Webster

by Ellen Emerson White

  “You can’t do that,” Florence said. “Joan and Thomas would be very upset.”

  That was too bad and all, but not really his problem.

  “What I want, more than anything, is for all of you to find happy homes,” Florence said. “Of course, I’m unadoptable, because of my medical issues, but that isn’t true for the rest of you. So, Webster, if you can, you really need to try and find a more positive attitude.”

  “Florence, I thought the reason you were unadoptable is because you’re such an unbelievable cranky-pants,” Benjamin said.

  Florence nodded regally. “Yes, that, too.”

  The dog might have been in a bad mood, but he still almost laughed at that particular exchange.

  “Lots of us have sad stories,” Lancelot said. “That’s just the way it rolls. But now that we’re here, at the rescue group, we’re all going to have happy endings. So, get with the program, dude.”

  How could a bunch of stray animals be so innocent and naive? The dog wasn’t going to rain on their parades or anything, but they really didn’t have a clue about the way things worked. “It’s not my program,” the dog said. “I want to go out there, and make a name for myself. And be really famous, because I’ll be, you know, so totally dangerous and diabolical.” Or—something like that. Really, his main motivation was to have adventures, and to have fun—and not to have any human beings ever tell him what to do.

  The other animals mostly looked puzzled by this.

  Pico, the elderly Bernese Mountain Dog mix, gave him a disapproving frown. “You, young retriever, are what my grandmother would have called a bad hat.”

  The dog had never heard that phrase before, but he was definitely intrigued. “What’s a bad hat?”

  “Everything a respectable animal does not want to be,” Pico said.

  Okay, that was pretty vague. “What do you mean? You have to be a little more clear,” the dog said.

  Pico frowned. “It doesn’t really have a specific definition, Webster. It’s a concept.”

  There was nothing at all clear about that. Did he look well-educated, or something? The dog tilted his head in confusion.

  “Goodness, what a bother,” Pico said impatiently. “A bad hat is someone who is a troublemaker. A ne’er-do-well. Unruly. Obnoxious.”

  Well, those were all words the dog liked very much. “So far, so good,” he said. “What else?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just—badness,” Pico said, and looked at the other animals for help.

  “Disreputable,” Florence said. “Dissolute. Difficult.”

  This was just getting better and better. “And?” the dog asked eagerly.

  “Obstreperous,” Benjamin said. “Rebellious. Untrustworthy. Entirely unwelcome in every way, shape, or form in polite society.”

  Wow, that sounded totally awesome. The dog glanced around the room, hoping that someone else would have a contribution.

  “Bad,” Lancelot said finally, and everyone else nodded. “Wicked bad.”

  Talk about excellent! “You mean like a villain, and an outlaw, and someone who strikes fear into the hearts of all who pass?” the dog asked.

  Pico nodded, pursing her lips in disgust. “A hooligan, also.”

  A bad hat. Cool! “I love it,” the dog said. “That’s just what I am. Except, I don’t want to be a bad hat. I want to be the Bad Hat.” The best Bad Hat.

  “I think you’re missing the point, Webster,” Florence said. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  Maybe not to wimpy cats, or to timid and unimaginative sorts of dogs, but as far as he was concerned, it was just right. “It’s perfect,” the dog said. “Finally, a name that I can enjoy. Thanks, Pico!”

  Now and forever, no matter what, until the end of time, he would be—the Bad Hat!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Benjamin was the first one to break the silence.

  “You invited him here, Miss Cranky-Pants,” he said to Florence. “All of this is on your head.”

  “Let’s just start, before it gets light out,” MacNulty said impatiently. “Can we watch Babe again?”

  “That’ll do, MacNulty,” Jack said, and laughed so hard that he almost fell off the couch.

  Florence turned to look at the dog. “It’s your first night, Bad Hat. What would you like to watch?”

  What on earth was she talking about? The dog looked at her with confusion.

  “It’s a viewing party, dude,” Lancelot said. “So, yo, big fella, that means we watch something.”

  Really? This wasn’t just sitting around eating kibble and yapping at each other? There was an actual plan? “Uh, I don’t know,” the Bad Hat said. “I don’t really watch TV.”

  The other animals in the room gasped.

  “I’ve mostly been in shelters and stuff,” the Bad Hat said, feeling very defensive. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t totally, sort of, up on his pop culture, since all animals were, which was one of the best secrets that human beings didn’t know about them. But, was it his fault that he hadn’t been around televisions much? Yeah, he’d seen televisions before, but mostly, all of his adopters had left him outside by himself. And if he was allowed in the house, he was usually supposed to stay in the kitchen. If he went into the bedrooms—or, worst of all, tried to climb up on the couch with the children or something, all he would hear was, “No, no, bad dog!” Then, he would get banished to the backyard again. In one of the shelters, the guy who was supposed to clean the kennels always sat and watched movies on his computer all day, and the dog would look out from his cage and try to follow along. The kennel guy watched sports, too, which the dog had enjoyed. A lot.

  “Uh, whatever you guys want to watch is fine with me,” he said.

  Benjamin looked eager. “Shall we?”

  Florence nodded decisively. “Yes. Let’s show him our favorite. We’ll watch the first episode, so he won’t get lost.”

  At least five of the animals shouted, “Yay!” Then, they all settled into more comfortable positions and made sure that the food dishes were easy to reach.

  They were so—congenial, and jolly. The Bad Hat didn’t get it at all. But, he used his teeth to tug a bowl of kibble closer.

  “Are there cowboys in it?” he asked. Because he liked cowboys a whole lot. Cowboys were his favorite.

  They all shook their heads.

  What? “I think I only like shows with cowboys,” the Bad Hat said uneasily. “And scoundrels. And maybe some horses.”

  “There are a few horses,” Jack said. “And a golden Retriever.”

  Kerry shook her head. “No, it’s a yellow Lab.”

  “It’s a golden Retriever!” Jack shouted. “I know it is!”

  The other animals shook their heads, too.

  “Oh,” Jack said, and shrugged. “Well, okay, all I know is that it’s some dog who looks dumb because he’s too big, instead of being, you know, compact, like me.”

  “Little,” MacNulty said, and Jack pretended not to hear him.

  Well, if there was a dog, and some horses, the show might be okay. But, the Bad Hat would have preferred to see a whole bunch of cowboys. “Are there duels, and saloons, and frightened townspeople?” he asked.

  The animals shook their heads.

  Whoa, seriously? Maybe he should forget about this weird party, and go back to his kennel and get some sleep.

  “Just watch,” Florence said. “And enjoy snacks. But, don’t talk while it’s on. That’s our one rule.”

  “And don’t bite anyone,” Matthew said. “Isn’t that a rule, too?”

  “It’s a rule especially for you, Matt,” Benjamin said.

  “Okay.” Matthew shrugged. “I knew it was a rule of some kind.”

  “So, it’s all right if I bite anyone I want?” the Bad Hat asked, just to be difficult.

  “Shhh,” they all said.

  Divas. He was surrounded by freakin’ divas.

  “Cole, if you please,” Florence said to the big grey cat.

  Co
le nodded, and carefully tapped the buttons on various remote controls with his front paw, until the television was on, and a streaming video service appeared on the screen.

  “He’s our primary tech guy,” Benjamin explained.

  More weirdness. And the dog was much too cool to admit that he was impressed. But he was, since he didn’t know how to work any electrical appliances, or even turn a doorknob without a lot of effort.

  All of the animals’ eyes were bright with anticipation. He had never seen a bunch of strays look so happy and content. Actually, he’d almost never really seen anyone looking happy and content.

  Florence reached up and gave him a whack with her paw. “Please make some room for me, Bad Hat. It’s much more secure for me to have a sturdy place to lean, when I’m on the couch.”

  What, she wanted to lean against him? Had he missed the part where he had said that would be okay?

  “I, um, I sort of have boundary issues,” the dog said. “So, maybe it would be better if—”

  Never mind, she had already swung both paws up, and was hauling herself laboriously off the floor and onto the cushions. She lurched around to try and find her balance, and then fell on him—which didn’t hurt, because she was tiny. But, it sure made him nervous. So, the dog held himself very rigidly, not sure what to do.

  “It is not comfortable for me, if you sit like that,” Florence said sternly.

  When he’d woken up the other morning, he’d had a home, and a normal life. It maybe wasn’t a great life, or a pleasant home, but he had gotten used to it. Now, he was living with a bunch of strangers, and a crippled cat was giving him instructions.

  But, when she arranged herself against his shoulder, he let her do it, and tried to pretend that it didn’t bother him.

  “A dog pillow. Excellent,” Bert, the cat who never seemed to stop eating, said through a mouth full of kibble. “Me, too!”

  To the dog’s dismay, the plump cat climbed right up onto his back, yawned, and stretched out. “Thanks, Bad Hat,” Bert said sleepily. “Sometimes I have trouble staying awake during our shows, and I can have a good nap this way.”

  Great. He would have one cat on his shoulder, and another cat snoring on his back. It was so completely not what he would have expected to be doing tonight.

  “We ready?” Cole asked.

  “Play it, Sam,” Benjamin said, and a collective little chuckle rippled among the animals.

  When the opening theme for the show started playing, the Bad Hat was shocked that he recognized it.

  “Wait, is that PBS?” he asked. “I don’t watch PBS, no way.”

  “Shush,” Florence said. “It’s our favorite.”

  Oh, man, this was like one of his worst nightmares. Why couldn’t he have ended up in a shelter where the animals watched normal stuff like football? And rooted loudly for the Razorbacks—as every sensible being should? “But, that sounds like Masterpiece Classic,” the Bad Hat said. “Can I please go back to my kennel?”

  Pico lifted her head to frown at him. “Mind your manners, Bad Hat. We look forward to this all day.”

  Great. What was next? Would they sit around doing algebra together? Baking cookies? Scrapbooking? Was this, like, an animal mental hospital? “But, PBS  ?” the dog said.

  “Shhh!” about eight animals hissed in unison.

  “You’re gonna love it, dude,” Lancelot said. “Kick back, and have some kibble.”

  Well, at least he liked kibble. The dog grumpily crunched some from the nearest dish.

  “And don’t be so fidgety,” Florence said. “It disturbs my equilibrium.”

  Fine. Whatever. He was definitely going to have to figure out a way to escape from this crazy place.

  Tonight, if possible.

  • • •

  The Bad Hat planned to hate every single second of the show—but, okay, he loved it. Immediately.

  When the yellow Labrador Retriever made its first appearance, striding down the main staircase with some fancy guy, everyone cheered.

  “Isis!” Bert said happily, stopping chewing for a second.

  “Pharaoh,” Benjamin corrected him. “Isis comes later.”

  “Pharaoh!” Bert said, just as happily.

  Naturally, the yellow Lab was everyone’s favorite character.

  And even though he figured that he was losing outlaw coolness points by actually liking a show on public television, by the time they were halfway through the second episode, the Bad Hat was completely hooked. In fact, if he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up wasting time wishing that someone would give him a PBS tote bag to treasure and chew on, or something.

  Bert had fallen asleep almost immediately, but the dog was so caught up in the show, that he barely noticed the heavy weight on his back. In fact, when the rest of the animals decided to call it a night after the third episode, he was actually disappointed.

  The cats all seemed to be very good with their paws, and had no trouble opening and closing the kennel doors. That way, it would look as though they had all spent the night sleeping peacefully on their donated pet beds—instead of sneaking out and having their viewing party. But, the Bad Hat felt a little embarrassed for the canine species, in general, when they had to have the cats stand up on their hind legs and flip the latches for them.

  “So, are you still lonely and grouchy?” Florence asked, as Benjamin slapped the metal fastener on the dog’s kennel into place, once he was inside.

  Was he? The Bad Hat had to think about that. “Yes. But, maybe not as much as I was before.”

  “It’s a start,” Florence said. “Did you like the show?”

  Well, the dog had a little pride left, so he couldn’t admit that he had, um, maybe, possibly, enjoyed himself. “It was okay,” he said. “But, it would have been much better if there were some cowboys in it.”

  Benjamin laughed. “Philistine,” he said, and leaped over to Jack’s door to close him in for the night, too.

  The Bad Hat wasn’t sure what that word meant—but, it didn’t sound like a compliment.

  “Not that I, you know, care or anything,” he said, “but will we watch more episodes tomorrow night?”

  Florence looked very amused. “Absolutely,” she said.

  • • •

  The animal shelter had a regular schedule every day. At about six thirty in the morning, all of the dogs started pacing around restlessly, waiting to go outside. Then, promptly at seven o’clock, Thomas and Joan came and brought them out to the big fenced-in meadow to run around.

  For the first time, the dog was walked outside to join the others. Joan was watching him carefully—maybe to see if his ribs still hurt?—and he tried to make his gait look as effortless as possible. It must have worked, because she took his leash off, and patted him.

  “Good boy,” she said. “Have fun!”

  Oh, yeah, he was big on fun. Famous for it.

  But, it was great to be out of his kennel, and not on a leash. Maybe, finally, he would have his chance to escape? The Bad Hat stood near the gate, and looked around. The grass in the meadow was fairly long, and there were wildflowers growing all over the place—dandelions, daisies, and black-eyed Susans. Everyone was full of pent-up energy, so there was a lot of barking and chasing and running around in the grass. The dog ignored all of the rambunctious activity, even though part of him ached to join in, and run around like a goofball.

  When he was a puppy, and he and his family had roamed the countryside in Arkansas, they’d always had such a great time. Sure, they were hungry sometimes, but he loved his mother, and his sisters and brother, and they were all very happy together.

  Except, thinking about them broke his most serious rule. He missed them so much that he went out of his way not ever to wonder where they were, or worry about whether they were okay. The last time he had seen them was when the local dog officers showed up in a big truck, and tried to capture them. His sister bruised her paw on a rock, while they were running away, and they all stoppe
d to help her. The dog wanted to protect his family, so when the officers came closer, he jumped in front of the other dogs, so that they could escape, and—nope. He never let himself think about this. Nope, nope, nope. It had been a long time ago, and he was really far away from them now, and there was nothing he could do to—all right, he would focus on something else, instead.

  Like getting away from here, and starting his new life.

  The Bad Hat took a couple of deep breaths, to clear his mind, and looked around some more. There was a tall wooden fence enclosing the entire meadow, which seemed to be pretty secure. He leaned against it experimentally, and gave the boards a hard shove with his shoulder. Which hurt, because the fence was sturdy, and very solid.

  Well, okay, he wasn’t going to be able to ram his way through it. Maybe there was a good place where he could dig, and—

  “Whatcha doing?” a cheerful voice asked.

  The Bad Hat glanced up to see Jack panting and wagging his tail. “Um, just thinking,” he said.

  “ ’Bout what?” Jack asked curiously.

  Escape. Adventures. Freedom. “I don’t know,” the Bad Hat said. “Some private stuff.”

  “Oh.” Jack thought about that. “Okay. Want to play?”

  Not really, no. So, the dog shook his head.

  But, Jack was running around him in tight circles, barking like crazy, and nipping at his legs.

  “Hey!” the dog said. “Knock it off!”

  “Make me,” Jack said.

  Okay, he would worry about escaping later. Right now, there were more pressing matters at hand. The dog began to chase him—Jack was a surprisingly shifty and elusive little guy—and they raced around the meadow together. The Bad Hat would, of course, have been lying, if he had said that he didn’t like scuffling and wrestling. A lot. Especially when he head-butted Jack, who went flying about twenty feet.

  Jack scrambled up, like a shaggy little jumping bean. “Think you’re tough, because you’re a big guy?”

  Yes. “Yes,” the Bad Hat said.

  “Yeah, well, if you’re tough, I’m—” Jack paused to think. “I’m the Queen of England.”