The Legend of Diamond Lil

by Doreen Cronin

  It was time for another conversation.

  In daylight and on my terms.

  I got a running start and scaled the fence in the yard.

  Not bad—considering I was pushing seven.

  I walked up to the old doghouse and cleared my throat.

  “Lillian?”

  No answer.

  The doghouse was empty.

  No Lillian.

  No water bowl.

  No squeaky toy.

  It doesn’t take a search-and-rescue dog to follow a trail of baby powder any more than it takes a firefighter to put out a match.

  The scent got stronger as I got closer to the house—and led directly underneath it.

  “I don’t reckon you brought pie?” she said sweetly.

  Again with the pie.

  “What are you doing under there?” I asked.

  “It’s cooler under here,” replied Lillian.

  “Cool in the house too,” I answered.

  “I like fresh air,” she said.

  “Crawling under a house to get fresh air is a little like digging a hole to get some sun,” I said.

  “You sure got a funny way of apologizing, honey,” she said.

  “Listen, kid,” I said. “I’ve got a family of chickens to protect, so I don’t take kindly to anybody who arrives unannounced in the middle of the night. Won’t apologize for that. If you and I are square…”

  “Point taken,” she said with a slight smile.

  She wasn’t looking for a fight.

  “Say, how exactly does a fancy purebred arctic guard dog wind up in a country yard?” I asked.

  “Same way a highly trained search-and-rescue dog does, I suppose,” she said. “Besides,” she added, “there’s nothing fancy about me.”

  “You smell pretty fancy,” I remarked.

  “Aren’t you sweet to notice!”

  “I notice a lot,” I said. “It’s my job.”

  I was still crouching down under the house, and my legs were ready to give out.

  “Listen, honey,” she said softly, “seems like you and me got off on the wrong foot. How about you give a girl a second chance?”

  “I suppose I—”

  “Well, I do declare, look what the breeze blew in,” Lillian interrupted. “I swear we got June bugs back home bigger than you, Little Boo.”

  Sugar’s face lit up.

  “We’re about to have story time,” said Dirt.

  “Why don’t you stay?” asked Moosh.

  There was nothing much to do next door but chase squirrels.

  Squirrels are pretty fast.

  So I sat back down.

  Sugar smiled.

  “It’s Mom’s turn today,” said Dirt. “She’s going to finish the story about how she met Barb.”

  I never thought to ask Moosh how she got here.

  I always figured she came with the house.

  9

  Halftime

  “Like I said yesterday, I was riding in the back of a pickup truck,” Moosh started. “Next thing I knew, we hit a bump and I landed about twenty feet off the side of the road….”

  I had to hand it to her, she was a great storyteller.

  I also had no problem imagining Barb running out into the middle of a soccer game to rescue a frightened chicken from the mouth of a tuba.

  My empty stomach let me know it was time to leave.

  “How about some company on night patrol?” asked Lillian.

  All the chickens were staring at me.

  “It can be rough out there at night,” I warned.

  “I can handle it,” she promised.

  I hesitated, but Sugar gave me that look again.

  I guess a little company wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, I thought.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “We’ll give it a shot. But I don’t want to hear blathering all night. It’s a work shift, not a slumber party.”

  Sugar was ecstatic, Lillian looked pleased, and Moosh looked about as smug as a chicken can look without laying an egg.

  10

  Follow the Leader

  Truth be told, I was looking forward to some canine company.

  I missed my pals in search and rescue, even if we had only run into one another at training drills and natural disasters.

  I had my doubts about Lillian, but then again, when you’ve seen as much of the world as I have, you tend to have doubts about almost everything.

  I checked my distorted reflection in the stainless steel water bowl.

  My head looked huge.

  And I had something in my teeth.

  I heard her before I saw her.

  “Howdy,” she said.

  She stepped out of the shadows but kept far from the motion sensor.

  She looked almost ghostly in the moonlight.

  “Head count first,” I told her.

  We walked over to the chicken coop and peered in.

  “Poppy sleeps in between Moosh and the wall,” I said. “You just have to look really hard to find her.”

  “Who snores?” she giggled.

  “That would be Sugar,” I told her. “Can’t stand to be quiet—even in her sleep. That kid is—”

  “Achoo!”

  A tiny sneeze came from the coop.

  Lillian froze.

  “I guess someone is catching a cold…” I said.

  “Click.”

  Lillian was looking past me toward the other side of our yard, opposite her own.

  Another sneeze.

  “Click.”

  Lillian’s back went rigid, her tail stood up straight, and her eyes were wide.

  She took off like a shot and pounced at the bottom of the fence.

  “Come on!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Something came over the fence!”

  It was hard to keep up with her.

  Lillian kept moving farther along the fence—almost to the back corner of the property. I couldn’t even see the chicken coop from back there.

  I didn’t know what I was trying to track, so none of the smells along the fence were any help.

  I was steps away from the farthest corner of the yard when I heard a scream I will never forget.

  I’d heard Moosh nag, cry, laugh, yell, whine, and cluck—I’d even heard her sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” once—but I’d never heard her scream.

  I was airborne.

  One split second later, I got an eyeful of dirt from Lillian’s back paws as she ran past me.

  She leaped over two lawn chairs, shimmied under the picnic bench, and shot like a rocket through the old tire swing.

  The force of Lillian’s body hit the chicken coop like a cannonball.

  Moosh was shaking, and all the color had drained from her face.

  “What happened?” I panted.

  She was in shock.

  “Take it easy,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

  Lillian wrapped her up in her tail.

  “I heard a thud on the roof,” Moosh began slowly.

  The color was coming back to her beak.

  “I called for you…” she said, looking at me with one hard, unforgiving eye.

  “You left us alone,” she said.

  She turned her head. The other eye was just as mad.

  “She was right here,” she said.

  “Who was?” asked Lillian. “Who was here?”

  “The possum,” Moosh answered.

  I looked at Lillian and she looked at me.

  “What did she say?” asked Lillian.

  I may not know much about possums, but I was pretty sure they weren’t known for making conversation.

  “She didn’t say anything,” said Moosh. “She must have heard you coming. She took off.”

  Moosh turned to me again. “Where were you?” she demanded.

  “I was in the corner of the yard,” I began. “I was…”

  “It’s okay,” said Lillian. “Everything is okay now, Mama.”

  Moosh took her a
ngry eyes back into the chicken coop.

  Lillian and I took up positions in front of the door.

  “Maybe the possum didn’t mean any harm,” said Lillian. “She had her chance to grab Moosh … and she didn’t.”

  I looked at her a good long time.

  I wasn’t just protecting the chickens for the chickens’ sake. I was protecting them for Barb. We’d been through thick and thin together, saved lives together, saved each other even.

  “Listen to me, kid,” I said. “That possum so much as breathes the same air as these chickens and it’s a goner.”

  She hung her head.

  “I told you it might get rough out here,” I said.

  “And I told you I could handle it,” insisted Lillian.

  I hoped she was right.

  11

  Ghost Trails

  I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

  It was lucky for all of us that Lillian was here. She had beaten me back to the chicken coop by at least three seconds.

  May not sound like a lot, but three seconds in a showdown between a chicken and a possum is enough to decide which one of them will still be there when you get to four.

  Lillian could have meant the difference between Moosh surviving and—well, the alternative.

  Lillian went back to her yard when the sun came up.

  I tried to talk her into getting some sleep, but she wouldn’t have it.

  After she left, I decided to do some scent work.

  I walked to the first gray post at the back of the property, my tail running along the rough wood. The fence was old and weathered and had probably been around since before the house was built. I stopped and looked behind me every couple of feet to see if anyone or anything was watching.

  For such an old fence, it was in pretty good shape. No loose boards, no holes—at least nothing a possum could use.

  I made my way all the way to the front of the property.

  I didn’t pick up a possum scent.

  But I had a good idea where the rabbits were peeing.

  I was missing scents, leaving the chickens vulnerable, and as tired as I had ever been.

  Keeping the chickens safe was a job I wasn’t going to be able to do on my own.

  I needed a partner.

  Someone quick.

  Someone smart.

  Someone I could trust.

  Someone like Lillian.

  12

  Once upon a Time…

  “What you need is a little dab of cornstarch.” Lillian was entertaining the chickens under Bobby’s house again.

  She was doing a great job distracting Moosh from the events of the night before.

  Luckily, chickens play hard and sleep hard.

  None of the chicks knew about Moosh’s close call with a possum.

  Lillian looked up and gave me a wink.

  “Cornstarch?” asked Sweetie. “For real?”

  “You bet your bacon, honey,” said Lillian. “A little cornstarch or some baby powder fluffs up white fur and makes it look nice and bright.”

  “Would it work on feathers?” asked Sugar.

  “It might, Little Boo,” she replied. “Trick is you have to brush it out.”

  “Or what?” I asked.

  “Or…” Lillian said with a smile, “your nose begins to twitch a little bit, and right when the judge comes over, you sneeze in her face and cover her with a dust cloud of white powder!”

  “You did not!” said Dirt, laughing.

  “Sure did, honey,” chuckled Lillian. “Ruined her Sunday best while I was at it!”

  “Your owner was a judge?” asked Moosh with a cocked head.

  “I near ’bout blew the curl right out of her hair,” said Lillian.

  Even Moosh had to laugh.

  “Your turn,” said Lillian.

  “For what?” I answered.

  “A story,” she said.

  “I do have some good ones…” I began.

  “Not the flash flood one,” said Sugar.

  “Or the avalanche one,” groaned Dirt.

  “Anything but the ski rescue that you tell with a French accent,” added Sweetie.

  “Perhaps the thrilling story about the time you ran screaming from a butterfly,” I growled.

  “She was chasing me!” cried Sweetie.

  Just then, Barb called the chickens for lunch.

  I walked them to the fence and waited till they had gone through the hole.

  I got down and took a peek as Barb spread the chicken feed outside the coop.

  Something had been bothering me, and it was time to get it out.

  “What’s with the blindfold?” I asked.

  “It’s a sleep mask, actually,” Lillian answered quickly. “I don’t use it much anymore, and Sugar seemed to really like it.”

  I nodded.

  “How did you know it was mine?” she asked.

  “You both smell like baby powder,” I replied.

  She nodded.

  “That, plus Sugar told me,” I admitted.

  “I’ve love to hear a rescue story,” Lillian said suddenly.

  “Maybe another time,” I said. “I’ve got to catch up on my sleep.”

  “Tell me about the flash flood,” she pleaded.

  I shook my head.

  “Pretty please…” she said.

  I had to admit—it was a good one.

  “Okay. I was hot on the trail of a middle-aged man last seen minutes before a flash flood struck his campsite. The scent was heavy, but the following was hard … so much debris and the water was still rising….”

  Lillian was hanging on my every word.

  “There were helicopters overhead, park rangers barking on bullhorns; and the ground was teeming with snakes and TV reporters. I could barely walk from here to there without stepping on one,” I said.

  “You stepped on a snake?” gasped Lillian.

  “No,” I said, “a TV reporter.”

  “Flash floods are about as predictable as a crazy dream after one too many fish tacos—one minute you’re fine, and the next minute a moose is floating past you wearing a fishing hat and ladies’ pajamas.”

  Lillian was mesmerized.

  “I was in water up to my neck when I heard the first crack of thunder. It was about that time I got the first whiff of gas. I couldn’t see the bottom of the debris pile, but my guess was a propane tank—a big one. I barked like crazy to let Barb know that we had to hightail it out of there…”

  I paused for dramatic effect.

  Lillian hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “I jumped on Barb to give her a head start on a stop, drop, and roll. We hit the ground tumbling. Sure enough, lightning struck and blew up the tank. The debris was on fire, and Barb lost three inches of her ponytail in a puff of smoke….”

  Lillian was shaking her head in disbelief.

  “We didn’t stop rolling until we hit the bottom of a tree twelve feet away. I’m lying on my back with the smell of burned hair in my nose, and that’s when… I look up the tree and see my lost camper clinging to a branch twenty feet up.”

  “Do go on!”

  “Poor guy was in shock—couldn’t even yell for help.”

  “Well, shut my mouth,” Lillian said. “Up in a tree….”

  “Yep,” I said. “Sometimes you have to get your nose out of the ground to find what you’re looking for.”

  13

  Up, Up, and Away

  Soon after the chickens were fed, it was my turn to head home and eat.

  They were waiting for me in front of my food bowl.

  “You two certainly seem to be getting along,” said Moosh.

  “You didn’t bore her with one of your stories, did you?” asked Sugar.

  “Not the flash flood one,” said Dirt.

  “Or the avalanche one,” groaned Poppy.

  “Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself with a French accent,” added Sweetie.

  “As a matter of fact, I tol
d her about the flash flood rescue,” I said. “And she was riveted.”

  “That was a great story,” said Sugar, “the first eight times I heard it.”

  “Yeah,” said Sweetie. “What kind of search-and-rescue dog forgets to look up?”

  Sweetie was too big to ignore and too light to be a paperweight, but she had finally made herself useful.

  The whole time I had been tracking—and losing—that possum, I had never looked up.

  I scaled the wall of the chicken coop the same way I had scaled the fence.

  I wasn’t up there for more than two heartbeats when I heard it.

  Thud!

  I turned around with my teeth bared, expecting to come face-to-face with a possum.

  Instead, I was face-to-face with Moosh.

  “I’m sorry about the other night,” she said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

  “Not half as sorry as I am,” I answered.

  “What did you see back there?” she asked.

  “I didn’t actually see anything,” I said. “Lillian did.”

  “What did she see?” asked Moosh.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Did you pick up a trail, at least?” she asked.

  “Nope,” I said. “Nothing.”

  “Funny,” she said.

  I hadn’t picked up a scent I could use along the fence, but I was definitely picking up one on the roof.

  There was nothing funny about that.

  The oak tree was at least twenty feet away, but one of its branches reached almost to the top of the coop.

  It took less than a minute on the roof to see how the possum was getting into the yard.

  I could also see into Bobby’s family’s kitchen window.

  Bobby’s dad was filling a teakettle with water from the sink. He put the kettle down and turned on the stove. He switched on a radio, then stopped in front of Bobby’s pictures on the fridge and smiled.

  Then he set out a teacup and cut himself a nice big slice of pie.

  It sure looked like Lillian had found herself the perfect home.