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Authors: Dean Koontz
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their heads.
Most nights, Fred and Ethel slept contentedly in their corners. Occasionally, and not solely during thunderstorms, they preferred to snooze in a pile with Mom.
Even made anxious by thunder, they would not venture into Amy’s queen-size bed without permission, which was given with the phrase
Let’s bundle.
Nickie did not know those words, but Fred and Ethel rose from their sheepskin berths in expectation of a formal invitation, ears raised, alert.
Wrung limp by recent events, Amy needed rest; and this would not be the first time that elusive sleep had come to her more easily when she nestled down in the security of the pack.
“Okay, kids,” she said. “Let’s bundle.”
Ethel sprinted three steps, sprang, and Fred followed. On the bed, assessing the comfort of the mattress, the dogs turned, turned, turned, like cogs in a clockworks, then curled, dropped, and settled with sighs of satisfaction.
Remaining bedside with a mouthful of slippers, Nickie stared expectantly at her new master.
“Give,” said Amy, and the golden obeyed, relinquishing her prize.
Amy put the slippers on the floor beside the bed.
Nickie picked them up and offered them again.
“You want me to go somewhere?” Amy asked.
The dog’s large dark-brown eyes were as expressive as those of any human being. Amy liked many things about the appearance of this breed, but nothing more than their beautiful eyes.
“You don’t need to go out. You pottied when we came home.”
The beauty of a retriever’s eyes is matched by the intelligence so evident in them. Sometimes, as now, dogs seemed intent upon conveying complex thoughts by an exertion of sheer will, striving to compensate for their lack of language with a directness of gaze and concentration.
“Give,” she said, and again Nickie obeyed.
Confident that repetition would impress upon the pooch that the slippers belonged where she put them, Amy leaned over the edge of the bed and returned them to the floor.
At once, Nickie snatched them up and offered them again.
“If this is a fashion judgment,” Amy said, “you’re wrong. These are lovely slippers, and I’m not getting rid of them.”
Chin on her paws, Ethel watched with interest. Chin on Ethel’s head, Fred watched from a higher elevation.
Like children, dogs want discipline and are most secure when they have rules to live by. The happiest dogs are those with gentle masters who quietly but firmly demand respect.
Nevertheless, in dog training as in war, the better part of valor can be discretion.
This time, when Amy took possession of the slippers, she tucked them under her pillows.
Nickie regarded this development with surprise and then grinned, perhaps in triumph.
“Don’t think for a second this means I’m going to be on the dog end of the leash.” She patted the mattress beside her. “Nickie, up.”
Either the retriever understood the command itself or the implication of the gesture. She sprang over Amy and onto the bed.
Fred took his chin off Ethel’s head, and Ethel closed her eyes, and as the other kids had done, Nickie wound herself down into a cozy sleeping posture.
All the mounded fur and the sweet faces inspired a smile, and Amy sighed as the dogs had done when they had settled for the night.
To ensure that the bungalow remained a hair-free zone, she combed and brushed each dog for thirty minutes every morning, for another ten minutes every evening, and she vacuumed all the floors once a day. Nickie would add to the work load—and be worth every minute of it.
When Amy switched off the lamp, she felt weightless, afloat on a rising sea of sleep, into which she began dreamily to sink.
She was hooked and reeled back by a line cast from the shores of memory:
I have to wear slippers to bed so I won’t be walking barefoot through the woods in my dream.
Amy’s eyes opened from darkness to darkness, and for a moment she could not breathe, as if the past were a drowning flood that filled her
Most nights, Fred and Ethel slept contentedly in their corners. Occasionally, and not solely during thunderstorms, they preferred to snooze in a pile with Mom.
Even made anxious by thunder, they would not venture into Amy’s queen-size bed without permission, which was given with the phrase
Let’s bundle.
Nickie did not know those words, but Fred and Ethel rose from their sheepskin berths in expectation of a formal invitation, ears raised, alert.
Wrung limp by recent events, Amy needed rest; and this would not be the first time that elusive sleep had come to her more easily when she nestled down in the security of the pack.
“Okay, kids,” she said. “Let’s bundle.”
Ethel sprinted three steps, sprang, and Fred followed. On the bed, assessing the comfort of the mattress, the dogs turned, turned, turned, like cogs in a clockworks, then curled, dropped, and settled with sighs of satisfaction.
Remaining bedside with a mouthful of slippers, Nickie stared expectantly at her new master.
“Give,” said Amy, and the golden obeyed, relinquishing her prize.
Amy put the slippers on the floor beside the bed.
Nickie picked them up and offered them again.
“You want me to go somewhere?” Amy asked.
The dog’s large dark-brown eyes were as expressive as those of any human being. Amy liked many things about the appearance of this breed, but nothing more than their beautiful eyes.
“You don’t need to go out. You pottied when we came home.”
The beauty of a retriever’s eyes is matched by the intelligence so evident in them. Sometimes, as now, dogs seemed intent upon conveying complex thoughts by an exertion of sheer will, striving to compensate for their lack of language with a directness of gaze and concentration.
“Give,” she said, and again Nickie obeyed.
Confident that repetition would impress upon the pooch that the slippers belonged where she put them, Amy leaned over the edge of the bed and returned them to the floor.
At once, Nickie snatched them up and offered them again.
“If this is a fashion judgment,” Amy said, “you’re wrong. These are lovely slippers, and I’m not getting rid of them.”
Chin on her paws, Ethel watched with interest. Chin on Ethel’s head, Fred watched from a higher elevation.
Like children, dogs want discipline and are most secure when they have rules to live by. The happiest dogs are those with gentle masters who quietly but firmly demand respect.
Nevertheless, in dog training as in war, the better part of valor can be discretion.
This time, when Amy took possession of the slippers, she tucked them under her pillows.
Nickie regarded this development with surprise and then grinned, perhaps in triumph.
“Don’t think for a second this means I’m going to be on the dog end of the leash.” She patted the mattress beside her. “Nickie, up.”
Either the retriever understood the command itself or the implication of the gesture. She sprang over Amy and onto the bed.
Fred took his chin off Ethel’s head, and Ethel closed her eyes, and as the other kids had done, Nickie wound herself down into a cozy sleeping posture.
All the mounded fur and the sweet faces inspired a smile, and Amy sighed as the dogs had done when they had settled for the night.
To ensure that the bungalow remained a hair-free zone, she combed and brushed each dog for thirty minutes every morning, for another ten minutes every evening, and she vacuumed all the floors once a day. Nickie would add to the work load—and be worth every minute of it.
When Amy switched off the lamp, she felt weightless, afloat on a rising sea of sleep, into which she began dreamily to sink.
She was hooked and reeled back by a line cast from the shores of memory:
I have to wear slippers to bed so I won’t be walking barefoot through the woods in my dream.
Amy’s eyes opened from darkness to darkness, and for a moment she could not breathe, as if the past were a drowning flood that filled her
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