. We promised Steve we’d help him with sugaring, and I’m not going to back out on that. Maybe there’s an animal shelter around here that can take him.”

  Charles felt his heart sink. Some animal shelters were warm, welcoming places—but even so, they were not homes. Puppies needed homes, places where they could really feel safe, and loved, and cared for. Especially scared, skinny puppies who weren’t used to people. Charles looked at the little face peeking out from Steve’s arms.

  St
eve stood up, still cradling the puppy. “I guess he’ll have to bunk with me for a night or two while we figure it out,” he said. “I don’t have much room, but at least my place stays warm, thanks to my woodstove.”

  Charles grinned up at him. “Really? That would be so great.” He couldn’t wait to get to know this puppy, to play with him, to find out where and how he liked to be petted, and what he liked to eat.

  “You’ll have to help out, though,” Steve said. “I can’t have him underfoot while I’m trying to gather sap and boil it up. This is a busy time for me.”

  “Of course,” said Charles. He couldn’t stop smiling as he followed Dad and Steve back through the pine grove and down the trail to Steve’s cabin. Everything was working out perfectly.

  It turned out that the cabin was very nearby, just over the hill. “That’s where we boil the sap,” Steve said, gesturing to a small shed with a metal stovepipe sticking up from its roof. “I’ll show you all that later.” He led them to the little log cabin behind the shed, and pushed open the door with his foot as he carried the puppy inside. “Welcome,” he said as he waved Charles and Dad in.

  “It’s so cozy!” Charles burst out. The cabin was warm and smelled like woodsmoke. It was mainly one big room, with windows all around. There was a tiny kitchen along one wall and a big, comfy-looking couch along another. A ladder led to a sleeping loft above the couch. The other two walls were covered in bookshelves. Stacks of books filled every horizontal surface. A rocking chair sat next to a shiny blue woodstove that pumped out waves of heat. Charles could just picture Steve sitting in that chair on a quiet winter evening, reading as he rocked back and forth.

  “Cozy, for sure,” said Steve. “Some folks think it’s awfully small, but it seems to fit me just fine.”

  “I like it,” said Charles. But his mind was on Freckles. “Do you have something we can use to make a bed for the puppy?”

  “Sure,” said Steve. Why don’t you grab those old towels hanging on a hook behind the door, there?” Steve was still holding Freckles in his arms, and he jutted his chin to show Charles where to go.

  Charles could see that the dog’s eyelids were drooping, and he could tell the exhausted puppy was about to fall asleep. He was dying to pet the dog, but first he wanted to make sure that Freckles would be comfortable. He ran for the towels. Steve told him to put them on the floor near the woodstove, “And add a couple of those pillows from the couch, too,” he said. “Let’s make him comfy. The poor little dude has been living rough.”

  While Charles set up a little bed for Freckles, Steve told Dad where to find some bowls for water and food. “I guess he’ll just have to eat leftovers tonight,” Steve said. “And I’m sure he’ll be happy for them. I’ll pick up a bag of food when I go to town for the mail tomorrow.”

  Steve knelt on the floor to settle Freckles onto the towels. “There you go,” he said. “You rest for a while.”

  Charles knelt down, too. The puppy looked up at him with sad golden-brown eyes, and Charles could see that he was still trembling. “Think I can pet him?” he asked Steve.

  “He still seems pretty scared,” Steve said. “But if you’re gentle, he might let you.”

  Charles reached out a hand, slowly, slowly.

  Freckles drew his head back and ducked out of the way.

  Charles tried not to let it hurt his feelings. “It’s okay, Freckles,” he said softly. “I know you’re scared. But soon you’ll figure out that I’m your friend.” Charles hoped he was right. But meanwhile, he could see that Freckles had found the perfect, peaceful place to spend a few nights.

  “Dad?” Charles asked the next morning.

  “That’s my name,” said Dad, grinning. “What’s up?” He held tight to the steering wheel, yanking it this way and that as he drove up the muddy, rutted road. After another pancake breakfast at their inn, they were on their way back to Steve’s sugarbush. Charles had learned that was the name of a bunch of maple trees all growing together. The sun was shining and there wasn’t a single cloud in the blue, blue sky.

  Charles couldn’t wait to get there. He had thought about Freckles all night, wondering how to convince the adorable pup that he was a friend. He was so eager to hug the little dog and bury his nose in his soft-looking fur. At breakfast, Charles had snuck a few pieces of sausage from his plate into a napkin, and then into his pocket. His pocket felt a bit greasy now, but it didn’t matter. Charles knew that no dog could resist sausage. It might take time, but Charles was sure that he and Freckles would be pals by the end of the day.

  “What’s up?” Dad repeated.

  “I was just wondering,” Charles said, remembering the question he’d had for Dad. “Do you think Steve is lonely?”

  Dad shook his head. “No, I don’t. Steve has plenty of friends around here, people who really love him. He knows their kids and even their grandkids by now, since he’s lived here for a long time. But he also really likes to live alone.”

  “Way out there at the cabin?” Charles said. “I’d be lonely and scared.”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of out in those woods,” Dad said. “And I don’t think Steve will ever be lonely as long as he’s got his books. You know, it’s like my dad used to say: ‘Different people are different.’ We don’t all want the same things in life, and that’s fine. Your mom and I couldn’t wait to have kids and live in a small, friendly town. But Steve likes to live alone in the woods.”

  Charles nodded. He could tell that Dad was right. Steve’s cabin was such a peaceful and happy place, even if it was in the middle of nowhere.

  Dad was also right about something else: the hike to Steve’s cabin did not seem as long on the second day. Maybe it was the magnetic pull of Freckles—Charles felt like his feet were flying along the path, clumsy snowshoes and all.

  Dad knocked on Steve’s door, but there was no answer. “He must be out gathering sap,” Dad said, peering into the empty cabin. “And I guess Freckles is with him.”

  Charles was disappointed. He couldn’t wait to see Freckles. “Well, let’s go find them,” he said.

  “Okay,” said Dad. “Grab a couple of buckets and we’ll follow his snowshoe tracks. The ones from today will be fresher and we’ll be able to tell where he went.” Sure enough, as soon as they’d climbed a hill and followed a stone wall for a while, there was Steve, his bright red wool jacket making him easy to spot. He was whistling as he dumped buckets of sap into his blue buckets, and—Charles could hardly believe his eyes—there was Freckles prancing along in Steve’s footsteps, tail wagging happily. He was a different pup from the cowering, trembling stray Charles had seen last night.

  “Freckles!” Charles called, dropping down onto his knees in the snow. He flung his arms wide open. “Come here, boy!”

  Steve looked up and waved, hooting a long “Helloooo!” The skinny brown-and-white pup leaned against Steve’s legs and stared at Charles. Then the puppy looked up at Steve. And back at Charles.

  Um, I know we’ve met before, but I’m still feeling shy.

  “It’s okay,” Steve said, smiling down at him. “Charles is cool. Go check him out.” He waved in Charles’s direction, and after a few hesitant steps away from Steve, Freckles seemed to make up his mind.

  Well, if the tall man likes you, I guess you really are okay.

  Charles burst out laughing as Freckles bounded toward him, surfing through the snow like a dolphin leaping in the waves. “Good boy,” he called, opening his arms even wider. He loved the way the puppy’s ears flapped and bounced as he ran. His brown spots stood out against the white snow.

  Charles couldn’t wait to hug him, but the pup stopped short a few feet away. “Okay,” Charles said. “It’s a good start, anyway.” He reached into his pocket, broke off a little piece of sausage, and tossed it to Freckles, who gobbled it right down.

  Dad picked up a couple of blue buckets. “Let’s go gather some sap, okay?” he said. “You can keep an eye on Freckles while we work.”
/>   “I hope he doesn’t run away,” Charles said as they got closer to Steve.

  “Oh, he won’t,” said Steve. “This pup knows a good thing when he sees it. I could tell he really enjoyed sleeping by that woodstove and having a warm meal—even if it was only leftover beef stew.”

  Freckles pranced right up to Steve and leaned against him.

  Yup. Life is pretty good right now.

  Charles felt a twinge of envy. Freckles really seemed to like Steve. He knew it made sense, since Steve had been taking such good care of the pup, but still. Dogs always liked Charles, and Charles was proud of that.

  He felt Dad’s hand on his shoulder. “Patience,” Dad said, with a wink.

  How did Dad always seem to know exactly what Charles was thinking?

  Charles smiled back at Dad. He knew he could make friends with Freckles. Dad was right, he just had to be patient. He headed to a metal bucket hanging on a nearby tree and emptied it into his bigger blue bucket. The crystal-clear sap sparkled in the sunlight as he poured.

  “We’ll get enough sap to start boiling today,” Steve said as they trudged along the paths, lugging the heavy buckets. “I’m going to fire up the arch soon.”

  “The arch?” Charles asked.

  “That’s what we call the setup back there in the shed. There’s a long metal pan that sits on top of a long iron box full of burning wood. The sap fills up the metal pan and starts to boil over that hot fire, and after a while it gets thick and sweet enough to be syrup. Then we draw it off and bottle it up.”

  “Cool,” said Charles. He noticed that Freckles was leaning against Steve’s leg again. He reached into his pocket, pulled out another little piece of sausage, and tossed it to Freckles. The puppy caught it in midair and gobbled it down.

  “You’ll make friends fast that way,” Steve said, smiling at Charles. “Our buddy here is a hungry guy.”

  By the time they had finished emptying all the buckets, Charles was sore and tired. Gathering sap was hard work, especially with so much snow to wade through. Steve’s paths meandered around the beautiful open woods: over hills, along stone walls, and beneath moss-covered rocky ledges. Steve had names for each of the areas within his sugarbush: the North Slope, the Old West, the Hinterlands.