“Good morning,” she said, absorbed in something she was reading.
“Hey,” I mumbled, not fully awake. “Where’s Spirit?”
“Outside,” she said, gesturing with her hand.
“You put him outside?” I cried out and bolted toward the door.
“Calm down!” she yelled. “He’s on the leash.”
The screen door slammed behind me as I ran into the yard with my heart suddenly in my throat. Having paid no attention to my mother’s words of assurance, I was surprised to find Spirit resting peacefully under the maple tree.
“Spirit!” I shouted, shattering his contentedness.
He sprung to his feet at the sound of my voice and instinctively ran toward me. The leash yanked him backward, which prompted a blood-curdling yelp. The sound was like an alarm going off in my brain, alerting me to the danger that lie ahead. At that moment, I thought he needed to be rescued and believed that I alone could save him. I sprinted across the yard to the tree, where I fell to my knees as Spirit pressed his dirty paws against my pajama top and happily licked my face.
“It’s okay, Spirit! It’s okay,” I repeated soberly, as if I’d just delivered him from a terrible fate.
Mother had been standing behind me as the drama unfolded. I didn’t have to turn around to know she had her hands planted firmly on her hips as she shook her head in disbelief.
“See?” she said, as though nothing traumatic had just happened. “I told you he was fine.”
It was beyond me how she could think that what she did was fine, and I buried my face in Spirit’s fur before giving her a scowling look.
“No thanks to you,” I said to myself, as I clung to my tethered Spirit.
“So,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the grass, “breakfast first, a quick shower, then a walk by the lake. How does that sound?”
I was still mad at her for something she hadn’t done and not fully over my irrational snit, so I decided to ignore her. Spirit abandoned my lap for hers as soon as she was on the ground, and I wanted to give them both a very nasty look.
“Sit!” she commanded.
To my surprise, he sat. She praised him for being a good dog and gently rubbed behind his ear, which calmed him down immediately. Soon he was lying next to her with his head on her leg. I couldn’t believe it. She was the one who tied him to a tree while I was the one who saved him. His head should be on my lap, not hers.
“Humph,” I grunted a bit more loudly than I’d intended. I was sure Mother heard me, but she pretended she didn’t.
“So, what do you think?” she asked again. “Breakfast, a quick shower, and a walk to the lake? It’s a perfect day for it.”
“What were you reading?” I asked, although I wasn’t really interested.
“Oh, it’s a book I found on rare dog breeds. There’s a piece about otterhounds in it. It’s very interesting. Did you know they were originally from Great Britain?”
“Yes,” I answered indignantly.
“Well, it says the breed dates back to the twelfth century and that there are fewer than eight hundred otterhounds worldwide today. They are rarer than the Giant Panda! Can you imagine that?”
“I can. Because Mrs. Robbins already told us that.”
“She didn’t tell us they were rarer than the Giant Panda,” my mother said defensively.
“It has to say something more than that. Does it say anything about how smart they are? Or what they like to do? Does it say anything about training them?”
“Training them? Well, yes. Yes, it does say something about training them,” she stammered. “But not much more than the book you got from the library.” She tapped the side of her head with her finger as if the book she read moments ago was stuck there, refusing to come out. Something was up. She was keeping information from me, and I didn’t like it one bit.
“Hmm,” she said, still dancing around the subject. “Let’s see…it said that they’re very rugged and need a lot of exercise. Oh, and that they love to swim! So, he’s going to go crazy when he sees the pond.” She seemed genuinely excited about this piece of news, when all I could imagine was Spirit struggling in the middle of the pond and no way to help him.
“When he’s older,” I warned her. “He’s too little to go in the pond now.”
“Maybe,” she said, without giving up. “But he’s not exactly a small dog even if he is just a puppy. And it’s an instinct, after all. We can’t suppress it forever. I don’t see any reason why he can’t go in the pond.”
Had she lost her mind? Why were we having such a futile discussion? Whether she liked it or not…Spirit was my dog. And I wasn’t ready for him to go in the pond. Not now. And maybe not ever.
“Right,” she said. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see. Anyway, otterhounds love water. Any water! It doesn’t matter if it’s in a pond, a puddle, or a bowl. If there’s water around…he’s going to find it. So don’t be surprised if he tries to dunk his whole head in his water dish!”
The image of Spirit’s head submerged in his water bowl made me laugh, and I lightened up for the first time all morning. I took a deep breath and let my whole body relax when I exhaled. It was a good feeling, and I wished I’d done it sooner.
“What else does it say about them?” I asked, this time with sincere interest.
Mother’s face brightened up, and her voice was suddenly cheery. “Well…they’re very, very friendly. But they’re also reserved. So, they make good watchdogs but not good guard dogs.”
“That’s okay,” I said, nodding in approval, and I mentally checked off one thing from my list as my mother smiled.
“Yep!” she said. “That’s just fine!” She looked to the clouds for more fun facts about the rare, friendly, water-loving otterhounds and snapped her fingers when she got one. “And,” she said with too much enthusiasm, “they’re clumsy. So, they aren’t very safe around toddlers.”
I crinkled my nose and shrugged my shoulders. “We don’t have any toddlers,” I added.
“No, we don’t,” she affirmed. And I checked off another thing from my list.
“They’re friendly, happy, and very loyal,” she said.
“What about obedient? What does it say about how obedient they are?”
“Well”—she rolled her eyes upward as if the answer was floating in thin air—“it describes them as having a ‘mind of their own.’”
“What does that mean?” I squinted one eye as I gazed at her, wondering why she was so hesitant.
“It means they can be stubborn as well as a little slow in learning—not because they’re stupid but because they have set their minds on something other than what their trainer wants them to do. So, we’re going to have to be very patient and strong-willed in training him.”
I mulled over what she’d just said and decided it was confirmation of something I’d already suspected. In some way it was comforting to know my instincts were right. And I accepted the challenge of patiently yet lovingly training my Spirit to yield to my will.
She brought up going to the lake again, but I wanted nothing to do with it. She thought it would be fun for the three of us to go out on the fishing boat, but I had a mile-long list as to why that was a bad idea.
“Otterhounds love water,” I began. “What if he jumps overboard?”
“He’s not going to jump overboard, but if you’re concerned, we’ll keep him on his leash.”
“We can’t do that. It would be cruel. He’ll think we’re really mean.”
“I doubt that.”
“What if he gets sick when we’re out in the middle of the lake?” I pressed on.
“Why would he get sick?”
“I don’t know. Dogs can get sick, can’t they? What if he got sick in the boat and threw up? That would be a major mess.”
My mother shook her head. She hadn’t given up on the idea of spending the day on the lake, but she was clearly tired of arguing about it. “Why don’t you go get dressed, and we can figure o
ut what we’re going to do afterward. If we keep sitting here talking about it, the day will be gone, and we will have done nothing with it.”
I didn’t think that was such a bad idea, at this point, as I would have preferred doing nothing over losing Spirit in the lake. I took my sweet time getting ready and even took a shower unnecessarily. My mother was in the yard pulling weeds from our little flower garden, and Spirit was laying beneath the tree. She had added several feet to his freedom by tying a length of clothesline to the leash, so he wasn’t as confined. But the experience of nearly being choked to death the last time he saw me come toward him in the yard must have been fresh in his mind, as he sat up and wagged his tail instead of running to meet me.
My mother looked up from her gardening and said, “You look very nice,” which I interpreted as, “What took you so long?”
“Thanks,” I replied under my breath.
“Your dog needs some exercise,” she said, digging at a particularly stubborn dandelion. “Why don’t you take him for a walk?”
“By myself?” I asked, half surprised, half miffed.
“Sure! You can handle it. I want to get a little more work done before I start thinking about lunch.” I suspected this was just another way of reminding me about the time I’d spent getting ready and decided it would be wise to put some distance between us.
“Well, okay. If you say so.”
I untied Spirit’s leash from the rope, put the loop on my wrist, and grabbed it with both hands as he jumped up and down excitedly. “We won’t be long,” I called out to my mother.
“Take your time,” she said, pretending not to watch as I held on to Spirit for dear life.
The grass had been freshly mowed in the field just behind the barn, so I decided it was the safest place to walk. Spirit pulled me in the direction of the meadow, but I knew plenty of rabbits were hiding in the tall grass. I tugged on his leash and said sternly, “No, Spirit! This way!” It took several forceful tugs before he gave up and turned his attention to the open field before him.
He seemed happy to be away from the tree and pranced through the grass like a Clydesdale in a parade. I was beginning to feel a little less worried about losing him and a little more interested in just being with him. Soon I was comfortable enough for us to run together, although I made sure I kept a tight grip on his leash. I tried to keep pace with him, but I knew I was holding him back. He wanted to explore the acres of land that stretched out before him, but the inconceivable notion that he might somehow get away from me overpowered my desire to let him run free. I thought about what to do for a second and then decided, “Safety first!” I picked him up and turned back through familiar ground to the secure confines of home.
My mother was in the same spot in the garden as when we left. She glanced up at us briefly and then turned her attention back to the weeds. “That was quick,” she affirmed, as we walked toward her.
I sensed disappointment in her voice, and it agitated me. After all, this was the first time I’d ventured out alone with Spirit, and although I was fully aware that it was my anxiety that prevented us from a more meaningful adventure, I expected a hero’s welcome.
“Yeah, well, I think Spirit is thirsty. I’m going to give him some water.”
I didn’t want to be around her, so I took Spirit in the house and hoped she wouldn’t follow me inside. She didn’t. And that made me angry. I sat at the kitchen table with my cheek buried in my fist and frowned at the floor. I heard her enter through the laundry room door, and her sudden presence startled Spirit, who had fallen asleep on his quilted bed. He yapped a few times before realizing it was her and then wiggled and waggled, trying hard to get her attention. She washed her hands as she looked down at the excited pup, assuring him she’d get to him in a second. A sound came from him that was not quite a cry but not quite a yelp, and it begged her to “hurry up and pet me.” She giggled as she dried off her hands, then sat cross-legged on the floor, with Spirit jumping to wash her face with kisses. Seeing how happy he was put me in a lousier mood than I was already in, and I turned away from the playful scene with a snarl plastered on my face. My mother showed signs of growing tired of my mood.
“What in the world is the matter with you today, Lily?”
What did she want me to say? That nothing was going right in my life, and now my dog liked her better than me and it was making me really mad and really jealous?
“Nothing,” I grumbled. “What’s the matter with you?”
My words left a sour taste in my mouth the moment I spoke them, and my arrogance made me grimace. Unfortunately, I was too self-absorbed to pay attention to my mother’s expression, which had turned from concern to anger. My behavior was not only shocking, it was hurtful and completely unacceptable. And for the first time in my entire life, my mother didn’t try to comfort or console me.
Instead, she said, “I think it might be best for everyone if you went to your room.”
“Fine!” I fired back, without looking at her.
The dishes rattled in the cabinet as I stomped through the kitchen and up the stairs. Then I slammed my bedroom door. The idea that my mother and my dog were having the time of their lives together while I was now stuck in my room infuriated me. I was sure they weren’t even giving me a single thought, so I was determined not to think of them either. I huffed and stewed as I paced around my room, looking for something to do that was better than whatever they were doing.
“I’ll read!” I declared out loud. “They can be as stupid as they want. See if I care.”
Staring at the bookshelf, my eyes couldn’t focus on a single title. I pulled a book out of its space, looked at the cover, then threw it on the floor. Then I pulled another book out, looked at it, and threw it on the floor. I did this with every single book until the entire shelf was empty and the floor was full. Disgusted with life and the mess I made, I flopped onto my bed and frowned at the ceiling. I was lying in bed, fuming, when the kitchen door slammed, and I heard my mother calling out to Spirit.
“Come on, boy,” she said. “Come on!” Then I heard her laugh as she praised him. “Good boy, Spirit!”
“Oh great,” I said to myself. “She probably doesn’t even have him on a leash.”
The thought of Spirit enjoying my mother’s company more than mine was still brewing when I said, “Fine! Let him run away. Then she’ll be sorry.”
I clutched a vaporous lifeline of pride when the possibility that I might be right terrified me. I jumped out of bed and searched for them through my bedroom window, but they were nowhere in sight. My heart began pounding so loudly, I thought it would come out of my chest. And I broke into a cold sweat as I ran toward my bedroom door.
“Please let him be okay,” I pleaded over and over in my head.
I didn’t see them when I raced into the yard, and my head began throbbing as more terror set in. Then I heard them on the side of the house and said, “Thank heavens!” as I followed the sound of my mother’s voice. My sudden presence came as quite a surprise, especially with the agitated state I was in.
“Excuse me, young lady,” my mother said authoritatively, “but who gave you permission to leave your room?”
Her reprimand fell on deaf ears when I saw Spirit walking without his leash. I lunged at him, grabbing him into my arms. I lashed out at my mother, “I knew it! I knew you had him out here without a leash! You don’t even care if he runs away!” I held the dog tightly against my chest.
“What in the world are you talking about?” my mother fired back. “What has gotten into you, Lily? He’s not going to run away, and even if he tried, he’d wear himself out long before he ever got off the property. You’re being completely irrational.”
Spirit tried to wiggle free from my grasp, but I restrained him. He began to pant, helplessly, as he waited to be released from the protective custody of my arms. My mother was right. I was behaving irrationally. But I didn’t care. Why wasn’t she getting it? Why didn’t she understand that
there were at least a million ways that Spirit could leave Lindenwood and never come back? Why hadn’t she considered all the what-ifs that were rattling around in my brain? I just wanted her to agree with me. Was that too much to ask? Seriously! This was my mother! She never let me down before. Why now? Why wasn’t she agreeing with me now that my entire world seemed to be falling apart? Everyone at school hated me. I had no friends. I was probably going to fail every one of my classes. And now I had to worry about Spirit running away and getting hit by a car or drowning or being stolen or some other horrible thing. This day was turning into my worst nightmare, and all she could do was tell me I was being irrational.
The power of my fear was suddenly heightened by the overwhelming presence of guilt and humiliation. I searched for a single, valid thought that would bring me back down to earth but found only the sound of my beating heart echoing through my hollow brain. Spirit wiggled wildly and jumped from my arms.
He yelped when he landed, and I heard my mother cry out, “Spirit!” And then, “Lily!”
I stormed into the house and back upstairs to my room, where I flopped down on the bed and wept into my pillow until I had cried myself to sleep.
It was well after dusk when I opened my eyes, and the only light was a dim stream that came from the hall outside my bedroom door. It took a moment to adjust to the darkness, but when I did, I saw my mom sleeping soundly in the chair by my bed and Spirit curled up quietly in the blanket next to me. I wished that I could freeze that moment and stay in it forever. Lying in the stillness, soaking in the sound of each quiet breath, my eyes closed once again, and I drifted off to sleep in peace.
CHAPTER 11
THE TWELFTH DAY OF JUNE
The school year was about to end, and as far as I was concerned, it couldn’t come fast enough. The episode with Principal Rubello had turned my life upside down, and I was struggling with everything from schoolwork to lunch. My friends continued to act weird, and I didn’t feel welcome at their table, so I ate with the outcast kids every day. They were actually very nice and had a lot of interesting things to say—not to me necessarily. But they didn’t seem to mind that I was at their table and paid attention whenever I said something, which wasn’t very often. Usually I just listened and smiled or laughed if it was appropriate. I was glad that I had a place to sit where I wasn’t completely unwanted. But I had to admit that I felt pretty bad knowing I was one giant step farther away from ever being accepted by the cool kids.
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