Fluffy & Freckles Special Edition

by Ellen Miles

  Charles was sore and tired—but he was happy, too. Thanks to the sausage, Freckles was already beginning to come all the way up to him when he called. He let Charles scratch his head and pet his neck. Once, he even leaned against Charles.

  Back at the sugaring shed, Steve lit a wood fire that he’d laid inside the long firebox. He turned a valve on a long pipe that came out of the tank, and sap started to fill the metal trays on top of the fire. “See, in this section of the tray the sap starts to warm up,” he said, pointing. “Then it goes into this part, and really starts to boil hard. The sap has to boil a lot to make syrup, and most of it goes up in steam. It takes over forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup!”

  Charles sat in an old lawn chair where he would be out of the way while Dad and Steve worked at the arch. Freckles lay down next to him and let Charles pet his head. Dad split wood with a hatchet while Steve fed the fire. Soon a cloud of sweet-smelling steam was rolling off the boiling sap. “Will it be syrup soon?” Charles asked. The bright late-winter sun warmed the top of his head. Freckles was already snoozing, and Charles felt like he could fall asleep, too.

  “Not for a while,” Steve said. “If you want, you can take Freckles into the cabin and give him some food. I left sandwich stuff out on the counter, too. Make yourself some lunch.”

  “Make us all some lunch,” said Dad. “We’re stuck out here minding the fire and the sap.”

  “Really?” Of course, Charles knew how to make a sandwich. But he’d never, like, been in charge in the kitchen. “Okay.” He stood up. “C’mon, Freckles,” he said, patting his thigh. Freckles jumped right up. He gave Steve one quick glance, then followed Charles to the cabin.

  Charles filled Freckles’s bowl with kibble, then got going on the sandwich-making. He worked happily in Steve’s kitchen, with Freckles at his feet. He set out six slices of bread, spread mayo and mustard on them, added some lettuce he found in the fridge, and then carefully laid cheese and ham slices over that. Once in a while he pretended to drop a little piece of cheese, just so Freckles could hoover it up.

  Finally, he cut the sandwiches in half like Mom always did and piled them on a plate. He grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and headed outside with the food, Freckles trotting at his heels. Steve was right: this dog wasn’t about to run off anytime soon. Freckles really did know a good thing when he saw it.

  “You’re just in time,” Steve called when Charles put the plate down on the old picnic table near the sugar shack. “We’re about to draw off some finished syrup.”

  Charles joined his dad and Steve by the arch. The billowing steam made a sweet cloud that fogged Charles’s glasses. “See, take a look at the thermometer,” said Steve. “The sap is up to a hundred eighteen degrees now, which is just about perfect.”

  Charles squinted at the old brass thermometer, but between his fogged-up glasses, the cloud of steam, and the tiny numbers smeared with years of woodsmoke and syrup, he couldn’t make out a thing.

  “Don’t worry,” Dad said, laughing. “I couldn’t read that thermometer ten years ago, and now it’s even more tarnished and worn.”

  Steve set a tall metal canister beneath a tap at the side of the metal pan and turned the valve so that hot, golden syrup began to run out, filling up the can.

  “Wow,” said Charles, watching the syrup flow. “That’s enough for, like, a million pancakes.”

  “We’ll put this into jars, and I’ll send you home with some,” said Steve. “You won’t believe how good it is, fresh off the arch.”

  Charles and Dad smiled at each other. Sugaring was hard work, but it was about the most fun hard work Charles had ever done. Especially with Freckles around. He was so curious about everything; he loved to follow Steve everywhere, watching him closely. Charles had a feeling that Freckles was tired of living on his own, and ready to settle down—the question was, where? Usually, Charles and Lizzie worked hard on finding homes for the puppies their family fostered, but he didn’t know anybody up in Vermont—well, except for Kit Smithers, Lizzie’s favorite author. But she had already adopted one of their foster pups and wasn’t looking for another dog.

  Late that afternoon, when Dad and Charles were about to head back to the inn, Steve said, “I think I’d better pick you two up in my truck tomorrow morning. That dirt road is just getting muddier and bumpier these days, with the temperatures going up and down. I don’t want you losing your muffler or getting stuck somewhere.”

  “Fine with me,” said Dad, taking off his work gloves. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to town tonight and let us take you out to dinner?”

  Steve shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere as long as this sap is still boiling,” he said. “Anyway, I’m fine here on my own. I’m used to it, you know.”

  Dad nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Charles didn’t want to leave Freckles. The pup was getting friendlier and friendlier as he felt safer and more comfortable in his temporary home. He’d even come up to Charles a few times, looking for a treat. He would lean against Charles’s leg, gaze up at him with those golden-brown eyes, and wag his tail.

  I’m beginning to trust you. And I like the way you scratch the top of my head. How do you know exactly the right place to do that? It feels so good.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, pal,” said Charles as he and Dad left. He gave Freckles one more of the special treats he’d bought at the general store in town. Then he gave the puppy’s head one last scratch. At least Freckles was happy at the cabin, even if he couldn’t come with them to their inn.

  As soon as breakfast was over the next morning, Charles sat on the glassed-in sunporch of their inn, watching for Steve’s truck. It was windy and cold outside, and the sky was flat white. Suddenly, it felt more like winter again. He remembered that the innkeeper had told them last night that the weather was likely to change. “What time did Steve say he’d come?” he asked Dad. Charles couldn’t believe how much he missed Freckles. He had a feeling that today would be the day Freckles would be ready for some hugs, and he couldn’t wait to throw his arms around the soft brown-and-white pup.

  Dad sighed as he checked his watch for the tenth time. “Steve’s not always too exact about timing,” he said. “But he’ll be here soon. He needs our help up there at the sugarbush, so I’m sure he won’t forget us.”

  Finally, Charles saw the dark blue truck pull up in front. “Steve’s here!” he said, jumping up to run outside. Would Freckles be in the truck? Charles hoped so. Then they could share the backseat while Steve drove up the bumpy, rutted road. Maybe Charles would get that puppy hug right away.

  Steve climbed out of the truck, and Freckles leapt out after him. “Freckles!” Charles cried, opening his arms. The pup came running over, wagging his tail.

  Hi, friend, hi, friend!

  He sniffed Charles and let him scratch his head, but when Charles tried to hug him he pulled away. Charles was disappointed but he understood. Freckles was still a little shy. “It’s okay, pal,” he said. “I get it. I’ll be patient.”

  “Hop in,” said Steve. “We’ve got one more stop to make.”

  Charles got into the backseat with Freckles, and Dad climbed into the front seat next to Steve. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

  “To my friend Chloe’s farm,” Steve said. “I got word at the post office that she needs a favor from me.”

  “What kind of favor?” Dad asked. Charles was wondering, too.

  “You’ll see,” said Steve, smiling a mysterious smile.

  Charles sat back and let Freckles put his paws on his lap. He scratched the soft fur behind the puppy’s floppy ears. Charles couldn’t decide whether he liked the brown ear or the freckled ear best. Finally, he decided he liked them both: it was the mixture of the two colors that made Freckles so special.

  Freckles gazed up at him with half-closed eyes, a contented look on his face.

  I was okay living in the woods by myself, but I have to admit that I coul
d get used to this petting thing. It’s pretty nice.

  Steve whistled as he drove along, steering the truck carefully to avoid the deepest of the muddy ruts in the road. Finally, he turned up a long driveway, also muddy, and bumped along until he pulled to a stop in front of a big red barn. He tooted the horn a couple of times, and a woman popped out from behind the barn. She waved. “Hurray!” she called. “Just in time. Come on out back.”

  “Better leave Freckles in the truck,” Steve said to Charles. “Chloe’s got a lot of critters here and we don’t know how he’d act around them.”

  Charles hated to leave Freckles, but he was curious about what they were doing at Chloe’s farm. Did she need help fixing something? Lifting something?

  Steve led them around to the back of the barn. There stood Chloe, in the middle of a fenced pen, surrounded by a crowd of big woolly sheep. She had rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and cradled in her arms was a tiny white lamb. It had the cutest face, and funny ears that stuck out sideways. Chloe grinned at Steve. “You sure about this? I know you’re busy, too, this time of year.”

  Steve shrugged. “Busy, but I’m not going anywhere. And I’ve got some excellent helpers.” He introduced Charles and his father.

  Chloe nodded. “Great. You really only need to take him for a night, until I get caught up enough to take over the bottle feeding. We had seven other lambs born last night and this morning, and more to come. Lambing season! It’s always hectic.”

  “Wait, are we taking a lamb home?” Charles asked. He stared at the tiny fluffy animal in Chloe’s arms. It was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. It almost seemed to be smiling back at him.

  “Well, that’s the plan,” Steve said. “I’ve helped out Chloe before at lambing season, and I thought you’d enjoy it. What do you think?”

  “It’s a lot of work, but it’s fun, too,” Chloe told Charles. “He’ll need a bottle every couple of hours, and you’ll need to keep him warm and quiet.”

  “But why can’t his mom take care of him?” Charles asked.

  Chloe bit her lip. “Well, she had three lambs,” she said. “And she can really only feed and take care of two. So this one was kind of—left out, I guess.” She shook her head sadly as she looked down at the lamb in her arms. “It happens every year. If we bottle-feed them and take good care of them, they can usually rejoin the flock after a while.”

  Charles looked at Steve. “What about Freckles?”

  Steve shrugged. “I think we can work it out.” He explained to Chloe about the puppy. “It’s that one who’s been floating around as a stray,” he said. “We’re just taking care of him for a few days until he gets back on his feet. Then we’ll find him a home. He’s a good pup, not a mean bone in his body. I think if we keep them separate it’ll be okay.”

  Chloe nodded. She seemed distracted. “Look, I’ve got to get back in the barn. I’m expecting more lambs any minute. I packed up a bunch of supplies for you.” She jutted her chin at a cloth grocery bag near the gate.

  Steve grabbed the bag. “Charles, why don’t you take the lamb?” he said.

  Charles’s eyes grew wide. “Me?” he asked.

  Charles looked up at Dad, and Dad grinned and shrugged.

  “Yes, you,” said Chloe. “Come on in here and I’ll hand him off. You can zip him up inside your jacket to keep him warm.”

  Charles walked up to the gate, but he couldn’t quite make himself open it and go inside. Some of the sheep in the pen were really big, with huge curled horns.

  “They’re all gentle,” said Chloe, as if she had read his mind. “No worries. I promise they won’t hurt you.”

  Dad helped Charles unlatch the gate, and he walked inside, stepping nervously around the sheep that milled about. Now he could see that there were lambs in the pen, too. They had been sticking close to their mothers, but when they saw him they ran and jumped and dodged here and there, as if they were calling out “Chase me, chase me!” Charles was dying to hold one of them, but they didn’t look like they’d be at all easy to catch. In the middle of the flock stood Chloe, holding the littlest lamb of all. Charles walked closer. The lamb’s tiny ears twitched and his mouth worked. He made a soft bleating noise that went straight to Charles’s heart.

  “Ready?” said Chloe when Charles was right in front of her. Charles held out his arms, and she nestled the soft, warm lamb into them. “There you go,” she said.

  Charles gulped and held the lamb tight. Was Chloe actually handing him this helpless, hungry, frightened baby animal? Charles didn’t know anything about taking care of lambs. What was he supposed to do? He tightened his grip, took a few quick, shallow breaths, and looked over at his dad. Dad grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up. Charles hugged the lamb close, and felt tears come to his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, little guy,” he whispered to the lamb. “We’ll take good care of you.”

  When Charles climbed into Steve’s truck, with the lamb zipped inside his jacket, Freckles sat up straight. His ears perked up, the brown one a little higher than the freckled one, and his nose wiggled as he sniffed the air.

  What’s this? What’s this I smell?

  Then the pup leaned over and began to sniff Charles. The lamb, nestled deep inside his jacket, began to bleat. Charles could feel him trembling—just the way Freckles had trembled when they had first found him.

  “Dad!” Charles said. “Can you take Freckles up front? I think he’s scaring Fluffy.”

  “Fluffy?” Dad turned around in his seat, raising his eyebrows. “You’re quick with the names, aren’t you?” He smiled as he reached back to pick up Freckles. “Come on, dude. Ride up here with me,” he said as he held the curious puppy firmly. Freckles looked back at the lamb and whined softly.

  I just want to be friends. What’s the big deal?

  “Well, this lamb actually is very fluffy,” said Charles. He couldn’t get over how soft the lamb’s coat had felt in his hands. It was like petting a cloud.

  “I’m sure he is,” said Steve. “All lambs are. I think it’s the perfect name for a baby lamb—especially this baby lamb.”

  Fluffy never really stopped bleating all the way back to Steve’s, and he bleated the whole time as they hiked through the woods to the cabin. The sound hurt Charles’s ears. It made Charles’s heart hurt, too, to hear the sad, lonely way the lamb was crying. Fluffy’s mood seemed to match the low, gray skies overhead. “Poor guy! He must miss his mom,” he said to Dad. “And his brother and sister.”

  “I think he’s mainly hungry,” said Steve as they came into the cabin. “I’m sure you can make him feel at home while I get a bottle ready. Sit down on the couch with him, and get comfortable.”

  Steve was rummaging through the bag Chloe had packed. He pulled out a bag of disposable diapers. “Better put one of these on him,” he said, handing it to Dad. He laughed when he saw the look on Charles’s face.

  “It’s what we do when we take care of baby lambs inside a house,” Steve said. “Baby lambs, well”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“they go to the bathroom an awful lot!”

  He returned to rummaging in the bag. “Chloe probably packed some special lamb milk replacement formula and a bottle. It’s easy to mix this stuff up, and the lambs love it.” He pulled out the bottle. “Ta-da!” Then he reached back in for a plastic zipper bag full of yellowish powder. “And here’s the formula. Great.”

  Charles could feel the lamb’s heart beating super fast inside his chest. He was still bleating, but the sound was growing weaker. The lamb’s ears hung down limply, and he did not try to struggle out of Charles’s arms. He just lay there, still trembling. “I think he wore himself out with all that crying,” Charles said. He gazed down at the soft, tiny animal and felt hot tears come to his eyes. The poor thing!

  “He’ll be fine once we get him fed,” said Steve, who had been bustling around in the kitchen. He came over to the couch with the bottle he’d prepared. “I hope he’s already learned how to drink from the
bottle. Let’s see how he does.”

  The lamb stopped bleating as soon as he saw the bottle. Right away, he stretched out his neck and began sucking hard. His little tail wagged as he tugged at the nipple. Charles had to hold tight to keep the lamb from pulling the bottle right out of his hands. “Wow!” said Charles. “You were right. He sure is hungry.”

  That reminded him. “I bet Freckles is hungry, too,” he said. “Did he have breakfast? Hey, where is Freckles?” Charles had been so focused on the lamb that—for a few moments—he’d almost forgotten all about the adorable little mutt.

  “He’s just outside the door,” Dad said. “I left him in the mudroom until we could get the lamb settled in. He seems awfully interested in Fluffy.”

  “I think you can bring him in now,” said Steve. “Just hang on to him and let him sniff around a bit. Freckles needs to get used to the idea that we have another guest staying with us, and Fluffy needs to get used to the idea of dogs. Let’s just do our best to keep them apart, though.”

  Charles wasn’t sure how easy that was going to be in the tiny cabin. But he knew Steve was right. It was better to give both of these young animals lots of quiet time. They had been through so much already.

  Dad went outside and came right back in, with Freckles on a leash. The spotted pup was on alert; he obviously knew there was another creature in the cabin. His ears were perked up, and he wagged his tail as he sniffed all around.

  Where is he? What is he? Is he friendly? I could really use a pal.

  Freckles dragged Dad straight to the couch where Charles and Steve were sitting with the lamb. Charles hugged the lamb closer in case he was afraid, but Fluffy was concentrating so hard on eating that he didn’t even seem to notice the nosy puppy. He wasn’t trembling anymore, Charles noticed. He had relaxed into Charles’s arms as he sucked on the bottle.