by Peter Cox
They were pretty jealous, which just made it even more fun.
Like I said, this neighborhood wasn’t much different from the one that we had left, at least on the surface of things. There was a massive wooded lot behind our house, and I had no idea how far back it went. I looked forward to exploring back there and seeing all the mysteries it was hiding.
I had already found a couple of forgotten places: an old empty freight train compartment rusting away in the woods, a few small caves, and a stone wall that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
There were more houses lining my street on both sides, like your standard quiet suburb. Some of the houses had kids, some didn’t. There was only one abandoned house on the street, the old Johnson place, and I had been strictly forbidden from ever going near it. It had been “condemned” and was apparently a really dangerous place to play, because the roof could give in at any moment, and there was shattered glass all around.
“So where should we go first?” I asked, whispering and looking back at the house to make sure no one saw me talking to the dog.
“Well we can go meet Douglas, the hound next door. He’s old and a little slow, but he’s a nice old fella. Or we can see Genevieve, the cat a block from here. She knows all the local gossip and can tell you a lot about the animals in the neighborhood.”
“I thought dogs and cats don’t get along,” I said with a smirk.
“It’s never good to generalize, buddy,” he said. “But that’s true: most cats are terrible.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, looking forward to getting an answer to one of mankind’s oldest mysteries: why dogs and cats fight.
“Most of them are stuck up, self-centered snobs,” he said with disgust. “Not anywhere near as friendly as us dogs. But they’ll tell you they’re more ‘cultured’ which is just another word for ‘snobby.’”
“Probably because they don’t go around eating ‘brown stuff,’” I laughed.
Basset knew me well enough not to get upset. He knew I was kidding.
“Probably,” he laughed.
That really wasn’t the great revelation to the mystery I had hoped for. I mean, everyone knows that about cats, right?
At that moment I heard some chattering from the woods, and noticed a small group of squirrels looking our way.
“What about them?” I asked, motioning to the little pack. “Want to introduce me to the squirrels?”
“Ummm…” he hesitated. “I’d rather not. We don’t… get along real well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… squirrels tend to be - kind of - jerks. They like to tease dogs because we’re slower and can’t climb trees. I have to admit, I don’t respond well to that. If they annoy me, I like to chase them up the trees. They hate that, which makes me a little happier.”
“I thought you said not to generalize,” I laughed.
“With squirrels it’s okay.” He paused. “Who knows, maybe some of them are nice. But not the ones around here. Around here they’re jerks.”
The next couple of days were a whirlwind of meeting new friends, discovering new places, and learning about a whole new world.
This would be a good time to clear up some misconceptions about talking animals from those terribly unrealistic kids’ movies.
For one thing, in movies and books animals usually have “typical” animal names like “Squirrelly the Squirrel” or “Fred Fish.” That’s stupid. How many times do you run into a classmate named “Boy-y the Boy” or “Gilly Girl.” Most of my animal friends have normal names, like Rex or Fido or Franklin or Peter. I did once meet a cow named Lucretia. That’s pretty weird. But usually the names are normal.
Also, animals are like people in a lot of ways. Like Basset said, you can’t assume anything about an animal just because of his species. Sure, squirrels talk really fast and dogs can get overly excited and cats can be really snooty, but assuming a pit-bull is mean just because he’s a pit-bull would be just as bad as… well, something racist. We don’t have to go there.
The point is, you don’t want to be a specist. Or speciesist. Whatever you’d call it. The species are all different in their own ways, and each culture has some definite characteristics, but you can’t assume anything. Not ever.
Some animals are nice, and some animals are mean.
For instance, a two ton gorilla wearing an eye patch and a tutu with a really bad attitude once tried to pack me into a suitcase far too small for me to fit in because I foiled his diamond heist plan.
That’s another story, but it illustrates my point well: animals can be just as hard to get along with as people.
Chapter 5
GOSSIP
On the third night of summer vacation, Basset finally got the chance to tell me what he’d been waiting to say.
“Listen buddy,” he said slowly while he was curled up at the foot of my bed. From his tone of voice I could tell he was going to tell me something important.
I had honestly been dreading this moment.
I was scared to hear what Basset had to say to me.
Basically, I was scared it would be bad advice. And that would make him wrong, which would make him….normal.
My whole life Basset had been my confidant. He’d always listened to everything I had to say, with the same content look on his face. He’d been by my side through everything.
Now that he could talk, everything that I suspected about my golden retriever had so far been proven true: he was thoughtful, patient, and downright wise.
But if he gave the same advice as my parents, wouldn’t that make him just as wise as my parents?
No offense to them, but their advice was terrible.
“I know you’ve been lonely since we’ve moved to town,” Basset said. “I’ve been lonely too, trust me. You couldn’t understand me speak, while I could understand you, so I didn’t have to live with silence. But I didn’t have anyone to talk to.”
“You do now buddy.”
“I know. And nothing has made me happier. But I want to tell you I think it will get better. If you pay attention to which kids are teasing you, I’m sure you’ll find a few who aren’t so mean. And if you’re brave enough, maybe they can be your friends. Not all the kids can be terrible, right?”
“It sure seems like it sometimes.”
“I know, but I think there are some good ones. You just have to find them.”
I nodded.
“But until then, you have me.”
He smiled at me, but I still noticed a sad look in his eyes.
It was a lot better than the advice my parents gave me, which was always the same, and is probably the exact same advice your parents give you.
“Someday you’ll grow up, and realize that being popular in school didn’t really matter.” Or “someday you’ll grow up, and see that this wasn’t really a big deal.”
Do parents really forget that much about being our age? “Someday it will be different,” isn’t super helpful for today. Today is not someday. It’s today. That’s why it’s called “today.”
Imagine if I tried to give that advice to my parents. “Don’t worry Dad, someday you won’t even remember what you were fighting with Mom about, so it doesn’t really matter who wins.” Or “someday you’ll realize that impressing your boss wasn’t really that important.”
It IS important right now, because guess what, right now IS right now, and what matters now matters now because now is now. Make sense?
I think they just tell us that because they don’t have better advice to give. At least not off the top of their heads, and they can’t be bothered to sit and think about a solution to our problems.
I have no friends. I’m not happy. If you can’t help me make friends, at least offer me a little understanding, or some comfort or something. Not “it doesn’t matter.”
By telling us that what we care about won’t matter to our adult selves, doesn’t that mean that we don’t matter? Because what we care about is a big part of who
we are.
Basset’s advice was way better. Especially because it came with some comfort. And a good amount of thought, effort, and understanding.
***
The next morning my mom had one of her neighborhood friends over – a Mrs. Maplewood – and wanted me to sit down and visit.
It was a disaster.
Mrs. Maplewood was an interior decorator who talked faster than those guys at the ends of car commercials on the radio. And it was always about something boring.
My mom couldn’t get enough.
“So how’s school going, Nate?” she asked me when I sat down.
“Okay, I guess. We’re out for summer now.”
“Oh my, how fun! You know, I was just saying to Elvira Smith that summer is my favorite time of year, because the decorating colors are all bright and sunny. You know, you really should take more care to switch out your drapes and curtains with the seasons, my dear,” she said to my mom.
Funny how “how’s school” turned into “look how fancy I am, let me talk a billion miles per hour about it.”
She just kept going. “And flowers are an integral part of your decorating.”
“Yes, I was thinking of getting some flowers, but we just moved, you know,” my mom responded.
“That’s no excuse for ignoring the trends of the season sweetie. Look, perhaps after my soaps today I can give you some pointers. Oh! That reminds me, have you seen what was happening on Days of Our World yesterday? Imagine, a secret twin brother from Algeria!”
And then suddenly the conversation was about soap operas. My mom was so engrossed in the conversation that I was able to sneak out of the room without either of them noticing.
Basset and I went over to Genevieve’s to hear more news from around the neighborhood. There was a new rabbit at the O’Hanley’s that was making the dog that already lived there really jealous, and there were rumors of a budding romance between two collies up the street.
Basset wasn’t a fan of Genevieve’s “news.” He called her a gossip when we weren’t around her, and told me not to spend too much time “filling my head with that junk.”
He was always civil and polite to her, and though he tried to keep me from spending too much time with her, it was Basset that first introduced me to Genevieve.
When I asked him why he still spent time with her if he didn’t like the gossip, he just said he thought Genevieve had a good heart.
Anyway, Basset kept introducing me around town, and I got to meet a family of hedgehogs and a bunch of dogs, a few cats, and Basset warned me about which dogs to steer clear of and which cats were particularly uppity. Genevieve even introduced me to a couple squirrels. They seemed to be nice enough – a little rude sometimes and pretty annoying with their high-pitched voices and nonstop talking – but not too bad.
“So are there any animals that can’t talk?” I asked Basset one afternoon.
“Well of course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mostly little things. Insects don’t talk for instance, which is good. I don’t think they’d have much to talk about, and it makes me feel better about eating the occasional bug, knowing they can’t talk. Although I suppose they could talk, and I just can’t understand them. Like how you couldn’t understand me. Best not to think about it.”
“What about mice?”
“Ah, that’s a touchy subject. Most mice can’t, but every once in a while you find one who can say a word or two. Cats promise they don’t eat any mice who can talk, but some of us dogs think they shouldn’t risk eating any. It’s a bit of a debate.”
It was one of the best weeks of my life, even with Mrs. Maplewood’s visits. I still felt lonely sometimes without a friend to share it all with, but I was exploring a whole new world, and was making a lot of new non-human friends, which was nice.
And, of course, that’s when things started to go bad.
Chapter 6
THE DISAPPEARANCE
It started off more weird than bad, but we could tell something big was coming, right from the start. Something big and mean.
It started with the disappearance of the birds.
I woke up exactly one week after Basset started talking and saw him sitting at the window, staring into the backyard with a sad look on his face.
I’d never seen him do that before. When he looked outside he always looked excited, like he couldn’t wait to get out there and start chasing squirrels around for some revenge.
“What’s wrong boy?” I asked, quickly getting up.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But something’s definitely wrong. I can’t put my paw on it, but it’s out there.”
I sat next to him, wrapping my arm around his neck.
“I don’t see anything,” I said.
“Neither do I. I don’t smell anything either…”
Suddenly I felt it too, a chill rising from the wood floor into my feet, up my ankles and tingling its way into my stomach. I knew something was wrong with this morning, something that made it feel cold.
“The birds!” I shouted all of a sudden, jumping back up to my feet. “I don’t hear any birds!”
That’s why the morning felt so cold. The only time we didn’t hear birds first thing in the morning was when they had all flown south for the winter.
Basset didn’t move, but that sad look grew even deeper.
“Where did they go?”
“Do you think they finally got tired of the cats chasing them around and moved somewhere else?” I asked. I knew that made no sense, but I couldn’t think of anything that did.
Basset shook his head.
“Cats and birds don’t get along, but it’s never broken out into war. Besides, there are cats everywhere around the world. Where could they move?”
I knew he was right.
I rushed downstairs to tell my parents about it, but they didn’t think it was weird at all. They just didn’t have time to really think about it.
“Our yard must have run out of worms or something,” my dad said, not even looking up from his morning paper, which had the headline “Masked Marauder strikes silence: radio store cleared out.”
I had seen word of the Masked Marauder in the news a few times recently, or overheard the name as I walked to school, but I hadn’t really paid much attention. Some kind of criminal, a burglar or something.
I try not to pay too close attention to the news.
It focuses too much on getting people’s attention, which usually means scaring people or shocking them.
Or lying to them. That works too.
Also, I’m a kid. Better things to do than sit and watch local news anchors try to drum up viewers and not trip over the teleprompter.
But I made a quick note to myself to read that paper when my dad was done with it. I had a hazy memory of a nightmare I’d had a few nights ago, maybe something about someone in a mask.
It had me intrigued.
My mom was busy scraping the burnt part off a piece of toast.
“You worry too much,” she said. “What disaster could possibly have caused the birds to leave? This isn’t one of your fantasy stories.”
If only she knew how wrong she was.
At that moment Basset padded silently into the room.
“Adults won’t notice it,” he said sadly. “At least not for a while. They’re too busy to notice little things like that, too much else going on in their minds and in front of their eyes. Besides, they wouldn’t want to see something different about their lives. That makes things too complicated.”
I knew he was right. How many times had my mom gotten a new haircut that my dad didn’t notice? Or how many times had my dad washed and buffed the car and gotten frustrated when mom didn’t comment on how awesome it looked?
Or how often did I get a good grade, stick it on the fridge, and take it down a few weeks later without anyone saying anything?
A lot. That’s how often.
It never really upset me before.
People are busy and distracted. But with something this serious it definitely mattered.
And Basset and I were alone.
“I’m heading out to take a look around,” I said. Neither of my parents looked up as I raced out the back door.
Basset and I went straight to the woods. On most mornings at this time there would be dozens of birds pecking away at the ground while it was still soft from the dew. This morning it was completely deserted.
Once we got under the cover of the trees we both looked up at the branches. Usually you’d hear a few sparrows or mourning doves up there, but all we heard today was the creaking of the empty branches.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
“I don’t know. But I don’t like it,” he whispered back. “Humans might not know it, but the animal world usually makes a lot of sense. Birds don’t just pack up and go on vacation.”
He put his nose to the wet ground and started sniffing around.
“There’s still plenty of worms too,” he said.
“Oh come on. Are you telling me you can smell worms underground?” I asked skeptically.
Basset glanced up at me, his nose slightly upturned, looking extremely proud of himself. “Of course I can. This nose doesn’t miss a thing.”
He kept sniffing around the trees and through the undergrowth, pausing every once in a while to show off.
“Squirrel was here yesterday, headed up the oak tree and is still sleeping in there…”
“Rabbit and family were over here Tuesday….”
“Oh boy, smells like one of the raccoons found a big load of trash last night and dragged it through here…”
Finally he stopped and stiffened.
“What is it boy?”
“Nothing, I…I just thought I heard something. Something too high pitched for human ears to hear but… it must have been nothing. It’s gone now.”
His head was still cocked to the side.
“No sign of the birds though?” I asked
“Oh, there’s sign,” he said. “They were here last night, all of them. I can smell them all over the place. But they all left. At the exact same time, too.”