Don’t fly. That’s not one of my commands, but it should be. Because my muscles twitch to try it. To jump like they’re jumping. Don’t fly, Daisy.
The Colonel cringes and smiles too tightly around all this chaos, but he’s here, not gone, not in the cloudy white zone. It’s making the rest of our pack very happy. Anna smiles at him, hands him the baby. “The tae kwon do studio was a good idea,” she says. He nods. “Can you imagine trying to do this in our home?” she says. He shakes his head.
He hugs her with one arm. “It’s perfect, querida. Look at those wild kids.”
And Anna does, and she smiles, too. Today is a yellow day. She flits over to the food: cake and hot dogs that make my nose hairs tingle. Heaven on a tabletop. I watch her float between the chow and the curly ribbon presents and the humans here from other packs. She smiles and laughs and spreads yellow joy everywhere, as happy and free and swishy as a large park of wide-open grass.
But Anna is also a fence. She’s gentle and joyful, but she keeps her pack together. It’s tough to do both. It’s tough to be a wide-open joyful park and a safeguarding protective fence. Anna does both. She’s like a herd dog, that one. Impressive.
While the boys fly, Anna lights twelve sticks on fire and jabs them into the cake. My fur crinkles at this, and I pant a little. But no one else seems concerned about these little hot danger sticks of fire. So I command myself: Sit, Daisy. Stay. Don’t fly. But I’ve got my eye on that fire.
All the humans start singing the same song:
“Feliz cumpleaños a ti
feliz cumpleaños a ti
feliz cumpleaños querido Micah
feliz cumpleaños a ti!”
Humans don’t get a whole lot right. But when they make their voices come together in music, it’s like cool, clear water.
Micah blows out the sticks of fire, which I appreciate, and I begrudgingly admit he’s saved us all. People clap their hands for him, so they must agree.
Hot dogs. Cake. Ripping flying paper. Beeping flashing toys. Then, more boy flying.
Sit, Daisy. Stay. Don’t fly.
Anna approaches me and Victor. She hands him a hot dog, which he gives to me, and OH MOUTH JOY DROOL. The Colonel laughs. “She doesn’t even chew!”
Anna laughs, too, and it’s like a flower garden in here, all color and honey. She slips her hand into his.
“I’m glad I’m here this year,” he says.
“Me, too.”
He shifts his weight off his walking stick. “That was the worst. Missing the birthdays. Holidays, all the soldiers were miserable, because everyone was missing Christmas or Thanksgiving together. But missing the birthdays? Solo misery.”
Anna squeezes the Colonel’s hand and his heart hums.
I don’t understand why he’s missed other birthdays, but solo misery? That I understand. And I understand that Anna was here while he was away. She made sure the birthdays still happened.
Victor laughs at Micah climbing up pegs on a wall. He drops my leash, his walking stick. “Stay, Miss Daisy.”
Stay. Don’t fly.
“I bet I can climb higher than you, hijo!” he shouts. He runs. He climbs, pulling his injured leg up the wall stiffly. His heart and Micah’s heart sing together: cool, clear water.
Don’t fly, Daisy. This is worth the Stay.
7
CHOOSE YOUR ROLE WISELY
Training to be a service dog is far away from life in a Dumpster. The whole next week, when Alex squeaks, “SIT, DAISY!” my tail is on the floor like lightning.
But training for two straight weeks now has made the Colonel soul-tired. Can no one else see his slumping shoulders, hear his slumping sighs? His moods are so twisty. Just a few days ago, he was scaling birthday party walls like a spider. Today after training, he drags both himself and me into the house, drops my leash.
“Wait here, Miss Daisy,” Colonel Victor says in tired, cotton-puff words. He’s taken a handful of rainbow pills again and he’s mushy. He enters the bathroom and closes the door. I’ve learned that wait here means stay. Humans and their silly too-many words.
The bathroom is the only place I don’t go with the Colonel. Alex pitched a hissing kitty fit when he heard that I don’t go into the restroom with Colonel Victor. “What if you blank out in there?” he asked at our last session. “It’s dangerous to go in there without Daisy.”
“I don’t know about you, Alex,” Colonel Victor said, “but it’s more dangerous for her to go in the bathroom with me.” He winked, and that was that. The Colonel has a way of dealing with Alex that Alex isn’t used to. I can tell by the constant shade of sour lime green that tinges the edges of Alex’s voice when we’re there.
I turn a half circle and get comfortable on the wood floor. It’ll be a while, because Colonel Victor brought in a magazine with him.
Tick-tick-tick-SWISH.
My ears prick. My head cocks. Fish scales and falling trees.
Smaug rounds the corner. Ah, young grasshopper, he says to me. It is you I’ve been seeking.
Is that so? I ask and yawn. You haven’t been seeking juicy cockroach snacks?
Smaug chortles oddly, like the flight of blinking fireflies. His long black tongue reaches up and licks his spiraling eye. There are plenty of those to be had. No need to seek. Patience is all that is required for some rewards.
I shudder. I’ve eaten bugs in my more desperate days. That’s why desperation tastes crunchy.
Why were you looking for me? I ask. I’m intrigued by this animal. He’s part of this pack, it appears, and yet he doesn’t even pretend to be loyal to it. I can’t decide if I admire that or if it endangers us.
Smaug’s tail jerks with a crack. You have not yet befriended Micah. His lizardy toenails drum the floor. They are now painted goofy pink and blue. I see you can sense need. And yet you seem to do so only when it is convenient for you. There is much more need here than you are servicing. If you truly wish to become a service dog, that is.
A Smaug smog clouds my vision. My lips curl back and I taste oily annoyance. You snooty lizard! I growl. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. You don’t want to see me truly angry.
Smaug rolls his eye. It’s difficult to smell if it’s disgust or if it’s just how his wacky eyeballs move. Anger is but a symptom, like a fever. Addressing a fever does nothing to heal the true hurt.
Tick-tick-tick-SWISH. Smaug turns and begins to toddle away.
I can’t help myself. I swipe at that irritating tree-crack tail of his, and catch the tip of it under my paw. Smaug jerks about and drives two of his sharp claws up into the soft skin between my toenails.
YIPE! I snap my teeth at his tail, but the tip of it has broken free from his body. I’m left with a squirmy stump of tail under my paw. I shiver like chomping ice cubes. Smaug disappears around the corner, his tail an inch shorter.
Micah comes out of his room, just down the hall, one eyebrow cocked. He’s holding a blue-and-orange ball, one too big and too springy to fit in my mouth. Silly of me to think Micah might want to play ball some time.
Micah sees me there. I cover Smaug’s tail tip with my paw. It isn’t what it looks like.
Or is it?
I am nervous about getting caught with a piece of Smaug under my paw. Nervousness tastes like a belly full of grass.
Micah squats next to me.
Poor humans. They must ache, having to stand on their two hind legs all day. It must hurt their backs. It certainly slows them down. I feel sorry for them and their uprightness.
“Miss Daisy?” Micah says. He doesn’t touch me. He knows that’s against the rules. Micah follows the rules. I have to admit I like that about him.
Yes?
“Listen.” Micah clears his throat. His voice is a color that confuses me: iridescent translucent, like snail slime. Soft, but what is it? Is it sticky? Is it wet? He leans against the wall.
“I need to tell you: you don’t get to be my dad’s best friend.” He glances at the bathroo
m door, picks at the wires coming from the ear covers that hang around his neck. Those infernal things. He calls them headphones, but ear muzzles is what they are.
“You don’t get to do that,” he continues, his voice squishy with rainbow slime. “That’s my job, see. Best friend is taken. By me.” He jabs his two thumbs at his chest. I am supremely jealous of human thumbs. “I am his best friend. Understand?”
Even if I wanted to bark a protest, I don’t think I could, I’m so surprised. Micah stands, places the ear muzzles over his head, and bounces the ball, thud, thud, thud, all the way down the hall.
Several minutes later, we’re walking down the street: Colonel Victor and Micah, dribbling his punchy, springy ball, and me, sporting my paper-crisp tan vest. It’s the first time the Colonel has guided me out of our yard on feet. I’m proud to show off my humans, even if I’m still tail-chasing confused about what Micah said. How could he be the Colonel’s best friend? He doesn’t even have a leash or a vest!
“Wait till you see this one kid, Dad,” Micah says. “He can dunk backward over his head and hang on the rim, and he’s only fourteen.”
“I bet you’re pretty good, too, Micah.”
Micah’s face pulls to one side, showing his pride. “I’m not bad.”
“How’d you find this park?” I can’t see the Colonel’s eyes behind his dark sunglasses, but I can tell by the shifting shadows on his face that his eyes are moving. He’s scanning for danger.
Micah dribbles the ball between his legs as he walks. “It’s at my new school.”
“Yeah?” the Colonel’s voice is tight like thirst. “You like it there?”
Micah shrugs. “Just like the eight other schools I’ve been to.”
“Eight . . . ,” the Colonel says. His voice flushes a light sunburn color. Apology. I don’t know why.
“Yeah, so, this kid. The others say he’ll play in the NBA for sure. . . .”
Tink. Tink-tink-tonk, tink.
The Colonel stiffens. Stops. He is an alert, ready fire hydrant. I stiffen and stop, too. “What was that?” he says.
Tink-tink-tink.
“I . . . didn’t hear anything,” Micah says, each word murkier than the last. He looks around.
My ears prick. I definitely heard something. It’s a tiny, tinny sound, like a small cheap bell.
Tink-tonk. Tonk-tonk-tonk.
“There it is,” the Colonel whispers. He lifts his chin at an object rolling across the road ahead.
Micah squints at it. “That? It’s just an empty soda can, Dad.”
The Colonel clamps his huge hand down on Micah’s shoulder. “Don’t move,” he grinds out through gritted teeth.
“What?” Micah turns toward his dad.
“Micah!” The Colonel’s words are knives. “Stay. Right. Here.”
The Colonel’s heart pounds like a jackhammer. He’s sweating and his face is full of sharp edges; he’s squinting blades. I know to watch for this. I’ve trained for two whole weeks, and I know. Plus, anyone with two eyes and working nose whiskers can tell he’s seeing white. I tug backward. Colonel Victor needs to go home. I can follow my scent back home. I can lead him back.
“Daisy, stop,” Micah says, turning his red glare down at me. But I continue tugging the Colonel away from the basketball court.
“We have to go, Dad,” Micah says, his voice crunchy bugs. “We’ll miss the game if we don’t go now.”
Colonel Victor’s shoulders fall. “I can’t, Micah. I . . .” He is full to the tip of his water bowl with giving up. “You go ahead, Micah. Go on to your game. You don’t need me there.”
I think of Smaug: There is much more need here than you are servicing.
I wonder for a flicker if I’m making the right choice, leading the Colonel away. Breaking up our pack.
Yes. Yes, I am a service dog. I help the Colonel, not the rest of the pack.
The Colonel turns to follow me home.
Micah’s fists are clenched. I know punch-ready fists when I see them, and I flinch. “I don’t need you there, Dad. I want you there. There’s a stupid difference, you know?”
Micah’s eyes narrow like the tip of an icicle. He spits his words at me. “But Daisy. We don’t want her at all. We need her. See the big, stupid difference?”
The Colonel’s shadows cool. “You might be the first boy ever who doesn’t want a dog.”
Those words sting like too much sun and sand.
Micah spins and runs away, dribbling. He pounds the ball against the cold sidewalk so hard I’m almost surprised the concrete doesn’t crack.
The Colonel sighs, an exhale plump with trashy defeat. “Let’s go, Miss Daisy.”
I lead Colonel Victor home, but I glance back one last time at Micah.
He should be careful which job he picks in this pack, Micah. If he wants to be the Colonel’s best friend, he’s not doing a very good job at it. And in my experience, when someone’s not doing a good job in their pack, they’ll be replaced.
8
DISOBEDIENCE TASTES LIKE DRY LEAVES
“LIGHT SWITCH, Daisy!” Alex squawks at me from across the dark, wide room. “LIGHT SWITCH.” His words are pigeons. Pigeons are fat, nasty creatures whose wings should be stolen. Flying seems too big a gift for crummy pigeons.
We’ve just started our training for the day, and already Alex is unnerving me with his incessant squawking. We are at the end of our third week of training. I know this because of birdie Alex: “Three weeks down! Seven to go! Pick up the pace! BLOCK, Daisy! CHECK, Daisy! WATCH, Daisy! SQUAWK!”
Today, Alex stands next to a silver metal plate on the wall. He points at it. Colonel Victor unhooks my leash and crosses the room, stands next to Alex. I know I have his approval to trot over there.
I do, and I nudge the knob with my nose. It’s not pain-free, but hey! The lights come on! So that’s how that works. Now I can make my own personal sunrise. Colonel Victor claps happy purple flowers, and I smile. Micah, who is here in the corner when he’s not in the building called school, ignores my superpowers, as always.
“GOOD GIRL, DAISY!” Alex gives me a tasty bacon treat, then clicks a tiny piece of plastic that rests in the palm of his hand. Click-CLICK! It’s the sound of bones breaking. It’s the first time he’s made this noise. I cock my head.
It’s loud, this clicker, and it echoes through the space. Giant bones snapping all around us. I know the second I hear it that the Colonel doesn’t like it. I feel his shade deepening.
Alex jogs across the room to the other light switch. The Colonel goes with him. “Again, Daisy. LIGHT SWITCH. Again!”
I look to Colonel Victor, but he seems okay other than his shadows growing slightly gloomier. So I cross the room, too, and nudge the light switch down with my chin. The sun sets. Power!
“Good dog!” I get another bacon treat and another click: Click-CLICK! More broken bones. I flinch because I worry about Colonel Victor. Worry tastes green and sludgy, like algae on a pond.
The Colonel shifts. Even in the dark room I can see his face tinge darker. His heart races slightly.
He doesn’t like the clicker.
Alex sprints back across the room. The Colonel walks behind him. “One more time, girl. LIGHT SWITCH.”
No.
Alex taps the metal plate. “C’mon girl. LIGHT SWITCH.”
Can’t you see the Colonel hates it when you click that thing?
Alex looks at Colonel Victor. “Huh. I don’t understand. She was doing great.”
The Colonel gulps in breath. He’s practically panting, and he’s hot and thirsty and radiating rays of nervousness, like his belly is full of algae. “What’s that you’re using?”
“Treats,” Alex says, jostling the bacon-filled pouch attached to his belt.
Colonel Victor rolls his eyes, and I can smell his impatience from here. “Not that.” He points at Alex’s fist. “The clicker.”
“Oh.” Alex flashes his palm at the Colonel. A small blue piece of plastic is
there. “Yeah. I figured it was time to start with it. We use the clicker in conjunction with the treats when the dogs do something good. Eventually, we just have to click to reward them.”
I get rewarded with a stupid click? Thievery!
“She doesn’t like it,” Colonel Victor says. His voice is firm and solid, a brick.
Well, technically, I don’t like it because YOU don’t like it, Colonel. But true. Getting rewarded with a click stinks.
Alex smirks like the curve of an onion. “What? Dogs love these things.” He clicks it again haphazardly—Click-CLICK! It’s a thighbone shattering.
Colonel Victor cringes. I stand and push my ears back, because I will forcibly remove that thing from Alex’s hand if I have to. I feel the hairs down my spine standing on edge. My anger tastes strong like skunk spray. I can have trouble controlling it. I blame the first humans I knew for that.
“Wow, I think you’re right, Victor,” Alex says. He pockets the clicker. I take a deep breath and sit. That was close. I wouldn’t want to show Alex who’s really the boss here, but I will if I have to.
“LIGHT SWITCH, Daisy!”
I cross the room and flip the switch, making the sun rise again. I have almighty powers over day and night. When kids dress up in bright colors and zoom around shouting words like KAPOW! they wear superhero capes. I should be wearing a cape over this vest.
Alex smiles. The Colonel smiles. Micah doesn’t look up from his tiny screen. He is as unimpressed as a cat.
“Good girl, Daisy! Good dog!”
Yes. Well. We didn’t do away with the bacon rewards, too, did we? Cough up the treats, meat man.
“Let’s take Daisy to the park and see how she does,” Alex says after I’ve shown him sixty thousand more times that I understand the command LIGHT SWITCH.
“Outside?” I don’t even have to look at Colonel Victor to know what he thinks of that idea; I can hear the fluttering feathers in his voice. “I don’t like parks.”
Alex cracks his knuckles. He’s trying to think of how to say something, based on the eggshell-thin blue color of this pause. “Victor,” he says. “It’s a low-stress environment. We’ll start with the park and build up from there.”
A Dog Like Daisy Page 4