by Leslie Meier
“I brought you some coffee.”
“Thanks.” She took the mug he held out to her and took a sip. “Coffee in bed—I could get used to this.”
“Enjoy it while you can, Madame Pompadour. I’m off to work.”
“Have a nice day,” said Lucy, stretching luxuriously.
She had at least fifteen minutes before she had to wake the girls and she was determined to enjoy them. If only she could start every day like this, with time to organize her thoughts. She was glad she didn’t have to make sense of last night’s meeting for a story; she wouldn’t know where to begin. She’d never had to cover such a divisive issue. People were angry enough about the fireworks and now the parade had been canceled, too. Once word got out, the selectmen could very well have a rebellion on their hands.
Lucy was thinking it was really time to get up when Sara and Zoe rushed into her room in their pajamas and climbed into bed with her.
“What happened at the meeting?” asked Sara.
“Can we keep Kudo?” asked Zoe.
“We can keep him as long as he doesn’t get loose. If he gets loose, even once, they’re going to put him to sleep.”
“That’s not fair!” protested Zoe, snuggling against her mother.
“He always gets out, no matter what we do,” said Sara, who was sitting at the foot of the bed.
“I know, honey. We’re going to have to try harder. That’s all we can do.” Seeing Sara’s discouraged expression, she added, “Daddy’s trying to think of something.”
“Don’t they understand he’s an animal? He can’t think like people can. He’s just doing what his instincts tell him to do.”
“I know.” Lucy paused. “Maybe we should try obedience school.”
“I know! We could send him to a trainer. There are people who specialize in difficult dogs. I can find out from Melanie.”
“You can ask her for information, but I bet something like that is awfully expensive. I don’t think we can afford it.”
Zoe didn’t want to hear it. “We have to save Kudo.”
“We also have to pay college tuition for Elizabeth and the lawyer for Toby and groceries and taxes and the mortgage. . . .”
“But you said they’ll put him to sleep.”
Lucy looked down at Zoe’s earnest little face and stroked her hair.
“We’ll see what we can do,” she said, deciding to change the subject. “So, tell me what you did in camp yesterday.”
“We made T-shirts to wear in the parade,” said Sara.
What a morning, thought Lucy. Was no subject safe?
“Mine’s pink, with a kitty,” said Zoe.
“Mine’s blue, with a whale. A right whale because they’re endangered. Did you know that whales are still hunted? For food?”
There was no point in letting them continue. She had to tell them.
“The shirts sound great, but I don’t think you’ll be wearing them in the parade.”
“Why not?”
“The parade’s been canceled.”
For a moment the girls couldn’t think of anything to say. This was something completely out of their experience. For as long as they could remember there’d always been a July Fourth parade.
“Are you joking?” asked Sara.
Zoe giggled with relief. “That’s funny, Mom.”
“It’s no joke, it’s the truth. They’re afraid people will march naked,” explained Lucy.
Zoe considered this. “I bet Elizabeth would.”
Lucy couldn’t help smiling. “Come on girls, we’ve got to start getting ready or you’ll be late for camp.”
By the time Lucy got herself dressed and the dog fed and the lunches made and got the girls into the car, she felt exhausted, as if she’d been swimming against the current. And resentful. Without the pressure of deadline, it was supposed to be a relaxed morning but it hadn’t turned out that way. The car was hot, sweat was forming on her upper lip, and her clothes were sticking to her body. And it was going to get hotter: the sun was threatening to burn through the clouds.
“Turn on the AC, Mom,” said Sara.
“It is on.”
“I can’t feel it back here. Can you feel it, Zoe?”
“It takes a while,” said Lucy, turning onto Red Top Road. “Give it a chance.”
She was beginning to pick up speed when she saw the unthinkable: Kudo was running through their yard heading straight for the Pratts’ property. She immediately pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. Jumping out of the car, she called the dog.
He stopped, ears perked up and looked at her. Amazingly enough, he began to run towards her. Worried about a speeding car on the road, she began to cross, intending to meet the dog and grab him by the collar before he crossed the road.
This was really too much, she muttered to herself. That darned dog couldn’t even stay out of trouble for twenty-four hours. What a nuisance. They would have to find another home for him, there was really nothing else to do. Not if they couldn’t even keep him safe in his kennel for a single day.
Hearing the sound of an approaching engine, she turned her head and saw a pickup truck coming at high speed. She had no choice but to stop and wait for it to pass. To her horror, she saw that Kudo had a different idea. He was still coming, trying to outrace the truck.
“Stay! Stay!” she yelled.
But Kudo was intent on getting into the car and coming along for the ride. He kept on running straight into the path of the truck.
She watched, horrified, as the action unfolded in slow motion. The dog’s happy, smiling face, tongue flapping in the breeze. The impact, and then his body flying into the air. A quick glimpse of the driver. The haze of smoke and the stink of rubber as Wesley Pratt slammed down the accelerator and sped off. The crumpled bundle of yellow fur lying in the grass by the side of the road.
Lucy ran to the dog and found he was breathing, just.
Sara was behind her, holding the blanket they kept in the back of the car.
“I know what to do, Mom. They taught us at camp. We’ll slide the blanket under him and carry him to the car, okay? Zoe, open the back!”
Gently, trying to hurry because they knew moments counted, but afraid of hurting poor Kudo, they carried him to the Subaru wagon and placed him gently in the cargo area. Then Lucy drove as quickly as she dared to the veterinary hospital. Everybody there was nice as could be, rushing out to the car with a miniature stretcher and hurrying the dog into a examining room, but it was no good. The doctor was listening to his heartbeat and Lucy was gently stroking his head, whispering mindless words of encouragement when he breathed his last.
“I’m sorry,” said the vet, removing his stethoscope.
To her horror, tears sprang to her eyes.
“It’s just so sudden. I didn’t expect this.”
The vet handed her a tissue. “He didn’t really suffer. He probably went into shock when he was hit.”
“He was happy, he was smiling as he ran across the road.” Lucy blew her nose. “I can’t believe it.”
“It takes time,” said the vet. “Not to rush you, but how do you want to dispose of the body?”
Lucy didn’t have a clue. “I guess we’ll bury him in the backyard.”
“Not advisable,” said the vet. “He’s a pretty big dog. I recommend cremation. Then you can bury the ashes.”
“Oh,” said Lucy. “I guess that would be better.”
“We’ll call you when the ashes are ready.”
“Thanks.” Lucy walked out to the waiting room, feeling like a robot.
The girls jumped up and ran to her. “Is he . . . ?”
She shook her head, and found herself bursting into uncontrollable sobs. The girls joined her. Together, holding hands, they went out to the car. Too upset to drive, Lucy sat behind the wheel, mopping her face and passing tissues to the girls.
“I don’t know why I’m so upset,” she wailed. “He was a terrible dog.”
“I used to be afraid
of him,” admitted Zoe, “when I was little.”
“He smelled pretty bad,” said Sara.
“He was no end of trouble,” said Lucy.
“I’m really going to miss him,” said Zoe.
“Me, too.”
“We all are.”
Finally, automatically going through the motions without thinking, Lucy started the car and followed the familiar roads to Friends of Animals day camp. She drove slowly, wondering why driving faster seemed to take more energy. Whenever she was tired or upset, she found the car slowing, as if she couldn’t summon the strength to press firmly on the gas pedal.
Melanie Flowers rushed out to meet them.
“I’ve been worried . . . I called the house but there was no answer. . . .”
“I’m sorry we’re late,” said Lucy. “We had to take our dog to the vet. He got hit by a car.”
“Oh, how terrible.” She held out her arms and embraced the girls, who were still a bit teary. “Did this happen just this morning? You must all still be in shock.”
Seeing the girls’ stricken expressions, Lucy wondered if she’d made a mistake bringing them to camp. “Maybe they’d be more comfortable at home. . . .” she began.
“Probably better to keep busy,” advised Melanie. “Zoe’s group is just about to go to arts and crafts.” She gave the little girl a squeeze. “Maybe you’d like to make a drawing of your dog? Or a clay model?”
“That would be nice, Zoe,” said Lucy, with an encouraging little smile.
“Okay,” she said, giving a shaky little nod.
“Maybe you can walk her over,” said Melanie, giving Sara a squeeze, too. “Janine’s making dog biscuits with the Hummingbirds and I know she could use a hand. They’re in the kitchen.”
“Come on, Zoe,” said Sara, taking her little sister by the hand.
Lucy watched as they walked off together.
“Sara was a big help,” she told Melanie. “She knew just what to do.”
“How did it happen?”
“The dog just ran in front of Wesley Pratt’s truck. It wasn’t his fault. There was nothing he could have done.”
“That’s a terrible feeling,” said Melanie. “I hit a deer last fall—there was absolutely no way I could have avoided it. It just jumped from the side of the road right into my car. I was devastated.”
“I can imagine.” Lucy was remembering how she’d seen Kudo heading for the road, but had been unable to stop him.
“And it made a terrible mess of my car, too.” Melanie nodded solemnly. “It was in the body shop for weeks.”
“Oh my gosh, I didn’t think of that,” said Lucy, wondering if Wesley’s truck had been damaged.
“The insurance covered most of it, but I had a hefty deductible.”
“Doesn’t everybody,” said Lucy, wondering what Wesley’s deductible was, or if he even had insurance. “Well, I’ve got to get to work.”
“Don’t worry about the girls—I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“Thanks for everything,” said Lucy, letting out a big sigh.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” said Melanie.
“I might just take you up on that,” said Lucy, “because I’m just about at the end of my rope.”
Chapter Twelve
Back in the car, Lucy was alone with her emotions. She sat for a minute, trying to sort it all out. Shock and sadness, of course, but also a sense of relief. As much as she hated to admit it, a very difficult problem had been solved. She no longer had to worry about what to do about Kudo.
Of course, this wasn’t the way she would have wished to solve it. It would have been better if their efforts to control the dog had worked. But the sad truth was, they hadn’t. He’d been impossible. Nothing they tried seemed to work. Even Cathy Anderson had said they’d made every effort to restrain Kudo. No matter what they did, he continued to get loose, and once loose he generally went after Prudence Pratt’s chickens.
He had truly been an awful dog, thought Lucy, feeling tears pricking her eyes. An awful, terrible, horrible dog, but she’d loved him. He was loyal, in his way. He always came home, eventually. And maybe she was fooling herself, but she thought Kudo had a special place in his doggy heart for her. When she was sad or depressed, he had a way of sensing it and would stay with her, often resting his chin on her knee.
Lucy sniffed and reached for her purse, she needed a tissue. How could she feel relieved that Kudo was gone? What kind of person was she? He’d been a good dog and here she was practically glad he was dead. She might as well start adding up how much she’d save on dog chow and anti-flea drops and annual checkups at the vet. Not to mention the additional coverage they’d had to get on their homeowner’s insurance. They’d practically be millionaires now that the dog was gone, and they’d have better relations with their neighbors, too.
Or maybe not, thought Lucy, trying to remember if Wesley’s truck had been damaged when it hit the dog. He had driven off so quickly, and she had been so concerned about the dog, that she hadn’t really thought about it. But if there had been damage, she had to make it right. Things were tense enough with the Pratts, they certainly didn’t need to give them any more grounds for grievance. She considered driving over to the Pratts and getting the matter resolved, but she was already late for work. It was true she didn’t have to write the story about the Selectmen’s meeting, but there were always a million last-minute tasks and Ted would want her to help with those. On the other hand, the noon deadline meant they always finished up early on Wednesdays. She could swing by the Pratts place after the paper was put to bed, in the early afternoon.
Ted was in a lather when she got to the office, struggling with the story about the meeting. He was hunched over his computer keyboard, alternately typing a few words and flipping through the pages of his notebook, looking for quotes. He was too involved in his work to notice that Lucy was nearly two hours late.
Phyllis gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I told him that he ought to appreciate you more, considering that you do this week after week,” she said, fanning herself with a sheaf of papers. She was wearing a purple and green Mexican cotton dress today and was the brightest thing in the dingy office.
“It was a killer meeting,” said Lucy. “Did he tell you about the parade?”
“He didn’t have to. We’ve had a steady stream of irate citizens dropping off letters to the editor.”
“Yeah, Lucy, could you edit them for me? We don’t have room for them all, so pick a representative sample, okay?”
Lucy took the folder of letters from Phyllis, noticing with a shock that she’d polished her nails green to match her dress. She sat down at her desk and turned on the computer, waiting while it produced the usual clicks and groans. She felt the same way—it was hard to settle down to work.
“If you’re writing about the dog part of the hearing I guess you ought to mention that Kudo’s dead,” she said.
Both Phyllis and Ted dropped what they were doing. It was as if she’d exploded a bombshell.
“Dead? How did that happen?” asked Ted.
“Wesley Pratt ran him over with his truck,” said Lucy, surprised by the pricking in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” said Phyllis, enveloping her in a huge billowing green and purple hug.
Now Lucy was really crying and furious with herself for losing control.
“It was horrible,” she blubbered. “The girls were in the car.”
“Oh, no!” Phyllis patted her hand.
“Did he do it on purpose?” asked Ted. “Was it some sort of retaliation for the fight?”
“Oh, no!” protested Lucy, eager to nip this misconception in the bud. “There was nothing he could do. The stupid dog ran right in front of his truck.”
“Did he stop?” asked Ted.
“Well, no, but he’s just a kid. I didn’t really expect him to.” Lucy dabbed at her eyes. “The truth is, I’m kind of worried that the impact may have damaged his truck.”
“It doesn’t take much,” offered Phyllis. “My cousin Elfrida only grazed that moose and her car was a total loss. The insurance paid, of course, but they only paid the replacement value and considering she had a twelve-year-old Escort it wasn’t much.”
This was not encouraging news to Lucy.
“I guess I better follow up and let them know we’ll take care of any damages,” said Lucy.
Behind her, Ted’s and Phyllis’s eyes met.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ted, “from what I’ve seen of Pru she won’t hesitate to let you know all about it.”
“In fact,” added Phyllis, “I’m surprised she hasn’t called already.”
“Maybe she’s mellowing,” said Lucy, opening the folder.
Phyllis snorted. “Mark my words, you’ll hear from her before the day is out.”
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, however, with no word from Pru. A few people stopped in with letters to the editor about the parade or to buy last-minute classified ads and Mike Gold called to see if Ted needed any more information about the naturists, but that was all. They were able to wrap up the paper on time and Lucy was done for the day before one o’clock.
She decided to make good on her resolution to stop at the Pratts’ on her way home. She didn’t want to be worrying about this all day, she wanted to have it all settled before she told Bill and Toby about the dog’s death. That way there would be no reason for them to have any contact with the Pratts, especially Wesley, and no chance that things would get out of control. Not that they would, she told herself, but it was better to be on the safe side.
As she drove, Lucy rehearsed what she would say. Keep it simple and direct, she told herself, the Pratts weren’t much for small talk. It would be easier if Wesley was there because then she could just tell him there were no hard feelings about the dog and ask if there was any damage to the truck. If Wesley wasn’t home, she’d have to explain the accident to his parents, and she’d have to make it very clear that she wasn’t seeking redress. She understood full well that Wesley couldn’t have avoided hitting the dog, and as for the fact that he left the scene of an accident, well, she herself was the mother of a twenty-one-year-old and she knew how irresponsible they could be. They tended to follow their first impulse, which was generally fight or flight, without taking time to think.