Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits (10 page)

But Miri liked Oscar too, and Sammy, and Bramble. Miri liked dogs.

ʺI want a dog,ʺ Miri often said.

ʺNo,ʺ her mother equally often replied. ʺThere are enough animals around the place already.ʺ

ʺEnough of
your
animals,ʺ Miri said.

ʺWhat is Balthazar, then?ʺ said her mother. ʺChopped liver?ʺ

Balthazar was Miri's horse. He could do anything, including nod, count, and lie down on request, but his chief virtue in her mother's eyes was that he and Miri led the weekend trail rides and, with Miri on his back, nothing ever bothered him: rabbits, raccoons, frisky ownerless dogs appearing as if by magic, plastic bags left by careless picnickers fluttering threateningly from the undergrowth, horses and riders who behaved rationally and competently in the outdoor arena having sudden inexplicable meltdowns without a fence around them: all the standard trail hazards. Unflappability had a price above rubies at a stable that needed weekend trail rides to make ends meet, and for this he was forgiven anything, including how much he ate. He had been—and for that matter still was—the best birthday present Miri had ever had.

She still wanted a dog.

ʺA stable needs a dog,ʺ she said. ʺThe next time somebody tries to break into the tack room, it would bark.ʺ

Her mother winced. Her insurance premiums had gone up after the last claim. ʺNo,ʺ she said firmly. ʺIt would
not
bark. It would be asleep on your bed, and your bedroom's on the wrong side of the house.ʺ

ʺWhat do you have against dogs?ʺ said Miri. ʺYou
like
animals. We even have guinea pigs because when the Stantons emigrated to Australia they didn't have anyone to give them to so they gave them to us. We have
tortoises
because that stupid man at Dad's office thought they could live in the fish tanks, and Dad's as bad as you are and couldn't say no.ʺ Her dad cleaned the tortoise cages. Miri only mucked out warm-blooded animals.

Her mother sighed. ʺDogs are too much like horses—I mean the kind of care they need. They're not all like Fay.
Fay
wouldn't be like Fay, except Nora has put a huge amount of work into her. Cats will almost look after themselves, if there's enough space for them to keep themselves amused in.ʺ

Miri didn't say anything. Space to keep themselves amused in, in Miri's experience of cats, was under some human's feet, and what about the cat food? If all the money for cat food went to dog food, they could have
two
dogs. Two
large
dogs. But it wasn't that she didn't want not to have cats. She felt there was a principle of fair play involved.

ʺDogs you have to do things for. You have to train them, and you have to know where they are all the time. You have to
be
there for a dog.ʺ

ʺWe
are
here. We're
always
here. We're going to be here
forever.
ʺ

Jane gave her a harassed look. It was true they hadn't been away on a vacation in four years, since their last barn-sitter had left without warning after two days. Their stall-cleaner had arrived the next morning and found the barns closed and dark, and the horses still waiting for breakfast. (Also the cats, the fish, the tree frogs and the tortoises. Four years ago had been before either the guinea pigs or the parrot, Dorothy. Miri rather thought that her brother would never be able to go on vacation again, and wondered what any possible future wife would think about a parrot going on the honeymoon with them. He'd lost at least one girlfriend already on account of Dorothy: a happy, contented African grey is both jealous and demanding, and Dorothy recognized a challenger and behaved accordingly.)

ʺHoney . . . are you still sure you want to work here full-time after you graduate from high school? Including living at home and all? Because you know I can't afford to pay you enough to let you move out.ʺ Miri knew. Her dad did the books, and was always trying to make both her and Jane pay more attention. She also knew because when she was still too young to be much use, they'd had live-in barn help. Her family had quite a few live-in barn help stories too.

ʺMom, it's a dead issue. We've got all these
plans
for what we're going to do once I'm here full-time, remember?ʺ

Her mother laughed. ʺI remember only too well. With you working twenty-four hours a day we're going to have the money to build an indoor arena in three years. I feel I must have brain-washed you or something. Kids are supposed to want to grow up and leave.ʺ

ʺAnd I want to grow up and stay. You didn't brainwash me, you just gave me
all
your DNA.ʺ It was a family joke that Miri was her mother's clone: they were both small, dark, tough, compact, horse-obsessed, and couldn't add a column of figures to save their lives.

ʺWell, here's my best offer, then. The day after you graduate from high school, you can get yourself a dog.ʺ

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

It took her almost a week after graduation to make time to go to the dog pound. The primary school got out a week before the high school did, and the barn was immediately deluged with little kids wanting extra lessons. Miri was good with kids, especially the ones torn between adoring horses and being scared to death of them. Some of these then transferred their adoration to Miri, and would only take lessons from her. Every time she looked at her schedule for a space to shoehorn another lesson in, she thought of the indoor arena, and found time.

She knew her mother was hoping she'd forgotten about the dog . . . but that Jane also knew her well enough to know that she would not forget.

So one day—finally—at lunch she said, ʺCarol's mom cancelled, poor Carol's sick, and I moved Harriet to last thing. If you can spare me, I'm going to the pound this afternoon.ʺ

Jane gallantly refrained from sighing, and said immediately, ʺOf course we can spare you. Remember to buy dog food on the way home.ʺ

Miri suppressed a grin. Her mother also knew her well enough to know that if there was no farm dog by dinnertime, it could only be that a roc had stooped from nowhere, picked up the car with Miri in it, and was bearing them away to an unknown island in the Pacific.

She drove very carefully on the way to the pound. She had had her license from the moment she was old enough to be legal, and had been efficiently backing horse trailers around corners at the farm some time before that; it wasn't the driving. It was that today was a special day. Today she'd have—she'd finally have—a dog. It wasn't even only the dog: this would be the first time she'd done something clearly, absolutely, definitively
hers.
She loved the farm and the riding stable, and had every intention of staying there for the rest of her life. (She even had the site picked out to build her own house on, if she managed to acquire a husband who had a job that earned genuine money so they could afford to. But the site was only on the other side of the driveway plus a few trees from the old farmhouse. There was six A.M. breakfast for horses to think about, and you wanted to be within earshot for sounds of trouble.) And budgeting for the indoor arena was her idea (maybe she had one or two of her father's genes after all), but it was still something she was doing with her mother. A dog would in a way be the first step toward making the riding stable genuinely individually hers too.

Ronnie was behind the counter at reception. ʺSo, how does it feel to be a grown-up and have to start paying your own bills?ʺ he said jovially. Ronnie coached the local Little League team Mal had been on, and had six dogs of his own, all from the pound. He tended to specialize in the hard-to-place ones, so he had three-legged dogs, blind dogs, old dogs and hyperactive incontinent dogs. He also had a very patient wife.

ʺIt feels okay. I'm only working forty-two hours a day for seventy-five cents an hour—that's pretty good, isn't it?ʺ

Ronnie whistled. ʺYour mother's getting soft.ʺ

ʺYes, that's what I thought. So I decided I'd better get a dog fast before she tightens up.ʺ

ʺGood plan.ʺ He lifted the end of the counter and came out. ʺI'll take you round. Do you have any idea what you're looking for?ʺ

ʺNot really. Something that can put up with a lot of cats and people and won't chase horses.ʺ

The pound was nearly full, so there were a lot of dogs to look at. And most of them were barking. Miri began to think there were more advantages to cats than she'd realized. Her head started to hurt, and it was hard to
look
at each dog, especially the barking ones. But shouldn't she want a dog that barked? In case it happened to be on the right side of the house the next time someone tried to break into the tack room.

They turned down a row of large runs. ʺI also don't want anything that it takes two days' salary to feed for
one
day,ʺ said Miri, as something that looked like a cross between a St. Bernard and a Shire horse shambled up to the front of its run to look them over.

ʺThey're not all like Marigold,ʺ said Ronnie. ʺSome of 'em are just tall.ʺ

Miri stopped at a run a little over halfway down the row. This dog was not only not barking, which was unusual enough, but it was curled up in a far corner with its back to them.

ʺThis one's a funny one,ʺ Ronnie said. ʺYou won't want him, though. Nobody does. I'd've taken him home by now, but my wife says six is enough. He's a complete gentleman; he wouldn't chase your cats or your horses. But you won't want him. He'd scare your little kids.ʺ

Miri's curiosity was now fully aroused. All she could see was a long reddish-chestnut back: part setter, maybe.

ʺI'm going to take him home soon anyway, though,ʺ said Ronnie. ʺI hate seeing him like this. Some dogs almost don't mind being pound dogs, but he's a sensitive soul, and he's been here too long. He's pining, poor thing. No one even stops to talk to him, let alone take him home.ʺ He unlocked the wire-mesh door and went in; Miri followed. ʺHey there, my friend,ʺ said Ronnie. ʺYou've got a visitor. Come say hello.ʺ

The dog raised his head and looked back over his shoulder at them. He had a long narrow head with lopped-over ears, and a slightly bristly red coat—although more streaky merle than setter. He also had enormous, slanted, almond-shaped eyes, with slightly drooping lower lids. But the interior of those lids was a brilliant
scarlet
red, flame red, and the rim all round was red; and the eyes themselves were a curious reddish brown, almost the color of his coat. The whites of his eyes, visible at the angle he was looking at them from, were also scarlet red.

ʺOh,ʺ said Miri.

ʺThe vet can't find anything wrong with him. He seems to see perfectly well, the eyes don't seem to be sore or tender and there's no swelling, no wounds; the lab reports all come back negative. He just looks . . . odd. Somebody saw him by the road and called him in; but when Diane went out with the van she almost didn't bring him back, because of the way he looks.ʺ

The dog was looking at them sadly. Miri wasn't sure how she knew this; it was hard to read an ordinary dog expression in those eyes. But she was sure she knew what she was seeing. It wasn't just what Ronnie had said about him.

ʺSo, dog, how's it going?ʺ she said, and held out her hand tentatively.

The dog looked at her for a moment longer and then slowly uncoiled and stood up. Oops, thought Miri, well, he's certainly one of the tall ones. He waited, watching them, before he turned around so he was facing them, and paused again, still looking at them. The way he moved reminded her of the way you move around a nervous horse: slowly, gently, with lots of pauses, and watching carefully both for any reaction and any opportunity to try to make friends. This was suddenly so clear to her that she grinned, and held her hand out more positively. The dog cautiously walked the length of the run to them, stared into her face a moment longer, and then dropped his vivid eyes and lowered his head to put his nose in her hand.

ʺIt's only that he's a hellhound,ʺ Miri said. ʺThat's why he has those eyes. I'll take him.ʺ

Ronnie, grinning so hard his face was in danger of splitting, left her in the run with her new dog and went in search of a collar and leash. She glanced down. The hellhound looked up immediately. The scarlet of his eyes seemed to swirl and flicker, like real flames.

When Ronnie returned, he was apologetic. ʺThis is the only one I could find in his size,ʺ he said, holding out a loop of bright red. Miri laughed.

ʺNo, I think red's exactly right. Anything else would only make it worse.ʺ

He was a rather beautiful dog—except for the eyes—and she was already getting used to them by the time she'd buckled the collar round his neck. He ignored all the frenzy from the other dogs as they made their way back through the rows of kennels to reception. There was a surprising amount of paperwork to adopting a dog—and it cost more than she was expecting too. Drat, she thought, there goes the indoor arena for an extra—oh, six minutes or so. While Ronnie went into the office for the adoption forms she stood by the counter and looked at her hellhound some more. Her hellhound looked back. The faintest suggestion of a wag rippled through his hindquarters and tail.