Paws vs. Claws Page 2

  “Oh my god.”

  We followed the cart path that led past our toolshed and the rusted-out old sports car—possibly called a Triumph—that Dad hadn’t finished fixing up before he went away. Dad had left not long after I got here, but not because of me. Was it because of Lilah Fairbanks, the interior decorator Mom hired to fix things up nice and fancy? All I know is that I haven’t seen Dad or Lilah Fairbanks in a long time and the decor is back to how it was. Much nicer, in my opinion. Bro took a sidelong look at the Triumph as we went by. He kind of slumped a little in his raincoat. Why? I had no idea, but I didn’t like seeing him that way. It reminded me of the slumping snowman. Bro was no slumper. He was Bro! Actually, he’s not Bro. Bro’s what everyone calls him, but his real name is … something else. It might come to me. Is it possible Mom named Harmony and Dad named Bro with whatever the real name was? Wow! My mind was having a brilliant day and it had only just begun.

  Meanwhile we had this other situation, the slumping one. I have a lot of jobs—way too many to go into now, a good thing because it’s not so easy to remember them all—but one of my most important jobs is to stamp out slumping here at the Blackberry Hill Inn. My first go-to anti-slumping move is all about pressing myself against the slumper’s leg, nice and hard so they know I’m there.

  “Arthur! For god’s sake!”

  Bro backed away. Was there some problem? His raincoat snaps seemed to have come unsnapped, and his pj’s had suddenly gotten all muddy for some reason. Had Bro been rolling around with me in the mud puddle? What a great kid! Who wouldn’t love Bro? And the fact that he was rocking that raincoat-and-pj’s combo just made him all the greater in my book. I pressed against his leg again, maybe a little more vigorously this time.

  “Arthur! You’re … whatever that word is. ‘In’ something or other. Harm would know.” More quietly he added, “Of course Harm would know.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. At the same time, his hand came down—sort of all on its own—and gave me a nice scratch on the top of my head, right on that spot that’s so hard for me to reach.

  We walked on. The rain slanted down, dripped off Bro’s chin. After a while he said, “Incorrigible! That’s the word. You’re incorrigible, Arthur.”

  Incorrigible? A new one on me. But it sounded real good! Arthur the Incorrigible! I picked up my pace a bit.

  But not for long. Picking up the pace can be very tiring. I might have lagged behind a little, a realization that came to me when I noticed Bro up ahead, waiting by the old weather-beaten fence at the end of our meadow. On the other side there were woods and then, if I remembered right, the Doones’ farm. I’d only been there once, on a strange summer day when I’d sort of wandered off and ended up lost. Not lost, exactly, because after Mr. Doone called Mom and she drove me back home, Harmony said, “No way he was lost—all he has to do is follow his own scent back home.” Wow! If only I’d thought of that at the time!

  Instead I was thinking about it now, on the cart path still some distance from the fence. I raised up my nose and sniffed the air. And sure enough, there was my smell, a nice mixture of wet wool, mud, something not too different from earwax, and a touch of something else hard to describe. Let’s call it pure Arthur. And what was this? A hint of cow smell? Cow smell is somewhat like horse smell, although milkier. What was going on? No way I had any cow smell in me. Even just the idea was—

  “Arthur! We haven’t got all day!”

  We didn’t? Don’t we always have all day, each and every day? That’s how I roll. But I’d never want to disappoint Bro. I geared up to a quick trot, almost, and caught up to him. He stepped over a broken fence rail and headed toward the woods. I came very close to leaping right over that broken rail myself, only ramping that leap over down to a crawl under at the very last second. I’m something of an athlete, perhaps a fact I should have mentioned earlier.

  “Come on, Arthur,” Bro said. “Heel. That means walk beside me. I’ve told you a million times.”

  Heel meant walk beside Bro? How interesting! I drew up beside him and did some big-time heeling. A narrow, muddy trail led us squish squish into the woods. We were among the first trees when someone appeared up ahead, rounding a bend and coming toward us.

  He saw us and stopped, a kid, like Bro, but bigger. This was Jimmy Doone, maybe not a friend of Bro’s, but someone we knew. Was he in Harmony’s class at school? I might have heard something about that. It’s also possible that Harmony’s class was a year ahead of Bro’s class; I might have heard something about that, too. Meanwhile Bro and Jimmy were having a conversation.

  “Bro?”

  “Jimmy?”

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Not much.”

  Jimmy came closer. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and laceless sneakers. No raincoat, no hat, no boots, so he was soaked right through.

  “What happened to you?” Bro said.

  “Nothin’,” said Jimmy.

  “Like, your eye,” Bro said. “It looks bad.”

  Whoa! I saw the same thing. One of Jimmy’s eyes was swollen almost totally shut, the skin all purple and even bleeding a bit.

  “Uh,” Jimmy said. “Ran into a door.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me,” Jimmy said. He turned his face away.

  “Um,” Bro said.

  Jimmy said nothing, just gazed into the distance.

  “We kinda …” Bro went silent, then tried again. “My mom sent us for, uh, the milk.”

  Jimmy wheeled around on him. “Ain’t gonna be no stupid milk!”

  BRO AND JIMMY GAZED AT EACH other. Jimmy’s gaze was real angry. At first Bro’s gaze was surprised, then sort of puzzled, and finally on the way to anger, too. What was going on? I was afraid a fistfight might be next. Jimmy was a big kid and a lot taller, but Bro was very sturdy. I’d only seen Bro in a fight once. He’d popped a bully named Foster a good one, bang on the nose. That was a nice moment in my life, although I wasn’t in a hurry to see more. I rolled over and played dead.

  They both turned my way. I tried wagging my tail, only to find it was trapped under me and couldn’t move. Playing dead is not as easy as you might think. Meanwhile the anger was leaking out of both of them. I could feel it, a thick, twisted thing that rose and drifted away.

  “What’s his name again?” Jimmy said.

  “Arthur,” said Bro.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Playing dead.”

  “Does he know any other tricks?”

  “Nope.”

  Okay. Maybe that was true. I’d tried to master shake-a-paw, but it had proven a little too complicated. No worries: Playing dead was a much better trick. Lying there on the muddy path just inside the woods, cold rain beating down on my face, I felt pretty pleased with myself.

  “So, uh,” Bro said, “what’s with this milk thing?”

  Jimmy looked down at the ground. “It’s not my fault.”

  “Huh? Who said it was?”

  Jimmy’s voice rose, cracking a little at the end. “That jerk Walter. And my dad believes him. Like always.”

  “Who’s Walter?” said Bro.

  “A high-school dropout my dad hired,” Jimmy said. He raised his head. Rain washed away the blood from around his swollen eye. “But this time he’s wrong. I always lock the door, every night. It’s my last chore. I look forward to it.”

  “What door?”

  “The barn door.”

  “Someone broke into your barn?”

  “They must’ve. But Walter says the door was unlocked and hanging open when he went to do the milking this morning.”

  “Maybe someone broke in and left the door that way,” Bro said.

  “That’s what I told him. But my dad took a look and said no one broke in—‘no one broke in, you moron,’ were the exact words. On account of no sign of any tampering.”

  “Tampering?”

  “Like messing with the lock, marks from a crowbar, a screwdriver, anything like that. So I forgot to lock the door, like, logically.” Jimmy’s open eye got fierce. “But I didn’t forget. I have this whole routine, Bro. I’ve got routines for everything.” That one open eye suddenly teared up. Jimmy wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, in an impatient way, like the eye had let him down.

  Bro looked away from Jimmy. His gaze found me. I seemed to still be playing dead. Among the many good things about it, playing dead’s a restful trick. Bro blinked a couple of times, that human blink for when they don’t quite believe what they’re seeing. I got that totally. How could anyone be so good at playing dead? That’s what Bro had to be thinking. I tried to wag my tail. It wouldn’t wag. I remembered I was lying on it and decided to try again later.

  Bro turned to Jimmy. “You’ve got routines for everything?”

  Jimmy nodded. “That’s how I deal with …”

  “Deal with what?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Okay,” Bro said.

  Then came a long silence, except for the rain.

  “So, uh,” Bro said at last, “is something missing from the barn?”

  “Bro? What’s with you?”

  “Huh?”

  “I already told you—there’s no milk.”

  “The cows got away?”

  Jimmy’s voice rose. “Someone must’ve … must’ve helped.” He calmed down a little. “And there’s only one cow.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sweet Lady Em. She’s very valuable—our most valuable possession. Hey! Maybe you saw her on your way here.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “A cow,” Jimmy said. “Did you see a cow—any kind of cow?”

  “Nope,” said Bro. “But I’ll help you find her.
”

  Jimmy looked surprised. “Yeah?”

  “Sure.” Bro turned my way. “Knock it off, Arthur. Time to rock and roll.” Rock and roll? A new one on me. But I understood the knock-it-off part. I’d never want to disappoint Bro, so I stopped what I was doing, namely playing dead, and just lay there.

  “Arthur! That means you have to get up.”

  Ah. How interesting! Rock and roll meant getting up? I’d learned a new thing! Kind of fun, although I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.

  “So get up.”

  Right. I got my paws under me and pushed, my usual method for getting up. It works just about every time. Next I gave myself a good shake, sort of making a rainstorm of my own. Wow! What a day I was having! Was a snack in the cards, preferably very soon? I was getting hungry. Then it hit me that I hadn’t even had breakfast. Uh-oh. Maybe things weren’t as rosy as I’d thought.

  “What kind of dog is he?” Jimmy asked.

  “Just a mutt,” said Bro.

  Mutt? I’d heard that before, and always like this, as though mutt wasn’t the very best type of dog. But of course it was, so this had to be one of those mysteries you just have to live with in this life.

  “I’ve always wanted a dog,” Jimmy said.

  “You don’t have one?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “How come?”

  “He hates dogs.”

  “Walter?”

  “I meant my dad,” Jimmy said. “But probably Walter, too. They think alike.”

  We set off in search of a cow named Sweet Lady Em, if I’d been following things right. First we headed back, wandering this way and that over our meadow—a hilly, rolling kind of meadow, more tiring than the flat kind, my preference when it comes to meadows. There were no cows in sight, although I did pick up some cow scent. Had I already picked it up, not long after Bro and I started out? Maybe yes, maybe no. Was cow scent important somehow? I was still wondering about that when we came to a dirt road lined with low, mud-splattered snowbanks.

  “Is Arthur good at tracking things?” Jimmy said.

  “Once he found a kimono in the trash,” said Bro.

  “Huh?”

  “Like a kind of robe. From Japan. It was my mom’s. Arthur dug it out and brought it to her. Turned out she’d thrown it away.”

  “How come?”

  “Didn’t like it anymore.”

  “How come?” Jimmy asked again.

  I didn’t remember hearing anybody so interested in how comes before. I gave Jimmy a quick a sniff, picked up a certain boy-plus-smelly-socks scent I was already familiar with from Bro. I didn’t really know Jimmy, but I was starting to like him. I’d only seen him a few times, once at the outdoor rink, watching the U-12 all-stars. Harmony and Bro both played on the team, and I loved going to their games, and if only that incident of me and the puck—inedible, by the way—hadn’t happened, Mom would have taken me to a lot more games this season. But now it was over, so no worries. Was baseball next? I thought so. I couldn’t wait. Baseball is my favorite sport, the baseballs themselves fascinating, especially their insides.

  “I don’t know,” Bro was saying. “My, uh, dad brought it back from a business trip or something.”

  Was this still about the kimono? I remembered its silky feel, fun to chew on, but otherwise I was lost.

  “They’re divorced?” Jimmy said.

  “Uh-huh,” said Bro.

  “Mine, too.

  “You live with your dad?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  The rain let up a bit. It got quiet in the meadow. I shifted over and sat on Bro’s foot, not sure why.

  “Let’s find Sweet Lady Em,” Bro said. He patted my back. “Find the cow, Arthur.”

  No problem! I loved Bro and would do anything for him, as long as a snack break was coming soon. Now would have been nice, but I smelled no snacks on either of them. Something about a cow, was it? I raised my nose, smelled no hint of cow. Too bad. When you sniff for something and come up empty, you have to go elsewhere and try again. Going elsewhere means moving, never my first choice.

  I rose. The first problem you have to deal with when moving is this: Where to? For no reason, I decided to scramble over the snowbank and onto the road, a dirt road, if I haven’t mentioned that already, and therefore very muddy, this being mud season, as I may also have mentioned. Next I took a quick sip from a puddle—not the tastiest water I’d ever tried, but no complaints—and sniffed the air. Cow? No cow? I wasn’t sure, but some sort of car had been by this spot and not long ago. Cars leave a smell no one could miss, not even you with your tiny nose. Sorry about the tiny nose remark. I take it back.

  Meanwhile I was setting off down the road, following the car smell.

  “Arthur?” Bro said. “You smell something?”

  They ran along beside me. Well, maybe not running, but certainly not walking their slowest. We went up a hill and had almost reached the crest when a man appeared, walking our way. Jimmy came to a sudden stop.

  “You know this guy?” Bro said.

  Jimmy nodded. “Walter.”

  Walter? Hadn’t I just heard about him? I dug deep into my memory, a mostly empty space and not very big. But was there something about Walter? Uh-oh. Not fond of me and my kind, perhaps? How could that even be? It made no sense.

  I took a close look at Walter as he approached. His hands were busy with small green pieces of paper. Money? Wow! Money was little green pieces of paper! I’d made a mental leap, maybe my very first.

  Walter looked up, saw us, and stuffed the money in his pocket. He had a thin mustache and a bit of scruffy hair on his chin, but the rest of his face seemed more kid than man. The body was all man, big and strong. He walked up to us, in no hurry, and smiled. “Any luck, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy glared at him with his good eye. “What’s it look like?”

  Walter’s gaze went to Bro. “Who’s this?”

  “My friend Bro,” said Jimmy.

  “Bro, huh?” Walter said. “You really a friend of Jimmy’s? ’Cause this is the first I heard of him having any friends.”

  “Yeah,” Bro said. “I’m his friend.”

  “Then, as a friend, you should tell him to get that barn door good and locked every night,” Walter said.

  Jimmy kept glaring at Walter. “I locked the door,” he said.

  “We want to go through that again?” said Walter.

  Jimmy looked down.

  “Didn’t think so,” Walter said.

  I decided that I didn’t like Walter. The next thing I knew, I was growling, a deep growl with some fierceness in it. I hadn’t heard my growl in some time. It gave me the chills. Wow! I was having a pretty good day.

  Walter jumped back. “Hey! Is that fleabag fixin’ to bite me?”

  “He’s not a fleabag,” Bro said. “And he likes most everybody. Just about.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Walter.

  Bro didn’t answer but tilted up his chin, keeping his eyes on Walter and not looking away. Walter’s face reddened. Was he about to come closer? I upped my growl. Walter shot me a nasty glance, then circled around us, heading in the direction we’d come from.

  “Good luck, kiddies,” he said. “And no point in searching down this road. I already checked it out.”

  Walter went away, walking that in-no-hurry walk of his. Jimmy and Bro watched him go.

  “What’s with him?” Bro said.

  “He’s a jerk.”

  “So how come he works for you?”

  Jimmy’s voice rose. “He doesn’t work for me.”

  “Your dad—you know what I meant.”

  “Sorry, Bro.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” Bro said.

  Jimmy gave Bro a quick look, like … like he was seeing Bro in a new way. “Walter’s the son of an old buddy of my dad’s from up in Maine.”

  “And he needed a job?”

  “Partly,” Jimmy said. “But mostly my dad’s buddy thought working on a farm would be good for him, maybe straighten him out.”