Escape from Baxters' Barn

by Rebecca Bond

  “Oh dear,” said Nanny.

  “But finally I made a run for it. In all honesty, I didn’t know what else I could do. But right away, things didn’t go at all as planned.”

  She had everyone’s attention now.

  While the animals of the barn were supposed to be fretting over their possible imminent destruction, their minds were captured instead by this single ghost owl, almost one and a half feet tall, who stood off to the side in Fluff’s pen. While she spun her story each of the animals settled down into the hay, or rested their heads on the wall of their pens, and felt a kind of absorbed calmness they hadn’t felt since before all these worrisome days began.

  Noctua proceeded with her telling.

  She had flown out of the barn window early Saturday evening. That’s when Fluff pointed her out to Figgy. It was darker than usual for that time of the day because of the clouds the storm had tossed up, because of the rain the clouds had thrown down. Immediately, the ferocious wind took the owl by surprise. A twisting tidal wave of air pushed back on her, overturned her equilibrium, and sucked her away like a leaf caught in a roaring river. Oh how she struggled to free herself! She beat her wings desperately, attempting to fly back at least to the barn. But the wind would not unleash her, and finally she just gave herself up to it. It marshaled her over deep woods and unfamiliar fields, past a village, over a highway, and farther, to places she had never known.

  “Like a bad dream,” said the owl, “the sky was full of things that didn’t belong there—branches, bushes, even a chair! I prayed I would not smash into anything, and nothing would smash into me.”

  Finally there was a break in the storm, and the owl was released. She plummeted down, wing over wing, just managing to catch herself a little before she hit the ground and rolled under the lowest boughs of a tight grove of fir trees. It was surprisingly dry and protected from the wind under those branches. And so the owl, feeling very hungry and worn to a frazzle but grateful to be alive, puffed up her feathers for warmth and spent the remainder of the storm right there.

  The dawn ushered in a beautiful, crisp day. Except for the downed trees and broken branches strewn about, there was no indication of the fury that had come before. Up from the horizon crept a warm, rosy red. The sky was clear and blue.

  Noctua awoke and cautiously emerged from under her shelter. She looked around.

  Below her was a slope of open land, and below that was a horse pasture, though no horses were visible. The bottom of the pasture was edged with mature maples, and through their bare branches Noctua could see a large house, smoke curling from the chimney. It was inviting, and without further thought Noctua opened her weary wings and flew down to investigate.

  There was work being done to the side porch—it looked like the rotten floor was being replaced—and an electrician’s van parked in the driveway.

  Visible from the house, up the road a hundred yards, was a barn, a round barn, the kind once built with a mind toward better accommodating cows’ pie-slice-shaped bodies. The doors to the barn stood open and a ladder leaned against the frame.

  “A round barn,” said Noctua. “I was so curious, I flew in. It was nice in there, airtight, smelled like alfalfa, the stalls were clean and the loft was very quiet. But there was not a single animal there! Not a cat, or a cow. Why keep hay in a barn with no animals? But it didn’t look abandoned either; it was in too good condition.”

  The owl stopped talking and looked around, at Fluff, at Figgy, at Nanny and Tick, at Burdock, and finally at Tug and Pull and Mrs. Brown across the aisle.

  “I know,” she continued. “I know about what is going on here, with Dewey. I propose we all try to move to this new barn. It doesn’t look like anyone else lives there.”

  “Whoa,” said Tug.

  “Wait,” said Figgy, “before we get to that. How did you get back?”

  “Oh,” said Noctua, “I have a built-in sense of direction. But I was so terribly hungry now—I had not eaten for three days—so I was slow. I was flying, but just barely. It felt like my wings were weighted. I don’t remember ever feeling so weak, and catching a meal was out of the question. If an owl’s not quick, forget it. So I flew back here. But it took a while. I stopped to rest a few times. It must be over eight miles away, if I’m calculating correctly.”

  “You poor dear,” said Nanny.

  “Noctua,” said Burdock, deciding he had something he needed to ask. “Why even bother coming back here? I mean, why not just stay at that barn, if you knew what was going to happen to this one?”

  “Oh,” said Noctua. “Yes, I see your point. I could have just stayed. But suffice to say, I am a creature of habit, perhaps reprehensibly so. I have lived in this barn most of my life. I have hunted in the same fields and gotten to know the trees in these woods. I know how this place smells, the sound of the creaking in these rafters, I know when to expect the spring peepers to begin and the fall crickets to end. I am used to this place and I don’t like change. And I have gotten used to all of you. Even if you don’t know me, I have gotten used to being here with you. If I have to move, I would like you all to come with me. Besides, I can’t let you . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It would be nice to have you there,” she concluded.

  Nanny had installed herself on a carpet of loose hay in the aisle and was watching and listening through the slats of Fluff’s pen. Now she got stiffly to her feet. It seemed as though the owl was finished speaking; Noctua had said all she was planning to say.

  “Thank you, Noctua,” said Nanny. “You have been very courageous. And your plan sounds promising.”

  “Yes, but how on earth would we get there?” asked Figgy. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can’t fly eight miles.”

  “It does seem awfully far to walk,” sighed Mrs. Brown.

  “And there’s no road?” asked Fluff.

  “What if we’re not welcome there?” wondered Figgy aloud.

  “Honestly, everyone,” said Pull, snorting hot breath through his nostrils. He had only just met this unusual winged creature, but he had a good feeling about her; he wanted to trust her. She was Noctua, the owl constellation. For centuries people had looked to the stars for guidance. Pull would never have said this out loud, but maybe the right thing to do was to follow the path she charted for them.

  “We don’t have many options,” he said. “I mean, let’s be reasonable, everyone! Who knows how welcome we’ll be, but it’s certainly better than here, isn’t it? What else are we going to do? We can’t spend the winter in the woods. We can’t join the circus. Dewey isn’t going to wait for us to find our perfect solution. This is it! Dewey has emptied out his garage! Dewey has bought gasoline! Don’t you all see? There’s really no reason Dewey won’t burn down the barn tonight! If he does, I hate to break it to you, we’re doomed: we can’t escape now, because Figgy’s hole isn’t big enough yet to get Nanny out. We’re trapped inside. I’m not faulting you, Figgy. I know you are working as hard as you can. I’m just laying it straight. And let’s also be honest about this: even if Dewey doesn’t come tonight, we sure don’t have much time left. Noctua’s option may be our only option. And except for getting there, it even sounds like a darn good one.” Pull shook his head in frustration and loudly clopped a hoof on his stall door. Several of the animals jumped. The strong, steady horse had never been so riled up.

  Noctua opened her wings, beat them silently, and rose up to perch on a ledge that protruded from the barn wall, over the animals’ heads. She had made her offer and now she needed to separate herself just a little. Maybe she was giving them time to think. Maybe she was retreating a bit. Whichever it was, it appeared she felt more comfortable being off the ground and having the wood against her back.

  Tug observed his brother. He shook his head as if to slough off any lingering doubts.

  “United we stand,” he said. “I’m with Pull.”

  “Me too!” called Fluff.

  “Yay! A round barn!” cried Tick. He spun aro
und in a circle and nearly crashed into the wall.

  “Hold on now. We still have to think this through,” said Nanny.

  “Well, think, everybody, think!” said Figgy. “I’m going back to digging. Pull’s right. Our time is running out!”

  17

  Working as a Team

  As the hands of the village clock wound through the early hours of the night, many minds worked overtime at the Baxter farm. Everyone was on edge. When would Dewey come? All they could think about was escape. They prayed there was still time. Dewey, don’t come yet! Figgy’s hole is almost done.

  As Figgy chipped and gouged away at the ground, laboriously enlarging her “escape hatch,” as she now thought of it, the other animals chipped and chiseled away at a plan.

  Nanny thought about whose door should be opened first. Was there a perfect order that might buy them needed moments?

  Pull thought about the wagon Dewey had used to move his equipment. If they made it until tomorrow (he swallowed hard thinking this), could the horses use the wagon to transport the other animals to the new farm? It would make all the difference if they didn’t have to walk, but could ride. After all, even as Pull was the one to encourage the plan, he knew the journey would be easiest for him, and this made him feel guilty. Eight miles was a great distance for the others but it was not far for the big horses, and even the weight of the full wagon was negligible. But how would they get harnessed? Could they get the animals up into the wagon? And would there be a passable route through the woods, across the highway, to wherever this other barn was situated? He nudged Tug.

  “Help me puzzle something out,” he said quietly.

  Mrs. Brown waited fearfully for the squeak of the barn doors. At this point, the sound of Dewey opening the doors could very well be a death knell. But wait! she thought, realizing with a start that this could be a major hitch in the animals’ plan. The creak of the doors was so grating and simply so loud that even at the house Dewey would likely hear it when they tried to escape. Was that why he never oiled them? Was this Dewey’s improvised alarm system?

  But what if they oiled the door hinges? Could they? Mrs. Brown ruminated over this as she slowly chewed her cud.

  Tick and Fluff continued to receive the small piles of dirt Figgy poked under the pen wall. As they kicked at the piles and raked hay over the top, Fluff thought about having wings. I could really be something with wings, she thought.

  Only Burdock crept away toward the front of the barn. He needed time to think. He had spent a lot more time with the barn animals than the owl had, but she was willing to take a huge risk for them. She had traveled all the way back here, and even, it seemed, had put her life on the line to help the rest of the barn animals escape. Burdock had to agree with what Nanny had said; Noctua was courageous.

  And here he had been thinking about slipping away alone, finding a nice, warm place for himself, and not looking back. What exactly did that make Burdock—selfish? Would leaving have made him a deserter? Or, alternately, had he just been levelheaded, prudent, smart even?

  The cat had never been one for moral quandaries, and here he was caught up in a quandary of such mammoth proportions that he felt lost. Nothing here was straightforward. Naturally, saving yourself seemed right. Obviously, abandoning your companions seemed wrong. But what if saving yourself meant abandoning them?

  Burdock’s head felt heavy and he suddenly felt wearier than he ever remembered being.

  I really don’t know anything, he thought, laying his chin down onto the dusty floor and closing his eye.

  But he didn’t fall asleep. He found himself listening for the creak of the front door and Dewey’s footsteps.

  A short time later, Burdock got up and padded soundlessly down the aisle. He scaled a post fronting Figgy’s pen and looked out into the near-dark barn.

  Of course, no one was asleep.

  The animals were pacing in circles and pawing at the ground.

  Eyes roved in the darkness and ears swiveled to catch any warning sounds.

  Burdock saw that Nanny had her nose up to Figgy’s pen and was whispering gentle encouragements. “Thatta girl, Figgy! You are good and strong. You’re almost there, Figgy Pudding!”

  Figgy was working like a machine. Her hind end was in the air but her front half disappeared into the hole. She was twisted, too, as if she was trying to claw at the edges of the tunnel. And when she emerged, scooping out the dirt, Burdock saw just how badly her snout was scratched and bruised and how cracked her hooves had become. Still, Figgy kept on, digging ceaselessly.

  It was then that a new feeling seeped into the gray cat; he felt an unexpected admiration for his barn mates, all of them. The feeling stung. While he had only done begrudgingly what had been asked of him, everyone else was contributing fully as best as they were able. Tick and Fluff were moving and hiding dirt. The horses and Mrs. Brown were helping to strategize. Nanny was pulling everything and everyone together, and Figgy, well, her contribution was painfully obvious. All in this together, they were working as a team to mobilize their escape.

  And it was not even a sure thing—far from it! That was the part that hit Burdock the hardest. If Dewey showed up now—and he very well could—it was over. All of their work would have been for nothing.

  How could Burdock have considered walking away from that?

  He remembered what Pull had said a few days ago in the pasture: “You just want to believe your friends are on your side.”

  Burdock knew he didn’t have it in him to be courageous like Noctua, or instrumental like Nanny. And clearly, he wasn’t as dedicated as Figgy.

  But he could at least be trustworthy. That was worth something.

  Burdock jumped down from the post and padded silently out of the barn. He would start by scouting out what Dewey was up to.

  18

  Almost Caught

  The lights were on in the kitchen, but Dewey wasn’t there.

  The radio was on in the mudroom, but Dewey wasn’t there.

  The TV was on in the den, but Dewey wasn’t there either. Where was he?

  Burdock tiptoed back up the stairs, across the bathroom linoleum, and slipped out the window. The three-quarters moon was bright overhead, bright enough to give the cat a shadow that stalked him exactly, step for step, as he walked the high ridgepole to the shed.

  Back on the ground, Burdock stood for a moment and listened, his ears swiveling first to the left, then to the right. Still nothing.

  This can’t be good, he thought.

  Burdock headed again to the barn. All of a sudden, the night seemed unnaturally quiet. The kind of quiet that suggests something shady is happening.

  Burdock broke into a trot and was just coming up on the barn’s east side and stepping into the light shining down from the peak when he heard a muted crunch. Instantly on guard, the cat lowered his ears, flattened his stomach to the ground, and skulked low and fast around the corner. This was the west side, Figgy’s side, and—oh!—there was Dewey walking slowly around the periphery, now pausing, now crouching. Yikes! Was he lighting a fire? With all of his senses on high alert, Burdock crept cautiously closer. No, Burdock understood immediately. Dewey had discovered Figgy’s hole and was investigating. In a matter of moments Dewey would figure out that Figgy was digging from the inside.

  “YEEEOOW!” Burdock delivered his loudest screeching call, added some snarling and hissing for greater impact, and tore past Dewey like a beast unhinged. The flamboyant outburst had the desired effect; a shocked Dewey lost his balance and toppled to the ground.

  “Burdock! Holy meatballs! What has gotten into you?” shouted Dewey as he righted himself. “And you raccoons!” he yelled, turning to look at the darkness of the hole in the foundation. “If I catch you digging under this barn, I’m gonna shoot you!”

  He called his warning loudly up into the night before stomping the rest of the way around the barn to the back entrance of the garage.

  Inside the barn Figgy had stopped
digging. What in the world was that? she wondered. Was Dewey yelling to her? Her heart pounded. She was so close to finishing the escape hole—the possibility of being caught now made her weak.

  A few moments later, Burdock watched Dewey in the garage. He had a measuring tape in hand and seemed to be figuring out exactly how much space the car took up.

  Once his calculations were complete, Dewey patted the car on the hood. “Good night, Baby Blue,” he said, switching off the garage light. With long strides, he walked down the slope toward the house.

  Burdock followed at a safe distance, watching as Dewey’s silhouette went into the woodshed. The cat was careful to keep to the shadows. He tucked behind a barrel and only his eyes shifted to take in Dewey’s movements as the man now measured the tight rows of stacked wood, first their length, and now their combined width.

  Finally Dewey lifted his hat and scratched the back of his head. “Should work,” he murmured. Then he disappeared into the house.

  It wasn’t hard for Burdock to figure out.

  At least it looked like the animals had one more night.

  Burdock stood in the moonlit driveway and watched as all the windows in the house—the kitchen, the den, the upstairs hall, and finally the bedroom—went dark.

  19

  The Plan

  In the barn, in the predawn hours of the morning, their plan was hatched.

  Nanny called a meeting and everyone attended, including Noctua, who had come back from a successful hunt and was starting to feel like herself again.

  “Such good news!” said Nanny. “It’s almost a new day and the barn’s still here! We’re still here!” Her face looked bright and open with relief. “And Figgy thinks the escape tunnel is just about big enough for me to squeeze through.” She looked at the pig. “I don’t know what we would do without you, Figgy Piggy! So you think just a few more hours of digging, right?”