She followed and followed, without thinking of where she was going and where she had been. It was darker in the woods than in the fields, but Sadie knew what she was doing: She was following that sheep, to find it for Mister. She didn’t worry about the trees all around her or the snow coming down thick through the air. She worried about finding that sheep.
When she finally caught up with it, it was leaning against a big tree, shaking. Its eyes were closed tight. Sadie barked once, not very loudly, and the sheep’s eyes opened. Sadie dropped down onto the ground, and eyed the sheep.
That sheep was frightened of her! It was so frightened that it just closed its eyes, to pretend she wasn’t there, to pretend it wasn’t tired and lost and cold and all alone, to pretend everything was all right. Sadie understood how that sheep was feeling. She said, I’m here now, the way Missus did. Everything’s all right now. The sheep couldn’t understand her, but that didn’t matter. Mister will be here any minute, she told the sheep, and then she settled down on the ground to wait, as if she had been ordered to Down! and Stay! and she was obeying. She settled down with her eyes fixed on the sheep.
But Mister didn’t come, and neither did Angus. Sadie waited and waited, and they still didn’t come. The air got darker, the snow kept on falling, she was getting too cold, and they still didn’t come.
Where were they?
The wind howled around her ears. It was so loud, she almost couldn’t even hear her own thinking.
When would they come?
She knew they would be angry at her for not obeying, but she still wanted them to come.
Why hadn’t they caught up with her by now?
The wind howled and howled, as if that was the answer to her question, and Sadie began to worry that Mister and Angus might be lost in the woods, in the storm.
What if they couldn’t find her? What if they never found her?
At that thought, Sadie stood up. She shook herself free of all the snow that had piled up on her while she was waiting. Now she was afraid.
Angus had told her over and over that she was afraid, and she had worried that he might be right, even though she didn’t agree with him. Now she knew for sure that Angus had been wrong. Now that she really was afraid, she knew just how dark and cold and lonely fear felt.
She was as frightened as the sheep now, because she knew the wind would keep on howling, and it would get colder and colder, and there would be more and more snow. She didn’t know what would happen then, but she knew it wouldn’t be anything good. Nothing warm, for example, nothing with food, nothing like being at home in the kitchen with Missus and Patches and waiting for Angus and Mister to come in from the barn. After colder and colder came something bad. She wasn’t sure exactly what, but she was very sure about bad.
These thoughts made Sadie even more afraid. She wished she had obeyed Angus and waited for him. If she had waited for Angus, Angus would be here, and he would know what to do.
She wished she had obeyed Mister, and Come! when he had called. If she had done that, she wouldn’t be here alone with this silly frightened sheep.
She was all alone, and she didn’t know what to do, and that sheep just stood there with its eyes closed as if it were asleep in the shed beside the barn with the rest of its flock, as if nothing were wrong.
But everything was wrong.
They had to get home.
Sadie suddenly knew that, for sure. She didn’t know where home was, or what was the way from here to home, but she did know that one thing, Home.
At that thought—but it wasn’t a thought, it was a feeling, a sense of where Missus was, as if she could smell the kitchen—Sadie’s legs knew where to go.
But how could she know if her legs were right?
If Angus were here, he’d know the way and she could follow him. It was so cold and the wind was so loud, and the branches of the trees were waving in the darkness all around, and the snow kept falling and kept falling.... Sadie wished for Angus so hard that she had to howl. And howl.
The wind took her howls up and blew them away, and they were lost in the thick falling snow. So she stopped howling.
Sadie shook herself again, to shake off the new snow from her coat and to shake out the howling feeling inside her. Even if she couldn’t find her way home, she was going to have to do it, because Angus wasn’t here. Here, Sadie was the only one who could do anything.
She turned to go off in the direction her legs wanted. But then she remembered the sheep, because that sheep was her work. You couldn’t just walk away from your work. If Angus were here, he would bring the sheep home with him. Sadie knew that.
Sadie went up to the sheep where it was leaning against the trunk of the tree with closed eyes. She barked right into its face.
The eyes stayed closed.
She barked again, and growled as if she were Snake or Fox, about to attack.
The eyes flew open, and the sheep stared at her out of wide wild eyes.
Home, she told it. We have to go home. She dropped down flat on the ground and eyed the sheep.
After staring at her for a minute, the sheep turned and jumped off sideways, about to bolt off.
About to bolt off in the wrong direction.
Sadie jumped up and got in its way. She dropped down and eyed it again. The sheep stopped, standing with the snow halfway up its thin legs. Sadie tried to know what to do.
What would Angus do?
She didn’t know. Sadie wasn’t Angus—how could she know what he’d do?
The sheep started to move away from her in another wrong direction, and then Sadie figured it out: If she was standing in the wrong direction, the sheep would bolt off in the right direction.
But there were so many wrong directions to block off.
She was getting colder, and it was almost as dark as night, and the snow kept on falling and the wind kept on blowing. So Sadie did the only thing she could. She ran around behind the sheep, lowered her head, and growled.
The sheep ran off for a little bit, in almost the right direction, and then stopped to stare at her, frightened.
Sadie moved a little to one side and eyed it. The sheep moved again and stopped again.
That sheep didn’t want to go through the snow. It wanted to stop under trees. It was frightened by the loud howling wind. It wanted Sadie to go away and leave it alone.
Again and again, that sheep moved, and then stopped. Again and again, Sadie growled or barked, and then fell to the ground and eyed it. Twice, the sheep tried a quick sideways turn, a bolt of speed to get away from her. It was as if that silly sheep wanted to be lost, and wanted to get colder and colder, until whatever worst that could happen had happened.
Instead of going home, which was what Sadie wanted.
Sadie ran around the sheep and made it turn around and take a few more steps toward home.
It was a long, dark, cold, and windy time before Sadie drove the sheep out of the woods. Beyond the protection of the trees, snow blew into her eyes, her nose, and her ears. It had piled up on the ground as deep as her chest. But Sadie knew where she was. She was home!
Or, almost home. She knew exactly where home was now, and it was close. Sadie plowed forward. The snow didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter how cold she was because soon she would be warm, and Missus would give her something to eat, and Mister wouldn’t be angry when he saw the sheep, and Angus would be proud of her.
For about ten steps—ten leaps, really, through the deep snow, ten happy, excited leaps—Sadie moved forward. Then she stopped, because the sheep had already turned around and was trying to run back through the snow on its spindly legs, back into the woods where the snow wasn’t so deep and the wind didn’t blow so hard. The sheep didn’t know how close they were to home.
Sadie didn’t have to take care of that sheep. Nobody had told her to, not Mister and not Angus. She didn’t want to take care of it, either. But she turned around and leaped after it. She didn’t bark until she had drawn ahead of
it, so that her barking would stop it. After it stopped, she barked again, and it turned to get away from her. That silly sheep didn’t even know it was going home.
When they got to the barn and the sheep heard its flock, it stopped again. This time Sadie left it where it was, standing up against the fence. It didn’t remember where the break in the fence was, so it stayed fenced out, calling in a high, whiny voice to the other sheep to let it in, to come join it. Sadie didn’t wait. She ran around the barn and up the steps to the porch. She stood at the door in the howling wind and blowing snow, and barked.
Nobody opened the door. What if they couldn’t hear her? What if they were upstairs in bed? Sadie barked again, twice, and that time, Angus barked back from inside. Sadie?
Then the kitchen door opened, and Missus was kneeling to let Sadie climb onto her lap.
“You’re safe,” Missus said.
You shouldn’t have run off like that, Sadie.
“You certainly had us worried,” Mister said. “This is a real blizzard. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
I didn’t think you’d be able to find your way back.
That sheep is beside the pen.
“She must be starving,” Missus said. She stood up. “And I’ll towel you dry, too. What were you doing running off? And you might as well get away from the door, I’m not letting you back outside.”
The pen behind the barn? Okay, I’ll take care of it.
“Now what’s got into Angus?” Mister said. “All right, boy, I hear you. Is something going on outside? I guess I’d better—all right, good dog, I’m coming. Sadie, you stay. Angus and I will take care of this. Just give me a chance to get my boots on, Angus.”
By the time Sadie had eaten and been toweled dry and was about to fall asleep—which wasn’t very long at all—Mister and Angus had returned.
Mister was amazed, and proud. “She brought it back, honey. That’s why it’s been so long. I can only imagine how much trouble that sheep gave her. Good girl, Sadie. You’re a real hero.”
Missus, too, was amazed and proud. “I didn’t know you could be so brave. And clever, too, to herd a sheep in a storm. You really are a wonder, Sadie, aren’t you?”
Sadie was so sleepy, she almost couldn’t enjoy all the praise.
You should have waited for me, Angus said. With two of us, it wouldn’t have taken so long, and they wouldn’t have had to worry so much. I told you to wait, he reminded her.
But Sadie was asleep and didn’t hear.
10
How Angus feels when Sadie is the hero
Sadie wanted to tell Angus about it. When I was alone, with the sheep but alone, and it was the storm, she began.
Later, Angus said. I’m busy.
Angus had his work to do with Mister, and he didn’t want to be distracted. He didn’t want to be disturbed. So when Sadie said, After I found the sheep I waited—, Angus said, Not now. Can’t you see I’m doing something important? At night when Sadie asked, Can I tell you now? Angus interrupted, No. I’m tired. I worked hard all day, Sadie.
After a few days, Sadie stopped trying to tell him about it, as if she had forgotten, which she probably had, Angus thought. Sadie wasn’t very good at remembering things. Angus knew that; they all knew that.
She wasn’t the only one who wasn’t good at remembering things, thought Angus. Mister and Missus seemed to have forgotten all about how Sadie didn’t obey. She had gone running off into the storm, disobeying Mister, just like she had gone running off after that skunk. Nobody had praised Sadie for disobeying then. Just the opposite. Angus remembered that. But now Mister and Missus talked about what a wonder Sadie was for running off after a sheep. It was as if Angus had never gone to find a sheep in the woods, as if Sadie’s sheep was ten times more important than the one Angus had found in the woods, or even the two Angus had helped Mister get back into the pen during the storm.
Angus didn’t see what was so wonderful about Sadie’s one sheep, when he had helped save two. Three, if you counted the first.
There was one good thing about all this, however, which was that now Sadie would have to start being braver, and better at being obedient, too. Angus could help her learn that. Everybody preferred a brave and well-trained dog, and everybody respected that dog more. He would help Sadie be more respected. He decided to do that, and he decided they would start with the cats.
The days were getting longer and warmer, even though the snow hadn’t all melted away. During the days, Mister opened the barn doors to let the sun heat the inside. That meant the dogs could go into the barn by themselves. Come on, Angus said to Sadie one sunny day.
Where?
Just come on.
Angus headed for the open barn door, with Sadie trailing. He went along beside the garden and down the path. Sadie followed.
Inside the barn, Angus made one complete tour, taking his time, smelling everything he felt like smelling, ignoring the cats, who watched from underneath the tractor. Sadie kept close behind him.
The cats are under the tractor, she reported. Watching.
You have to stop being afraid of those cats.
It’s not afraid. Not really afraid. In the storm, in the woods—
Not now. I’m busy checking this out.
Angus started on a second slow tour of the barn, walking through sunlight, walking through shade. This was his barn. He was in charge of this barn. Any cat that might happen to be watching could see that. He was in charge of Sadie, too. He walked all around the inside of the barn, slowly, with Sadie still following him, and then, slowly, slowly, he went back out through the open doors.
Behind him, Sadie yelped.
Angus wheeled around, barking at the cats, warning them. Back off!
Fox, who had run out from under the tractor to jump onto Sadie’s back, fled up the ladder into the loft. Sadie ran to stand close behind Angus.
Do something, Angus told her. He didn’t care how frightened she might be, he was going to make her learn to be brave. So they’ll know you’re not afraid of them.
But I don’t think I am. Not afraid, not really afraid.
Angus lost patience. I’ll show you how. Snake was still under the tractor, so Angus ran right at it, as if when he got there he was going to crawl under it to catch Snake in his teeth, and bite him and shake him. Snake scooted out the opposite side, across the barn floor, and up into the loft.
See? Angus asked, going back outside to join Sadie. See how easy it is?
Yes, Sadie answered. Then she admitted, No. I mean not easy. Not for me.
Angus said, You have to learn how. That’s why I’m helping you.
Oh. All right. But—
If I’m helping, you should say thank you.
Oh. Thank you.
A couple of days later, Angus tried again. Once more he led Sadie down to the barn. What if they jump at me? she asked.
Let them try it, Angus said. Just let them try it.
The two dogs walked into the barn and into the shadows. They walked around and around, Sadie just behind Angus, and the cats never made a sound, and they never made a move either.
They’re up in the loft, Sadie said.
Don’t be afraid.
Sadie thought about it. I’m not.
Good girl, Sadie, said Angus, just like Mister. Now, I want you to walk around once without me. Just once, that’s all. That’s not very hard, he said, as if she had said she didn’t want to do it.
In order to keep Angus near as long as possible, Sadie started her round before Angus had gone out the barn doors. She walked all around the inside, starting at the cow stalls and going along behind the tractor. She came to the stall where she and Angus slept in warmer weather. Their stall came just before the steps to the loft, and then there were just two more stalls with farm and garden tools in them, and a storeroom door before she got back to the big open doorway and the bright warm sunlight—
Something jumped at her, from out of a stall where hoes and rakes and shov
els were kept leaning against the wall.
And something else jumped out at her, from out of the same stall. Shovels and rakes and hoes clattered onto the ground.
The two things screeched. They were jumping and screeching.
Sadie leaped up into the air, and she yelped, and she ran. It was only the cats. She knew it was only the cats. She knew it, but when they jumped at her she couldn’t help yelping and running.
Angus asked, What went wrong?
Sadie explained. They jumped.
You shouldn’t yelp. They like it when you yelp. That’s why they jump at you.
I was trying not to.
You have to not yelp.
I can’t, Sadie explained. They jump, and I hear them, and I know what they’re doing, and they screech that way. They’re jumping AT me, she explained.
Angus gave up. Well, it’s too bad about you. I can’t do anything with you. Then he tried to make her feel better. I guess you’ll never be able to stand up to the cats, so let’s stop trying. Because you can’t do it. Now that that was settled, Angus felt better.
Sadie didn’t feel better.
We can work on training instead, Angus promised her. I can help you with obeying.
All right, Sadie said, and then she remembered. Thank you.
Angus began this new project by helping Sadie only when they were inside the house, because he wanted to let her get used to him training her. So every now and then, when they were together in the house, he would tell her, Sadie, Sit!
It took her a while to learn to hear him saying that, but once she got the idea, Sadie started to obey him.
“Whatever are you doing, girl?” Missus asked. “I thought you wanted to go out.” Sadie had been heading for the door Missus was holding open, but then—plunk—she sat down on the kitchen floor. Missus laughed. “Changed your mind? You are the world’s silliest dog. Come here, and let me give your neck a nice scratch.”
Sadie obeyed Missus, but Angus told her, You’re supposed to wait until I say That’ll do! You should know that by now.
I do know it. But Missus called me.
Next time, you have to wait until I release you. You have to practice or you’ll never improve.