Storm Watcher

by Maria V. Snyder

  Puzzled, Luke asked, “What’s the difference?”

  “A tracking dog tracks with its nose to the ground, focusing its attention on contact and ground scent. But an air-scenting dog picks up airborne human scent.” Willajean bent over and scratched Lance behind his ears. “Once, at a demonstration, I saw a dog find a specific man in a large crowd. The dog’s nose was in the air the whole time. Amazing.” Willajean shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe what she had witnessed.

  Willajean gave Luke a white towel. He wiped his sweaty face on it and handed it back. Then he hiked through the woods for a half an hour, crunching through the dead leaves, and zigzagging past bushes before he found a great spot to hide next to a fallen tree. Dirt still clung to the roots, and its leaves were still green. Luke laid flat, breathing in the scent of wet earth. Insects buzzed overhead. How long should he wait? What if Lance didn’t find him?

  After a while, other sounds reached him. The shuffle of a small animal, scurrying through the underbrush. Birds flying from limb to limb, calling out to each other. A loud mockingbird perched nearby, showing off by singing all its songs. Luke counted the different calls for something to do. Thirteen. Not bad, little bird.

  A distant bark silenced all the noise. Then the unmistakable tread of footsteps and jingle of dog tags. In no time, the German shepherd leapt over the tree trunk. Excited, Lance jumped on Luke, licking his face and slobbering all over him. Eww.

  “Lance, heel,” Willajean said, coming up behind the dog. “Sorry about that. He’s young yet. Another six months should help him mature.”

  Luke had learned more about dogs during the one week he’d worked at Willajean’s than he had in a lifetime living with Dad. Fascinated by Willajean’s knowledge, he had turned his days off into half-days. Plus there’d been no rain and no storms. Luke almost felt – not quite normal – but better than he had since Mom died.

  When they finished training on Friday afternoon, Willajean called to Luke, “Come with me, Lost-and-Found. I want to show you something.”

  Luke’s heart did a tight double squeeze in his chest. He hadn’t been inside the house yet. And what did she mean by lost-and-found? Perhaps she was merely referring to his daily task of getting lost in the woods.

  She led him through the house. He gawked at all the rooms they passed. One after another. This place was humongous. Boxes were stacked everywhere. But a few areas had been unpacked. A flat, wide-screen TV that had to be at least fifty-two inches hung on the wall of the living room with a brand new video game system underneath. Luke wanted to stop and drool over the tall stack of video games, but didn’t.

  The longest table he’d ever seen filled the dining room. It would make a great bike ramp. Stopping in an enclosed sun porch, Willajean pointed to a large wooden whelping box. Sprawled inside was a sleeping bloodhound, surprising because seven puppies roughhoused nearby.

  “Here’s the litter. They were born on June first, so at the end of July you can take one home – a belated birthday present.”

  “Uh…yeah that’s great.” Luke tried to get excited about his birthday tomorrow, but without Mom it just wouldn’t be the same. No off-key singing. No girly-color wrapping paper. No over-cooked cake. He swallowed. How could the things that had annoyed him so much before be missed so much it hurt deep down inside? He’d actually been trying to forget about his birthday. And although the blood pups were super cute, they grew into big dogs just like the three they already had at home. Did he even want one?

  “Do you have a name picked out yet?” Willajean asked.

  Luke hadn’t considered names. He cleared his throat. “No. But I know I’d like a female.” For Mom. Plus Dad couldn’t say no to that.

  A papillon raced into the room, barking and yipping, obviously agitated. Willajean picked the dog up. “Well, you might want to wait until you get to know your dog. They have distinct personalities. Isn’t that right, Sweetie?” Willajean asked the papillon. Sweetie squirmed, and Willajean set her down. She raced to the door, then stopped and glanced at Willajean. She whined.

  “What’s the matter?” Willajean followed the dog.

  Luke stood in the sunroom, uncertain if he should go or stay.

  After a couple minutes, Willajean came running back with a white mass in her arms and Sweetie yipping at her heels. “Lady’s in labor. She’s early. Luke, quick, get that white box off the shelf.”

  “Uh.” Luke stammered, but he spotted the box and struggled to get it down.

  When he placed it on the floor, Willajean pointed to a bag full of towels. “Use them to cover the bottom.”

  He spread them out.

  Willajean laid the dog on top. “Go get Megan, please.”

  Luke ran to the kennel’s kitchen.

  “Where ya been?” Megan asked as soon as he burst into the room.

  “Lady.” He gasped. “In…labor.”

  “Already?” Megan washed her hands.

  How could she be so calm? Luke wanted to rush back to the house, but kept pace with Megan. By the time they returned, poor Lady was panting and shaking.

  Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Megan helped Lady while Luke and Willajean watched. He was unable to tear his gaze away. Lady strained, and a blob came out her back end, followed by a gush of blood. Gross. The blob didn’t resemble a puppy at all. Covered with a see-through film, it had a string that went back inside Lady.

  Megan moved the blob closer to Lady’s head. Lady chewed off the sack, and cleaned the pup with her tongue. Really gross.

  Megan pointed to a gooey mass and said, “That’s the placenta, and this is the umbilical cord.” She held the pup up, and Lady cut the cord with her teeth. “You gotta make sure the mother dog doesn’t chew off the puppy’s tail.”

  When the pup was clean, it squeaked and squealed.

  “It’s a girl.” Megan guided the pup to a nipple to suck.

  Then nothing happened.

  “Only one?” Luke asked disappointed.

  “Probably not,” Willajean said. “It takes time. Do you want to help with the next one?”

  Shocked, he glanced at her. “Can I? Really?”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “This is a natural process. Lady doesn’t really need any help unless there’re complications. We like to be on hand to guide the pups to feed and make sure none of them are accidently smothered under Lady or in the towels. Unfortunately, it happens.” Willajean tsked. “You’ll need to wash your hands and put on gloves first.”

  Luke ran to kitchen, scrubbed his hands and arms up to his elbows, dried them, and raced back. He didn’t want to miss the next one.

  “You might as well get comfortable,” Megan said. “This could be awhile.”

  “Do you want to call your dad and let him know you’ll be late?” Willajean asked.

  Luke glanced at the clock – four thirty. “No, he won’t be home until six or seven.”

  “Okay, guess I’ll start dinner. Do you like mac and cheese, Luke?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Willajean left.

  Ten minutes later, Lady grunted and another puppy blob slid out. Luke gently pulled the slippery and warm pup closer to Lady’s head. Beyond cool. When all the yucky stuff had been licked off, he helped the pup find a nipple.

  Two hours and one bowl of mac and cheese later, Lady finished giving birth. She had three females and two males in the litter. Willajean praised Lady.

  “Wow,” Luke said. “That was the coolest thing I ever saw.” He grinned, but his smile dimmed. In eight weeks all the puppies would be sold, and Lady would be without her babies. And just as bad, the babies would be without their mother. Just like him.

  “It’s a shame you can’t keep all the puppies,” Luke said.

  “I already have too many dogs.”
Seeming to sense his mood, Willajean added, “Once the puppies are weaned, they no longer need their mothers. They’re different than us. Besides I couldn’t think of that many names.”

  “You said that papillons are tough dogs. But you have one dog called Sweetie and another called Lady. How come?”

  “Well, Lady’s real name is Painted Lady, which is a species of butterfly. Sweetie’s real name is Mourning Cloak, another species, but she’s the sweetest dog I’ve ever owned, so no other nickname would stick.” Willajean shrugged. “I was trying to be clever by naming my papillons after butterfly species, but some of the names tanked, like Swallow Tail, and I get strange looks at the AKC events.”

  “Does that bother you?” Luke thought about how much effort his brothers put into naming their dogs, hoping to sound way cool.

  “No. Actually if I don’t get at least one odd look a day, I start wondering what’s the matter.” She laughed at Luke’s expression. “See, now I’m all set for tonight. Megan will be happy. I don’t have to embarrass her at the mall.”

  “Not like it ever stopped you before,” Megan teased.

  A wave of sorrow swept over Luke. He’d teased Mom about always embarrassing him at Jacob and Scott’s swim meets. She’d stand on the bleachers and cheer at the top of her lungs.

  “I have to be loud,” she’d say. “So the boys can hear me through the water.”

  On his bike ride home, Luke thought about Willajean. She was straightforward, almost blunt. Plus she treated him like an adult and hadn’t tried any of those touchy-feely “how are you really doing?” conversations that his aunts and uncles started every time he’d seen them since Mom’s death. He hated those.

  His gloomy mood changed the instant he turned the corner. A red Prius was parked in his driveway. Luke coasted his bike into the garage, dumped it on the floor, and raced into the house.

  “Grandmom,” he yelled.

  She was in the kitchen cooking dinner despite it being seven thirty. After a quick check to make sure his brothers weren’t home, he gave his grandmother a hug.

  “How’s my working boy?” She squeezed him once, then let go. “You’ve gotten a foot taller at least.”

  “That’s impossible, Grandmom. I saw you last month.”

  “Well, then I must have shrunk. Now tell me all about this new job of yours. I’m so proud that you had the gumption to get a job this summer. And happy birthday,” she cried.

  “It’s not until tomorrow,” he said, hurt that she had forgotten the date, something he would expect from Dad, not Grandmom.

  “I know. I wanted to be the first one to tell you.” She stirred her steaming pots.

  The spicy smell of garlic mixed with a heavy tomato aroma meant she was cooking one of her special Italian dishes. It didn’t matter that he’d eaten. His mouth watered in anticipation.

  “Where’s Dad off to now?” he asked. The arrival of his grandmother usually meant Dad would be gone for awhile.

  “North Carolina. Some Boy Scouts are lost in the Smoky Mountains. They needed extra dog teams. He’s hoping to be back by Monday or Tuesday.”

  Dad would miss his birthday. Again. He shouldn’t feel disappointed. Dad and Ranger were one of the best SAR teams on the East Coast. Last year they’d rescued a group of lost hikers. Yet Luke needed Dad to do some rescuing at home. Since Mom had died in March, they’d all stumbled through the days like zombies. So far Easter and Mother’s Day and the twins’ birthday had been painful reminders of the huge hole in their lives, which Dad ignored.

  The loud entrance of his brothers interrupted his dark thoughts. They pecked Grandmom’s cheek and tried to run off, but she took a firm hold of their hands.

  “Wait just a minute. I want to take a look at my blond-haired boys, who are growing into fine young men. You two look just like your father did when he was sixteen.” She rambled for a long while.

  Luke enjoyed watching his brothers squirm, and he smiled outright when they finally dashed up the stairs.

  Grandmom harrumphed as she dumped the cooked spaghetti into a colander. “That’ll teach them. Trying to use the old peck-and-run maneuver on me.” A puff of steam rose from the sink.

  After dinner, Jacob and Scott again bolted upstairs, but this time with the excuse that they had to get ready to go to the movies with friends. Luke clicked on the TV, turning to the Weather Channel. He hadn’t checked the weather since this morning and needed to get caught up.

  The reek of cologne gagged Luke before his brothers even made it to the bottom step. Grandmom intercepted them at the door with an arsenal of questions and instructions.

  “Has your father given you the sex talk yet?” Grandmom demanded.

  “Grandmom,” Jacob cried. His jaw hung open in pure horror.

  Luke stuffed a throw pillow into his mouth to stifle his laughter. If only he had a camera or a cell phone. The shock on Jacob’s bright red face would be great for future bribery.

  “We’re just going with friends. It’s not a date.” Scott also flushed.

  “Still, I think you’re old enough to know. If you have a few minutes...”

  “Grandmom,” they shouted in unison. Nothing could be more embarrassing than having your grandmother offer to teach you the facts of life.

  Tears rolled down Luke’s cheeks. He hadn’t laughed this hard since March.

  “Uh, Grandmom, we know all about...that,” Scott said, looking everywhere but at her. He noticed Luke on the couch and narrowed his eyes as if zeroing in on a target. “You really need to talk to Luke. He’s the one with the girlfriend.”

  “Am not,” Luke shouted, his humor gone in an instant.

  “Oh, Megan is so great. Oh, Megan is so wonderful. She knows so much,” Scott taunted in a high-pitched voice.

  “That’s enough, Scott,” Grandmom said in the tone. The flat, steely voice Dad used with equal success. So that’s where Dad had learned it.

  When Jacob and Scott left, Grandmom joined him on the couch. Luke liked to see at least a full hour of the Weather Channel, so he knew where all the trouble spots were. Broadening his concern for storms in Dad’s flight path, he paid attention to the weather reports for North Carolina as well as the forecast for his home in Hershey, Pennsylvania.

  Grandmom kept him company. She asked questions about the different graphics and clarification about some terms and weather systems. Luke explained it all, glad for the interest, trying not to overanalyze if her interest was fake or not.

  “You should be a meteorologist,” Grandmom declared.

  “What?” Shock shot through him. Was she making a cruel joke?

  “You know more about the weather than that guy on TV.”

  “But that’s Jim Cantore.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s the guy they send to stand on the beach when a hurricane’s barreling in from the Atlantic. He holds his rain hat and his anemometer and tries to look serious, but he’s drooling happy because wind speeds are in excess of fifty miles an hour. I mean, palm trees are bending in half, and this guy’s standing in front of the camera, reporting that everyone but him has already evacuated.” A shiver snaked up Luke’s spine. Jim Cantore was The Man.

  “You don’t have to stand in a hurricane’s path to be a meteorologist. You could be the guy that says ‘Jim, I predict Hurricane So-and-So will make landfall on the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Go there.’”

  Luke laughed. He had always assumed he would work with dogs when he grew up, but now his grandmother had given him something new and scary to think about.

  CHAPTER 4

  Pond Scum

  On Monday morning Luke arrived early. No one was in the kennel, so he walked to the house. Peeking into the sunroom windows, Luke tried to see the puppies. Willajean came in to feed them and noticed
him outside. His face burned.

  She opened the door. “Come on in, Lost-and-Found. My doors are never locked. You’re always welcome.” Picking up a steaming mug of coffee, she pointed to the two whelping boxes. “Besides, one of these pups is yours.”

  The bloodhound puppies had knocked over the metal feeding bowl and were spreading food all over the newspaper-lined floor. They tripped over their own ears as they wrestled with each other. Cute, but not as cute as the tiny, white papillon pups.

  Luke leaned over to pet Lady. Smiling, he scratched her behind the ears. The little cotton balls nuzzled their mother, eyes still closed, pink mouths gaping, searching for a nipple to suck.

  “Time to feed the dogs,” Willajean called.

  A chair scraped in the kitchen. Megan came out with powdered sugar crumbs on her lips. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and followed them to the kennel.

  The morning flew by. After all the dogs were fed and put out into the fields, Willajean delayed that afternoon’s training session. She had some potential buyers scheduled to look at the bloodhounds. Luke wished they would buy them all, then shook his head. Dad would only make him get one of Mr. Johnson’s dogs.

  “Hey, Luke, you want to bike to the old dock and have lunch out there?” Megan asked, pulling out a shiny Trek mountain bike.

  “Awesome,” he said. “Is it new?” He handed her his brown paper lunch bag, and she stuffed it into one of the leather saddlebags over the back wheel.

  “Got it in May for my thirteenth birthday.” When she strapped on her helmet, its red glitter sparkled in the sunshine.

  Luke eyed his rusting hand-me-down bike and nicked helmet. His brothers had trashed their new bikes, uncaring or unconcerned that they’d left Luke with two broken wrecks to piece together into one that worked.

  Megan jumped on her bike and sped away on a trail through the forest behind the kennel. Luke struggled to keep up, his thin tires slipping on the dirt path. Familiar with the road, Megan charged and whooped over the bumps and through the underbrush, while Luke stayed on the trail, moving cautiously. She made a sudden right turn. By the time he caught up with her, she was racing down a narrow wooden dock, her wheels drumming on the planks.