KC Frantzen - May the K9 Spy 01 - May on the Way: How I Become a K9 Spy

by KC Frantzen

  Uh oh.

  “Then I noticed a hawk circling up high and thought, ‘Isn’t he magnificent!’ I started running when I put things together. He thought she was lunch! I called but she seemed disoriented – why? She was lifeless when I got there. I mean, look at her. She’s still out.”

  Not completely…Waking up…jerky. Tongue not…working.

  Dad says, “This is more than shock.”

  “Yeah. I’ll call the vet.” I hear Mom dash into the house.

  Dad pets me and coos my name, while he picks out a few burrs. “What do you think it could be guys?”

  Hey my eyes will open. It’s a start. As I’m working with my tongue, I see April and Hans move a safe distance away from the burr landing zone. He sounds concerned. “Was she with you?”

  April growls, “Yes. She followed me and I endeavored to instruct her. However, I ended the lecture. She does not listen.”

  Hans sounds irritated. “Doesn’t listen or doesn’t concentrate long?”

  “I teach survival and security. Pay attention or you may be killed. There are consequences to all decisions.” April nods my direction. “Some more dire than others.”

  My brother frowns. “She’s still a puppy! And she already has survival skills, from what she told me.”

  “True.” My sister is silent a few moments. “May left me alone, mostly, after I warned her day one. And, she did not meddle much while I was on patrol, though she did with a skunk. Difficulty can be an excellent instructor.”

  “If you let it be. Give her a chance.”

  “I shall take your counsel under advisement, though I am unclear about her function in this family. She is designated ‘Pest’ until proven otherwise.”

  Hans sounds firm. “She’s our sister. I can teach her manners, you coach security and survival. We’ll find out her purpose soon enough.”

  “If the Pest does not survive this, your plan is moot.”

  Dad shifts me to a better position. “May, you sure are a good drooler.”

  I’m aware of my mouth again. Head, lean back! What’s – in my mouth? HACK. I manage to spit something out – the piece of broken wing! It sticks to the floor near April. I feel better, but still cold and clammy.

  Hans and April look at each other, then at the slimy piece of metal. She glances over her shoulder and sniffs, “In addition, the Pest broke an intricate piece of machinery.”

  Dad pats my shoulders. “Maybe you’ll feel better now. Looks like something bit you back. Wonder what it is?”

  I try to look as sorry as I feel.

  “Don’t worry. Mom’s coming soon. You’ll be playing in no time, after a bath. Wshew-ee.”

  Bath! They all watch me wobble and flail in Dad’s arms. Embarrassing.

  Hans comes near and puts a paw on Dad’s leg and the other on me. “Be still little May. It’s okay. Dad’s got you.”

  The Grouch approaches too. “Something is undeniably wrong. Get better. Pest.”

  Dad pats Hans on the head. “That’s a good boy. Thanks Apey. You’re a good girl too.”

  Creeeaaakkk. WHAM! As Mom slams the door, my head bangs Dad’s chest.

  “Sorry May. Oh Hon, look at your shirt.”

  “It’s drool and sweat. No matter, what did Dr. Collins say?”

  “She’s had some kind of seizure! The shaking, fast heart rate, clamminess, passing out – sounds like hypoglycemia. We’re to get her blood sugar up quickly.”

  Mom dips a spoon into what smells like apricot jam and puts it to my mouth. My nostrils flare. But I can’t make my tongue hit the target.

  Dad looks worried. “Poor girl. Let’s try some on her nose and let her lick it.”

  Mom smears a dab and smiles as my tongue laps faster and faster.

  How did I deserve a treat?

  She smears more while Dad grins. “It isn’t too neat but it’s working. Her eyes are clearing. Hi there May! Let’s give Hans and April a sample too, to be fair. Here ya go guys.”

  “Is she strong enough to walk on her own?”

  “Let’s see.” When Dad carefully sets me on the floor, I totter a few steps, shake it off and look around. There’s the piece of broken wing! I trot towards it. Yeah. I was attacked, then I–

  “Leave it alone, May. I’ll get it.”

  But Dad.

  Mom says, “What IS that Hon?”

  “I’ve no idea. She just spit it out.” He examines it. Mom too. “Think it’s part of what she was dragging?”

  It is! I found a clearing and a bird thing attacked me – this is part of its wing – and there’s a shed with a secret passage and I went down and down and down and down and found stuff. Then I–

  April’s eyes widen and she growls, “Stop fabricating.”

  I nose towards the broken piece. “I’m not, and I wasn’t the last time either. How would you explain it? Fine. I’ll get the rest and show you.” I’m still a little shaky but start out of the garage.

  “Not so fast little girl.”

  I halt, my eyes pleading. But Dad, I need to find it and you need to see that place.

  He pats his lap. “Up here. Come, May. Now.”

  But…

  “NOW, May.” He pats his lap again.

  I jump up, glad to make it on the first try.

  Mom smiles. “Dr C. said to watch her for about 15 minutes. Here’s your lobbie, May.”

  Thanks Mom.

  “If she’s still having trouble, more jam. Hopefully no more seizures, if she controls her exertion. When she’s out, we’ll keep her on a leash.”

  Leash? Oh no!

  “We can go in and out any time we want, huh Hans!” I dash back through our new doggie door, into our new home. Flap flap. It’s great!

  We’ve been busy, moving from the barn into the house. I even got to help (a little) by bringing my toys! I keep asking Dad and Mom if we can retrieve the bird contraption and find that shed, but they keep saying we don’t have time.

  I smell roast cooking, tempting…But I’m still concerned about finding birdie. And Dad left the door open to his dream garage. Opportunity! If we go today before it rains, maybe I can still locate the trail. Think I’ll go work on Dad.

  I find him at his workbench and stare awhile.

  “Alright May, you win. Let me get Mom. You can show us what you want.”

  Finally! You won’t believe it, Dad!

  Hans and Lobbie stay behind. April heads down the road with Dad right behind, then Mom and me. I can run a little, but not too far at a time because she’s holding my new retractable lead. Yuk.

  “Good job, May. I’m proud of you for not over-exerting. Can I trust you not to run too hard if I unclip the leash?”

  Well yeah Mom…I don’t want to pass out again.

  When she unhooks it, I trot a little ahead. She reminds me when I get too far. As we near the gate, April takes off, but I know we’re still not there yet. Sniff sniff snuffle.

  Just a little farther, down in here somewhere. Here it is! Told ya! Where’s April? I want to show her. I wiggle my entire self I’m so excited.

  Dad peers past me. “May, what did you find, a toy airplane? No, that’s way too sophisticated.”

  Mom bends down for a closer look. “I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?”

  I notice Dad’s caution when he picks it up. “Appears to be some sort of experimental craft. Tiny but fast, like it would have quite a range.”

  Mom points to the busted wing. “That’s May’s piece I’ll bet.”

  “Looks like. Babe, this is an amazing piece of engineering. Wonder where she found it?”

  I’ll take you there but, I want April to see too. Be right back. I head in the direction I last saw her then– Hey what’s this? Sniff. Is that a…Uh oh, now she shows up. Grouchy too.

  “Grrr. Grrrrrr. What happened? Step back from the rabbit.”

  “I didn’t do anything! I found him when I was looking for you.”

  “This infant is no threat to security. You
have no clue what to do with him, correct?”

  I sit and gently put my paw on his shoulder. “He’s injured and needs help, I know that. Wonder where his mother is?” Sniff, snuffle. “It’s okay baby, I’m not going to hurt you.” Sniff, sniff. “There’s just a whiff of danger too.”

  “Like you have a whiff of skunk?” April’s mouth starts a grin, but it vanishes. She looks around before bending to sniff. “Hawk. An accurate assessment, Pest. Perhaps I will–”

  Dad interrupts us, growling too. “April, May. What’s going on?”

  I found a rabbit! But I didn’t do anything. Then April came up and got all testy. We’re okay now, but the bunny isn’t.

  Dad steps over to look. “Good work, you two. We’ll take it from here. Babe, come quick!”

  “Yeah Hon? Oh wow, a bunny.”

  Dad stoops closer. “Should we touch it?”

  We all watch Mom mode kick in when she tenderly picks him up. “Still breathing, but barely. Poor little thing, it’s like ice. Wonder if that hawk was around again?”

  That’s what we think, Mom. He’s injured too. We can rescue him like you did me.

  Dad uses his little finger to stroke bunny’s head. “Glad the girls found it before the rains. Let’s get to the house and see if there’s anything we can do.”

  But we need to find the shed, remember? It’s that way, somewhere in those trees.

  Dad snaps his fingers. “No May, we have an emergency. Come here.” When I drag my paws, he says, “Hurry!” and clips the lead to my collar, then we head for home.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever find the shed again.

  April starts perimeter patrol and Mom goes right in with the rabbit. Dad and I stop by the garage to put my birdie on a shelf.

  “May, that’s two great finds today. We’ll see about this later. Let’s go check on Mom.”

  But there’s more, Dad. We need to go see! You promised! I trot and look back so he’ll follow, but he makes me come inside anyway. Piffle.

  Hans strolls down the hall to greet us. “Mom, the roast is almost done. Hey! What do you have there?” Sniff sniff. He stands on his hind legs. “This makes no sense. You wouldn’t bring a rabbit into the house, would you?”

  “Yes Hans, a poor baby bunny. Your sisters found it.”

  Hans smiles at me, but I’m pouting. “I found it, but April helped too. I guess.”

  Mom spreads out a cloth inside a little box, and puts it on the dryer. “Let me get a look, tiny thing. Shiny brown and black fur, and all white underneath. So soft. Look at these short sharp claws. Oh dear, and your eyes are barely open. Your mother cared for you beautifully. You are so perfect and so lovely.” She sighs. “Dang it all.”

  Dad puts his arm around Mom. “Doesn’t sound too good.”

  She looks at Dad, eyes glistening. “It doesn’t seem to have any missing fur or claw marks, except this nick on the ear. But see? With each breath, a little blood bubbles from its nostrils.”

  Let me see. I put a paw on Dad’s leg and he picks me up, Hans too.

  Mom strokes bunny’s back with one finger. “Bless your little heart.”

  He tries to lift his head, but he’s weak. Dad kisses Mom’s cheek. Hans does too, before Dad set us back on the floor.

  Mom’s voice sounds upset. “Thank you. I needed that from my favorite fellas. Well, I don’t know about this with the nose…and the breathing. You think internal injuries?”

  Dad nods. “And we’d better warm it up if it’s to have any chance at all.”

  Mom wraps him in the cloth and we all move into the kitchen. She squats down with the bundle. “Take a look. But be cautious.”

  No thank you. I saw him already. I want to show you that shed!

  Hans approaches. Sniff, sniff, sniff. “This rabbit is ill.” He wanders over to his mat nearby, tramps it until it seems suitable and collapses.

  “Let’s prepare some Pedialyte and see if it will eat,” says Dad, opening the pantry.

  “I’ll hold him – I guess it’s a him – while you serve. I don’t know how to tell, do you?”

  Yes.

  Dad shakes his head as Mom looks gingerly. “Don’t know.” She closes the covers.

  “Babe, let’s say it’s a boy–”

  He is.

  “–and call him ‘Lucky Jack.’ He sure is lucky we found him and Jack is a good name for a rabbit.”

  “Your nicknames! I think he’s a cottontail, but ‘Lucky Jack’ it is.”

  Dad pulls out a dish. “Let’s get some lunch in you, guy.”

  “Just a sec. He’s a little more active now.” Mom nestles him close to her chest. He tries crawling towards her neck, but she holds him back.

  “Look at him move, Babe. That’s encouraging.”

  Good. He’s all better. Let’s go find that shed!

  Dad rumbles. “May, not now.”

  I took us down there to find birdie and that shed. I’m glad we found the rabbit, but he’s better. You just said so. I haven’t completed my task and he’s getting all your attention and the more I think about it the more it makes me mad!

  I march myself to the laundry room to rip apart something nasty from the trash bin.

  When I return, Dad is pouring the warmed food. (Smells tasty, but not as tasty as the roast.) Mom’s holding Lucky Jack with one hand, rummaging in a drawer with the other. “Found an eyedropper.”

  “Great. Let’s sit on the floor and feed him. Here ya go, LJ.”

  He won’t eat. It doesn’t smell like his mother.

  “What’s wrong? Let’s put a little on your nose. It worked for May.” Dad smiles at me.

  Leave me out of this.

  When Lucky Jack finally gets a taste, he opens wide, showing us two big teeth. After two and a half droppers full, Mom says, “You seem a little stronger since you’re warm with a full tummy.”

  “Babe, don’t get your hopes up. He still struggles to breathe.”

  After dinner, we move into the media room – with Lucky Jack. And listen, thunder. Great. Here comes the rain. My trail is lost for sure. At least I retrieved birdie, which they haven’t mentioned.

  When Dad and Mom are seated in the double recliner, Hans and I are ready to hop up. But they both say, “Get down! You’ll hurt LJ.”

  I won’t hurt him. I found him. Remember?

  Hans returns to his bed in the kitchen, but I sit out from their feet and glare, watching Lucky Jack nuzzle Dad’s ear and murmur quiet happy noises.

  Hurumph! That should be me, or at least invite me up to share. I’m beginning to understand how April feels. I mean, how long is he staying? (But I have to admit, his breathing is pretty rough.)

  I feel a teeny twinge of sorrow.

  “Don’t move,” says Mom, shifting to get up. “We need photographic evidence.” She returns with a little box, points it at them and moves a finger. Beep. Flash.

  Yikes! Lightning inside?

  Then Mom points the little box at me. Beep. Flash.

  I can’t see – wait! I can, just light and spots! I scoot under the table and in a moment, thankfully, my eyes clear. Mom is looking at the box and seems pleased. Then she goes to the computer. Very strange.

  Hey, there’s room for me now! I run get Lobbie so Dad and I can play, but when I try to jump up it’s, “No, May.” Not the answer I was looking for.

  Mom returns and shows us two small papers. One looks just like them. The other one looks like me! Amazing.

  So maybe now they will want to play. But they don’t. At least, not with me.

  Dad puts LJ in his shirt pocket. When Mom settles back in, they each grab a pen and a book. This is another thing I don’t understand. They play some games sitting. They mark numbers in little bitty boxes in their book, S-U-D-O-K-U. This is fun?

  In between games, they examine LJ’s nose. Dad carefully holds him to the light while Mom looks. She says, “It seems to have stopped. Things are looking up!”

  Dad returns the bunny bundle to his pocket. “Ho
pe so.”

  Well, I don’t. They’re ignoring me! I brought Lobbie. Nothing. I shredded the dirty tissue. Didn’t notice. They haven’t even mentioned birdie again. And forget finding the shed. It’s all Lucky Jack this, LJ that. Quit May. Move May. You’ll hurt him, May.

  Wish I’d never found him.

  At bedtime, Dad gives Lucky Jack to Mom. And he’s in my spot! And she’s using those loving words meant for me! Unbelievable. I’m going to fight for my position.

  I step back to get a running start when Dad snaps his fingers. “No May, not tonight. Come on this way.”

  I sit, defiant. But that’s my spot, cuddled with you and Mom. What if I share?

  “Look May,” says Dad, softly. “You need an attitude adjustment. God brought Lucky Jack to us for some reason and we must all be kind. He isn’t well and may be dying. We’ll see how he is tomorrow and decide what to do.” He pauses to see if I get up. “Come now, May.”

  I glance back toward Mom and LJ, then drag my paws to follow Dad. What does that mean “dying”? It doesn’t sound good. Still I–

  “WHO DID THIS?”

  Now what? I hear Hans tear outside. Flap flap. I round the corner and…Uh oh…The tissue. I dart to my day bed and try to turn tiny.

  Dad glares. “May, you’ve had a sorry attitude all evening. Now this!” He snatches me by the scruff of the neck. Before I think, I snarl and almost nip him.

  “NO.”

  I close my eyes, expecting the worst. I deserve it. Dad shoves my face into the shreds then tosses me back into bed. “Never do this again.”

  “What in the world?” calls Mom from the bedroom.

  “There’s tissue everywhere, courtesy of May.” He shakes his head and starts picking up the mess. I find my courage and slink over to help. When I make eye contact, Dad softens.

  I am sorry, Dad.

  “Alright, you’re sorry. Thank you for helping clean up.” When we finish he looks right at me. “You know a wise person once said, ‘You get the fine opportunity to repeat a test until you learn the lesson.’ I hope you learned this mess didn’t solve anything.”