Bailey's Story (9 page)

“Hannah!” Grandma said, coming out of the house. “It's so good to see you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Come in, come in. What have you got there?”

“My mom made some brownies.” I followed Hannah into the house.

“Well, isn't that wonderful,” Grandma went on. “Ethan, you probably don't remember, but you and Hannah used to play together when you were just babies. She's a little more than a year younger than you.”

“I don't remember,” Ethan said, kicking at the carpet.

He was still acting oddly. He didn't seem to be in trouble, though, so I took on the duty of guarding Hannah's basket. Grandma set it on a side table next to Grandpa, who was in a chair with a book. He looked at the basket over the top of his glasses and reached in.

“Do not spoil your dinner!” Grandma hissed at him. He snatched his hand back. I looked at him with sympathy, and he looked back at me the same way. Nobody ever let us have any fun.

For the next several minutes, Grandma did most of the talking, Ethan stood with his hands in his pockets, and Hannah sat on the couch and didn't look at him. Nobody ate a treat. Finally, Ethan asked Hannah if she wanted to see the flip.

At the sound of that horrible word, I whipped my head around to stare at the boy in dismay. I thought we'd moved on. Could it be true that we weren't done throwing that horrible thing around?

The three of us went out into the yard. Ethan showed Hannah the flip, but when he threw it, it still fell to the ground like a dead bird.

“I need to make some design changes to it,” Ethan said.

I walked over to the flip but didn't pick it up, hoping the boy would decide to end the embarrassment once and for all.

Hannah stayed for a while. She went over to the pond to have a look at those stupid ducks, petted Flare on the nose, and took a couple of turns with the flip. Then she got on her bicycle, and as she steered down the driveway, I trotted beside her. The boy whistled for me and I returned at a dead run.

Something told me we'd be seeing that girl again. Maybe she'd bring the basket back with her, too.

 

12

Later that summer, the packing began again. Mom walked from room to room, but Ethan stayed on his bed, reading a book. I followed Mom for a bit as she put things in the car, and then came back to check on Ethan, confused. He put down his book and we both went outside.

Grandma and Grandpa had come out to the car, too. Ethan and I stood next to it as they both got inside.

“I'll navigate,” Grandpa said.

“You'll fall asleep before we cross the county line,” Grandma replied.

Mom wrapped the boy up in her arms. “Now, Ethan. You are a big boy. You be good. You call if you have any problems.”

Ethan squirmed under his mother's hug. “I know,” he said.

“We'll be back in two days. You need anything, you can ask Mr. Huntley next door. I made you a casserole.”

“I know!” Ethan said.

“Bailey, you take good care of Ethan, hear?”

I wagged my tail. Were we going for a car ride or what?

“I stayed by myself all the time when I was his age,” Grandpa said. “This will be good for him.”

I could feel worry and hesitation in Mom, but she let go of Ethan and got behind the wheel. “I love you, Ethan,” she said.

Ethan mumbled something, kicking at the dirt.

The car rolled off down the driveway, and Ethan and I solemnly watched until it was out of sight. Then …

“Come on, Bailey!” Ethan shouted.

Everything was suddenly more fun. The boy ate some lunch, and when he was done we played Clean the Plate. We went into the barn, and he climbed up on the rafters while I barked, and when he jumped off into a pile of hay, I tackled him. An inky shadow from the corner told me the cat was watching all of this, but when I trotted over to see what she was doing, she slunk away and vanished.

When the afternoon grew late, the boy gave Flare a bucketful of food, and we went back into the kitchen. He got some chicken out of the refrigerator and then, to my surprise, he took the plate into the living room. I followed him and watched with interest as he switched on the television and settled down in a chair, his plate on his lap. This was new! And it got even better when the boy tossed me bits of succulent chicken skin while he ate.

After we played Clean the Plate (twice in one day!), I decided to see just how much the rules had changed. I put a paw up on Grandpa's chair. The boy didn't say anything. I jumped up and looked over at the boy again. He glanced at me, smiled, and returned his eyes to the television.

After a bit, I heard the telephone ring, and I opened one eye to watch the boy get up to answer it. I heard him say, “Bed,” but after he hung up the phone, he didn't go to the sleeping porch. He went back to his chair and the television, so I curled up a little tighter in mine.

I was in a solid sleep when a sudden sense of something wrong woke me with a jolt. I picked up my head. The boy was sitting stiffly upright, his head cocked.

“Did you hear a noise?” he whispered.

This seemed serious.

I got off the chair, stretched, shook, and looked at Ethan expectantly. What did he want me to do? When he didn't move, I went over to his chair. He touched my head, and his fear leaped from his skin. “Bailey,” he whispered.

I wasn't at all sure what was happening, but I knew there was a threat somewhere. I prepared myself to face it, feeling the fur rising on my back and a growl forming in my throat.

Slowly, the boy stood up and took hold of my collar. I stayed close by him, on high alert, as we walked upstairs to Mom's room.

I could smell Mom strongly here, her sweat, the flowery soap she liked to use, her gentleness. Once the door was closed behind Ethan, I could feel him relax a little. So I did, too. He let go of my collar and looked around the room.

“Okay,” he muttered.

He got on one side of the dresser and pushed with all his strength. It skidded across the floor. I watched, puzzled, as he pushed the heavy piece of furniture in front of the door. Hadn't he liked it where it was?

When the door was blocked, Ethan nodded, and I felt his fear die away. Whatever the threat had been, it seemed to have passed. Ethan pulled off his shoes and pants and flopped down on the bed. “Here, Bailey!” he called.

I jumped up and lay right beside him, and he hugged me tightly, both arms around me, the way he would do now and then in the doghouse. I licked his chin, which still tasted a little of chicken, and his ear. Then I settled down with my head across his chest, trying to be as comforting as I could.

We were together, after all. How could anything be wrong?

The next morning, we slept in and then had a fabulous breakfast. Ethan's fear from the night before was totally gone. I ate toast crusts and licked scrambled eggs and finished Ethan's milk for him. What a great day!

Ethan stayed in the kitchen after we played Clean the Plate, packing up more food and putting it into a bag, along with a bottle that he filled with water. He slid the whole thing into his backpack.

Were we going for a walk? A walk with food? I danced around the kitchen with excitement. Sometimes Ethan and I would go for long walks, and he'd bring sandwiches along for us to share. Lately, all of our walks seemed to take us down by the house where that girl, Hannah, lived. I could smell her scent on the mailbox. The boy would stand and look at her house, and then we'd turn around and walk home.

Whistling, the boy went out to take care of Flare, bringing her a bucket of dry seeds. I sniffed at them and licked a few, just to try them. They had no taste at all.

I was surprised when, after Flare had eaten, Ethan fetched a blanket and a shiny leather saddle and put them on the horse's back. We'd done this a few times before, with Ethan climbing up to sit high on Flare's back while I watched from the ground. But it had always been with Grandpa there, and always with the gate to Flare's big yard firmly closed.

Today the boy opened the gate and then hoisted himself up onto the horse with a grin.

“Let's go, Bailey!” he called down to me.

I followed grumpily. I didn't like it that Flare was suddenly getting all of the boy's attention. I was so far away from Ethan, too, forced to walk beside this huge creature that I thought was about as dumb as the ducks.

Soon we were in the woods, walking along a trail. I spotted a rabbit and took off after it. I would have caught it, too, if it hadn't cheated by changing directions all of a sudden. I smelled more than one skunk, but of course I didn't go in their direction. Those skunks weren't worth my time.

We stopped at a small pool, and Ethan got off the horse. Both Flare and I took a drink, and Ethan ate sandwiches, tossing me the crusts.

“Isn't this great, Bailey? Are you having a good time?”

I watched his hand. Was he asking me if I was ready for more sandwiches? Of course I was.

It was nice to be out in the woods, even if Flare did have to tag along. Ethan hadn't brought the flip with him, so that was one good thing. And there were so many interesting smells, plus, of course, my boy. Ethan packed up the leftover sandwiches and got back up on Flare. We kept going.

We were so far from home by now that I could not smell any sign of it. I could tell that Ethan was getting tired from his voice and the way he sat on Flare. “Do we go this way? Or that way?” he asked after we'd been riding for a while. “Do you remember, Bailey? Do you know where we are?”

I looked up at him and wagged, and we kept walking. Ethan nudged Flare down a new trail.

I'd marked so much new territory that my leg was getting sore from being hoisted up into the air. And then Flare suddenly lifted her tail and let loose a huge gush of urine. What a stupid thing to do! Now her scent would wipe mine out, and nobody could smell me. Since I was the dog, that wasn't right! The horse should have known better. I wandered up ahead to clear the smell from my nose.

I topped a small rise, and that's when I saw the snake. It was coiled in a patch of sun, sticking its tongue out and in, out and in. I stopped, fascinated. I'd never seen one before.

“What is it, Bailey? What do you see?”

Whatever the boy was saying, it probably wasn't
Go bite the snake.
I didn't think it was the kind of thing I wanted to play with. Suppose it turned out to be like the skunk and had no idea how to play properly?

I ran back to the boy and Flare, keeping pace with them up the small hill. I wondered how Flare would react when she saw the snake curled up in front of her.

At first she
didn't
see it, but as she got closer, the snake suddenly pulled back, lifting its slim, dark head. And that's when Flare screamed.

I didn't even know that a horse could
make
that sound! It startled me so much that I jumped into a bush and barked wildly. Flare's front legs came off the ground, and she spun, kicking. The boy went flying off her back and hit the flat, packed dirt of the trail with a thump.

I ran to him at once. He sat up slowly, took a deep breath, and then jumped to his feet. He was okay! I danced happily around him, but he wasn't interested in playing. “Flare!” he shouted.

The horse was already running at a full gallop down the trail the way we had come, her hooves pounding the dirt. The boy took off after her, and then I understood what needed to be done. I glanced back at the snake—it seemed to have disappeared—and then I chased Ethan, who was chasing Flare. Obviously this was a race, and Ethan and I had to win!

We didn't, though. I tore past Ethan, trying to keep up with Flare, but she was too fast and I was getting too far away from my boy. I turned back to be with him. He'd stopped running and was standing still.

“Oh no!” he was saying as I reached him, but I could tell that the “no” wasn't for me. “What are we going to do, Bailey?”

And the boy started crying.

 

13

These days, Ethan didn't cry as much as he had when he was younger. So I got worried, seeing his tears now. I shoved my face into his hands, trying to get as close as I could, trying to comfort him. That was my job.

The best thing, I decided, would be for us to go home and eat some more chicken.

The boy sat down on the path and cried some more, while I leaned on him and licked at his salty tears. At last he stopped and looked blankly around at the trees.

“We're lost, Bailey,” he said.

I wagged at the sound of my name. How about that chicken now?

The boy took off his backpack, reached in it for the bottle of water, and took a swallow. Then he packed it away and got to his feet.

“Well, okay,” he said. “Come on.”

Apparently our walk wasn't over, because he picked a new path and set out in a different direction.

We went a long way, and at one point we even crossed over our own scent, so I knew we had come in a circle. The boy kept plodding along, slow but determined. I grew slower, too. I was so tired that when a squirrel darted across the path in front of us I didn't even bother to chase it.