wandered by, to intuit their needs and the meanings of their slightest body language. Or that's how it had seemed at the time. At almost twenty-nine, she had a more jaded view of the world, and didn't particularly trust that things had been as she remembered them.
And all the same, she wished she could experience life on that level again. Simple. Not fraught with daily struggles just to make sure she could do her job safely and professionally. Being with dogs to be with them, and not ending up in adversarial relationships with animals who spent the afternoon with her now and then and didn't want to be there at all.
"I love you, old hound," she told the gravesite, and pushed herself to her feet, brushing off her damp knees, thinking of that terrible year when she had found the place desecrated, when her father had died and horror seemed to hang over this area for the rest of the year.
The tiny trickle of a spring could use a cleaning now; it generally did. Leaves settled there, and the grasses grew long and bent over into it. Brenna moved over to tend it and stopped short, eyes narrowing.
Not a leaf, not a stick, not a single stray stem...she couldn't remember ever having seen it so...tidy. It looked as though someone had put giant lips to the spring from the other side and given a mighty puff, clearing away every stray bit of everything.
It made the tracks at the spring stand out rather starkly. Far too starkly for Brenna to miss. And after a youth spent tracking this critter and that on the farm just for the fun of it, far too starkly to mistake for the newly encroaching coyotes or, even less likely, fox.
Dog.
But not dog running across the area, or dog hanging around for a drink and making a mish-mash of prints. Dog tracks coming from the spring, deep-set and clear in ground that was now dry enough to hold them that way, and heading for the creek. Digging deeply into the ground just at the spring, the way anything does when bolting into instant speed.
She followed them to the creek—they weren't as clear where the grass thickened, just a tuft or two of sod out of place along the way—where two deep prints showed how the dog had launched itself into the wide, relatively deep water. Not water over her head, but certainly over the top of any boots she might choose to wear, so she stopped there.
Dog on the run. Dog full of fear. Dog with Cardigan-sized prints.
Brenna went back to consider the spring.
Dog out of nowhere.
~~~
After a time she quit looking for answers where there weren't any, collected the gun, and returned to the house. There she had the middle section of the sub for dinner, fed the dogs, let Sunny hang out at the end of the longe line long enough to finish the dishes for the past few days, and then put Druid on a leash for the walk over to Emily's. The girls, she rightly thought, would love his silly long-bodied shape and his expressive ears, and until she had a better understanding of his puzzling responses, she'd rather have him with her than crated alone in her house.
The strong light of the day was finally fading when she presented herself at Emily's door and said, "What computer wonders have you wrought?" as Jill, the youngest, answered the door.
In response, Jill said, "Oh, he's so cuuute . But what happened to his legs?"
"That's how they're supposed to be," Brenna said, but she might as well not have bothered, as Jill leaned back and bellowed, "Marilee! Come and see Brenna's new dog!" Druid quailed at the sound, but then, so did Brenna.
"He's not my—" she started, and gave up, because Marilee had arrived and both girls were on their knees, petting and kissing and making gooey admiring noises. "Here," she said, and handed them the leash. "Don't frighten him, d'you hear? He's been through a
And all the same, she wished she could experience life on that level again. Simple. Not fraught with daily struggles just to make sure she could do her job safely and professionally. Being with dogs to be with them, and not ending up in adversarial relationships with animals who spent the afternoon with her now and then and didn't want to be there at all.
"I love you, old hound," she told the gravesite, and pushed herself to her feet, brushing off her damp knees, thinking of that terrible year when she had found the place desecrated, when her father had died and horror seemed to hang over this area for the rest of the year.
The tiny trickle of a spring could use a cleaning now; it generally did. Leaves settled there, and the grasses grew long and bent over into it. Brenna moved over to tend it and stopped short, eyes narrowing.
Not a leaf, not a stick, not a single stray stem...she couldn't remember ever having seen it so...tidy. It looked as though someone had put giant lips to the spring from the other side and given a mighty puff, clearing away every stray bit of everything.
It made the tracks at the spring stand out rather starkly. Far too starkly for Brenna to miss. And after a youth spent tracking this critter and that on the farm just for the fun of it, far too starkly to mistake for the newly encroaching coyotes or, even less likely, fox.
Dog.
But not dog running across the area, or dog hanging around for a drink and making a mish-mash of prints. Dog tracks coming from the spring, deep-set and clear in ground that was now dry enough to hold them that way, and heading for the creek. Digging deeply into the ground just at the spring, the way anything does when bolting into instant speed.
She followed them to the creek—they weren't as clear where the grass thickened, just a tuft or two of sod out of place along the way—where two deep prints showed how the dog had launched itself into the wide, relatively deep water. Not water over her head, but certainly over the top of any boots she might choose to wear, so she stopped there.
Dog on the run. Dog full of fear. Dog with Cardigan-sized prints.
Brenna went back to consider the spring.
Dog out of nowhere.
~~~
After a time she quit looking for answers where there weren't any, collected the gun, and returned to the house. There she had the middle section of the sub for dinner, fed the dogs, let Sunny hang out at the end of the longe line long enough to finish the dishes for the past few days, and then put Druid on a leash for the walk over to Emily's. The girls, she rightly thought, would love his silly long-bodied shape and his expressive ears, and until she had a better understanding of his puzzling responses, she'd rather have him with her than crated alone in her house.
The strong light of the day was finally fading when she presented herself at Emily's door and said, "What computer wonders have you wrought?" as Jill, the youngest, answered the door.
In response, Jill said, "Oh, he's so cuuute . But what happened to his legs?"
"That's how they're supposed to be," Brenna said, but she might as well not have bothered, as Jill leaned back and bellowed, "Marilee! Come and see Brenna's new dog!" Druid quailed at the sound, but then, so did Brenna.
"He's not my—" she started, and gave up, because Marilee had arrived and both girls were on their knees, petting and kissing and making gooey admiring noises. "Here," she said, and handed them the leash. "Don't frighten him, d'you hear? He's been through a
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