"He wasn't nervous," Emily corrected. "He was depressed."
Wispy and I lay panting, side by side, our tails thumping rhythmically on the rug. I glanced over and saw that her tail, though it had improved substantially since her early days when it was so inadequate, was still considerably less magnificent than mine. I was a little relieved by that. A little guilty about my feeling of relief, I licked Wispy's face in apology.
She licked me back, and with Emily beside us, we lay happily together on the rug, talking of the past, while the adult humans shared some coffee and discussed the future.
Stay!: Keeper's Story
Stay!: Keeper's Story
Chapter 16
"I WAS PEEKING OUT," I confessed to my sister, "when they took you away. I was under a piece of cardboard. And then I wanted to go, too, but by the time I ran after you, the door to the restaurant had closed and you were gone."
"You were brave to run after me," Wispy said.
"No," I confessed miserably, "I wasn't brave at all. I was a coward! I was hiding because I was frightened. But then I heard them say that you would go to a shelter and be put to sleep. I thought you'd have a nice raggedy blanket and a place next to a warm stove."
Wispy shook her head. "No," she said. "I had to stay in a cage. I got fleas. And the food was terrible."
"My food wasn't very good either," I said sympathetically. I told her about my time with Jack, how we foraged for food in dumpsters and trash cans. I told her about the rats, and saw her recoil in horror.
"I had fleas, too," I admitted, embarrassed.
The photographer had taken Emily's mother into the kitchen for coffee. In the background I could hear them talking. Emily lay on the floor with Wispy and me, her arms around us both. It was as if she could understand our conversation, though surely it must have been no more than grunts and whimpers to her human hearing.
"I didn't mind it there at the shelter," Wispy went on, "but it always made me sad when people came and took the other dogs away. Our brothers both got homes and families. The cook from the restaurant took Tug, and his friend was going to take Tussle, but he changed his mind. So they dropped both of us off at the shelter, and just a few days later someone came and picked Tussle as a birthday gift for his little boy. So Tussle got a family, too. But no one ever chose me." Her lip quivered a little.
She described how the spaniels, terriers, and shepherds in surrounding cages were admired and adopted, one by one. Shy as she was, it took Wispy a long time to make friends; and then, at the shelter, just as soon as she felt comfortable with a new companion, that one too would be chosen and taken away.
"Even cats," Wispy said in amazement. "Imagine that! People came and chose cats! They chose cats!"
What a humiliation it must have been for my sister. I groaned in sympathy.
"My time was almost up," she described. "You know, they only keep you at the shelter for a limited period. Then you have to be destroyed."
I yelped. "Destroyed?"
Wispy nodded sadly. "It happens," she said.
I was shocked. I had not known. We stopped talking briefly, our heads bowed, and we shared a moment of silence in honor of all unwanted dogs. Well, cats, too.
"What saved you?" I asked.
"The man who ran the shelter. I think he was fond of me. I never complained about the food—I always ate nicely. I didn't bark much. And I tried to keep my cage as neat as possible. So after a while, he decided to let me stay. I think, actually, he was breaking the rules.
"And then one day the photographer came to the shelter. He was frantic. He said that he'd lost his very valuable dog..."
I sighed, savoring the word valuable. Wispy paused.
"Go on," I told her. "How did he describe me?"
"Well, I heard him say that you were a full-grown male, highly intelligent—"
"Did he actually say highly?"
"Yes, I'm certain he did. Highly intelligent, and well trained—"
"Did he mention my appearance in particular?"
"Yes, because he was asking the man who ran the shelter if perhaps someone had turned you in there. He said he was looking for a medium-sized, long-haired—"
"Just long-haired? He didn't say anything about the quality of the hair itself? He might have used the word luxuriant, perhaps?"
"Well, he might have, I suppose," said Wispy. "I don't remember all the details, exactly."
"Did he specify anything about the tail, by chance?" I asked, swishing my magnificent one from side to side as it lay on the rug.
Wispy swished hers in response. "Yes," she said. "I remember that particularly, because when the man in charge showed him around, he looked into all the cages, and he was so excited when he saw me! He cried out, 'My goodness! It's not the same dog, but they're so similar! Look at that tail!'"
Stay!: Keeper's Story
I glanced back at hers as she was talking. Certainly it had improved greatly from the inadequacy of her puppy days. But it was still rather sparse, and it did have that bent end.
"Do you mean to say," I asked Wispy, trying to phrase the question tactfully, "that he compared your tail to mine?"
"Yes," she said cheerfully. "He was amazed at the similarity."
Oh, dear. I could feel that we might be on the verge of a very immature quarrel. I didn't want that to happen.
"Your tail," I said, "is, ah, certainly a very pleasing one. But in all honesty, I do feel that mine is more, shall we say, well endowed."
"Mine has character, though, don't you think?" she asked, very sweetly.
Well, I could certainly concede that. "Yes," I told her. "Yours has definite character."
Quarrel averted, she continued. The story was quite simple. The photographer had taken Wispy home. He had trained and groomed her to be my successor.
To my surprise, Wispy said she enjoyed the work as a model. She didn't mind the long hours, the constant combing, the bright lights that tended to dry one's fur (of course, hers had never been terribly luxuriant anyway). Their life together, hers and the photographer's, had been successful and congenial. It would have continued unchanged had I not appeared at their front door.
"Here's what Christopher and I have decided!" The voice interrupted our pleasant little conversation on the rug. Wispy and I looked up at Emily's mother. Emily did, too.