Storm Dog

by L. M. Elliott

  At that, Duke flew into action. He stood over me and barked at Gloria, urgent but not threatening. Like, Hang on a minute! When she froze, surprised, Duke stopped barking. He whined a little and cocked his head at my sister.

  Gloria just stared at him.

  Duke turned to woof once at Mama, then whined and cocked his head at her. Mama stopped whacking at the police officer and stared.

  My princess dogs sat down, too, one after another, as if cued by a stage manager. The deputy grabbed his belt loops and pulled his pants together. Marcus’s dad got back on his feet. Midnight finally slid herself off the truck and came to Sergeant Josie, leaning against her leg and gazing up at her, as if asking what in the world was going on.

  There was a bizarre silence.

  Into the middle of all that Daddy came running, all excited. “Ariel, honey, that was amazing!” He swept me up in a hug. “So that’s what you were doing in the basement. I’m so proud of you!”

  Like I said before, Daddy is in his own head a lot. It took him a few seconds to figure out something pretty bad was going on.

  “Anything wrong, officer?” he asked.

  “Wrong?” The poor man was trying to hold on to some semblance of authority as he gripped the shreds of his pants. “There sure as heck is something wrong.” He turned to the two other officers. “Arrest the lot of them! Impound those dogs!”

  I hadn’t realized it, but my fellow dancers, the spectators who’d joined our little parade of self-expression, were standing around us in a circle that was growing bigger by the minute. I caught my math teacher’s eye as the police hurried toward my princesses. I’m not sure if that woman had a moment of pity, a desire to help a kid in distress, or if her reaction had more to do with her being one of those fanatical dog lovers. Anyone who’d dye a poodle pink had to be a little obsessed, right? But whatever her motivation, I will be forever grateful for what she did next.

  “Officers, stop.” She stepped in front my girls. “I’d like to adopt this dog.” She put her hand on Lassie’s head. “And make a donation to the shelter in her name. Can you tell me who to make the check out to?”

  “Oh, I can, darlin’!” An exquisitely chic Junior League–type lady waved her pink-gloved hand. “I’m on the board for the local ASPCA.” People parted to let her through. In her pearls, lime-green designer suit, and kitten heels of the same color, no one would argue with her. “Any other takers?” She’d obviously run many a charity auction. “Take a dog and support humane treatment of animals!”

  “This one’s mine,” Sergeant Josie said quietly but very firmly, resting her hand on Midnight, stopping the approach of a young couple dressed in matching pink seersucker. They chose Kep instead, who looked like she was going to lift off the ground, her tail was propeller-wagging so fast.

  One of the church ladies—who sang with the choir—came forward. Jump picked her—bounded right up to that woman and gave her one of those growly, musical talking-tos that dogs do when they really want people to listen. That church lady just melted. They sashayed away together, Jump bark-crooning in answer to that lady talking to her in singsongy voice: “Friend, tell me all those troubles. Oh my goodness, really? I hear you, baby. Have a few sorrows of my own. I’ll share your load.” Their conversation sounded just like the lyrics to that song “Lean on Me,” I swear.

  Within a few minutes, every one of those thrown-away dogs had a new loving home, just as Marcus and Sergeant Josie and I had hoped.

  “Wait,” Gloria wailed. “My clothes!”

  The new owners stripped their dogs, chucked the clothes at Gloria, and disappeared into the crowd with the Junior League lady. When Gloria held a bundle of pink and green in her arms, she wailed even louder. “They’re all stretched out!”

  “Shut up, Gloria,” Mama snapped. “There are TV cameras here. Wipe your face.”

  My princesses might be safe, but the maelstrom wasn’t over yet.

  Mama turned to the deputy. “What are you going to do about Ariel? She ruined the parade.”

  Daddy gasped. “Delilah! What are you doing?”

  “E-e-eddie! This was Gloria’s chance to be seen by talent agents. Now they’re all distracted by this mess Ariel’s caused. She’s ruined our best bet for getting to Hollywood!”

  “Our?” Daddy looked baffled.

  “Well, none of you are going anywhere anytime soon,” interrupted the deputy. “I’m taking you in for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest.”

  “Hey, Frank. I came to your aid, buddy,” Marcus’s dad defended himself. Did he know all the county cops? I wondered.

  “Not you, Morgan.” He turned and motioned to his fellow officers. “Arrest these women.”

  “Oh my, I feel faint.” Mama started to wobble at the knees.

  Following Mama, Gloria gasped, “Goodness, me too!” She managed to drop her armload of clothes, so the two of them fell into the heap of pink and green. All caught on camera so handcuffing them would look like police brutality, for sure.

  But hauling me off would seem right appropriate since I still didn’t know better than to spit into the wind. I stood defiant, in a go-ahead-I-dare-ya glare, holding on to Duke by his bow tie—the picture of a bound-for-H-E-double-toothpicks, unrepentant storm-child.

  The officers started for me. Duke growled at them.

  “Someone get a muzzle and control noose for that dog!”

  I started to look to Sergeant Josie to save me—again. But I realized that I’d conjured up this storm. I had to quiet it myself.

  I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms tight around Duke. “No, you can’t take him. He’s just looking out for me. I think he might be an old army K-9 dog. They trained dogs to protect and defend, you know. I bet he’s a war hero.”

  I looked up to the deputy clutching his pants. “I’m sorry if I caused trouble, officer. I didn’t mean to. This dog had PTSD from something pretty bad. But I discovered that music was healing for him and helped him stay calm and be brave. Then I found out that people actually train dogs to dance. It’s all over YouTube. You can check it out yourself. Soooo”—I stammered a bit in daring to reveal my hopes—“I—I—I wanted to show off what my imagination could do. And—and —and—” There was nothing to do but be pinkie-swear honest. “I did want to steal some of the spotlight from Gloria.”

  “See! What did I tell you?” Mama began to rant. “She needs a serious lesson! She should be—”

  “Please,” Daddy interrupted, “let her talk, Delilah.” Unbelievably, Mama stopped, midsentence. Daddy had never—ever—asked her to stop talking. Not for me anyway.

  I raced on: “But that was just at the beginning. I discovered that I could actually create something epic, something wondrous, a straight-from-the-heart outcry, something bursting with joy. No matter what people say about me.”

  I felt myself searching all the faces watching me as I spoke. “I learned that if we listen, really listen, we can find such soul-lifting music. In ourselves. In each other. Even . . . even in a storm. Like—like the finale of Beethoven’s ‘Ninth.’ It starts out all angsty with the string basses rumbling like thunder. And then suddenly the woodwinds come in, light and hopeful, like a sun-break in storm clouds, like . . . like a catbird after a rain.”

  Realizing I had gotten a little geeky, I pointed to my princesses. “Did ya’ll see how beautiful these mutts could be when they soaked up the music and danced?”

  “Oh, I did!” “Ain’t it the truth!” “Amen, sister!” people in the crowd shouted.

  I turned to my father. “Please, Daddy. I don’t care if they arrest me. But please don’t let them take Duke. I think he might have served in Afghanistan, just like Sergeant Josie.” I nodded toward her. “Just like George.”

  Maybe it was the mention of George, maybe it was my acting less selfish. Daddy kicked into his legendary defense-attorney mode, the daddy I’d been so proud of, the daddy George had loved talking to. “Officer,” he said, “did you tell my wife and daughters that
they were under arrest before you laid a hand on them?”

  “Why, I . . . I must have,” the deputy blustered.

  “Mmmmmm, no you didn’t, Frankie,” said Marcus’s dad.

  “I see.” Daddy clasped his hands behind his back and paced a bit. “They didn’t know you intended to arrest them, since you failed to state it, therefore, they couldn’t have been resisting. In fact, it seems to me that any disorderly conduct resulted from your instigation. They acted in self-defense.” He swept his hand toward the onlookers, recognizing a friendly jury when he saw it. “I dare say any one of us might have reacted in the very same way.”

  The crowd nodded.

  The deputy scowled. “No way! Those girls threw punches at each other. The princess”—he pointed to Gloria—“grabbed that one”—he pointed to me—“by the hair.”

  “Ariel, do you wish to press charges against Gloria?”

  I could see where Daddy was going with all this. “No, sir.”

  “There’s the matter of the stolen dogs, then,” the policeman tried.

  “What dogs?”

  The sheriff searched the crowd in vain. “Hmpf, well, that dog, then.” He pointed at Duke.

  “He wasn’t at the pound!” I blurted out. “Only girl dogs were taken.”

  “AHA! How would you know that unless you were at the scene of the crime?” The deputy pointed at me, letting one of his torn-up pant legs fall.

  “Don’t answer that, Ariel,” Daddy told me. He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at the officer’s exposed boxers—they were dotted with little police cars!

  He waited for the deputy to get himself covered up—muttering “my wife gave me these”—before continuing. “We’ve all heard the news reports about the shelter break-in. So it stands to reason that Ariel would know that detail.

  “Madam,” Daddy called into the crowd to the animal shelter board lady, “were any army dogs, male, reported missing? You swear to tell the truth now?”

  “Yes, sir. I always tell the truth. And no, sir, there were no male dogs missing.”

  “There now.” Daddy smiled, and using the court of public opinion to pressure the sheriff, he said, “In the spirit of the Festival, of spring and new beginnings, can’t we just let all this go so everyone can enjoy this day of celebration and promise?”

  I thought the deputy might explode, he was so frustrated. But when the crowd started cheering and clapping, he had no choice but to agree.

  Oh, it was a masterful performance by Daddy. So was the next thing he did. I could see how good he must be in court defending his clients. Daddy took Gloria’s hands and said quietly, “Embrace your sister and make up. That’s what a real princess would have the grace to do.”

  “Oooooh, Ariel.” Gloria fluttered her hands around her cheeks as if she were fighting back tears. “I’m sooooo sorry.” She grabbed me for a huge kissy hug.

  The TV cameras caught that, too. And do you know a talent scout handed Gloria his business card right afterward?

  Before Mama could start in on me, Daddy said, “I think we should be proud of both our daughters, Delilah. After all, you’re their mama.” He smiled, and for a second, I saw exactly what those old women meant about his being a handsome, charming devil.

  I could hardly believe it, but it was true. Daddy had taken my side in a family feud, for the very first time. He knelt beside Duke and me so I could hear him over the crowd jabbering and applauding what they’d just witnessed. “That was quite a ballet you just choreographed for all of us,” he said. “You know who would have loved that?”

  “George?” I asked hopefully.

  “Oh, for sure, George, honey.” His eyes welled up behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “I was also thinking of your grandmother. She always loved good, give-it-all-you-got drama! She would have been very proud of you. Just like I am.”

  He gave me a hug, and Duke squeezed right in there with us.

  Coda

  I’D LIKE TO TELL YOU IT was all smooth sailing around here after that. But storms sometimes subside slowly, leaving a lot of rubble in their wake that has to be cleared away.

  The ride home was pretty rough—plenty of accusations splashing around between Gloria and me—although it helped to have Duke sitting between us. In the end, that business card from the talent scout quieted Gloria as she held it tight and imagined and imagined. She didn’t even seem to notice Duke drooling down the back of her princess dress as he stuck his nose up against her cracked-open window to happily suck in the 55 mph winds Daddy’s Cadillac was making.

  Daddy kept going on and on about how wonderful, how clever, my dog dancing had been. He called me “our own little Martha Graham” and then had to explain to Mama who she was. When Mama got squirmy listening to all this praise of me, Daddy won his case by saying how much I was starting to remind him of Mama, given how talented and all I’d become. I’m not sure either Mama or I particularly cared for that compliment.

  However, soothed by Daddy’s flattery, Mama just silently stewed for the rest of the way home. So I got to replay the glory of the day over and over in my mind, grinning as big as a panting dog after a good game of catch.

  But that smile was wiped off my face fast as soon as we drove into our lane. In front of our house was a black Ford four-door, the kind of car army officers drive to deliver bad news.

  I don’t always find God—or a higher-power whatever—where I’m supposed to. Sometimes I hear it in music, sometimes I see it in apple blossoms, sometimes I feel it in dance, and sometimes I catch the cool awakening promise of it in the winds as they brush my face. Other times I can’t believe he or she or it exists at all: things can go so bad here on earth.

  But that day something merciful was at work. George wasn’t dead.

  He was hurt, though. Out on patrol, George had spotted children in a field, trying to play soccer with a can. He wanted to give them the Beanie Babies I’d sent and told his driver to pull over. They hit an IED buried by the roadside—one of those handmade, improvised explosive devices Sergeant Josie had described that have been the number one killer of our soldiers in Afghanistan. The very hidden dangers that working dogs like Sergeant Josie’s risk their lives to sniff out. When George’s Humvee hit that bomb, it was thrown up and flipped in midair by the blast, hurling its passengers clear of the fire that quickly consumed it. Remarkably, no one died—not even the children running toward the car to get the toys. But they were all wounded, and George’s legs were pretty mangled.

  Daddy’s over with George now, at a military hospital where doctors piece soldiers back together before sending them home to the States. Daddy emailed me that George is awful confused from the concussion and real jumpy when the nurses walk by with the rolling tray of meds. But Daddy’s main news was that the very first smile they’ve gotten out of George was when Daddy showed him a YouTube video of Duke and me dancing at the parade.

  I don’t have the right words to explain how that made me feel.

  I emailed Daddy back and promised that I’d work real hard to help George get better when he comes home. Duke had showed me how.

  Daddy wasn’t the only one to find that YouTube clip. It’s already gotten over a million hits! Even Marcus, on the run, saw it. He wrote me a postcard from Ashville, North Carolina: Way to go, Ariel. Those girls sure cut a rug. I hope he comes back home someday.

  The boy with the big gleaming grin saw it, too. He told me so when he sat down beside me (Me!) on the bus the other day. He was holding a copy of Jack London’s Call of the Wild and started telling me all about the book. “The dog in it is half Saint Bernard and half shepherd. It made me think of your dog. Wanna borrow it when I’m done?” he asked.

  “I do,” I said, without even dropping my mouth open in surprise. Can you believe it?

  There are always a few reporters from DC who come out to cover the parade, its celebration of “Americana” and “old-fashioned” sense of community. Typically, they find the grittiest or most eccentric thing
to photograph and write up. This year, that was me. A Washington Post reporter did a bunch of interviews and then wrote a blurb that ended: “This little canine choreographer is going places.” I’m going to frame that clip and hang it in my bedroom as a real pick-me-up on rainy days.

  Thanks to all the publicity, the shelter’s received a bunch of donations and may host summer camps featuring dog dancing. They want Duke and me to perform at them. That’ll be way cool.

  For a while, I was sort of worried Gloria might want to smother me in my sleep because of the attention I was getting. But things have changed between us. Now that I can define myself on my own terms a little better, now that I’ve imagined and created my own melody, people not understanding me or mistakenly labeling me just doesn’t hurt as much. I know who I am. Just like George once said to me: “Music can overcome everything, change everything—that’s what I love about it. Understand?”

  I do now. It’ll be one of the first things I tell George when he gets home.

  Gloria’s hit pay dirt herself. That talent scout who saw her at the parade, the one who gave her his card? He’s gotten her cast in a new reality show. Gloria is heading to Hollywood—without Mama. Gloria actually grinned when she told me that part of the news and has been real friendly to me since. Only now do I see that maybe she was too overwhelmed by Mama to express herself. And that maybe Gloria didn’t like being defined and predicted by other people either.

  Including me. When I told her that I’d come to that realization and apologized and then promised to try to stop being mad at her for being born pretty, Gloria gave me a real hug, not one of those for-show princess ones. As she did, she whispered in my ear—so we didn’t have to look each other straight in the eye, not yet anyway—that she’d try to stop being mad at me for being born “so damn smart.” Gloria even drove me to the county registrar so I could buy a dog license for Duke to make him officially mine.