by KC Frantzen
I race back to the screen door. Yes! I’m here! But Lobbie…
Dad’s kind voice is gone. “C’mon kids, let’s GO! We have a long drive.”
Look at that. Grouch wagging her tail, sucking up. “I will go with you, Dad. Remember, I am off duty while you drive.” She glares in my direction, then lumbers onto the front seat and into the back.
“AAAAAoooooOOOOOooooo! Coming Dad! I napped most of the day so I’m rested.” Hans jumps into the truck floor, slightly squashing a bag on the way. “Oops.” Then he hops into the back, next to the Grouch.
I freeze. Gosh, what if there are only two beds? What if…they leave me and Lobbie here? I start barking.
Dad yells, “We hear you, May. Come ON. The entire family is waiting on you.” His door closes, then the engine starts.
Mom’s walking to the house. There! In her hand! Before I can say thanks, she opens the screen door and gives Lobbie to me. “Let’s GO, May.”
I look at her with a big question on my face, then I sprint down the walk towards the truck, Lobbie’s claws jiggling.
Mom locks the door then calls after me. “We’re moving to the country. All of us, even your lobbie.”
Okay! I jump in and stand on Mom’s seat to assess the situation. Grouch claimed the spot directly behind and Hans is in the middle. Naturally. That leaves me and Lobbie the dark corner behind Dad. Yuk. I stick out my bottom lip farther than usual.
“Get going, May!” says Mom, climbing in. She pushes my hind end and shuts the door.
“GGggrrrrAAWWWff!” (Uh oh. Shouldn’t have done that.)
“MAY!” Dad yells, as he pulls the stick and the truck moves backwards.
I duck and quickly step into the back. Grouch snaps when I pass by, not quite scoring my left hind foot. I think she missed on purpose.
“APRIL! Leave her alone!” Mom glares at both of us. “Y’all behave! Yes Hans, you’re behaving already. May, give me your lobbie. Good girl. See? It’s going right here in the sack by my feet so we’ll know where it is. And May, we’ll not have any sass. Understand?”
You shouldn’t have pushed me. Dad yelled at me. And Grouch tried to bite me. And you took Lobbie. It’s been a hard day, a real hard day.
Guess I’ll just be squished here.
On this little bitty corner of towel.
Between Hans and the clothes.
Jammed next to the window.
In the dark.
When I hear “We’ll miss you!” I sit up real straight. I can see humans moving their top legs, I mean arms, in the air back and forth, like a signal.
“Hon, the Comptons are waving. Slow down, please!” Mom hurries to get her window open before Dad roars past. “Y’all were the best neighbors! Come visit us. Bye!”
Mom rolls the glass mostly up, then sits with her paws in her lap. She sniffles. Her nose gets red. She burrows around on the floor and finally finds that tissue container. She puts one to her face. HONK. After quite a bit more rustling, Mom giggles through her tears. “With all this stuff, I can’t find the trash sack.”
Dad pats her shoulder, like before…And like before, he changes the subject. “This is it, Babe! We’re on the way!”
Mom daubs her nose again. “Sure are.”
Sorry you’re upset Mom. You seem happy but sad too. You could ask me in your lap for comfort. Till then, I’ll try and make the best of it.
Things whizz by. Soon we pass the pet store. When I see it, the little flame called hope flickers for an instant. The whole family is going. I’m not going to worry. What good would it do anyhow?
Lobbie doesn’t have a home, unless it’s with me, and we kind of are together. Just not together-together right this moment. There isn’t much room with us two Schnauzers and Grouch anyway. At least we weren’t left behind and especially, not in some awful crate.
I busy myself rearranging my corner of towel then ride along quietly, watching the grey pavement give way to more grass and trees. We stop for a quick bite to eat and a restroom break. Everywhere there are objects to snuffle! It feels good to stretch our legs some too. I’m hopeful the seating arrangement will change.
But it doesn’t.
Mom’s snoozing, April and Hans too. But I’m still awake with thoughts of crate life haunting me. It’s dark and I can’t see anything. I mean, I know I’m supposed to be back here. But…I WANT to be up there. Besides Mom might still need comforting.
Hey, I know – Grouch is asleep. Yeah, I could supervise better from the front. I’m only small, no one will notice. But I need a plan. Gotta be quiet, and careful. Let me think. I’ll maneuver past Hans and Grouch without waking them, then step onto the console. I’ll turn and step in Mom’s lap and look outside, like we did that first day. I can supervise from there. At least I’ll get some fresh air. Her window’s still cracked a little. I’m a warm puppy so I can be her Divine provision.
I rise quietly and step past Hans. Did he notice? Nah, just readjusting. Bet he’s glad for more room to stretch out. I’m sooo thoughtful. Now, I have to be extra crafty past–
“Keep – your – distance – Pest.”
Change of plan! Jump!
I’m mid-air when Dad swerves. A dash of white disappears out the side window. “Whoops. Bunny will tell tall tales,” says Dad.
I slide across the console, regain my balance, then walk neatly into Mom’s lap. Made it! She shifts and makes a sound like “Aahhmmfftt.”
Dad clenches his teeth. “MAY! Get back there. You know the rules.”
I don’t, in fact, know the rules, Dad. And I want to be up here. I’m supervising. He sounds mad so I look out the window, catching the breeze as it blows through the crack. It tickles my whiskers and nostrils, and oh the stories it’s telling!
But I watch him in the reflection. His eyes are mostly ahead, but he glances my direction.
April’s in the back, shaking her head. “I tried to enforce the rules, but Mom corrected me. Hence Dad can deal with you, Pest. His displeasure does not concern me. He is in authority. My turn will come. It will be a long night once my duties resume.” My elder sister readjusts her fluffy tail and breathes deeply.
Then Dad starts again, struggling to hush his voice. “May! Get-in-the-back!”
I don’t like that tone of voice. Not one bit. I couldn’t even breathe in the back I was so squished. Besides, I’m in Mom’s lap and I’m supervising. We don’t want to wake her. I stare off into the night.
“MAY!” Dad whispers harshly. “That attitude will get you into trouble, young lady.” But he says no more, and turns his attention back to the hilly road.
First the Grouch, now Dad. The two Grouches. I can’t rummage for Lobbie or a snack without waking Mom. There’s nothing to play with, nothing to do.
I don’t like supervising.
A heavy drop, then another, strikes the windshield – just enough where everything smells delicious. Dad is really leaning forward now. What’s his hurry? There’s so much adventure here!
Strange scents and sounds fill the air. What I glimpse goes by fast: painted stripes on the hilly road, fence posts with reflective white tops – it makes me woozy to try and count them. A stray moth flutters into view, probably blinded by the headlights.
We slow to turn right and Mom moves. “Well hi May, no wonder it’s hot. Alright. We’ll roll the window all the way down to cool off.” She pushes the button and takes hold of my leg.
Thanks Mom, for letting me in your lap. It would’ve been hard, all cramped in the back. And you’re real thoughtful to help me keep my balance too. Thlluubbpptt.
Mom hugs me close. “Awh, thank you May. That was a sweet dry soft little kiss.”
Dad scowls. “Yeah. She’s getting on your good side. She knows she’s not supposed to be up here. Don’t you, little girl?”
I strain to detect something, anything, of interest outside.
“We’ve worked hard a long time for this dream, haven’t we Hon?” says Mom.
Dad glances over an
d nods. “Glad we’re almost home.”
I thought where we left was home. I’m confused.
The truck slows through an open gate. The headlights unveil several pairs of pearly points of light – eyes in the mist – startled! With a flash of white tails, they’re gone.
“Look at the deer, Dear! I’m glad to see them,” says Dad.
Is that what those were?
With a quick grin he adds, “It’ll be nice to put some in the freezer.”
Mom spins around. “Not our deer. We’ll hunt someplace else.”
I hope you won’t put me in the freezer, Dad!
We blaze a trail down a narrow gravel road. Stray moonlight breaks through the clouds and I stiffen to see the outline of a dark structure.
Mom points. “There’s the barn!”
When the truck slows again, April and Hans raise their heads. The headlight beams pierce the darkness. When we stop, Dad searches in the truck door pocket and grabs a stick that makes a light beam too.
“Do you need another flashlight?” asks Mom.
“Nope, got it.” He makes his way to a door, then reaches inside. “Let there be light!”
I blink quickly, then hear movement and see two eyes vanish into the night.
Mom clips my beautiful matching leash to my collar. “May, I’m sorry, this is for your own good. We need to get right to bed. Go find your spot. Right now.”
Don’t be sorry, Mom. The grass is moist and cool and it makes my paws a little damp. MMMMMM. There are some grand adventures here! I’m off! Bye!
Oh cough yeah hack, I’m gulp on a leash.
She chuckles. “I can see we’re all tired but you. We don’t need you running off. Get with it and let’s get inside. It’s been a long day, especially for Dad.”
I relieve myself as Mom requests. Piffle. Adventures will have to wait ‘til morning.
Dad says, “April and Hans, out of the back. Let’s go.” They stretch, then take care of business too.
Grouch takes a quick survey. “I will maintain my status for now. Things smell similar enough to the last patrol. I shall thoroughly investigate, assessing all subtle changes, in the morning.” She heads towards Mom and me, with Hans following.
Mom holds open the screen door and something dark brushes past us. Yikes! Anybody get a whiff of that? No one else seems to notice. Guess I’m jumpy without Lobbie.
April gives me a lengthy glare as she pauses on the step inside. “I resume security in the morning. Remember.”
Gulp. “But, excuse me. What’s that smell?” Sniff, sniff, sniffle. Snort!
“I detect nothing extraordinary.”
Snuffle, sniffle, snort. “I’ve never smelled anything like it.”
“Do not second guess my expertise. Cease fabricating.”
“I’m not making it up. It’s just that…” April’s glare withers me to the bone. “Yes ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“I am pleased to gain proper respect from you, for a change.” She strides to a Schnauzer-size bed against the near wall, and curls up. Several times. Try as she might, her hindquarters are on the floor. She mutters, “The sacrifices,” and closes her eyes.
Hans steps inside and politely waits.
Dad starts in with a towel from the truck. “We got in late, Apey. In the morning we’ll unload your igloo. Sleep in here tonight. Oh.” A slight smile brightens his face. He squats to place the makeshift bed about a body-length away and makes a kissy noise. “Apey.”
She looks up. “Excuse me, sir? I am settled. I shall not move, if you please.” She tucks her nose back under.
Dad shakes his head. Using both hands, he scoots her towards the bigger towel.
“Very well. I shall arise and move myself, thank you. Then all of me will be on the bed.” With her tail properly in place, she closes her eyes again.
Sniff, snuffle, sniffle.
“Hans, do you smell it? There’s something…I…”
“Smell what? I’m going to my bed, since April moved out of it.”
Dad pats the warmed nest. “Here you go bud-dog.”
Yaaawwwnnn. “Thanks Dad.” Hans adjusts his whiskers a moment before settling on his side.
I stamp my paw. Sniffle. SNORT! Don’t you scent it? Why won’t anyone listen? This place makes me shudder. Mom unlatches my leash, giving me a gentle nudge inside. But I turn and race straight for the truck.
She calls out, “May, this is our new home! It’s okay! Hon? Is she afraid?”
Dad bellows, “MAY! GET YOURSELF IN HERE. NOW!”
“Good thing we don’t have to worry about waking neighbors! Oh, look at that.”
I’m crawfishing out of the snack sack, with my mouth full.
Dad says, “May, you are obsessed. Let’s get to bed. I’m tired.”
Lobbie and I run through the door into a nice room (though it’ll be cozy for the six of us). Everything smells freshly painted, but there’s something else I can’t quite put my paw on.
There’s a bathroom off to the side. I look closer above the sink. I woof, “WAIT! I’ve spied something.”
“Shush May. Give me a moment.”
But Mom… I look from “it” to her and back again, several times. Eventually she looks too.
“Ohmygosh. What IS that?!”
I don’t know but it’s alive.
“Remain still,” Dad says. “I think it’s a bat.”
Dad and Mom each dash to a door, keeping their eyes fixed on the bathroom wall. Lobbie and I move to the step, not far from snoring April. Hans only shifts an ear and blinks. “Sounds like it’s under control.” Yaawwnn.
I think he’s afraid to lose his place.
Mom whispers, “Now what? The screen door is set fully open on my side.”
“Mine too,” Dad replies. “Turn on the porch light and I’ll turn the lights off in here. But give me a sec to find the broom.”
“Don’t bats use radar?”
“True, but I think it’ll keep the moths out. We can still see well enough to shoo it out.”
“Good point, Hon. I’m going to stand away from the door though. Ewww.”
I like watching them work together. After a few tense moments of Dad swatting the air, the bat seems uncomfortable enough to move. It flaps out the far door and sounds a high-pitched blast farewell. The humans don’t seem to hear, but it sends shivers down my back. And April will still think I’m “fabricating” if I tell her.
Mom comes up and pats my head. “Good eye, May.”
Dad chuckles. “What do you mean ‘eye’? That’s a good sniffer! May, I’m glad you were alert.” He looks lovingly at my older sister, nestled and comfortable. “Babe, I hate to admit it but she’s aging. There was a time…”
“I know Hon. I know. Okay May, let’s get Dad to bed. The real unpacking begins in the morning.”
I wonder where Lobbie and I are supposed to sleep. We watch Mom reset the screen door so it closes, then she folds back the bed covers. I’m hopeful when Dad returns with a small bag, but there’s still no bed. He sets out their toothbrushes while Mom fills a blue bowl and places it near our step. “Fresh well water for you kids. It’ll be over here so we won’t make a mess.”
I hurry to the bowl and set Lobbie nearby. Thanks, I’m parched! Lap, lap, lap, lap. This is delicious, and tasty. Lap, lap, lap.
Dad shakes his head. “Never seen a dog drink like that. Fastest tongue in the east!”
I finish and look around. They all have a bed, except us. Though my whiskers drip, I pick up Lobbie and hold it by the antennas. Wish they’d notice and laugh. But they don’t.
“Babe, it’s late. Let’s brush our teeth and crawl in.”
“Works for me.” Mom quickly brushes and spits, then her eyes get big. “Where’s a cup?”
“They’re here, but where, I don’t know. Since we don’t want to use the dogs’ bowl–”
“OH HON!”
“–we can slurp from the faucet until tomorrow.”
Mom gives him ano
ther look, then bends sideways and swishes.
She needs a longer tongue.
When she’s finished, Dad steps forward to hold her. “We’ve worked hard and it’s finally happening. Let’s thank God, right now.”
Mom nods as he begins. “Heavenly Father, thank You for a safe journey home. May it be a blessing to all. Keep us thankful, especially for our freedom and our military who help keep us safe. Please give us wisdom and strength to accomplish whatever You have planned. May we be a light shining in the darkness. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“You’re the best, Hon. I love you so. ‘Night.”
“I love you too, Babe. Goodnight.”
They smooch and collapse into bed. Dad immediately puts his feet on the cool floor. “I’ll get the switch. I’m closer. Oh. Sorry Apey.”
April almost snaps. “Oh it is you, Dad, not the Pest. Apology accepted.”
I duck my head and look away. I feel very small.
Mom sits up. “What happened?”
“I bumped Apey and woke her.” Then Dad stops mid-step. “May! I forgot about you.”
Now he’s going to kick me…or hit me with a heavy hand. I dare a glance through my eyebrows. But Dad, Lobbie and me. We don’t know where to be.
Dad grins as Mom fluffs her pillow and nods. “C’mon, May-Muffin, we’re sorry.”
April arches her neck, eyes narrowed. “You must be jesting.”
Dad strokes her back. “May wasn’t in our plans last weekend, Apey.”
April glares at me. “She is not in my plans now.”
Mom settles back and pats the bed. “Just this once.”
That’s all I need! With Lobbie still dangling, quick as a sniff I leap onto the bed. I give April a look as I prance over Mom’s knees and cuddle into the crook of her arm. Maybe a bit too loudly I sigh and say, “We just fit!” (I can’t see April’s expression but I’m sure it’s fabulous.)